These Witches Don't Burn Page 4

But she’s already gone. I follow her into the dining room where fried eggs, fruit, and a small mountain of bacon load up each plate. Mom sets the toast in the middle of the table, and we take our seats.

  Dad smiles at me over his coffee. “Good morning.”

  I mumble a response around the piece of bacon I shoved in my mouth.

  “How was the bonfire?” Dad asks when I chomp on my toast instead of saying hello.

  Gemma drops her fork back onto her plate. “You won’t believe what happened.” She leans forward, and my mouth is too full to tell her to hush. “Someone killed a raccoon and burned a pentacle into the ground. There was blood everywhere. And then there was this fight, and a girl broke her arm. Not from the fight, she got hurt before. Wait, let me back up. I’m not telling this right.”

  “Geez, Gem. Take a breath in there somewhere,” I say in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. My parents turn to stare at me. A crease deepens in Mom’s brow.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to forget the most unusual part.” Gemma cups her hand to the side of her mouth and mock-whispers to my parents, “Hannah and Veronica talked without killing each other.”

  Dad chuckles politely. “Now, that is something.”

  As Gemma launches back into her story, describing the bloody scene with more detail than most people find appropriate for breakfast conversation, last night’s worries slither through my brain. I know Veronica said this was a Reg, but what if it wasn’t?

  “Mom? Do we have any jelly?” I ask, standing up from the table. “Could you help me find it?” I shoot her a look and hope she reads the meaning there.

  She meets my gaze and nods. “Sure. There should be some in the fridge.”

  “Do you have strawberry?” Gem asks as she spears a piece of cantaloupe with her fork, oblivious to how much I’m panicking.

  “Probably. I’ll look,” I say, and lead Mom into the kitchen. I don’t know how to explain this with Gemma in the next room, chatting to my father about last night’s fight.

  “What’s going on, Hannah?” Mom asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a jar of jelly. “What’s this about an animal sacrifice?”

  I glance back to the dining room, but we’re far enough away that I can’t make out Gemma’s words. Even so, I keep my voice low as I tell Mom everything that happened last night. Savannah’s scream. The sacrificial raccoon. The pentacle. I leave out the part where Veronica used her magic in public. I may hate my ex, but I don’t hate her that much.

  When I’m finished, Mom lets out a long sigh. “Regs in this town . . . Their foolishness never ceases to amaze me.”

  “What if it wasn’t a Reg?”

  Mom cuts me a look, her eyes flashing. “You think this was a Blood Witch?”

  I nod, fingers trembling.

  “Hannah.” Mom rests a hand on my shoulder. “There haven’t been any Blood Witches in Salem since the trials. What makes you think they’d come back now?”

  Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because Veronica and I stumbled into a turf war between a Blood Witch and a group of Casters when we went on our school trip to Manhattan last month? Maybe because said Blood Witch threatened to kill me if she ever saw me again? But I can’t say that. Any of it. “I could feel it, Mom. There was an energy to that ritual. Something more than a Reg playing a prank on us.”

  Mom considers me, her gaze sweeping across my face. I worry she’ll see all the things I’m hiding from her, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she rolls her shoulders and cups her hands together. Air swirls in the space between them, spinning faster and faster until it starts to glow. “I’ll let Lady Ariana know.”

  I swallow. Hard. If anyone can determine whether there’s a Blood Witch in town, it’s our high priestess. Unfortunately, she’s also the person most likely to sense I’m hiding something, and she’s not exactly someone whose shit list you want to be on. Ever.

  Mom whispers something into the spinning orb and sets it free. Though I can’t see or sense it—that particular skill is one I won’t learn until I’m eighteen—I know it’s traveling across town to take a message to Lady Ariana. A few seconds pass, and Mom tilts her head like she’s listening to a response. “We’ll finish brunch, then you and Veronica will show Lady Ariana what happened last night.”

  Before I can protest about the inclusion of my ex, Mom turns and carries the jelly back to the dining room; I follow, my feet dragging against the carpet. The wall zaps me with static as I brush past.

  “The closest we had in the fridge was raspberry. Is that okay?” Mom asks, her voice free from the worry that closes my throat.

  “Raspberry works.” Gemma reaches across the table and takes the jar from my mom.

  I slip into the chair next to my best friend. Her presence doesn’t do anything to dissolve the pit of worry in my stomach. I pick at the eggs on my plate. They’ve gone cold.

  * * *

  • • •

  After brunch, I stall as much as I can before we have to meet Lady Ariana in the woods. When I’ve changed my outfit for the fifth time, Mom finally drags me out of the house. We drop Gemma at her place, then head for the site of last night’s bonfire. With the detour, we’re the last to arrive at the woods. Veronica and her parents—Mr. and Mrs. Matthews—are waiting outside their car, but Lady Ariana is still in her ancient Impala. It’s old enough to be rusted and rotted through, but the metal is in pristine condition. One of the many perks of being an Elemental High Priestess.

  As Dad shifts our car into park, Lady Ariana swings open her door and steps out. Her silver hair is pulled into a tight bun, the lines around her eyes and mouth set deep. She glides across the earth with the kind of grace only age and power can bestow. I hastily scramble out of our car and stand beside Veronica’s family.

  Lady Ariana stops before us; her eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly. “Show me.”

  I nod and stumble forward, Veronica close behind. Our parents wait for Lady Ariana to pass before bringing up the rear of our multigenerational investigation team. The ground before us is trampled, the grass squashed beneath the comings and goings of nearly one hundred Salem High students. With the amount of police presence last night, I’m surprised there isn’t any crime scene tape blocking off the area.

  When we reach the spot where Veronica and I fought last night, Veronica stops. “We were here when we heard the first scream.” Her voice is subdued, but I don’t trust it. She’s still wearing her graduation dress, the deep maroon beautiful against her white skin, the hem skimming the top of her knees. The clothing choice feels deliberate, like she’s trying to remind me of what I missed.

  “We followed the screams this way.” I shove past Veronica, feeling oddly underdressed in my denim shorts and the orange Salem State T-shirt Mom got me when the university bookstore was having a sale. “This is it. The raccoon was hanging there.” I point to the branch that held the sacrificial animal last night. The ground beneath is still red with blood.

  “You two,” Lady Ariana says, pointing at me and Veronica, “stay here.” Our high priestess crosses the small clearing, kneels, and places her hands just outside the pool of blood. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and that’s when the show really begins.

  Wind kicks up and swirls around us, pulling loose strands of hair out of my ponytail. Goose bumps prickle across my arms, and I shiver despite the late June heat. A slight tremor works through the earth, like the gentle ripple of a pond after a pebble’s been tossed in. The amount of magic in the clearing is heady. Intoxicating.

  After a moment, Lady Ariana stands, eyes still closed, and presses a hand against the trunk of the tree. I hold my breath, waiting as she reads the energy flowing through each ring of the tall oak.

  Mom fidgets beside me. “Was this the work of a Blood Witch?” Her voice trembles, and I wonder if she’s thinking of all those bedtime stories she told me—the ones with Blood Witches
so powerful they could control your mind or stop your heart with a single thought. I wonder if she’s ever faced a Blood Witch before. If she knows how terrifying their strength and speed is. How quickly their wounds heal.

  Lady Ariana shakes her head and pats the side of the trunk like it’s a beloved pet. “There’s no indication of magic by the tree. None in the blood.”

  “So that’s it? We’re still the only Clan in Salem?” The relief that flows through me nearly brings me to tears. We’re safe. She didn’t follow us home.

  Lady Ariana purses her lips. “Did I say I was finished?” With swift, sure steps, she crosses to the remnants of the fiery pentacle. As she kneels, Veronica reaches for me and digs her fingers into my bare skin.

  I yank my arm from her grip. What? I mouth the word to avoid disturbing Lady Ariana.

  Veronica nods toward the ashy pentacle. Her eyes grow wide as Lady Ariana puts a hand to the earth.

  And then I remember.

  Veronica used her magic to help put out the fire.

  I see the moment Lady Ariana senses magic in the ashes. Her eyes cloud over; a brisk wind blasts into us, knocking me back a step.

  And then the earth swallows us whole.

  “I’m disappointed in you.” Lady Ariana approaches with slow, deliberate steps. She stares down at us, where we’re buried to our necks in the ground. “Especially you, Veronica. How dare you use your gifts in the presence of non-witches.”

  Our parents go pale. My mom’s jaw falls open.

  Even with most of Lady Ariana’s wrath focused on Veronica, panic claws at my chest. Every instinct shouts at me to dig my fingers into the ground and pull myself free, but that’s exactly what she wants. So I remain still.

  Power crackles around our high priestess, and it’s like every element stretches toward her, eager for her energy. The soft breeze whips into a gale. The trampled grass around her feet stretches back to its full height, growing vibrant and green. I suck in a breath as the earth around my legs tightens, moving up and up until it pushes out my breath.

  “I demand an explanation.” Lady Ariana’s voice is quiet, and yet it permeates the air, burrowing in my ears, making her disapproval inescapable. “I found no traces of Blood Magic. So I ask again, child. Why did you use your magic so carelessly?”

  Veronica tenses beside me. A strangled cry passes her lips, and she struggles to inhale as the earth tightens around her chest. Her parents share a worried look, but they don’t intervene. No one intervenes when a high priestess is disciplining her coven. “I wouldn’t have done it if there had been another way,” she says between gasps.

  “Altruism is no excuse for breaking the Council’s laws.”

  “But—”

  “The Council leaves no room for exceptions. Our very existence demands absolute secrecy.” Lady Ariana sighs like she’s about to do something she finds distasteful.

  “Wait!” I struggle against the earth, but it doesn’t budge. “It’s not her fault. She didn’t have a choice. These guys, they were fighting, and they almost rolled into the flames. No one noticed her. I swear.”

  “Were these ‘guys’ Regs?”

  The earth tightens around my chest. “Well, yeah.”

  A sad smile softens her wrinkled face, and I catch a glimpse of something no one else gets to see in her. The love—and disappointment—of my grandmother. “I expect more from you, Hannah. The last time witches grew careless with their magic, the Regs rose against us. Witch Hunters killed hundreds of witches before we formed the Council and put them down. They killed Casters in this very town. You know this.”

  “I know,” I grumble. I’m not the one who needs a history lesson. “We don’t use our magic in public. We don’t risk ourselves for Regs. It’s not our place to save them from themselves,” I say, repeating her weekly reminder at coven meetings.

  “You may know, Hannah, but you do not understand.” My grandmother sighs and transforms again into Lady Ariana, high priestess of one of the largest Elemental covens in America. “You will learn. In time.”

  I don’t like the sound of that.

  “Veronica, our next private lesson will be delayed a month.”

  Beside me, Veronica blanches. “A month? But our next lesson isn’t until August. If you add another month, I’ll be away at college!”

  “You should have thought of that before you chose to use your magic so carelessly. Be grateful I don’t send you to school with a binding charm.” Lady Ariana’s threat hangs in the air, turning my stomach even though her words weren’t aimed at me. The thought of wearing a binding ring again, of forcing my magic out of reach, is almost unbearable. “Hannah, you will share in Veronica’s punishment. I’m moving your final initiation back thirty days.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!” All the magic I’ve been dying to learn my entire life—air messages and scrying and creating fire from nothing—slips further out of reach.

  “Isn’t that a bit harsh, Mother?” Dad says, coming to my defense. “Hannah did tell us about the Reg ritual this morning.”

  Lady Ariana’s expression remains impassive. “Did she mention Veronica’s transgressions?” When Dad doesn’t reply, she shakes her head. “I cannot show her favoritism, Tim, just as I couldn’t do the same for you. She and Veronica will share an equal punishment. And for her outburst, she’s banned from this week’s usual lesson as well.”

  Anger and bitter disappointment flare inside, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep my mouth shut. To hold back the tears stinging my eyes. I glare at Veronica, whose own outburst didn’t lengthen her sentence, but I don’t dare say anything. With my luck, I’d lose another week of lessons for breathing too loud.

  “Come.” Lady Ariana ushers our parents back toward the cars. “The girls need time to consider their actions.” She glances at me over her shoulder, and I catch a brief hint of familial love. “Good luck.”

  5

  WE’RE TRAPPED.

  It takes every ounce of the control that’s been hammered into me my entire life to keep the panic at bay. I reach for the earth, trying to convince it to let me go, but it’s still saturated with my grandmother’s power. Her magic is strong. Unyielding. Just like her.

  We’re not going anywhere.

  “This is ridiculous,” Veronica grumbles once she’s sure we’re alone. “I have three graduation parties tonight. This is going to ruin my manicure.”

  I close my eyes—partially to stop myself from rolling them at Veronica’s out-of-whack priorities—and push against the earth’s power, begging it to move, to soften, to loosen its hold. Nothing. Not the barest of budges. “Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have used your magic in public. You’ve gotten careless.”

  “Well, if you weren’t so irrationally afraid of Blood Witches, Lady Ariana never would have found out.” Veronica curses as she struggles against the immovable earth. “This is just as much your fault as mine.”

  “It’s not irrational to be afraid of someone who tried to kill you,” I snap back, and Veronica finally shuts up. I reach again for the earth’s power, but I’m like an ant trying to move a mountain. It doesn’t help that earth has always been my weakest element.

  Veronica doesn’t seem to be having better luck. She struggles and groans but stays firmly rooted in the ground.

  While we strain our magic to dig ourselves out of these vertical graves, my mind drifts back to last night. What reason could a Reg have for doing this? What did they hope to accomplish? And then there’s the bigger question: Who?

  Evan still seems like the best suspect given his purchases at the Cauldron, but that doesn’t mean it was him.

  There’s also Nolan. He certainly had a strong reaction to the sacrifice. Was he actually pissed or simply using his outrage to hide his involvement? He had plenty of time to perform the ritual before Gemma and I arrived in the woods.

/>   Or maybe this wasn’t even meant to be a spell. Maybe Savannah was trying to mess with me again. After she slipped in the blood and hurt her wrist, she could have faked seeing someone else run away from the scene of her crime.

  “This is useless.” Veronica sighs, her forehead damp with sweat. “There’s no way we can overpower Lady Ariana’s magic.”

  Veronica’s right, but I don’t say so. I don’t say anything. Despite what she thinks, this whole thing is her fault.

  The breeze picks up, fluttering the grass that’s practically at eye level. Lady Ariana spelled the earth, but she didn’t touch the air.

  “Do you remember when Gabe was eight, and he slipped off his binding charm without permission at our Beltane celebration?” I ask, the memory of Veronica’s younger brother bringing a smile to my lips despite everything.

  Veronica laughs. “He got so dizzy from dancing around the maypole that he spun a cyclone that nearly uprooted all of Lady Ariana’s gardens.” She glowers. “His first initiation was only pushed back two weeks for that.”

  “He was a child, V. Of course his sentence was lighter.” I scowl at her. “And he was surrounded by the coven, not a bunch of Regs.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is that I have an idea.” I reach for the air, my magic humming under my skin, and grab hold of its will. It resists at first—air is a slippery element—but soon it bends to my call and starts to spin.

  It takes all my focus to spiral the air into a thin cyclone and keep it from growing too large. The mini tornado pulls my hair loose and whips it around my face. As the wind reaches maximum velocity, I send the cyclone tunneling into the ground. Dirt flies into the air, and my makeshift shovel loosens the earth that binds me. I push until my muscles ache, until my power fades, and I only hope it’s enough.

  When the wind calms, and the dirt settles, Veronica and I are both covered in debris. I climb out of my loosened grave and fall onto my back, chest heaving from the effort.

  “Clever,” Veronica says, a smile on her face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she looked proud. The warmth in her gaze, the familiarity of that old us-against-the-world look in her eyes, punctures the armor around my heart.