Page 81 of These Witches Don't Burn
“Oh.” Gem shifts in her seat, her gaze lingering on my dad. There’s a worry in her eyes that stabs at my heart. I have to lookaway when she turns her focus on me. “What about the third group, the Caster Witches? What do they do again?”
“They’re more like your typical stereotype of a witch. Casters make potions and cast spells. That sort of thing.” I smirk at Morgan. “They tend to be very buddy-buddy with Wiccans and other pagans.”
Gemma’s eyes grow wide. “Wait, so is Wiccan magic real, too?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not anywhere near like what the Clans can do, but it’s real.” I think of Evan, of what happened to his father after he attempted magic he didn’t fully understand. I really hope Lauren has him on a better path.
“Wow.” Gemma taps her fingers on the arms of the chair. “That is so cool.”
Morgan fidgets in her seat and pulls out her phone. “I can’t believe Riley found us. I have to warn my parents.”
“I need to update mine, too.” I reach for my phone to text my mom. “Is it okay if I tell them? About you being...”
“A Blood Witch?” Morgan finishes for me, and heat flames my cheeks. I need to stop treating her Clan like it’s a curse. She nods. “Of course.”
“Hannah.” Dad’s voice is weak, but it cuts through the room, silencing Morgan. I turn as his eyes flutter open. “Hannah, is that you?”
“I’m here. I’m right here.” I rush to his bed and reach for his hand, careful not to pull out the IV lines attached there. “It’s going to be okay.” I glance at Morgan and hope she can see the gratitude in my eyes.
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s coming, Dad. She’ll be here soon.”
His eyes go wide. “The Hunter. He...” Dad’s lips keepmoving, but no sound comes out. His hand goes limp. His eyes roll back in his head. The alarms go off, screaming, piercing, shattering the calm of the room as Dad begins to shake.
Doctors flood in, pushing us out, dragging us away. The door slams in my face.
“Dad!” I bang on the window, but Morgan pulls me back. “Let me go! We have to get in there.”
“Let the doctors work. They’ll help him.”
Gemma follows us down the hall. “Do you want me to call your mom again?”
Before I tell her that yes, yes I do want my mom, the elevator opens. Mom steps out, her phone pressed to her ear. “I don’t care what he says. I want to speak with him. Tonight.” She looks up and catches sight of us. Her phone drops from her hand and clatters against the floor. “What happened?”
“Dad, he... he...” I dissolve into tears, and Mom crushes me in a hug, smothering me in her familiar scent of chalk and honey.
“Mrs. Walsh?” An unfamiliar voice speaks behind me.
Mom shifts but doesn’t let go. “Yes?”
“We spoke on the phone a few minutes ago. We thought your husband was doing well, but we’ve hit some unforeseen complications.” The doctor, a tall white woman with curly black hair pulled into a bun, clears her throat. “We’re taking him into surgery.”
“What happened?” Mom’s grip around me loosens and falls away. She sways on her feet, but I reach for her hand. We anchor each other. Two lost ships in a storm. “Where is he?”
The doctor closes the file she’s holding. “We’re taking him to the OR now. I can show you to our private waiting room.”
Mom nods and picks up her phone. She glances to Gemmaand Morgan. “I appreciate you girls staying with Hannah, but I think we need some family time now.” Mom gives me a look that says our family is about to include those bound by magic, not just by blood.
“I’ll call as soon as I know anything,” I promise.
Gemma crushes the air out of my lungs when she hugs me. “Call me if you need a place to sleep tonight.”
Morgan offers a small smile. “If you need anything, anything at all—”
“I know how to find you.”
With that, my best friend and my... and Morgan leave. Mom and I follow the doctor to the private waiting room, and when we’re alone, I tell her about Morgan. She’s shocked at first, jumping to some of the same conclusions I did, but when I explain that her ex is a Hunter, Mom texts a frantic update to Lady Ariana. After that, neither of us speaks for a long time. There’s nothing more to say. Mom doesn’t need to tell me the same fears that are running through my head are also in hers. Each worry is meticulously etched across her face.
