Page 51 of These Witches Don't Burn
Benton clears his throat, and when I turn to look at him, his face is tinged with pink. “Yup, five generations. I won’t sit for the oil painting until the family decides I’ve made a ‘significant mark on the world.’” He puts air quotes around that last phrase.
“Well, then. No pressure or anything,” I tease, yet I can’thelp but wonder what kind of expectations his parents put on him. I think they’re both surgeons, something medical anyway. The last I heard, Benton was going to study bio in Boston, but I remember all the times he talked about majoring in graphic design and marketing. Did he decide to go the premed route, or did his parents force him?
I’m about to ask when Gemma calls from the other room. “What’s all this?”
We follow her voice into the hallway, where dozens of trophies are displayed behind a glass case. The pink in Benton’s cheeks turns a deep scarlet. “My mom insists on putting them here. They’re from martial arts tournaments. I have another one coming up soon.”
“Can you show us some moves?” Gem twirls a curl around her finger, easing into full-on flirt mode. I guess that crush from freshman year never completely died.
“You want to spar?” Benton asks, dubious, raising a single brow at Gem. She parts her lips to respond, but before she can, he scoops her up and drapes her over one shoulder. Her startled laugh fills the room.
I follow them through the house and out back. The sun is bright, stealing my view of my friends for a moment. I shield my eyes, and sweat prickles immediately along my back. It won’t take long for it to slick down my spine.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Gemma shrieks as Benton nears the pool. “My phone!”
Benton sets Gem on her feet. He backs away and strips off his shirt, tossing it on a nearby lounge chair. I have to hide a laugh when Gemma freezes, her gaze tracking each of Benton’s now-shirtless movements.
He gives her a curious look, completely oblivious to the effect he’s having on her. “Did you want to put your phone someplace safe?”
“Right.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to dislodge the image of him and sets her phone on a table. I join her, dropping my bag there and pulling out my sketchbook. “Do you think he noticed?” she whispers to me.
“Noticed what? You staring? Definitely. Does he realize what that means?” I glance back at Benton, who flashes me a smile and dives into the pool. He surfaces and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “He seems pretty clueless on that front.”
Gem slips the sundress over her head and plops it on the table over her phone. “Damn. I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
I laugh, but for her sake and mine, I hope he catches on. They’d be cute together. Plus, if Benton gets involved with Gemma, maybe he’ll stop being so weird around me. I slip out of my shorts and tank and settle into a lounge chair with my sketchbook and pencil.
“Not coming in, Hannah?” Benton asks, resting his forearms on the edge of the pool.
“I will. After the sun fries me to a crisp.” I glance at him, noticing the soft pull at his brow. The sparkle of water in his hair. “Actually, could you stay right there? Don’t move.” I flip to a fresh page, past the now-irrelevant drawings from the scrying I did with Veronica, and sketch furiously, trying to capture the look in his eyes before it disappears.
Gemma dives in and swims up to Benton’s side, laying her arms next to his. She traces her fingers along the edges of the triangle tattoo at his wrist, whispering something in his ear. He smiles, glances at me, and then whispers something back to Gem,making her laugh. Luckily, I’ve already finished his expression, so the new conspiratorial glint in his eye doesn’t ruin my sketch. Gem pokes Benton in the shoulder, and he climbs out of the pool, dripping all over the patio.
“Hey, I wasn’t done.” I shield my sketch from his dripping limbs as he comes to stand over me. “You’re blocking my sun.”
“Yeah?” He’s trying to keep a serious expression, but his lips keep curving up. “What are you going to do about it?”
I start to respond, but a second set of wet hands grabs my sketchbook and yanks it from my grip. Benton lifts me out of the chair like I’m made of air and tosses me in the pool.
My shrieks are cut off by the splash as I go under, and the warm water welcomes my presence. Magic flares to life inside me, the water’s essence cradling around me, more reassuring than even the blanket fort this morning. In here, I feel safe. Worries of the Hunter melt away. I wish I could stay under for hours, leaving the stress of the past few weeks on dry land.
A hand finds mine and tugs. I open my eyes, the chlorine stinging, and see Gemma. I shoot out of the water and wipe my hair from my face.
“Oh, thank god,” Gemma says, wrapping me in a hug while our legs kick to keep us afloat. “Why didn’t you come up? I thought you hit your head and were going to drown.”
“I’m fine, Gem. I know how to swim.” I roll my eyes at her. “Serves you right for tossing me in though.” I splash her and swim away, careful to actuallyswimand not use my magic to move through the crystal-clear water.
The three of us stay in the pool until our limbs ache, our fingers prune, and our stomachs growl. Benton orders pizza and extra spicy wings, and we stretch out on the couches in the poolhouse, swapping stories. After checking with me for the all clear, Benton tells Gem about our investigation into the fire at Nolan’s house and the brick that flew through my window.
At first, she’s upset we didn’t include her from the start, but soon she’s coming up with motives for every one of our classmates. While Gem spins an elaborate conspiracy theory that has the entire soccer team out to overthrow their captain, Benton makes a trip into his house to grab his yearbook.
“I’ve been working on the note,” he says when he returns, dropping theYOU’RE NEXTmessage on the table between us. It’s full of creases, like Benton has folded and unfolded it hundreds of times in the last couple days. “I couldn’t find any fingerprints, so I’ve been trying to match the handwriting to someone from my yearbook.”
“That’s a great idea!” Gemma gets up from her spot beside me and sits next to Benton on the loveseat. She watches as he flips through to tabbed pages in his yearbook. “Do you have any solid leads?”
“A couple, though none of them are perfect.” He flips to the first of a few tabs. “The handwriting looks a little like Veronica’s,” he says, shooting me an apologetic look, “though I’m guessing we still don’t think she’s the culprit?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”Besides, she has plenty of ways to hurt me without throwing a brick through my window.
