Page 50 of These Witches Don't Burn
Nolan could have started the fire at his house as a trap for Elementals.
Savannah could be cozying up to Veronica to catch a glimpse of her power.
Lauren could have started her magic shop to keep an eye on anyone who showed an interest in witchcraft. What better way toinfiltrate than by masquerading as an ally?
Even Gemma—
No. That’s where I draw the line. I would know if Gemma was a Witch Hunter.
Beside me, Veronica shifts uncomfortably. “I hate to bring this up, but what if itwasyour date? She’s the only new person in town, Han.”
Anger flares hot in my veins. “I already told you, it wasn’t Morgan. She was with me when you called, and she’s not a guy. Besides, she’s not the only new person in town.” But even the new people I do know—Cal and Detective Archer—have never spent time with Veronica. How would they know to target her?
“I’m not saying it’s definitely her, but you have to be careful. She could have an accomplice.” Veronica turns and looks out at the rest of our coven. “We can’t trust anyone. Until this Hunter is caught, every Reg is a suspect.”
14
WHEN WE GET HOME,my parents start the stress cycle ofWho can take the day off to watch the kid?After I protest, multiple times, about being labeled a “kid,” I finally convince my parents that I’ll be fine. Dad heads into work to prepare for court, and Mom leaves for her classes after making me promise a million times to be careful.
Once I’m alone, though, my bravado fades. The Witch Hunters are back, and not back in a general, out-there-in-the-world sense, buthere. In Salem.
I spend the morning in a cocoon of blankets, hiding from the reality of it all. I write and delete at least twenty texts to Veronica. It hurts that she’s not messaging me. That she’s not reaching out. A few months ago, this kind of news would have sent me rushing into her arms. Though I don’t regret our breakup, I do miss having someone to lean on.
Instead, I’m alone, which is the last thing I want to be right now.
The sun climbs in the sky, and it’s a scorching day. My weather app is promising a full day of sun and an unseasonable high of eighty-five when a text comes through.
BH:My parents are out of town. Care to collect on that pool day I owe you?
A smile creeps across my face, and I crawl out of my blanket cocoon. My fingers fly across the keys. This is exactly what I need. A distraction from the danger lurking around every corner. Yet before I hit send on my text, I pause. A day alone with Benton, with nothing to buffer this new weirdness between us, doesn’t sound much better than hiding at home alone.
I exit the text and place a call instead.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey, Han!”
“You free today?” I ask, getting right to the point. “Benton invited me over. We’re going swimming.”
Gemma squeals, which I take as a yes. “Are you kidding? Benton in a swimsuit? Sign me up.”
“He’s a person, you know,” I say, a teasing note in my voice, “not just a set of six-pack abs.”
“Yeah, yeah. Pick me up in an hour,” she says. I send Benton a thumbs-up emoji, change into my bathing suit, throw shorts and a tee over top, and head out the door after shooting my parents a quick text, complete withIt’ll probably be safer to be around Regs while you’re at work!since Mom doesn’t like changing plans last minute.
Almost exactly an hour after my call to Gem, I pull into Benton’s driveway. Gemma lets out an appreciative sigh when his house comes into view. The place is so massive the wordhousedoesn’t do it justice.Mansionorestatemight be a better fit. There’s even a cursive metal sign that readsHALLover the tastefully furnished wraparound porch.
“Every time I see this house, it looks bigger.” Gem sticks her head out her open window to take in the sheer size of the place. “He’s so down to earth, you’d never guess his family was this loaded.”
We park and climb out of the car. “The only thing about himthat screams money is his car,” I agree, and bound up the marble steps. The front door is hand-carved mahogany, complete with an ornate brass knocker. I don’t use it though, reaching for the doorbell instead. Deep chimes resonate throughout the house.
There’s a series of metal clicks, and then the door swings open. Benton stands on the other side, clad in navy blue swim trunks and a white tank top. The smile painted on his face falters, just a bit, when he spots Gem.
“I invited Gemma to join us,” I say, aiming for a blend of confidence and apology that won’t offend him or hurt her. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course. The more the merrier. Come in.” Benton recovers quickly and holds open the door, leading us inside.
The house feels like a museum, with art covering all the walls, but there’s something homey about it. Despite the Hall family only moving to Salem three years ago, it feels like they’ve been in this place for generations. A series of six-foot oil paintings of middle-aged adults hangs along the staircase. At the top is an enlarged copy of Benton’s senior portrait.
I stop at the bottom of the stairs, running my fingers along the beautifully carved railing. The few times Benton has hosted parties, we haven’t been allowed in the main house. He keeps us sequestered to the pool house out back, which comes complete with two bathrooms and a fully stocked kitchen. “What, no oil painting for you? Is this your family line?”
