The second text, the one from Cal, makes my skin go clammy. It’s not about work.
He managed to hack into my neighbor’s camera feed. I click on the attached video and watch the fuzzy scene unfold with growing dread. The camera doesn’t cover my house, but I see the SUV pull up across the street. Someone climbs out and walks offscreen with a brick in their hands. When they race back to the car, I catch a glimpse of their face. It’s fuzzy, but I’m not at all surprised when I recognize the smug expression.
Nolan.
19
SEEING NOLAN’S FACE STOPS me in my tracks. I’ve almost made it to the safety of Mom’s car, where I could hide until my parents came looking for me. Instead, I return to the backyard, searching for Detective Archer. He’s on his phone when I find him, talking in fierce, hushed tones. He hangs up when he sees me.
I show him the video—carefully sidestepping how I came to be in possession of such a thing. Cal just did me a solid; I’m not going to rat him out to the police. Archer pulls out his little notebook, and I give him all the information I know about Nolan. When I’m done, the detective slips his notes back into his suit jacket. He doesn’t seem convinced about Nolan’s guilt, but he promises to look into it and sends me back to my parents to practice the blasphemous magic.
My parents rightly assume being paired with Veronica didn’t go over well, and they walk me through the new magic. I’m terrible at it, partly because learning new magic is always difficult and partly because I don’t want to be able to do such things. Mom coaxes me through the techniques, and I promise to try if she’ll teach me to send messages with air magic.
She agrees, and when we get home that night—after I promise not to tell my grandmother—Mom lets me copy the explanation from her Book of Shadows, and I learn to create my first air message. This type of magic makes my bones sing with the very rightness of it. This is what the Middle Sister wanted for us, magic that works with the flow of nature. She didn’t want us stealing breath or freezing blood.
With the basics of my new communication method intact, I convince my parents to let me visit Gem, despite the darkening summer sky. Even if something happens to my phone, I’ll be able to get in touch, which is the fact that finally convinces them. Mom lets me borrow her car, and I’m on the road the second she hands over the keys.
When I finally get to Gemma’s house, I stand outside her door, afraid to knock. I’m grateful that Gemma stood up for me in the hospital, but I have no idea how that’s going to affect the way her parents treat me. Will they make a better effort? Will they be even more standoffish? My phone buzzes in my pocket. Gemma asking what’s taking me so long, or maybe Cal checking in. I never got a chance to text him back, but I can deal with that later. I suck in a breath and knock.
There’s movement inside, and the door swings open, revealing Mrs. Goodwin. After a moment of hesitation, she invites me in. “Gemma’s upstairs in her room. You know the way.” Her words aren’t overly warm, but at least she doesn’t remind me to keep the door open.
“Thanks, Mrs. G,” I say, and slip past her. Walking up the stairs to Gemma’s room has never been so hard. Even with days to prepare, I still have no idea what I’m going to say to her, but I have to say something. She saw me using magic, and she’s made it very clear that she remembers every last second of what happened.
Guilt twists knots in my stomach. My grandmother would be furious if she found out what I’m about to do. She’d send me to the Council without a second thought, especially with one of their agents in our midst.
“Hannah? Is that you?” Something creaks inside Gemma’s room, a sound I can’t place until her door swings open. Crutches. She leans heavily on the supports, her entire right leg consumed by her hot-pink cast.
Tears spill over my eyes. Seeing her like this, here in her room, is a million times worse than the hospital. It makes this nightmare so much more real. “My god, Gem. I’m so sorry.”
She glances down at herself. “I’m fine. Get your ass in here.” Gemma closes the door behind us. “How did you do that?” she asks, cutting right to the point. “You stopped the water. You unbent the door. How?”
Even though I knew these questions were coming, I freeze.
“Come on, Hannah, don’t shut me out.” Gemma maneuvers to the bed and props her leg up with pillows. “We’ve been best friends our entire lives. You can trust me.”
“It’s not about whether I trust you. Of course I do.” I perch at the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my thighs. “It’s just . . . Would you want to know, even if knowing put your life in danger?”
Gemma points to her broken leg. “My life is already in danger.” Her voice is thick, and it breaks a deep, hidden part of me to see her like this.
“I’m so sorry you got hurt.” A shock of fresh pain wells inside. Gemma has only ever dreamed of doing one thing with her life. She was born to be a dancer, but now I see the life she’s sacrificed so much for slipping out of her reach. “What do the doctors say?”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“I’m not.” Okay, maybe a little. “I know you want answers, and I’m trying to figure out how to give them to you. But I also want to know how you are. How you really are. Not the optimistic spin you give your parents.”
Gem reaches for my hand and squeezes tight. “I’m scared,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as tears fill her eyes. “They had to put a metal rod in my leg to set the break. I’m going to need physical therapy, and I’ll be out of dance classes for at least the entire fall. I don’t know if I’ll be recovered in time for auditions. And if I can’t audition, I can’t get into dance school.”
“So maybe you take a gap year,” I say, trying to be supportive, but it only makes Gemma cry harder. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. If anyone can make a comeback, it’s you.” I try to wrap my best friend in a hug, but she pulls away.
“Enough stalling,” she says, wiping the tears from her face. “I need to know what’s going on. Are you a mutant? Are you telekinetic? Ooh, can you read minds? What am I thinking right now?”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “I’m not a comic book character.”
Gem raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question. Can you read minds or not?”
“No. I can’t. And I can’t move objects with my mind. That’s not a thing.”
“But you can do something,” she insists. “I saw you.”
Her words kill the humor in my heart. She watches me, eager for my answer, but I don’t know what to say. Lady Ariana’s voice is in my head, stern and terrifying as she spends my entire childhood reminding the coven what could happen if a Reg ever found out about us. I hear my parents’ constant reminders to tell no one, not even Gemma. Detective Archer reminded us tonight of the dangers of letting our secret slip, even for a moment. There’s no way I can tell her.
And yet, no matter how much I want to deny it, Gemma’s a part of this now. The Hunter probably didn’t know she was in my car, but that doesn’t change the fact that he hurt her. How can I expect Gem to protect herself when she has no idea who or what she’s facing?
I lie back against the bed and glance at the girl who’s been my best friend my whole life, the only person who knows me better than Veronica. Or will, once she knows this final piece of me.
“Do you believe in magic?” The words hang in the air between us, and I cannot believe I’m doing this.
Gemma falls silent, like she’s trying to decide if I’m being serious or still joking about comic book characters. Like she’s trying to decode whether this is some sort of test, and if it is, which answer gets her what she wants.
Finally, finally, she speaks. “After what I saw in the car, yes.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
I rub my hands along my jeans to wipe away the nervous sweat on my palms.
“Hanna
h . . .”
“I know. I know. I just . . . I don’t know how to say this. Technically, I’m not supposed to say anything.”
“Holy shit.” Gemma’s eyes go wide. “Are you some kind of witch or something?” She falls back in the bed until she’s lying beside me. “I knew it.”
Her words echo in my head. They sing across my skin like slipping on the perfect pair of jeans. Like coming home. But my stomach’s still a twisted, tangled mess.
I stare at the ceiling, bracing myself. Just say it. “I’m an Elemental Witch.”
A stillness settles over the room. I hold my breath.
“Elemental.” Gem tests the feel of the word on her tongue. “So, that’s how you stopped the water? What about the metal door?”
A strange sensation buzzes in my chest, and I finally exhale. It’s like I’m embarrassed and excited and terrified all at once, and I can’t seem to fully inhale around so many emotions. “I didn’t do anything to the metal. I used the water to push it back out. Elementals can only control the four elements—fire, air, water, and earth.”
Gemma nods, like it’s the most obvious explanation she’s ever heard. “So, can you, like, create fire and cause earthquakes and . . . something with air?”
I shake my head. “Elementals can create fire after we turn eighteen, but we can only manipulate the other three. Like cooling the air. Moving earth or stone. Freezing water, directing it. But there are limits. I can’t control the weather or anything like that.”
“Interesting.” She furrows her brow and brushes a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Controlling the weather would be a handy trick though.”
“Gemma, this isn’t a game. Magic isn’t a ‘trick.’ If my high priestess found out you knew about me, if she knew I told a Reg—”
“A ‘Reg’?”
“Regs are people like you. Non-witches.”
Gemma raises one eyebrow. “Like Muggles or something?”
A smile pulls at my lips. “Yeah. Exactly.”
Gemma pouts. “This is bullshit. How is it you got a real-life Hogwarts letter, and I’m a stupid Muggle?”
“There’s nothing wrong with being a Reg. Trust me, being an Elemental isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”
“Yeah, except when someone attacks you, you can actually defend yourself.” Gemma points to her cast. “Did another Elemental do this to me?”
I shake my head. “No. We think there’s a Witch Hunter after the coven.”
That gets a brow raise. “Witch Hunter? Is that who’s after you? Wait, are Nolan and Veronica witches, too? Is that why someone torched Nolan’s house and tried to rob Veronica?”
That actually gets some semblance of a laugh. “Nolan is most definitely a Reg.” My humor dies when I remember the fuzzy video on my phone. Is he more than that though? Is he the Hunter?
“Nolan’s a Reg,” Gemma says, her eyes narrowing, “but Veronica isn’t.”
Shit. This is what I get for coming unprepared. “It’s bad enough I told you about me, Gem. I can’t out anyone else in my coven.”
“Coven? How many of you are there?”
“Not many. There are only about a dozen families currently living in town.”
“Right. Not many,” she grumbles like that number is huge or something. “How many people know about this?”
“You’re the only Reg I’ve ever told. And it’s technically treason to tell, so you’re probably the only living Reg who knows.”
Gemma flinches. “Please stop calling me that.”
“Calling you what? A Reg?”
She shudders again. “Yes. That. It makes me feel pathetic. Like you look down on me or something. It’s gross.”
Heat flares to my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“What about your parents? Do they know?”
“It’d be kinda hard to keep it from them since it’s hereditary.”
Gemma nods, her expression growing pensive. “So, you and your parents. Veronica and hers . . .”
“Stop.” I hold up my hands to cut her off. “I’m sorry, Gem. But I can’t tell you who this touches. I know it sucks, but if the Council finds out—”
She scoffs. “What would they do? Ground you?”
“Execute me,” I say, and Gem flinches. “Or at the very least, they’d strip me of my powers, which almost no one survives anyway. And there’s a good chance you wouldn’t survive the Council either.”
“Shit.” Gemma sighs. “So what? There’s a council that goes around killing witches?”
“Not exactly. Their mission is to protect our secret. By any means necessary.” There’s so much more to it than that, but Gem already knows too much. She doesn’t need to know how each Clan has a voice on the Council. Hell, she doesn’t even need to know Elementals aren’t the only witches out there. “Which means you absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, mention anything about this. To anyone. Including my parents. Mom is already suspicious that you might know. I told her you were unconscious once we hit the water.”
“Okay, fine. But you gotta help me out with this Hunter thing. He might be after me, too, so I need to know how to deal with that.”
“I agree. Which is why I’ve said anything at all.”
Gemma shifts and reaches for my hand. She squeezes tight. “What’s the plan?”
* * *
• • •
Gemma and I spend hours going over various theories about the Witch Hunter’s identity. I text Cal a thank-you for his help, send the video to Benton with a quick meet me at work tomorrow message, and show Gemma my proof against Nolan. Her face drains of color when she sees his SUV, and I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before.
His car looks just like the one that pushed us over the bridge.
As Gem and I go over the evidence against Nolan, I slip up and mention that Detective Archer’s an agent with the Council, which leads to a whole second explanation of Caster Witches. I stress the importance of the detective never finding out what she knows, and I leave with her promise that she won’t do anything without me.
Once I’m home, Gemma goes completely radio silent. I tell myself she’s sleeping, still recovering from her stay at the hospital, but a small part of me worries that she’s not as cool with my lineage as she pretended to be. I know she’d never tell anyone what I am, but I don’t want this to change our friendship. I don’t want to lose the Gemma I know and love.
My worries turn out to be unfounded. Her first text comes through the next day while Mom drives me to work, and by the middle of my Cauldron shift, she’s blowing up my phone.
The battery runs dangerously low from the constant vibrations. I ignore the latest message buzzing against my leg as I run a dust cloth over the collection of crystal balls and blackened mirrors that we keep in a back corner of the shop for scrying. Though Gem speaks in coded language like I taught her, the whole day has been a barrage of ridiculous theories about the identity of the Witch Hunter and demands for a demonstration of my Elemental power.
Gemma’s request leaves me conflicted. My whole life, I’ve been taught to hide my magic at all costs. It’s become this secret, personal thing. Yet the idea of finally showing Gemma my true self, showing her all of who I am, holds a thrill of freedom.
A shoulder knocks into mine, sending the crystal ball in my hand tumbling to the ground. My magic reacts, pulling up air to act as a pillow. I realize at the last second what I’ve done and force the air to dissipate. Glass shatters all over the floor, only a second later than it should have.
There’s sharp laughter behind me. “Watch out, witchy girl. You could hurt yourself.”
Dread creeps up my spine as I turn to see who pushed me, a shot of panic pushing adrenaline through my veins. “What do you want, Nolan?” I inject annoyance into my tone to cover the fear. This corner of the shop is hidden from t
he register where Cal is working. I’m all alone with the boy who threw a brick through my window, who possibly ran my car off the road.
Who is very likely a Witch Hunter.
Nolan cocks his head to one side, a predatory smile curving his lips. “Just stopping by to check on my handiwork.” He runs a finger along the top of a crystal ball, his movements infused with the lazy patience of someone who thinks they hold all the power. “I wonder if any of those cuts will scar.”
A million biting retorts rise to my lips before my brain remembers that I was afraid, that Nolan might be more than a pompous jock. The bell above the door chimes, and I latch on to the distraction. “I have other customers. I have to go.”
“I’d wait if I were you. We have so much to talk about.” Nolan steps in front of me, blocking my escape. “I know what you did at my house.” He leans close, his voice a whisper against my skin. “I’m going to tell everyone your secret.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, trying to sound irritated, like his words are nonsense, but my voice breaks. I try to shove past him. “Get out of my way.”
Nolan catches my wrist and holds me in place. His fingers dig in hard enough to bruise. “Not until you admit what you did.”
“Let go of me.” I rip my arm from his grip, my whole body shaking. He’s still blocking my path back to the register. I try to remember all the things we learned last night, how to find the water energy in his blood and freeze it, but the memory slips through my fingers like trying to capture smoke with a butter-fly net.
He pulls out his phone. “Not until you admit your crimes on camera.”
“My crimes?”
“Is everything okay back here?” Benton rounds the corner, sidestepping the broken glass, and glances between me and Nolan. “What’s going on?”
“None of your business, Hall.” Nolan tilts his head up, the edge of his jaw sharp. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Hannah and I have some unfinished business.”
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