Page 74 of These Witches Don't Burn
Morgan’s voice jolts me out of my thoughts. I barrel through the intersection, trying—and failing—to keep the panic at bay. It crawls up my throat, closing off my airway.
Dad.
He wouldn’t let the fire get this big. He must have gone for a walk. If he were home, the house would be safe. I turn down the next street. Only a couple blocks more to my place. I dig intomy pocket and pull out my phone. “Call my dad.” I punch in my four-digit code and pass the phone to Morgan.
“What do you want me to say?” Morgan opens my contacts and scrolls through. “There’s nothing underDad. What’s his—”
“Walsh. Timothy Walsh.” The sky glows orange from raging flames that flicker above the roofs and trees between us and home. I take the last turn too fast, tires screeching against the pavement.
“Hannah, watch out!” Morgan reaches for the wheel, and her touch jolts me back to reality.
I slam on the brakes, narrowly missing the car stopped in front of me. I throw the car in park and clamber out into the street, standing frozen on the side of the road. The smoke is thicker here, black as night, choking my lungs, covering us with ash.
“Is that... Is that your house?” Morgan asks, scrambling out of the car after me.
My voice won’t work. I nod and watch the firefighters hurry for the hydrant. The flames roar, destroying everything: every memory, every photograph, every painting. Everything besides the clothes I’m wearing.
I reach into my pockets but come up empty. “My phone.” I need to call Dad. He’ll know what to do. He can fix this. “Where’s my phone?”
“Here.” Morgan passes it back. “He didn’t answer.”
But I barely hear her over the explosion of windows, the shattering glass, the shouts from firefighters in oxygen masks. I find Dad’s number in my favorites and dial.
It rings and rings and rings.
“He’s not answering.” My throat is raw. Tears prickle at my eyes. I dial again and the phone rings on and on.
One of the men beside the fire trucks holds his radio to hisear. His face crumples. “Where the hell are the paramedics?” he shouts. “We’ve got a body inside.”
No. No, no, no, no.
“Dad.” I race forward, past the barricade, straight toward the line of firefighters. “Dad!”
Someone catches me around the waist, pulling me up short. My knees buckle, and I sag in their arms. I scream again, but the person behind me holds tight.
“Hannah, stop.” Morgan’s voice is in my ear, her breath upon my neck, but it feels cold compared to the fire raging in front of me. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“No.” I struggle against her, but she’s stronger than me. “I can stop the fire. I can put it out.” I reach for Morgan’s hands to pry them off me. “I cansave himif you justlet me go.”
A surge of adrenaline spikes through me. I scream and kick and fight like hell, but Morgan holds on. With a strength that doesn’t seem possible from someone so slight, she keeps me trapped in her embrace, the only thing stopping me from running into an inferno.
“I know it’s scary. I know it hurts.” Morgan’s voice cuts through the fresh sirens approaching behind us. “But you can’t go in there.”
“I have to! My dad—” I refuse to finish the sentence. He’s not in there. He can’t be. Morganstillwon’t let me go, but maybe I’m close enough. Maybe I can stop the fire from here. I reach out, searching for the flame’s power.
But it’s too strong. Too far away.
My legs stop working, and I collapse against Morgan. She holds me up, keeps me off the ground, keeps me from shattering into a hundred million pieces.
Sirens pull up behind us. More flashing lights. More noise. It’s all a blur of red and orange and blue and white until I can no longer distinguish the police lights from the dancing flames.
A second set of hands grips my arms, but I can’t make out the face through the haze. A deep voice worms through all the noise and shouts, cuts through all the panic.
“Hannah, listen to me. It’s going to be okay.” His fingers dig deeper, and the pain snaps me to the present. Detective Archer takes form before me. “I need you to focus. Tell me what’s happening.”
I stare at him and feel five years old. “My dad...” Tears close my throat, cutting off my words.
“We were on our way back from a hike when we saw the fire trucks.” Morgan shifts until my face is tucked into her neck. “We think her dad might be inside.”
