You and Veronica weren’t treated for burns. Did Benton actually set fire to the wood?
Why did you go to Benton’s house that night?
Did you know it was Benton you fought at Veronica’s house earlier that summer?
And on and on and on. By the time the DA ends the session, I feel phantom flames pressing against my skin, and my insides are twisted into knots.
“Have you heard anything?” Mom asks as we’re leaving. “About the search for the boy’s parents?”
“The police are following up on every lead,” DA Flores promises, but Mom and I have listened to Dad enough over the years to know that means they’ve got nothing.
In the car, when Mom reaches for my hand, I flinch away before I can stop myself. “Sorry,” I say, crossing my arms tightly around me. “That was just . . . It was a lot, Mom.” I shudder again as the memories rise up. Benton’s hands curled around my arms as he dragged me to the pyre. His strength as he tossed me over his shoulder when I tried to slow him down.
“I know, Han.” The temperature in the car dips slightly. Mom starts the engine and pulls into traffic. “I wish I knew how to make it better or how to keep you from having to do this at all.” When she stops at a light, Mom turns to me. “Ice cream?”
A smile pulls at my lips. “I could do ice cream.” Mom turns on her blinker so we can go to my favorite ice cream stand, one of the few still open after Labor Day. “Can Morgan come over later?”
At first, Mom doesn’t say anything. She still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Morgan is a Blood Witch, despite my ongoing #notallBloodWitches campaign at home. Mom hasn’t said anything weird to Morgan about it, and her rules are the same as they were when I was dating Veronica, but there’s still this shadow of fear and doubt whenever I bring her up.
Part of me wants to believe it’s her Momma Bear tendencies going into overdrive after what happened this summer, but there’s another part of me that knows all the same horror stories about Blood Witches that she does. A part of me that knows those kinds of beliefs don’t disappear without real work.
But then Mom slips on a bright smile. “Of course she can. She can stay for dinner, too, if you want.”
I’m texting Morgan before Mom even finishes her sentence.
Morgan doesn’t text back until we’re done with our ice cream—mint chocolate chip for me and mocha for Mom.
MH: Sorry! Just got home from dance.
MH: How was your meeting?
HW: . . . Fine.
Three dots appear and disappear several times, and Mom is pulling into the driveway before a response comes through.
MH: I’ll be over soon.
I’ve learned that Morgan’s soon can mean anything from five minutes to an hour, so I frantically clean my room, tossing dirty clothes in the closet and making my bed. I consider actually throwing my clothes in the washer, but the doorbell rings.
A flutter of nerves makes my skin tingle all over as I slip into the hall.
“You two can stay in the living room,” Mom yells from the kitchen. “No closed doors!”
“Why didn’t you say something before I panic-cleaned my room?” I shout back.
“It’s good for you!”
I groan and check my reflection in the hallway mirror. I don’t know why I bother. I’m a mess. Morgan knocks again, and I open the door.
The first sight of Morgan leaves me breathless and almost giddy. She’s wearing hip-hugging jeans and a floppy gray sweater. Her red hair is still wet from a shower, and she’s twisted it up into a loose bun on the top of her head. Everything about her is cozy in all the ways I want to feel right now.
Her cheeks flush a gentle pink, and she glances up at me from the porch. The single step into the house makes me a few inches taller than her, and she looks through her lashes at me. “Your heart is racing,” she says, her voice soft.
“Yeah?” I hadn’t noticed it before, but now I feel it speed even faster. Embarrassment warms my cheeks until I’m sure they’re matching hers. “What can I say?” I whisper, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably. “Seeing you does silly things to my heart.”
I cringe as soon as the words pass my lips. Dating her has made me cheesier than being with Veronica ever did, but Morgan doesn’t seem to mind. The right corner of her lips quirks up, and she raises a small bag. The contents clink as they shift together. “I thought a spa day was in order.”
“You’re brilliant.” I press a quick kiss to her cheek and lead her to the living room. We start with the face masks Morgan brought and take selfies once they’ve dried, trying to see who can make the goofiest face with our expressions limited by the stiff clay.
I upload the best pictures to Instagram. “It’s too bad I can’t tag you.” Morgan’s parents made her delete all her accounts after everything that happened with Riley, the ex-boyfriend who turned out to be a Witch Hunter. He’s the whole reason they even moved to Salem from Minnesota.
She stands and offers me a hand. “Let’s wash this off before our faces turn to stone.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon watching movies while we paint each other’s nails. I decorate Morgan’s with little flowers and tell her about my meeting with Natalie Flores. Morgan asks if Veronica is going to testify, and I have to admit I’m not entirely sure. I don’t think she has a choice, so the DA must be doing some kind of video conference to prep her since Veronica disappeared off to Ithaca College back in August.
While Morgan paints my nails a shimmering sky blue, I tell her about the raid that was supposed to happen last night. How the Hunters’ drug, the one that could temporarily bury a witch’s magic, should be destroyed by now.
I text Cal to ask about the raid, but by the time the movie ends, he still hasn’t responded. Since Mom has disappeared into her bedroom to grade papers, I turn on the news. Morgan has me sit on the floor in front of her so she can braid my hair.
As she works, her Blood Magic flows through my veins. It eases away the lingering tension from my meeting with DA Flores, but it does more than that. It steadies me. Grounds me. The air plays along my skin, and since we’re alone in my house, I absently raise my hand and call to my magic. The air moves along my fingers, swirling and dancing without pain or force.
The relief of it almost makes me cry.
“Can I ask you something?” I say as Morgan secures a tie around the end of the braid.
“About what?” She shifts back into the cushions now that her work is done.
“About how your magic works.” I perch on the edge of the couch beside her, weighing my words. I want so badly to know everything about her, want to understand why her magic affects mine, but I don’t want to hurt her by asking the wrong way. There’s still so much I don’t know about Blood Witches. And the stuff I do know? It’s hard to tell which parts are based on stereotypes and nothing more.