Page 4 of This Coven Won't Break
I let her steer me away, but even with her power flowing through my veins, I can’t stop my hands from shaking.I’m okay. I’m safe. I force myself to breathe, inhaling for five steps, exhaling for ten.Benton’s in jail. I’m okay.By the time we make it to mylocker, my fingers are steady enough to spin the combination and store my things inside.
“You can let go,” I whisper as we head toward our homerooms, which are across the hall from each other. Morgan isn’t touching me anymore, but she must know what I mean. Her magic falls away, leaving my jagged nerves exposed again. “Thank you.”
The softest shadow of a smile graces her lips. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m good. I promise.” I step back toward my homeroom, the last few stragglers maneuvering around us. “I’ll see you at your locker before lunch?”
She nods and slips into her class as the final bell rings. I hurry in before the clanging stops, and all eyes turn to me. The silence is heavy with expectation.
I force a smile and ease down the aisle, finding a seat near the back. My whole body is tense under the weight of their attention, but I keep my spine straight. I remind myself to breathe. Remind myself not to feel too strongly. I hide my still trembling hands under the desk.
I’m okay. I can do this.
If I can survive the Witch Hunters, I can survive high school.
2
BY THE END OFour short three-day week, I’ve settled back into the rhythm of school. My lack of an epic meltdown has calmed the gawking stares down to curious glances, and people stop going quiet every time I enter a room.
On Friday, while most of my classmates prepare to spend their first weekend getting wasted at Nolan’s newly renovated home, I’m driving Gemma somewhere I didn’t expect to visit this year: the Fly by Night Cauldron.
After everything that happened this summer, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to work. As much as I love my boss, Lauren, and the freedom of having my own paycheck, I couldn’t fit in Cauldron shiftsandfind a way to fight the Witch Hunters. Something had to give.
But when Gem complained at lunch that her mom couldn’t drive her to the Cauldron, where she’s been studying Wicca with Lauren, I saw an opportunity I couldn’t miss.
Cal, my former Cauldron coworker and a junior agent for the Council, works most Fridays after his classes at Salem State. If I can convince him that I should be allowed to join the fight, maybe he can get the rest of the Council on my side, too. Mom won’t be able to stop me if the entire Council wants me on board.
She won’t be able to prevent me from taking down the people who hurt us—starting with Benton’s parents.
The Halls have evaded capture so far, by both the police and the Council, but I intend to be there when they’re finally brought in. I squeeze the necklace Lauren gave me after my dad died, trying to absorb its strength.
He didn’t just die, a small voice inside corrects,he was murdered. Something cold slithers through my veins. Hatred, maybe. Grief.
We pull into the parking garage, and Gemma fidgets in her seat. “Are you sure you aren’t mad that I’m doing this?” It’s the fifth time she’s asked since she started her lessons with Lauren over the summer. There’s a new urgency to her tone, probably because this is the first time we’ll be in the shop together.
I don’t answer right away, focusing instead on backing into a spot. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Gemma studying Wicca. It’s certainly none of my business, and I’m happy that she’s found a religion that speaks to her, but it’s still... a little weird.
“I’m not mad,” I say at last, when the car is parked and I don’t have any more excuses to delay.
“Well, that wasn’t very convincing.” She grabs her bag and follows me out of the car. “If it bothers you, I could have found a different ride.”
“You don’t have to do that. Really, it’s okay.” We maneuver through narrow sidewalks packed with tourists who are already sporting black robes and pointed witch hats, even though it’s almost two months until Halloween. The sun is still hot overhead, warm enough that a small bead of sweat trails down my spine.
Across the street from the shop, we pause to wait for the light to turn. I try again to convince my best friend that things are fine. “I swear I’m not mad, Gem. It’s just that I had a wholechurch-and-state thing with this stuff. It’s weird to be bringing you here instead of the dance studio.”
Gemma nods and turns away without saying anything, and I mentally kick myself. She always gets like this whenever Morgan or I mention dance. Before the car crash, Gemma lived and breathed ballet and modern and tap. She had the rare combination of innate talent and the drive to work harder than everyone else anyway. She could have gotten into any dance conservatory she wanted, and her dream of dancing on Broadway always seemed a matter of when, not if. That all changed when the guardrail smashed into her door and crushed her leg. Despite her age and how hard she works in physical therapy, the doctors haven’t been overly encouraging about her ability to recover in time to audition this year. If she ever does.
Before I can apologize, the lights turn and we follow the crowd across the street. I pull open the door and bells jingle above me. I smile at the familiar sound, letting the soothing lavender incense draw me into the shop.
I spot Lauren working behind the register, where she’s converted the back counter into some kind of altar. Beautifully carved wooden statues of the Horned God and Triple Goddess sit at the center of the counter with large gold and silver pillar candles burning beside their respective deity.
Even from across the room, the flicker of the small flames brushes against my skin. I try to ignore the sensations, but they push and push andpushuntil I can’t block them out. Suddenly, I’m back in the woods again. My legs are bound to a stake. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Fire presses against my skin, looking for a way past my compromised Elemental power. Smoke fills my lungs. Tears blur my vision as darkness crowds in and—
“Hannah.” Gemma’s urgent whisper pulls me back to the present, and I find her fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I can barely choke the word out. It scrapes like ash and rock across my tongue as I press the heels of my hands against my eyelids. Coming here was a mistake. I need Morgan. My nerves are too raw and exposed without her.
No. I shove memories into a mental box and lock it tight.You can do this. You have to be okay if you want to fight. Just find Cal. Slowly, the tension leaves my body. I still step farther away from the candles though.
