These Witches Don't Burn Read online

  Gemma rushes forward to help, but the fire’s stubborn. It’s only a matter of time before Evan and Nolan roll this way. And if their clothes catch on fire, this night will get a million times worse.

  Someone knocks into me, throwing me off balance. I fall forward, and my magic reacts on instinct, ready to protect me from the flames. Ready to expose a centuries-old secret.

  Hands grip my arm, then circle around my waist. I’m hauled upright and my magic recedes. When I’m standing on my own, I turn and fling my arms around the person standing there. They just saved me—and my entire coven—from exposure.

  I pull away to see who it is. “Benton.” The blush on his cheeks makes me step back. It probably wasn’t the best idea to hug him so soon after turning him down. “Thank you.”

  Benton grips the back of his neck, his face still blooming with color. “Yeah, no problem. It’s the least I could do after the whole . . . well, you know.”

  “No, seriously. Thank you. That would have . . .” That would have been the end of life as I know it. “Thanks.” I turn back to check on the fire, but my help isn’t needed. A few of the guys have dragged over the keg and are spraying down the flames.

  “Like I said. No problem.” Benton spares a fleeting glance for the dead animal hanging from the tree and grimaces. “I’ll catch you later.”

  I grin, but I don’t think the pun was intentional. “I’m going to hold you to that pool day.”

  “Only if you bring those triple chocolate brownies you made last year,” he says, and I’m surprised he remembers. I agree, and Benton waves, heading back toward the main bonfire.

  Once he’s out of the way, Gemma rushes in and wraps me in a hug. “Thank god Benton was there.”

  “I know.” I squeeze back and release her.

  Gemma’s gaze trails after Benton as he leaves, and she lets out a dreamy sigh. “I should have spent the night with him instead of Nolan. He’s much more my type.”

  “I thought you were over him?” I promised Benton I’d forget about our awkward encounter, but I don’t want Gem to set herself up for heartbreak either. She shrugs, and I nod in the direction he disappeared. “Come on, we should get out of here.”

  “But we have to wait.”

  “For what? The guys will get the fight under control.”

  Gemma shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. Savannah needs a doctor, and I—”

  “Oh, Gem. Please tell me you didn’t.” Her stubborn look says she most certainly did. She already called for an ambulance. I sigh. “The paramedics don’t need us here to do their job. Let’s go. Unless you want our parents to find out you were drinking.” At that, Gem loses her smile and nods.

  But before we can take more than a step, sirens wail and police lights pierce the trees.

  * * *

  • • •

  Paramedics wrap Savannah in blankets and load her in the back of an ambulance; its flashing lights create a patchwork of dancing shadows in the woods. Gemma and I stand huddled together as police swarm around us. They question classmates and send them home, confiscating keys from anyone who seems even a little bit tipsy, forcing more than a few teens to call home for a ride.

  Veronica approaches, all her earlier bravado gone, the smirk wiped clean from her face. “Can we talk?”

  Gemma casts me a glance. I nod, and she steps a few paces away. In her absence, Veronica leans against the tree beside me. “That was pretty intense, huh?”

  A police officer comes near, so I make a noncommittal noise. Once the officer passes, the fear bubbles up again, and I can’t hold it back. “Do you think she found us?” My voice shakes, but Veronica knows who she is. The Blood Witch in New York who took control of my body, who forced me to my knees, with only a single drop of my blood. “We have to tell our parents.”

  “No, we don’t.” Veronica grips my shaking hands in hers, and I almost feel safe. “There are no Blood Witches in Salem, Han. This was a prank. We’re fine.”

  “But—”

  “Hannah, no.” Her words grow harsh, and she drops my hands. “We swore we would never tell anyone about what happened on that trip.”

  “But if she’s here—”

  “But nothing. She’s not here, and what we did in New York could send us straight to the Council. We could lose our magic.” Veronica goes silent as another officer walks past. “Use your head.”

  “We have to say something,” I whisper, scanning the crowd for any members of Salem PD I recognize. “My dad will hear about the raccoon and pentacle at work.”

  “So? Your dad is smart enough to know this is either a Reg prank or some kind of pagan ritual. Either way, it doesn’t involve us or our coven.” Veronica sighs. “I’ve worked too hard to miss graduation. I’m not going to skip my speech because you’re afraid of a Blood Witch who doesn’t even know what state we live in.”

  When she puts it like that, I can’t deny the logic in her words. But I hate admitting that she’s right. “Fine,” I say, clipping the word short. “I won’t say anything about tonight until after graduation.”

  Veronica looks like she wants to argue, but she shakes her head. “I’m going with Savannah to the hospital. You good?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” I bounce forward on the balls of my feet and ignore the stinging in my eyes. “Go ahead. You don’t want to miss your ride.”

  Veronica worries at her lower lip. I think for a second she might say more, but she shakes her head and disappears into the back of the ambulance.

  My chest aches to see her like this. Vulnerable. Afraid. Not trying to make my life miserable. It’s so much easier to deal with all the emotions swirling inside—the betrayal, the hurt, the lingering attraction—when we’re fighting.

  “Hannah?” Gemma steps close and wraps her arms around me. “You okay?”

  “I will be.” I soak in her warmth and watch the ambulance drive off. Someone took down the mangled raccoon, bagged it up, and carted it away. I’m not sure what happened to Nolan or Evan after the fight. I didn’t see either of them in handcuffs, so that’s probably a good sign.

  Gemma and I tried to leave earlier with the rest of our classmates, but someone told the cops I was the one who found Savannah. Never mind that Veronica and I found her together. Veronica gets to ride off in an ambulance while I’m stuck out here with the raccoon blood.

  Lucky me.

  I’m about to ask one of the officers if we can leave when a man with short brown hair and a tall, lean frame heads our way. Unlike the rest of the cops, he’s not in uniform. He’s wearing a dark gray suit with black dress shoes. Not exactly bonfire-in-the-woods attire.

  “Good evening, ladies. I’m Detective Archer. Which of you is Miss Walsh?” He taps a pen to his small notebook.

  It must be a slow night if they sent a detective out for this. “I’m Hannah Walsh,” I say, and release Gemma’s hand, reminding myself to breathe. I let Veronica’s earlier conviction steady my nerves. Nothing that happened tonight has anything to do with the Clans. This wasn’t a Blood Witch. We’re safe.

  “You found Miss Clarke this evening?”

  I assume he means Savannah. I don’t actually know her last name. “Yeah. Veronica and I heard her scream over the music. I happened to get here first. But, like, by a second. Tops.”

  The detective stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say more. His attention is unnerving; it prickles along my skin, making me shiver.

  “I’m not sure what else I can tell you. We barely beat the others here,” I add when he still doesn’t speak.

  Detective Archer scribbles something in his little notebook. “And did you recognize the symbol burned into the ground?”

  “Umm . . .” How much is dangerous to admit? I’m a terrible liar, always have been. Some say it’s an admirable quality, but those people must not have any real secrets to kee
p. “Yeah, sure. Of course,” I answer after the silence has stretched on far too long. “I’ve lived in Salem my whole life. I know a pentacle when I see one.”

  “And you’re aware the pentacle is a symbol of witchcraft?” The detective stares at me, unblinking.

  I catch myself rolling my eyes, but not fast enough to prevent it. Gemma shoves an elbow in my ribs, and the detective cocks a brow. “Sorry, it’s just . . . Salem. Witch trials. It all kind of comes with the territory.”

  Detective Archer stops with the note-taking for a second and really looks at me. “Well then, it’s a good thing I met an expert on my first assignment.”

  “I’m not an expert.” The words fly out of my mouth before I realize they’re in my brain. I’ve barely said anything. How could he— Then the sarcasm registers, followed by the rest of his sentence, and embarrassment burns my cheeks. “You’re new here?”

  The detective gives a quick nod and returns to his notes, flipping back a couple pages. “Can you explain why you and your friends tried to hide evidence?”

  “We didn’t—”

  “You didn’t destroy the burning pentacle?”

  I glance at Gemma, but she’s still tipsy and hasn’t spoken. I try to act like this whole conversation isn’t hitting too close to home. “We didn’t want the guys to roll through the flames and catch themselves on fire. I didn’t think it was evidence.”

  “Right. The fight between Nolan Abbott and Evan Woelk. Any idea whether either of them might be involved with the sacrifice?” Detective Archer holds his pen poised and ready.

  “I don’t know. We don’t really run in the same circles.” I glance back toward the pentacle and it hits me. Evan came into the store today. He could have used the athame to kill the animal . . .

  Beside me, Gemma shivers. “Um, sir? Could we go home now?”

  The detective looks to Gemma. “Perhaps. Do you have anything to add, Miss . . .”

  “Goodwin,” she says. “Gemma Goodwin. And no. I got here after Hannah. I’m the one who called for the ambulance.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and flutters her lashes. I love the girl, but damn is she a suck-up sometimes.

  Detective Archer flips the page on his little notebook and scribbles something down. Each second that passes feels like an hour, and I reach for the phone in my pocket. It’s late. Really late.

  “Umm . . . Detective? We’re going to miss curfew if we don’t leave soon.” I haven’t had a curfew in ages, but it seems like a normal enough excuse for the detective.

  “Right, of course.” He asks a few more questions, makes sure Gem isn’t driving, and sends us on our way.

  Gemma and I walk in silence back toward my car. It isn’t until we’re safely on the road that Gemma speaks. “What do you think happened back there?” Her voice is a whisper, barely audible above the soft music coming from the speakers.

  “I don’t know.” I grip the steering wheel. There are too many possibilities taking up space in my head. Was it Evan? If so, what purpose could he have for a ritual like that? And if Veronica’s wrong, if this wasn’t a Reg, we have bigger problems than a ruined bonfire.

  Gemma rests her head on the window, her eyelids drifting shut. “That poor raccoon. Here’s hoping it was a one-time thing.”

  “Fingers crossed.” I turn off my high beams as another car comes into view, and by the time I flick my brights back on, Gem is asleep.

  In the dark, with only the moon and my headlights to guide us, an icy fear grips my spine. I try very hard to fully convince myself that this was a Reg. That it was Evan, taking his goth look way too far and dabbling in the more destructive parts of pagan magic.

  Because if there’s a Blood Witch in town . . .

  No one is safe.

  4

  BANGING PANS AND THE smell of sizzling bacon pull me out of restless sleep. Fragments of nightmares cling to the edges of my consciousness, but they dissolve into smoke when I try to force them into focus.

  All things considered, that’s probably for the best.

  Gemma stirs on the air mattress below me. There was a time when we’d take turns hosting sleepovers, but ever since I came out last year, her parents have been more than a little awkward around me. Suddenly, their house had all these new rules—keep the bedroom door open, no hangouts without adult supervision, sleepovers have to be in separate rooms—like they were afraid my queerness was contagious.

  “Good morning,” I singsong when she finally rubs at her eyes and sits up.

  “Morning,” Gem grumbles back. She stretches her arms over head and yawns loudly. “So, last night was a hot mess.”

  “And gross,” I add, a chill creeping up my spine. I pull the blankets tight around my shoulders as I sit up, a fluffy shield against the memories of mangled animal parts and dripping blood.

  “I can’t believe you talked to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named without someone getting killed.” Gem grabs the toothbrush from her overnight bag and heads for the door. “It’s a summer miracle.”

  “Hilarious, Gem. Really.”

  “You know you love me,” she says, and glides out the door. The smell of bacon intensifies with her departure.

  While Gem uses the guest bathroom in the hall, I throw my hair into a ponytail and reach for my phone, desperate for news. Maybe the police already caught the misguided Reg dabbling in sacrificial magic.

  I punch in my passcode, and I’m shocked Mom let me sleep in so late. Normally, anything past nine results in a lecture. Out of habit, I check my notifications before searching for news. I’m tagged in a few blurry photos from the bonfire, my pre-party pic with Gem has a decent number of new likes, and there’s an unread direct message waiting for me. Without thinking, I open the message and freeze.

  It’s from Veronica.

  Seeing her name pop up sends tears prickling in my eyes. I should delete it unread. Block her account so she can’t send any more. But I can’t. I have to know. Maybe she’s writing to apologize. Maybe last night made her regret what happened between us. Maybe . . .

  Hannah,

  I’m graduating today. Top of my class, just like I promised when we were kids. I did it, Han. I really did it.

  You should be there, sitting in the front row. I wrote so much of my speech for you. It won’t be right without you there. Everyone is coming, all the families. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? We’ve been friends our entire lives. What happened in NYC shouldn’t change that.

  I would go if it were you.

  —V

  I read her message again—coded to avoid mentioning the coven—torturing myself with her words. Should I go? Would she really go if our places were reversed?

  A door opens and clicks shut in the hallway. I wipe the tears from my face and delete our message history. My chest constricts as years’ worth of exchanges disappear in an instant. I want to undo it the second they’re gone, but like our relationship, what’s done is done.

  My door opens and Gemma steps inside, her hair wrapped tight in a towel, her shirt sticking to her not-quite-dry skin. “What’re you doing?”

  “Nothing.” My voice sounds guilty, even to me.

  Gemma cocks her head to one side, which looks ridiculous with the huge towel engulfing her hair. “Then why do you look like someone punched you in the gut?”

  “I don’t—”

  “It’s Veronica, isn’t it?” Gemma crawls into bed beside me and reaches for my hand. “What’d she do this time?”

  I stare at the ceiling, as if that will stop the flood of emotions drowning my eyes. “She wanted me to go to graduation.” Which started twenty minutes ago. She might be giving her speech right now, staring into a sea of faces, hoping to find mine.

  “Are you upset you missed it?”

  Yes. No. Maybe. I shake my head. “No.” I pick at my comforter. “Does that make me a terrible person? W
e’ve been friends since we were in diapers, long before she was my girlfriend.”

  “Is that her excuse?” Gemma wraps her arm around my shoulders. “She hurt you, Hannah. Don’t let her guilt trip you for trying to heal. You don’t owe her anything.”

  “I know.” If only things were that simple. If only I could delete her from my life completely. “But—”

  “No buts. You made your choice, and so did she. It’s too late to go now anyway.” Gemma pulls away and removes the towel from her head. “Do we need to have a ceremonial burning of Veronica’s things?” She gestures toward my closet, where she hid all my relationship keepsakes in a shoe box. “I know I said to hang on to them, but maybe you need a good purge.”

  “Girls!” Mom calls to us from the bottom of the stairs before I can reply. “Breakfast is ready.”

  Gem lights up at the mention of food. She runs a comb swiftly through her hair and bounds for the door. I trudge after her, a clumsy ogre in the wake of her ballerina’s grace.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Walsh,” Gemma says with a smile. “Need help setting the table?”

  “Already done, but thank you.” Mom points down the hall to the dining room. “Go on ahead, I just need to grab the toast.”

  Gemma doesn’t need to be told twice. She practically sprints down the hall and disappears into the dining room. But I don’t follow. I head for the kitchen, trailing after Mom.

  “Hannah?” Mom pauses with a plate full of toast in her hands. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something weird happened last night. At the bonfire, Veronica and I—”

  “Marie! You coming?” Dad’s voice carries through the house, deep and rumbling. “The eggs are getting cold.”

  Mom shifts the plate into one hand and places the other on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you had a bad night, Han. I know you and Veronica aren’t on good terms right now, but you’ll have to learn to be around each other sooner or later. We can talk after brunch.”

  “No, Mom—”