Page 93 of These Witches Don't Burn
Veronica’s shape comes into view. She’s lying on the ground a few feet away, her shoes burned and falling apart. But the steady rise and fall of her chest, combined with Lady Ariana’s assurances, lets me hope she’s really okay.
“How did you find us?” I glance up at my grandmother. She snaps her fingers, creating a fire all her own, and tosses it toward Benton’s pyre, reigniting the blaze. Speaking of Benton. “Where is he?”
“Agent Archer is handling theHunter.” She practically spits the word and gestures to my other side. “He got your message and tracked the boy.”
I turn and find Detective Archer leaning over Benton. My coworker, Cal, stands behind him with a vial of green liquid in his hands, whispering something I can’t hear. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. “What’s Cal doing here?”
“He’s the agent’s assistant. He’s putting the finishing touches on a binding spell.” A murderous expression flashes through my grandmother’s eyes as she stares at Benton’s still form. “The Hunter won’t be able to share his knowledge of the Clans, no matter how hard he tries.”
Archer pours the glowing green liquid down Benton’s throat. The Hunter coughs, sputtering awake. He tries to break out of Archer’s grip, but Archer flips Benton onto his stomach and secures the handcuffs as a horde of police officers swarms through the trees.
“Over here!” he calls. “Read his rights and take this scum back to the precinct.”
Officers descend upon Benton, and he almost seems relieved as he’s dragged away.
Detective Archer rushes to my side, Cal on his heels. “I need medics! We’ve got two down. Smoke inhalation. Possible burns.”
The medics race toward us, two flat boards between them. Someone shoves an oxygen mask on my face, and it’s the most glorious thing in the world.
Detective Archer kneels beside me and brushes something off my face. “Don’t worry, Hannah,” he says. “We got him. You’re safe.” Beside him, Cal offers an encouraging smile.
And then they’re gone, the paramedics shooing them away. I flinch when they stick a needle in my arm and maneuver me onto the stretcher.
This time, as my mind fades to unconsciousness, I am not afraid.
29
I DRIFT IN ANDout of consciousness. Each time I wake, I’m somewhere new. The ambulance. The emergency room. Someplace with white walls and florescent lights. With mask-covered faces and concerned eyes.
The next time I wake, I’m alone.
Machines beep all around me, a steady rhythm that’s probably my heart. Which doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t you be able to tell it’s broken just from listening?
The machine keeps on beeping, ignoring my concerns. I glance down at the bed beneath me. It’s comfortable enough, I guess, but it isn’t mine. It squeaks when I move. The sheets are scratchy, irritating against my tender skin.
I want to go home.
Tears spring to my eyes when I remember Ican’tgo home. My home is gone. Burned to ash. If Benton had his way, I’d be ash now, too. How long has it been? Why am I still here?
“Honey? Are you awake?” A warm voice washes over me. Beside my bed, a figure stands and her worried face comes into focus.
“Mom?” My voice cracks, and I collapse into tears. I try to apologize, to explain why I had to go, but everything is a mush of half-formed words and wracking sobs that close my throat.
Mom listens to every strangled apology. She strokes my hairout of my face, brushes away tears, holds my hand. When I’m finished, a single tear escapes the confines of her lashes. “I’m so, so glad you’re okay.” She squeezes my hand tight in hers, careful to avoid the IV needles that push fluids into my veins. “But please, don’teverdo that again.”
I nod, but the movement sends my head swimming. I wish Dad were here. He’d stand behind Mom, his hand on her shoulder, nodding his agreement. Yet there’d be this glimmer in his eye, telling me that he was proud of my rescue efforts, despite the risks. But I don’t say that to Mom. I don’t know how much more of this she can take. Don’t know if I could say the words even if I tried.
The fight with Benton may be over, but I sure as hell didn’t win.
•••
The next few hours pass in a blur of doctors and nurses and white coats. People check my vitals, shine lights in my eyes, and mess with the IV fluids. I spot Gemma and Morgan outside my door, but Mom shoos them away so I can rest.
But I don’t want rest.
I want answers.
No one will tell me what’s going on. Mom won’t entertain any questions about Benton or the other Hunters in his cell. My grandmother visits, briefly, to remind me I’m only allowed to speak with Agent Archer about what happened. Veronica’s parents pop in on their way back to Veronica’s room to thank me for saving their daughter.
