“Hannah? Can you hear me? How do you feel?” Detective Archer stands behind a pair of paramedics.
I yank the mask off my face. “Where’s my dad? Is he all right?”
“He’s on route to the hospital. The doctors will know more once they examine him.”
“But was he alive? Did they get him breathing?”
“Miss, you need to keep the mask on.” The paramedic eases it onto my face and pushes the stretcher until it’s flush with the back of the ambulance. She shares a look with the man across from her, like they’re ready to lift me inside.
I shoot a panicked look at Morgan.
“I’ll take your car and meet you there,” she promises.
Before they can stop me, I pull off the oxygen mask again. “Call Gemma. Tell her to call my mom.”
I don’t even see Morgan nod before I’m shoved into the back of the ambulance and the doors slam shut. The vehicle jolts, rolling forward until there’s nothing but sirens and flashing lights.
* * *
• • •
They won’t let me see my dad.
I pace the waiting room, afraid to stop moving. If I sit, I’ll have to admit that this is happening. The hospital released me as a patient two hours ago once they confirmed my vitals were fine. Morgan perches at the edge of a chair, my seat beside her empty, watching me pace.
Despite the NO CELL PHONES sign, I cling to mine like a lifeline. Mom called while I was waiting for the doctor to approve my discharge. She ended the field trip early, but the bus is stuck in traffic on the way back from Boston.
My heartbeat falters each time a doctor comes in, but they always call someone else’s name. The stress and the wait have my stomach in knots. I need answers. Now.
“Hannah, sit. You’ll make yourself dizzy.” Morgan rubs at her face like she’s the one who’s lightheaded. “They’ll be out as soon as they have an update.”
“I know.” I pause, coming to a full stop for the first time in hours. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be okay.”
Morgan stares at her hands before glancing up at me. “I want to be here for you.”
I sink into the chair beside my date, reaching for her hand. She twines her fingers through mine, and I finally feel like I’m grounded to something real. Someone who’s not going to let me float away. “What am I going to do?”
Morgan rubs her thumb along my wrist as she thinks. “Take it one step at a time, I suppose.”
A humorless chuckle gets caught in my throat. “If I knew what any of those steps were, maybe I could do that.”
“Well, one step is definitely contacting your mom, which you’ve done. Is there any other family you should call?”
I shake my head. “Neither of my parents have siblings.” I should probably call my grandmother, but I can’t. Not without bursting into tears and spilling our secrets in front of the entire waiting room, and I won’t risk missing news about my dad by slipping outside to make the call.
Anger ripples through me, hot and bitter. The Council is supposed to protect us. The whole point of their existence is to keep us safe from Hunters.
They failed.
I’m not waiting for Detective Archer. I’m not waiting for the rest of the Council to decide the best course of action. I’m done with all of them.
I’m going to find this Hunter myself and make him pay for what he’s done.
“Hannah, what’s wrong?”
“Besides everything?” I snap, spewing my hurt all over her.
Morgan considers me, like she’s searching for something and isn’t sure she likes what she sees.
“Hannah!” The squeak of crutches follows Gemma’s voice. She swings into the waiting room, eyes searching the rows of seats. “Hannah?”
I stand and start toward my best friend. “Over here.”
Gemma maneuvers through the crowd and drops her crutches where we meet. She crushes me in a hug, and tears spill down my cheeks. I soak in her familiar presence. Finally, someone who understands. Someone who gets how bad this all really is.
“How is he?” she asks as she pulls away, wiping tears from my face with her thumbs.
“I don’t know. The doctors haven’t said anything. And my mom is stuck in traffic and my house is gone and I don’t even have any clothes or anything.” The story comes pouring out: Morgan and I following the fire trucks to my house, the firemen carrying Dad out of the blaze.
“It’s okay, Hannah. We’ll figure this out.” She hugs me tight and whispers into my ear. “Do you think this was the you-know-what?”
She means the Hunter.
I nod.
Morgan steps up beside us. There’s a questioning turn to the raise of her brow, but she doesn’t ask what Gemma said. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
Gemma holds my arm for balance. “She’ll stay with me.”
“Miss Walsh?” A woman stands in the entryway to the ICU. “Miss Walsh?”
I hand Gemma off to Morgan and hurry over. “Is my dad okay? Is he awake?”
The woman, whose hospital badge says Dr. Cristina Perez, looks over my shoulder at the waiting room. “Do you have another parent here?”
“My mom is on her way.” I squeeze my phone, willing it to ring. It doesn’t. “Is he okay?”
Morgan and Gemma come up behind me. Dr. Perez glances between them.
“They’re fine. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
She nods, her expression neutral, which only worries me more. “Why don’t you come with me.”
The four of us weave through the busy halls of the hospital while Dr. Perez tries to prepare us for what we’re about to see. “Mr. Walsh is still in critical condition. You can see him, but you should know he’s on a ventilator. We don’t know how extensive the lung damage is.”
Before we even get there, I can see it. Dad unconscious on a bed, tubes and wires sticking out everywhere. “Why can’t you wake him and find out?”
“There’s a degree of swelling in his brain. We have him sedated, but we don’t know yet what will happen when we reduce the drugs. For now, we’re giving his brain time to recover before we try.”
“Swelling? How did that happen?” My knees go weak, and I stumble. Morgan is there in an instant, catching me by the elbow and keeping me on my feet.
Dr. Perez glances at her clipboard. “It looks like he hit his head when he fell.”
I think of the Hunter at Veronica’s house. Or someone knocked him out. That would explain why the fire spread. How it overpowered him.
Explanations and timelines continue, but I don’t hear them. I know I’m right. The Witch Hunter did this. He must have realized you can’t kill Elementals with fire, at least not while we’re awake.
“Your father will likely be unconscious for a few days. Maybe a few weeks. We’ll continue to monitor the swelling, but he might need surgery to relieve the pressure.” The doctor gestures to a closed door. “You can go in and see him if you like.”
I stand there, staring at the door like I haven’t the slightest clue how to open it. Dad made chocolate chip pancakes for me and Gemma this morning. I don’t know how to reconcile that man with the one waiting for me in this room.
“Thank you, Doctor. We can take it from here.” Gemma reaches for the door and opens it. “We’re right behind you.”
My heart lodges itself somewhere in my throat. I can’t do this. I can’t go in there. Even from the doorway, the room is too bright. Florescent lights glint off thin tubes that run from Dad’s arm to the IV bags.
Morgan reaches for my hand and squeezes. The pressure of her touch grounds me. Blinking back tears, I take the first tentative step into the room.
The air weighs heavy with death. Thick and stagnant. A ringtone chimes. My pulse quickens, and I check my phone. Not mine.
“Sh
it. Sorry.” Gemma pulls out her phone and presses it to her ear. “Mom? I’m at the hospital with Hannah. I’ll talk to you later.” She hangs up and puts the phone in her pocket.
“You should call her back. Make sure it’s okay if I stay over tonight.” I take another step forward but stop shy of the bed. He looks so pale. I wrap my arms around myself, trying—failing—to hold it all together.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s okay, Gemma. I’ll keep her company.” Morgan holds the door open for Gem and then slams it shut behind her.
“What are you doing?” I turn and find Morgan leaning against the door, blocking the exit.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to close it that hard.” She holds up her hands. “I just need to ask you something. In private. This is the first chance I’ve had since you said it.”
“Said what?” Panic threads through my veins, and my magic stirs. I reach for the air, absorbing its strength, ready to use it in an instant if I need to.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Hannah. I just want to talk.”
“So talk.”
Morgan shakes her head, and there’s this gleam of hope in her eyes that throws me off balance. “You said something at your house, something familiar. I’ve been spinning it around in my head since we got here, but I need to know if you meant it.” She pauses and runs a hand through her hair. “You said you could stop the fire. How?”
I never should have said that. I press my magic down, releasing my hold on the air. “I don’t know. It was the heat of the moment.”
“I considered that, but you were so sure. And then I thought about the woods and the stream and the candle. You seemed so at home.” Morgan steps forward, her hands still raised in surrender as if I’m the one holding her hostage. “Please tell me you meant what you said about the fire.”
Wait. Is Morgan . . . I shake the thought away. No. There’s no way. I would have sensed her magic the first time we met if she were an Elemental. “I didn’t,” I lie.
But I’ve never been very good at lying.
Morgan’s eyes narrow. She lowers her hands and tilts her chin up, a challenge. She holds my gaze, the blue of her eyes shining in the artificial light. “Three Sisters blessed the world.”
Impossible. My heart beats so loud I’m sure she can hear it. I step forward, meeting her dare. “And were banished for defying their Mother.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “You meant it. You could have stopped the fire.”
I nod, even though there’s still a hollow feeling in my chest that tells me I would have failed. That I wasn’t strong enough for a fire that out of control, that hungry.
“You’re an Elemental, aren’t you?” Morgan says the words with such awe, such kinship, that I’m about ready to burst from the relief of it all. She can help me. With her and Gemma, there’s no way the Witch Hunter will get away with this.
“I am.” Despite my father’s unconscious form behind me, I actually smile. It feels amazing to admit that to someone who truly knows what it means. “But you’re not. I would have known.”
A shadow crosses Morgan’s face. “No, I’m not.”
Her hesitation confuses me. “Are you a Caster?” Maybe she knows Detective Archer.
She shakes her head. “I’m a Blood Witch.”
22
THE ONLY SOUND IN the room is the beeping of Dad’s heart monitor.
I’m a Blood Witch.
I stare at the girl before me, whose kind eyes narrow in my silence. I step closer to my dad, shielding him as all the pieces click into place. The exacting control over her body when she dances. The impossible strength in her arms when she held me back from the blaze.
“You can’t—” It’s not possible. Lady Ariana said there weren’t any Blood Witches in Salem. Mom said we got the scrying wrong, but we didn’t. Morgan is here. She’s an only child living with her parents. She’s part of a large dance group. All the pieces are there. Everything fits. I bet there isn’t even a Hunter in Salem. “Was it you?”
Morgan’s eyebrows rise high. “Was what me?”
“This!” I gesture to Dad’s still form, and the sight of him breaks something in me. “Someone has been stalking my coven all summer.” I reach for my magic. The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and the air whips at our hair. “Was this because of you?”
Morgan crosses her arms. “Why? Because I’m a Blood Witch? The thing of nightmares?” She glares at me. “I’m not stalking you, Hannah. And there’s not some Big Bad Blood Witch out to get you. My parents and I are the only ones in the state. That’s precisely why we picked Massachusetts.”
I ignore her certainty. Her logic. “Right, I’m the idiot for suspecting a Blood Witch. Because you’re all softies at heart.” I shudder. “I’ve seen the dangerous magic your kind weaves.”
“My kind?” Morgan practically screeches the words. I hold tighter to my power, ready in case she attacks. “I thought you of all people would be more understanding. I guess you’re not as accepting as I thought.”
Her words cut deep, shame infecting the injured flesh. I release my hold on the air, letting the room settle between us.
“Not all Blood Witches are evil,” Morgan continues before I can respond. “Even those with questionable morals are few and far between. Though, apparently, Elementals are just pyros with a superiority complex.”
Tears sting my eyes, fear and shame and worry closing my throat. “But what about my dad?” I sit at the edge of his bed, the weight of everything buckling my knees.
Morgan’s anger, her defensiveness, deflates. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I know this must be hard for you.” She searches for my gaze, her blue eyes questioning. “But why did you suspect a Blood Witch at all? We have no quarrel with your coven. And we certainly aren’t the type to play with fire.”
I wipe the tears from my eyes and drop my gaze. “I met a Blood Witch once, a few months ago in Manhattan. She . . .” My words die in my throat, and I can’t bring myself to look at Morgan. “She hurt me, and when all this started, I thought she had come here to kill me.”
“How did she even know you were an Elemental?” Morgan sits beside me at the very edge of Dad’s bed. “We don’t usually reach out to other witches. You tend to hate us.”
Though I want to deny her claim, it’s true. Everything I’ve ever learned about Blood Witches has been a cautionary tale. Scary stories to keep Elemental children in line. Even the Council only keeps one or two Blood Witches in each rank at any given time. “Well, your goddess is the one who got the Three Sisters banished from Earth.”
Morgan rolls her eyes at me. “Would you want to be constantly punished for something your creator did thousands of years ago?” She nudges me with her shoulder. “But really, why did that witch try to hurt you? Most of us aren’t like that.”
“It’s kind of a long story. I was on this class trip and stumbled into a feud between her and these Caster Witches.” Shame burns my cheeks. “They were trying to permanently bind the Blood Witch’s magic. She thought I was part of their group.”
Beside me, Morgan goes very still. “Were they successful?”
“No. She’s fine. She got away.” I pull out my phone, only to remember the pictures I’m looking for aren’t in this new one. “When there was an animal sacrifice this summer, I thought she had come for revenge. Eventually, I figured out the sacrifice was this Reg I know, Evan, but I also found runes on the Witch Museum down the street from my work. I never found out where those came from.”
“Oh, actually?” A blush creeps up Morgan’s cheeks. “Those were mine. I normally wouldn’t leave something like that out in the open, but my family left Duluth for a reason. Those runes were meant to provide protection, to keep my family hidden from what we left behind.”
“But my parents didn’t sense any magic in the blood.”
“One of the first things we learn is how to mask our magic from others. Most Elementals and Casters don’t like us. You suspect us of everything.”
“Sorry,” I say, but something sticks in the back of my head and holds on tight. “If you’re supposed to hide your magic, why did you draw them somewhere so public? And how are you here at all? I thought the Council banned Blood Witches from Salem.”
“My parents petitioned the Council for permission. We needed to be somewhere no one would look for us.” Morgan shudders, and I wonder what she’s running from. “As for the runes, the energy from all the Reg traffic helps amplify the power. Trust me, if I could get the same result from drawing runes at home, I would.”
I lean into her shoulder, letting her steadiness hold me up while I reach for my dad’s hand. “If everything I’ve learned about Blood Witches is wrong, what do you really do?”
Morgan rests her head on top of mine, her long hair brushing against my neck. “I’m sure a few of your fears are rooted in truth. Some of us can turn Regs into puppets. Control hearts and minds. But we generally keep our gifts turned inward, which makes us pretty physical as a Clan. A better control over our blood means a better control over our bodies.” She pauses, and there’s a smile in her voice when she continues. “I’ve been told our confidence makes us charming.”
“Hey, I never said you were charming,” I tease, the tension loosening in my chest.
“Says the girl who painted me an apology card and baked me cookies because you wanted a second date.” Morgan laughs, but there’s so much warmth there I don’t even care that it’s at my expense. “Some of our most prominent witches are healers. I bet no one ever told you that.”
“Wait. You have healing magic, and you didn’t think to say something?” I leap from the bed and gesture to the man struggling for breath—struggling for life—behind her. “Help him!”
“I can’t.” Morgan slips off the bed, her eyes full of regret. “I’m not fully trained.”
“But you have some training,” I insist.
These Witches Don't Burn Page 23