Page 84 of These Witches Don't Burn
I can’t do this. I can’t wear the same clothes I wore when he left us. “Gemma.” My voice comes out rough and crackly from disuse. “I can’t.”
“Okay,” she says, as if anything will ever be okay again. “I’ll find something else. We’ll get you dressed.” She digs through her closet and comes up with a handful of items I’ve forgotten here over the past couple years.
I settle into an old pair of my jeans and theI’m so gay I can’t even think straightT-shirt Veronica got me for Christmas, the one Gemma saved the day we purged my room down to a single box of keepsakes. The same keepsakes I burned last week.
Not that it matters. Everything is gone now.
Gem deposits me on the couch and brings me a mug of hot cocoa. I’m only halfway through the cup when Morgan comesover. She and Gemma speak in hushed tones and then settle on either side of me. They steal glances at me like I’m about to fall apart, burst at the seams, and maybe they’re not wrong. Maybe I am about to lose it.
Something buzzes in my pocket. I pull out my phone, but it won’t stop shaking. There’s text after text after text ofI’m so sorryandI heard about your dadandI’m thinking of you.
“Please take this.” I shove the phone away, and Gemma grabs it up. “I can’t...”
“It’s fine. I got it. I’ll let you know if anything important comes through.” She sets the phone on her other side, safely out of reach. Out of sight.
“I know there’s nothing we can say to make this better.” Morgan reaches for my hand and squeezes tight. “But if there’s anything you need to talk about or anything we can do, we’re here for you. We’ve got your back.”
I nod, but there’s nothing they can do to give me what I want. They can't bring back my dad. No magic is that strong.
The room falls silent for a long time. I stare at the floor, where the carpet’s stained a little red. Wine. Blood. It makes little difference. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the gears begin to turn inside my head. Theytick, tick, tickuntil an idea burns away the fog. “Anything?”
Morgan nods. “Of course.”
“Anything,” Gemma agrees.
I exhale a shaky breath. “I want to find the Hunter.”
I want to kill him.
“Hannah.” Morgan pulls her hand away. I’d forgotten it was there. “Hunters are dangerous. And unbelievably hard to trace. We should let the Council handle this.”
“They had their chance. They failed.” Energy builds inside me until my knees are bouncing and I can’t sit a second longer. I stand and pace the living room, air swirling around me. Morgan stares, something strange flickering across her face. I turn to Gemma. She wants to be part of this. She can be swayed. “Please, Gem. I need this. I need to do something.”
Gemma looks between me and Morgan, uncertainty flickering in her eyes.
“Gemma, please.” My voice breaks, and I don’t even have to fake it.
“Fine.” My best friend sighs. “I’m in. But if we’re doing this, we’re going to do it right.”
“Of course.” Whatever it takes to get her to agree. I’m going to stop this Hunter. Make him wish he never set foot in Salem. “Morgan?”
“You’re sure about this?” Morgan waits for my answer, and I only nod. My blood is boiling, my magic itching under my skin. “Well, I’m certainly not letting you do it alone. Count me in.”
Gemma looks between us. “So where do we start? Hannah said the Hunters were supposed to be wiped out. How are they back?”
I see the masked Hunter in my head. Hear the stories Lady Ariana told. My magic burns like acid, desperate for a way out. The house trembles as the earth beneath us shakes.
“Maybe you should sit down.” Morgan reaches for me, but I back away. I can’t stop moving. If I stop, I’ll break. I’ll shatter like glass.
Eventually, Morgan sighs and looks at Gem. “I’m not entirely sure. We thought the Council took out the last group of Hunters back in—what? The sixties? They must have goneunderground. I don’t know what brought them back out of hiding, but something obviously has.”
Gemma shifts and grabs a pillow, shoving it under her broken leg. “So, what? They’re out there tracking down witches? How many people have they killed?” Her words pierce my armor, and I suck in a breath. “Sorry, Han.”
I nod, but tears prickle at my eyes. I push down, down, down on the feeling. Bury it deep. My arms shake. The pictures on the walls rattle.
“Hannah, you have to stop.” Morgan’s up a second later, blocking my path. She places her hands on my face, leans her forehead to mine. “You have to breathe.”
“I can’t.”
