Page 79 of These Witches Don't Burn
I lean into her shoulder, letting her steadiness hold me up while I reach for my dad’s hand. “If everything I’ve learned about Blood Witches is wrong, what do you really do?”
Morgan rests her head on top of mine, her long hair brushing against my neck. “I’m sure a few of your fears are rooted in truth. Some of us can turn Regs into puppets. Control hearts and minds. But we generally keep our gifts turned inward, which makes us pretty physical as a Clan. A better control over our blood means a better control over our bodies.” She pauses, and there’s a smile in her voice when she continues. “I’ve been told our confidence makes us charming.”
“Hey, I never said you were charming,” I tease, the tension loosening in my chest.
“Says the girl who painted me an apology cardandbaked me cookies because you wanted a second date.” Morgan laughs, but there’s so much warmth there I don’t even care that it’s at myexpense. “Some of our most prominent witches are healers. I bet no one ever told you that.”
“Wait. You have healing magic, and you didn’t think to say something?” I leap from the bed and gesture to the man struggling for breath—struggling forlife—behind her. “Help him!”
“I can’t.” Morgan slips off the bed, her eyes full of regret. “I’m not fully trained.”
“But you have some training,” I insist.
She nods. “I do. But—”
“Please, Morgan. You have to try.” I reach for her hands, threading my fingers through hers. “We can’t let him die.”
Morgan steals glances at my dad. “It might not work,” she whispers, though her blue eyes sparkle as her magic stirs to life.
“Could you make it worse?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then what’s the harm in trying?” I ask, not bothering to hide the tears that carve down my face. “I’m not asking for a miracle.”
Morgan considers me for a long moment. She whispers something under her breath, but then she nods and approaches the bed. “It might not work,” she says again, as if I didn’t hear the first time.
I don’t say anything. I don’t want to scare her off from what she’s about to do. Morgan slips the simple metal band from around her middle finger and pulls a thin pin from a groove along the ring’s inner edge. “Are you sure about this?” she asks, and when I nod, she pricks my father’s forearm.
A single bead of red rises to the surface. Morgan swipes her finger across the blood and wipes it along her palm. After a moment, the blood soaks through her skin like it was never there at all, and Morgan places her hands in the space around Dad’s head.
Her hands tremble, and a crease forms along her brow. The room fills with static as my father’s energy reacts to her magic. Morgan flinches, cursing under her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
She doesn’t turn, doesn’t open her eyes. If anything, that crease in her brow furrows deeper. “Blood clot,” she whispers through gritted teeth.
“Can you get it out? Or dissolve it? Or whatever it is doctors do?”
“I think so. Just... don’t move.”
I hold my breath and cross my fingers that no doctors or nurses orbest friendscome to the door. I’ve watched enough medical shows to know a blood clot is not a good thing.
Several tense seconds later, Morgan pulls her hands away and stumbles back. I reach out to catch her, but she rights herself before we touch.
“Are you okay? Will he wake up now?”
Morgan stumbles for the chair and collapses into it. “I don’t know. He’s still in really bad shape, but I’ve done all I know how to do.” She glances up at me, breathing hard. “Now do you believe we’re not all evil?”
“I really am sorry about that.” I tuck a bit of hair behind my ear. “You were right, I never should have suspected a Blood Witch, especially when there’s a Witch Hunter in town.”
At that, Morgan’s eyes grow wide. “There’s a Hunter? Here?” A quiver runs through her voice, a thread of fear that verges on panic. “Not again.”
“Again?”
Morgan nods. “Maybe you were right. Maybe this is all my fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
