Page 76 of These Witches Don't Burn
Morgan rubs her thumb along my wrist as she thinks. “Take it one step at a time, I suppose.”
A humorless chuckle gets caught in my throat. “If I knew what any of those steps were, maybe I could do that.”
“Well, one step is definitely contacting your mom, which you’ve done. Is there any other family you should call?”
I shake my head. “Neither of my parents have siblings.” I should probably call my grandmother, but I can’t. Not without bursting into tears and spilling our secrets in front of the entire waiting room, and I won’t risk missing news about my dad by slipping outside to make the call.
Anger ripples through me, hot and bitter. The Council is supposed to protect us. The whole point of their existence is to keep us safe from Hunters.
They failed.
I’m not waiting for Detective Archer. I’m not waiting for the rest of the Council to decide the best course of action. I’m done with all of them.
I’m going to find this Hunter myself and make him pay for what he’s done.
“Hannah, what’s wrong?”
“Besides everything?” I snap, spewing my hurt all over her.
Morgan considers me, like she’s searching for something and isn’t sure she likes what she sees.
“Hannah!” The squeak of crutches follows Gemma’s voice. She swings into the waiting room, eyes searching the rows of seats. “Hannah?”
I stand and start toward my best friend. “Over here.”
Gemma maneuvers through the crowd and drops her crutches where we meet. She crushes me in a hug, and tears spilldown my cheeks. I soak in her familiar presence. Finally, someone who understands. Someone who gets how bad this all really is.
“How is he?” she asks as she pulls away, wiping tears from my face with her thumbs.
“I don’t know. The doctors haven’t said anything. And my mom is stuck in traffic and my house is gone and I don’t even have any clothes or anything.” The story comes pouring out: Morgan and I following the fire trucks to my house, the firemen carrying Dad out of the blaze.
“It’s okay, Hannah. We’ll figure this out.” She hugs me tight and whispers into my ear. “Do you think this was the you-know-what?”
She means the Hunter.
I nod.
Morgan steps up beside us. There’s a questioning turn to the raise of her brow, but she doesn’t ask what Gemma said. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
Gemma holds my arm for balance. “She’ll stay with me.”
“Miss Walsh?” A woman stands in the entryway to the ICU. “Miss Walsh?”
I hand Gemma off to Morgan and hurry over. “Is my dad okay? Is he awake?”
The woman, whose hospital badge saysDr. Cristina Perez,looks over my shoulder at the waiting room. “Do you have another parent here?”
“My mom is on her way.” I squeeze my phone, willing it to ring. It doesn’t. “Is he okay?”
Morgan and Gemma come up behind me. Dr. Perez glances between them.
“They’re fine. Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
She nods, her expression neutral, which only worries me more. “Why don’t you come with me.”
The four of us weave through the busy halls of the hospital while Dr. Perez tries to prepare us for what we’re about to see. “Mr. Walsh is still in critical condition. You can see him, but you should know he’s on a ventilator. We don’t know how extensive the lung damage is.”
Before we even get there, I can see it. Dad unconscious on a bed, tubes and wires sticking out everywhere. “Why can’t you wake him and find out?”
