Page 59 of These Witches Don't Burn
She’s not breathing.
I swim toward the first land I see, the last of my magic pushing us swiftly toward civilization. Over the clinging scent of the water, I catch a whiff of fries and seafood as I pull Gemma onto the rocky shore. I can only hope the Hunter who pushed us off the bridge didn’t wait around to see if we survived.
“Somebody help!” I scream, pulling Gem higher onto the rocks. Blood slides down her leg, coating the wet stones. “Please!” My vision swims, and I collapse against the rocks, knocking my elbow. The pain finally dislodging the tears I’ve been holding back.
There’s a rush of movement. Strong arms lift Gemma and carry her up the incline. Hands help me to my feet and deposit me in a chair as a man lays Gemma flat on her back and listens for breath. I try to tell him she’s not breathing, that she hasn’t been, but before I can get a word in, he’s pinching her nose and blowing into her mouth.
“Hannah?” A familiar voice calls over the growing noise around me. A figure darts forward out of the growing crowd.
I glance up. Lauren. With Detective Archer on her heels.
Fear forces energy into my limbs. I shoot out of my chair, backing away. “It was you.” My mind races to keep up. They’re the Hunters. Both of them. They have to be. Why else would they be here, lying in wait to see if their plan worked? To see if they managed to kill me.
“Hannah, what’s wrong?” Lauren reaches for me, but I pull away.
I turn to run, but my wet shoes squeak against the ground. They slip. I fall.
The last thing I remember is Lauren and Archer standing above me.
17
WHEN I WAKE, MYhead feels stuffed with clouds and every inch of me hurts so much I’m afraid to move. Mom sits in a chair beside me, a book propped open on her lap. Machines beep in time with my heart. I glance down. Someone removed my clothes and put me in one of those flimsy hospital gowns. An IV needle is attached to the back of my hand, a second one in the crook of my arm.
“Hannah?” Mom sets her book on the little nightstand between us and comes to sit at the edge of my bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and try to focus my muddled brain. I wiggle my toes and force myself to sit upright in the bed. My muscles strain, stiff with overuse, but I think I’m still in one piece. “Okay, I guess. What happened? What day is it?” Bright sunlight filters in through the curtains.
A crease of worry appears on Mom’s forehead. “You were in a car accident last night. Don’t you remember?”
Memories burst forth, Mom’s words like dynamite in a dam. I took Gemma to rehearsal so I could apologize to Morgan. Heat rushes to my face. We stole kisses at the back of the theater. But then there’s the bright headlights and the giant SUV. The crunch of metal and the freezing cold water spilling through Gemma’s window.
Gemma.
The machines around me race in time with my frantic heart. “Is she okay? What happened to her?”
“Gemma will be all right.” Mom brushes my hair from my face and rests a hand on my shoulder. “She’s resting. She was in surgery most of the night for her leg.”
Her screams fill my head. Her fear. The blood staining the water as we sank. Tears pool in my eyes until my mom is a blur of color. “It was the Hunter,” I whisper, my words coming out shaky and raw. “He ran us off the road.Theydid. The detective and Lauren. I saw them.”
“Your boss?”
“She was there, Mom. Her and the detective. They found us at that restaurant. It has to be them.” They must have doubled back after they shoved us over the bridge to make sure their job was complete.
Mom shakes her head. “Lauren’s the one who called to let us know what happened. She and the detective were on a date. They were ordering dinner when your car went over the bridge.” She shudders, and her eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “It wasn’t them.”
“But—”
“It’s not them, Hannah. We will find the Hunter, I promise. Your father is at the police station right now, making sure we get answers and keeping the coven off their radar.” She kisses my forehead and stands up from the bed. “There is something I need to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“Gemma,” Mom says, her eyes searching mine. “Does she know?”
The stupid heart rate monitor marks the fear quickening mypulse. No one can know what Gemma saw, what I had to do in front of her. “She doesn’t know anything. She lost consciousness when we hit the water.”
Mom lets out a deep sigh. “Good. Okay. That’s one less problem to worry about.”
Guilt digs its jagged talons into my chest, working between my ribs. She was hurt because ofme. And if anyone finds out what she knows, it’ll only get worse. Instinctively, I reach for my phone so I can text her, only to remember that it’s with my car, at the bottom of the river. “Can I see her?”
