Page 10 of These Witches Don't Burn
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.Reallylate.
“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 convincemyself 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 THEsmell 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.
