Page 6 of These Witches Don't Burn
“Like hell.”
Veronica glowers at me. She starts to say more, but a piercing scream splits the night.
The music stops. Someone giggles until they’re told to hush. I spare a glance for Veronica and then race toward the source of the scream. Our classmates may need another shout to pinpoint the location, but the wind carries the panic, and the sounds of stifled sobs, right to me.
Please don’t let it be Gemma.
Someone falls in step behind me. I glance back, and Veronica is on my heels. We’re alone in our chase. For now.
The energy in the air grows oppressive. We’re close. Really close. There’s a whimper just ahead, and I rush forward through a cluster of trees and—
“Son of a...” I trail off as Veronica stumbles to a stop beside me. The scene before us is like something out of a bad horror film. Fire flickers a few yards away, but what captures my attention is the girl on the ground.
Covered in blood.
3
IT TAKES ME Asecond longer than Veronica to recognize the blood-soaked girl.
“Savannah.” Veronica rushes forward and drops to her knees beside her wide-eyed friend. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Savannah’s voice breaks, and she wipes at the tears on her face with one hand, holding the other gingerly across her chest. “I saw another fire, so I came to see who was partying over here. But then I slipped...”
We glance behind us at said fire. It’s not a bonfire, not like the one I left Benton standing beside. This looks more like someone carved a circle into the earth, maybe six or seven feet across, and set it ablaze.
“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” Veronica says, but she looks at me like she thinks the opposite. The air is thick with malice. The fire burning behind us is vicious and hungry. Even the earth—usually a calm and steady element—feels shaken.
Something wicked happened here.
Veronica turns back to Savannah. “Where’s the blood coming from? Where are you hurt?”
“It’s not...” Savannah loses her voice to tears. I wait, worry clawing at my skin. “It’s not mine.” She looks up, and my gaze follows.
The mangled remains of a raccoon swing from a noose above us. A red slash forms a gruesome smile across its stomach, spilling flesh and blood to the ground. Meatier bits stick to its broken ribs and dangle suspended in the air. A piece slips free and lands beside Savannah. My stomach clenches. Bile burns my throat, and I swallow to keep from getting sick.
A hand touches my back, and I flinch away.
Veronica scowls. “It’s me. Relax.”
“Relax? She iscoveredin blood. And god knows what else.” I retch and walk farther away from Savannah, toward the flickering fire. My heart aches for the poor creature. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“No kidding,” Veronica snaps, but then she stops short and reaches for me. “Look.”
I follow her pointed finger to the flames. “I know. I saw the fire. I’m not completely oblivious.”
“Then shut up and reallylook.”
Gasoline and wood smoke—and not a small amount of panic—choke the air from my lungs when I finally do as she says.
That’s not a circle carved into the earth and set aflame.
It’s a pentacle.
My hands shake, and I stumble away from the fire. A pentacle near a blood sacrifice means one of two things, and neither is particularly great. Either a Reg is dabbling in dangerous magic...
Or there’s a Blood Witch in Salem.
“Do you think she followed us?” I ask, keeping my voice low so Savannah won’t hear, but I can’t bury the fear. The panic. If this isn’t a Reg prank—please,pleaselet it be a Reg prank—then it has to be a Blood Witch.
