Page 92 of These Witches Don't Burn
Dad’s voice is in my ears, reminding me I’m not a hero. ThatI should have left Benton in the house for someone else to save. But then Veronica’s hand tightens in mine. “We’re not going to die. Not like this,” I tell her, tugging at my tape, reaching for the elements. Pushing against whatever Benton has done to me. “It’s not over. Not yet.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Benton drops the empty can and pulls a blowtorch from the messenger bag on the ground. He lights it and finally meets my gaze. “It’s very much over.”
Then Benton Hall steps forward and sets the world on fire.
28
I’M GOING TO DIE.
Fire licks at my feet, looking for a way in, but I don’t burn. Not yet. I’m not sure how this drug works, but it must not erase our magic completely. We can't control it, but it's still there, buried somewhere inside. Not that there's much comfort in that.
The smoke is thick and toxic, choking off my lungs. Flames lick along the path of gasoline and consume the wood beneath my feet. The smoke grows denser and more toxic with every breath. Panic clears my cloudy mind, but I can’t find clean air, can’t call it to me.
Behind me, Veronica coughs and chokes. Her grip on my hand goes slack. Loosens. Drops.
“Veronica!” I can barely hear myself over the roaring fire licking at my legs. My skin may not burn, but the tape that binds me melts and my jeans catch fire. The fabric crumbles to ash around my legs. “Veronica, hold on.” My voice dies in a fit of coughing. Shadows crowd out my vision as my brain is starved of air.
Benton stands before us, but his expression is hidden in shadow. I try to yell at him, to curse him, to beg him to stop, but there isn’t enough breath in my lungs to form the words. Soon, he’s barely visible through the smoke and the red-orange flames blotting out my vision. But I don’t want Benton to be the last thing I see before I die. He can’t be.
I close my eyes and imagine the future I’ll never see.
Mom is there, inside my head, grieving but never alone—surrounded always by the rest of the coven. Lady Ariana moves the families out of Salem, keeping everyone safe. Gemma goes with them, an honorary Elemental, under our protection for the rest of her life. Even though I know it’s impossible, I allow myself the dream.
Veronica shows up next. I reach for her hand, but I can’t feel anything besides the heat pressing, pressing, pressing against my skin, waiting for an opening, a way around the Elemental protection no drug can wipe away. Only death.
Shadows drag me down, and the person inside my head next is Morgan.
Her laugh. Her red hair shining in the sunlight. The way the corners of her lips crinkle when she’s trying not to smile. The moment she realized I was an Elemental and used her Blood Magic to help my dad.
Dad...
I hope he’s waiting for me on the other side. Hope he’s there with a laugh and a shrug and an embrace that crushes away the pain. We can watch over Mom. Make sure she’s all right. Make sure...
An explosion rocks the pyre beneath me. There’s a ringing in my ears. Light flashes, glowing red on the other side of my closed eyelids, and then I’m drowning. The fire below me hissing and screaming its own death.
Shouts cut over the noise, and then I’m ice. Shivering and cold. Hands grip me. Wind whips in my face, and I canfeelthe ground rising up to meet me. But the collision never comes.
And then the hands are back. On my face. My neck. Mywrists. The pressure hurts. I want it to stop. I just want to sleep and let the afterworld take me. I want my dad.
Pressure slams into my chest. I cry out and gulp in a huge rush of clean air.
I cough, the movement shaking my whole body. Somewhere in the back of my rattled, oxygen-deprived head I realize the tape is gone. My limbs are free. My skin survived unburned.
More voices join the one beside my ear, but I can’t hang on to their words, can’t separate the jumble of vowels and consonants and sounds beyond the high-pitched wail of distant sirens.
Until, suddenly, I can.
“Open your eyes,” a woman’s voice commands. Her hands on my shoulders. Another gust of air rushes into my lungs. “Hannah. Open your eyes.”
She sounds so insistent, like she’s not used to being ignored. But I’m so tired. So bone-weary and exhausted. Why won’t she leave me alone? I want to sleep until death comes to find me.
The ground rumbles like it’s displeased with me. The shaking jumbles my mushy brain, and I hear myself groan. “Hurts... Stop...” My tongue is heavy and thick, but the words come out.
The voice above me sighs, the only clue she’s relieved. “The police will be here soon. You must deny any knowledge of the boy’s motives.”
The boy’s what?And then I place the cold, concise voice above me. “Grandma?” I force my eyelids open, but even that hurts. Smoke stings my eyes, but I turn my head, searching. “Veronica? Is she—”
“She’s fine. You both are.” Lady Ariana, my grandmother, looks at me with more warmth than I thought she was capable offeeling, let alone showing. “You stubborn, foolish girl.” I must be imagining things, because I think she sounded proud.
