“I can’t believe you talked to She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named without someone getting killed.” Gem grabs the toothbrush from her overnight bag and heads for the door. “It’s a summer miracle.”
“Hilarious, Gem. Really.”
“You know you love me,” she says, and glides out the door. The smell of bacon intensifies with her departure.
While Gem uses the guest bathroom in the hall, I throw my hair into a ponytail and reach for my phone, desperate for news. Maybe the police already caught the misguided Reg dabbling in sacrificial magic.
I punch in my passcode, and I’m shocked Mom let me sleep in so late. Normally, anything past nine results in a lecture. Out of habit, I check my notifications before searching for news. I’m tagged in a few blurry photos from the bonfire, my pre-party pic with Gem has a decent number of new likes, and there’s an unread direct message waiting for me. Without thinking, I open the message and freeze.
It’s from Veronica.
Seeing her name pop up sends tears prickling in my eyes. I should delete it unread. Block her account so she can’t send any more. But I can’t. I have to know. Maybe she’s writing to apologize. Maybe last night made her regret what happened between us. Maybe . . .
Hannah,
I’m graduating today. Top of my class, just like I promised when we were kids. I did it, Han. I really did it.
You should be there, sitting in the front row. I wrote so much of my speech for you. It won’t be right without you there. Everyone is coming, all the families. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? We’ve been friends our entire lives. What happened in NYC shouldn’t change that.
I would go if it were you.
—V
I read her message again—coded to avoid mentioning the coven—torturing myself with her words. Should I go? Would she really go if our places were reversed?
A door opens and clicks shut in the hallway. I wipe the tears from my face and delete our message history. My chest constricts as years’ worth of exchanges disappear in an instant. I want to undo it the second they’re gone, but like our relationship, what’s done is done.
My door opens and Gemma steps inside, her hair wrapped tight in a towel, her shirt sticking to her not-quite-dry skin. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothing.” My voice sounds guilty, even to me.
Gemma cocks her head to one side, which looks ridiculous with the huge towel engulfing her hair. “Then why do you look like someone punched you in the gut?”
“I don’t—”
“It’s Veronica, isn’t it?” Gemma crawls into bed beside me and reaches for my hand. “What’d she do this time?”
I stare at the ceiling, as if that will stop the flood of emotions drowning my eyes. “She wanted me to go to graduation.” Which started twenty minutes ago. She might be giving her speech right now, staring into a sea of faces, hoping to find mine.
“Are you upset you missed it?”
Yes. No. Maybe. I shake my head. “No.” I pick at my comforter. “Does that make me a terrible person? We’ve been friends since we were in diapers, long before she was my girlfriend.”
“Is that her excuse?” Gemma wraps her arm around my shoulders. “She hurt you, Hannah. Don’t let her guilt trip you for trying to heal. You don’t owe her anything.”
“I know.” If only things were that simple. If only I could delete her from my life completely. “But—”
“No buts. You made your choice, and so did she. It’s too late to go now anyway.” Gemma pulls away and removes the towel from her head. “Do we need to have a ceremonial burning of Veronica’s things?” She gestures toward my closet, where she hid all my relationship keepsakes in a shoe box. “I know I said to hang on to them, but maybe you need a good purge.”
“Girls!” Mom calls to us from the bottom of the stairs before I can reply. “Breakfast is ready.”
Gem lights up at the mention of food. She runs a comb swiftly through her hair and bounds for the door. I trudge after her, a clumsy ogre in the wake of her ballerina’s grace.
“Good morning, Mrs. Walsh,” Gemma says with a smile. “Need help setting the table?”
“Already done, but thank you.” Mom points down the hall to the dining room. “Go on ahead, I just need to grab the toast.”
Gemma doesn’t need to be told twice. She practically sprints down the hall and disappears into the dining room. But I don’t follow. I head for the kitchen, trailing after Mom.
“Hannah?” Mom pauses with a plate full of toast in her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Something weird happened last night. At the bonfire, Veronica and I—”
“Marie! You coming?” Dad’s voice carries through the house, deep and rumbling. “The eggs are getting cold.”
Mom shifts the plate into one hand and places the other on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you had a bad night, Han. I know you and Veronica aren’t on good terms right now, but you’ll have to learn to be around each other sooner or later. We can talk after brunch.”
“No, Mom—”
But she’s already gone. I follow her into the dining room where fried eggs, fruit, and a small mountain of bacon load up each plate. Mom sets the toast in the middle of the table, and we take our seats.
Dad smiles at me over his coffee. “Good morning.”
I mumble a response around the piece of bacon I shoved in my mouth.
“How was the bonfire?” Dad asks when I chomp on my toast instead of saying hello.
Gemma drops her fork back onto her plate. “You won’t believe what happened.” She leans forward, and my mouth is too full to tell her to hush. “Someone killed a raccoon and burned a pentacle into the ground. There was blood everywhere. And then there was this fight, and a girl broke her arm. Not from the fight, she got hurt before. Wait, let me back up. I’m not telling this right.”
“Geez, Gem. Take a breath in there somewhere,” I say in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. My parents turn to stare at me. A crease deepens in Mom’s brow.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to forget the most unusual part.” Gemma cups her hand to the side of her mouth and mock-whispers to my parents, “Hannah and Veronica talked without killing each other.”
Dad chuckles politely. “Now, that is something.”
As Gemma launches back into her story, describing the bloody scene with more detail than most people find appropriate for breakfast conversation, last night’s worries slither through my brain. I know Veronica said this was a Reg, but what if it wasn’t?