Page 12 of This Coven Won't Break
“We learned last night that breaking in isn’t going to work.” Archer glances at Cal, a brief moment of silence for the agents they lost. “But we have a plan that will allow us to walk in the front door without suspicion.”
“Except we can’t do it without a couple key recruits,” Cal cuts in. “Two, actually. A Blood Witch named Alice Ansley and a Caster named David O’Connell.”
“That’s where you come in,” Keating finishes. “We believe if you met with Alice and David, if you asked them to help us, they would agree.”
I trace the edge of the photograph again. Talking other witches into helping the Council isn’t exactly fighting on the front lines, but it’s a start. “Why me? Can’t you force them to help? You’re an Elder.”
“We do not force our witches to do anything, Hannah. Not even when things are this desperate. It has to be their choice.” She pulls another page from her folder and slides it over to me.
It’s an old photo of me, one where I’m grinning at the camera while Veronica plants a kiss on my cheek. Below the photo is an article about Benton’s upcoming trial.
Elder Keating rests her arms gracefully on the table. “You have been through a great ordeal, Hannah. You are the only witch who faced the Hunters, who felt the pain of losing your magic, and lived to tell the tale. Livedandgot your magic back. There’s power in that. You can use that to convince Alice and David to help us.”
“No.” Mom finally speaks up, and it’s the first time she’s everdenied a witch who outranked her. “You can’t ask Hannah to do this. She’s only seventeen. And she’s not the only one who faced the Hunters. Veronica did, too.”
“Mom, it’s fine. I want to—”
“I’m not sending you across the country to recruit for the Council. You have school. You have to catch up on your lessons with Lady Ariana.” Her voice breaks, and she reaches for Dad’s ring. “I’m not going to lose you, too.”
“You won’t lose me, Mom.”
But we both know it’s an empty promise.
“I’m sorry, Marie,” Elder Keating cuts in, “but Hannah’s storyisunique. Both girls got their magic back, but Hannah is the one who chose to go after the young Hunter on her own. She sacrificed her own safety to save her covenmate. There is no one else like her.” She pulls out a calendar and slides it toward Mom. “Our plan shouldn’t interfere with Hannah’s schooling. Both witches will be in New York. Alice Ansley will be in Brooklyn next Saturday, and David O’Connell is a postdoc at Cornell. Hannah can go to Ithaca the following weekend.”
“If he’s in Ithaca, send Veronica. She’s already there. She’s older!”
I reach for her hand and squeeze tight. “It’ll be okay, Mom. I want to help.”
Elder Keating flashes me the quickest hint of a smile, there only a heartbeat before it’s gone. “My decision on this matter is not up for debate. If Hannah wants to assist, you cannot stop her.” All three Council members look hopefully at me. “What do you say, Hannah? Will you help us?”
In their expectant expressions, I feel the hint of desperation. The gears in my mind start to spin. They need me.
Which means I might be able to bargain for more.
I glance at my mother, and guilt worms its way around my fresh hope. I know this will break her heart, but I can’t stay on the sidelines. I can’t play it safe. “I’ll do it. Under one condition.”
Elder Keating nods. “Name it, and it’s yours.”
I hold the Elder’s gaze so she can see how deeply I mean this. “I want to be part of the team that destroys the drug.”
Mom tenses, but a slow smile spreads across the Elder’s lips. “If you can recruit both witchesandprove yourself suitable for that kind of fieldwork, we will find you a place on Archer’s team.”
I can feel the arguments building inside my mother without even looking at her, but she doesn’t give a voice to any of them. An Elder’s ruling is final and immutable. It’s the highest law of our society. Only another Elder could overrule her.
“Deal.”
A heady mixture of fear and anticipation flows through my veins. I promised Dad that we’d win this war.
And now I’m finally allowed to fight.
5
MOM DOESN’T SPEAK TOme the rest of the weekend. Every time I see her, I catch this moment of unguarded grief—hurt thatIcaused—before she notices me and shutters her feelings behind a scowl. I run through practice apologies, but none of them ring true.
Because I’m not sorry, I think,because Iwantto fight.
After I finish my homework on Sunday, I try texting Zoë again to learn more about what happened to her coven. She still doesn’t respond, leaving my messages markedread, and guilt twists my insides into knots. Zo tried reaching out to me this summer, but I let all her texts go unanswered, too.
