Benton looks to me for confirmation, and I shake my head. “No, you don’t,” he answers, planting himself between us. “I think it’s time to leave.”
Nolan’s expression hardens. “Make me.”
“Don’t push me, Nolan. You know I can kick your ass five ways to—”
Fists fly, and before I can even track their movements, Nolan hits the ground. I’m fairly certain he swung first, but he’s the one with blood dripping from his nose.
“Asshole,” he says, holding his face.
“You’ll want to put some ice on that,” Benton says, totally nonchalant. Like punching people in the face makes for a completely average afternoon.
Nolan drags himself to his feet and brushes glass from his clothes. He still looks ready for a fight, but he doesn’t seem to like his odds. “This isn’t over,” he says, and turns to leave, shoving a second crystal ball to the floor on his way out.
I don’t release my sigh until the door slams shut behind him.
“Are you okay?” Benton turns to me and surveys the piles of shattered glass on the floor. “I can pay for the damage.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I hurry to the back room and grab a broom. Out of sight, I let out a shaky sigh. My hands are unsteady, and I press the heels of my palms against my eyes to keep tears from spilling out. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t stand this new reality, with Hunters lurking around every corner. I hate feeling so afraid all the damn time, hate not knowing whether Nolan’s a Hunter or if he’s just an asshole.
I force myself to take several deep breaths, letting the air’s calm soothe my anxious energy. I return to Benton, who I find directing an older woman away from the broken scrying tools. He takes the broom from me and sweeps up the glass. “Please let me cover the damages. At least one of those was my fault.”
I start to object, but the look on his face has me nodding instead. Besides, it’s not like the cost matters to him, not the way it would to anyone else our age. “Thank you,” I say, and he smiles. I kneel to hold the dustpan in place, and from this angle, I notice a bruise blooming along his jaw. “Did Nolan actually land a punch?”
“What?” Benton’s hand goes to his face when I point. “Oh, this? No, it . . . I had that tournament a couple days ago. Took second place because of this hit.”
“Second place is still pretty badass.” I stand and dump the glass into the trash. “And thank you again. For helping with Nolan. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Anytime, Walsh.” Benton nudges my shoulder with his, and I get the feeling things are finally back to normal, that he’s finally moved on from his crush. “So, are we ready to go to the police? Between the video you sent and Nolan turning up here, that has to be enough evidence, right?”
I make a noncommittal noise, piecing together a different puzzle from the one Benton’s working on. Nolan’s the right height to be Veronica’s attacker, and he’s certainly athletic enough to be a Hunter. I need to update the detective about Nolan’s visit and see if he’s made any other progress in his investigation.
“Hannah?”
“Yeah?”
Benton tilts his head, considering me. “Is everything okay? I thought you’d be thrilled to catch Nolan.”
“I am. It’s just . . . I don’t know. It’s good to know who did it, but it still sucks that it happened at all, you know?” We take care of the last of the glass, and I lead Benton to the front of the store. “And you saw the SUV. That could be the same car that ran me and Gem off the road.”
“How is Gemma?” Benton asks, his cheeks flushing a bit pink.
I catalog his reaction to share with her later. “Better. She got out of the hospital yesterday, but she’s going to miss months of dance.”
“She must be crushed. I’m glad she’s okay, though. That both of you are.” We squeeze by a tourist examining the shop’s rune collection. “We should try to link the crash to his car, then the police won’t have any reason not to believe us. We could drive by his place tomorrow and check for damage.”
“Morgan and I are going out tomorrow, but if you want to go without me, we can meet up the day after to review?”
Benton smiles. “That’d be great. I think I’ll stop by the police station tomorrow, too. I can hold off on telling them about Nolan, but I want to know if they’ve made any progress on the fire,” he says, sounding more nonchalant than I’m sure he feels about his near-death experience. He reaches into his pocket. “But first, let me pay for this.” He holds up the tags from each of the broken crystal balls.
I smile. True to his word to the very end. “Sure thing.”
When we clear the shelves and the register comes into view, the line is three people deep. I slip behind the counter to help ring up purchases. Benton waits patiently at the back of the line, handing over the tags with a self-conscious smile once he gets to the front.
“I’ve got this.” I send Cal to greet the new customers coming through the door and take the tags from Benton. “One ten twenty-eight,” I say, and Benton swipes his card like he’s buying a five-dollar coffee and slips it back into his wallet.
Lauren appears in my periphery, in deep blue robes today, leading her latest tarot client to the exit. She swings by the register on her way back through the shop. “How is everything going over here?” she asks, her eyes lingering on Benton, who’s loitering at the counter without any obvious purchases.
“Great.” I pump a proper customer-service level of enthusiasm into my voice. It’s clearly artificial, but it’ll have to do. “Benton was kind enough to pay for the crystal balls I broke.” I shoot him a look, hoping he reads my request to hide the fight from my boss.
“She didn’t break them. At least not on purpose.” Benton turns and flashes Lauren a smile. “I startled her.” He covers so seamlessly I could hug him.
Lauren returns the bright expression. “Well then, for your good deed, how about a complimentary tarot reading?”
The smile falls from Benton’s face. “Oh, no. That’s all right.” He steps back, toward the exit. “I appreciate the offer.” He checks his phone. “But I really need to head out. Maybe another time?”
“Of course.” Lauren tilts her head as she watches Benton disappear through the front door. “You know, Hannah, if you ever want a tarot reading of your own, you’ve earned one. On the house.” My boss turns away as a customer approaches. “Can I help you?” She follows the older woman to the wand case, pulling the keys from her pocket.
Cal slips back behind the counter. “How did those crystal balls really break?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been around long enough to recognize when you’re spinning a story for Lauren. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You aren’t going to tell Lauren I lied, are you?”
Cal shakes his head. “What happened?”
“Remember that video you sent me last night?” I ask, and when Cal nods, I continue. “The guy from the video, Nolan? He was just in here.”
The color drains from Cal’s face. “He was here? I’m so sorry, Hannah. If I had noticed him come in, I would have . . .” He trails off, either unsure or unwilling to share what he would have done. “Are you okay? Did he threaten you?”
“Not really.” Cal’s been great these past couple weeks, but there are already too many Regs involved in this mess. I can’t drag him in, too.
But Cal’s not buying it. “‘Not really’ doesn’t mean ‘no.’ Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to say something to Lauren?”
A customer approaches, cutting off our conversation. We work together to ring her up, and when she’s gone, I assure Cal that I’m fine. He presses me to tell Detective Archer, and I agree. He already knows about the video, and I was planning to update him anyway.
I need this Hunter caught so I can stop suspecting everyone I know of trying to kill me.
20
>
“ARE YOU REALLY GOING to wear that?”
“What’s wrong with it?” I glance down at my outfit. I’m wearing my favorite jeans—well, second favorite. My favorite pair met an early death after that whole blood-on-an-old-receipt thing—and a black T-shirt with a Rubik’s Cube design on it. “We’re just going hiking.”
Gemma leans heavily on her crutches and tilts her head to one side. Her eyes squint as she scrutinizes my outfit. “Take the shirt off. It’s ridiculous.” She maneuvers over to the closet and picks through my clothes. “Don’t you have anything in here besides T-shirts?”
“Not much.” I slide the shirt over my head and toss it in the corner with the rest of the clothes Gemma vetoed. “There are some plaid button-ups in there.”
Hangers zip across the metal bar as Gemma picks through my options. “Would it kill you to buy something with a little structure?”
“I have a couple of V-neck tees. Does that count?”
“Barely.” Gemma pulls out a soft blue V-neck and tosses it to me. It’s one of the few shirts I own that doesn’t have some sort of graphic on the front.
“Are you sure?” I ask as I pull it over my head. “Isn’t it kind of boring?”
Gemma appraises me when I’m fully dressed, making me turn so she can get a 360-degree view. “Nope, it’s perfect. Though we could have done a little more with your hair this morning.”
I flop onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I’m starting to regret my decision to let Gemma help me get ready. “This isn’t prom, Gem. It’s a walk in the woods. I don’t need to go all out.”
“Ooh, do you think you’ll take Morgan to prom next year? Are you going to rock a suit again like you did with Veronica, or will you both wear dresses this time?” Gemma falls silent for a moment then curses under her breath. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned you-know-who.”
“Veronica and I are old news. It’s fine.”
Gemma’s crutches creak as she crosses the room to join me on the bed. “Wow. Look at you being over your ex. I guess meeting someone new will do that.”
“Well, that is what the infamous They always say. But could we stop with the fanciful leaps into the future? Morgan and I have been on one date. Half a date, actually, since I had to bail to deal with the Witch Hunter problem.” It still feels weird—and amazing—to be so open with her about the witchy parts of my life.
“Speaking of which, have you thought about what to tell Morgan?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, a clear warning threaded through my tone. Gemma knows I can’t tell Morgan about any of this. I bend over and pull out the shoe organizer from under my bed, searching for a pair that’ll be good for the hike but isn’t hideous.
“Look, I know you can’t tell her about the witch thing.” Gemma says witch like I’m in some weird cult. “But she deserves to know someone might be after you.”
“Gemma, we’ve talked about this.” I stand and pace the room, avoiding my best friend’s increasingly accusatory gaze. “Besides, I’d say the car crash is a pretty clear indication that someone is ‘after me.’”
“I still can’t believe your parents are letting you out of the house when they know about the Witch Hunter.” Gemma adjusts her hold on her crutches and stands up, hopping a bit to balance on her good leg. “My parents almost didn’t let me come over today, and they think the car thing was a freak accident.”
“Actually, my mom doesn’t know I’m going on a date. She had to take her students to Boston this morning as part of their art history class.” Besides, I’m guessing Gemma’s parents were hesitant because of more than just the crash. “But Dad still feels guilty about not believing me when I first thought something was wrong, so he was easy enough to convince.”
It doesn’t hurt that he’s working from home today anyway, so he had no excuse to keep me from borrowing his car.
“Speaking of parents . . .” Gemma stares at the floor, leaning heavily on her crutches. “I’m really sorry about mine. I should have said something to them sooner. I honestly thought they’d get over it.”
“It’s fine,” I say, though I can’t count the number of times I wished Gem would say something over the past year. “I didn’t think you even noticed.”
“Of course I noticed, Han. I hate that they pulled all that crap, and I hate that I didn’t call them out sooner. I should have said something the first time they changed the sleepover rules. But I promise, I’m going to keep a close eye on them. I don’t want you to feel unwelcome at my house.”
“I’m not sure that’ll ever go away completely.” I reach for Gemma’s hand and squeeze tight. “But I appreciate you looking out for me.”
Gemma releases me and glances at her phone. “Okay, enough about my parents. Let’s get you to your date!”
The drive to Gemma’s house is filled end-to-end with advice for my date. She makes me promise to text her with updates the second it’s over and wishes me luck as she slips out of the car. I catch her mom watching us from their front window, but I’m not going to let her put a damper on my day. Yet without Gemma’s company, doubt creeps in and my limbs buzz with nervous energy as I make the journey to Morgan’s place. My stupid palms get sweaty and slip on the steering wheel. Pre-date jitters turn my insides into a battleground. I feel like I might simultaneously throw up and pass out.
My phone’s GPS guides me to a two-story ranch with gray-blue siding and bright-white trim. A SOLD sign still marks the yard. I pull into the driveway and sit with the engine running, trying to decide whether I should text Morgan that I’m here or knock on the door.
Before I can decide, a text comes through from Benton.
BH: No updates about the fire. The police asked if I had any leads, so I told them about Nolan. I hope that’s okay.
I updated Detective Archer last night anyway, but before I can reply and reassure Benton that I’m fine, a second text comes through.
BH: Have fun on your date!
Microscopic butterflies flutter in my veins, and I send Benton a quick thank-you and a promise to meet tomorrow, as the front door swings open. Morgan sticks her head out and waves me inside. I cut the engine and unbuckle my seat belt. Just breathe, I remind myself, pushing away all thoughts of Hunters and detectives and car crashes. I won’t let any of it ruin today.
Morgan is waiting inside the foyer when I reach the front door. A shy smile tugs at her lips. “I’m normally the person who yells at people for this, but I still need a couple minutes to get ready.”
I follow her into the house. Boxes in various stages of unpacking line the walls. The dining room table holds what looks like their entire collection of pots, pans, and plates. “What’s left? You look really cute.” Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, her red curls swinging against her shoulders. She wears denim shorts and a green sleeveless shirt that has a built-in belt around the waist. I wonder if that’s what Gemma means by structure.
Morgan’s cheeks flush, and she motions for me to follow her. “I haven’t unpacked all my shoes yet. I have this great pair of hiking boots, but I can’t find them. I just need another minute or two, promise. You can wait in here.” She leads me through the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, depositing me in front of her desk while she disappears into her walk-in closet, which is crammed full with cardboard boxes.
Despite the state of her closet, Morgan’s personality is already climbing over the walls. She’s definitely neater than I am. Her bed is made—mine almost never is—complete with little throw pillows in blues and purples. She has a collage of pictures pinned above her desk, her surrounded by friends in matching outfits. Costumes, I realize. They must be her dance friends from Duluth. I bet she misses them. I doubt messages and video calls make up for being forced to move right before senior year.
The focal point of the room is a pair of six-foot bookcases filled to bursting with nove
ls. She’s arranged them by color, and the rainbow effect seems fitting. I scan the titles and find a lot of my favorites. She even has books about fictional elementals, stories I’ve read and secretly loved even though the magic inside is nothing like the truth of my Clan.
I find more books on Morgan’s desk. The one on top is a slim pink book with . . .
Wait. Are those girls kissing on the cover?
“Adler’s books are great. Have you read any?” Morgan emerges from the closet with the elusive pair of brown hiking boots.
I shake my head and pick up the book. “Is this about lesbians?”
Morgan nods. “Well, one of the main characters figures out she’s a lesbian, but her love interest is bisexual. The other main character is this totally hilarious, foul-mouthed rich boy. You could borrow it if you want.”
“Is it any good?”
“So. Good.” Morgan takes the book from my hands and flips through to a couple of earmarked pages. I stifle a cringe. Who tabs book pages? “It’s so much fun. There’s kissing and . . . other stuff.”
Morgan’s face flames bright red, and my cheeks burn in response, my brain happy to fill in said other stuff with ideas of my own. I push the thoughts away. This is so not second-date conversation.
“Anyway.” She passes the book back to me. “You should check it out and let me know what you think.”
I take the book from her, our fingers brushing, which sends a little thrill down my spine. “I will.” I trace the book’s cover with my thumb. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yup. Sorry for making you wait.” Morgan slips her phone into her back pocket, laces up her boots, and we head out for part one of my master plan.
* * *
• • •
The drive to the first portion of our date doesn’t take long, but by the time we find suitable parking and emerge from the car, the sun is past its peak in the sky.
“Where are we?” Morgan asks, shading her eyes from the glare. The sky is a perfect blue, dotted through with fluffy white clouds.
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