Gemma holds up her hand and ticks off each argument on her fingers. “Your brow is pinched. You’re scowling. And you look like someone kicked a puppy. That’s your classic post-breakup expression.” My best friend gasps softly and swings closer on her crutches. “You didn’t break up with Morgan, did you?”
“Morgan and I are fine,” I assure her. Strangely, so are Veronica and I these days. After everything that happened with Benton this summer—him kidnapping her, me getting caught trying to rescue her, both of us nearly dying—we decided to give our friendship a clean slate. A friendship informed by the mistakes we made while dating, but not defined by them. At least, that’s the goal.
“Well, it’s definitely something,” Gem insists. “You know you can trust me.”
“I know, but I can’t talk about it here.” Those dual feelings of excitement and disappointment rear up again. I should be happy about the raid tonight. No other witch should have to go through what I did, but I can’t stop wishing I was part of it. Wishing I could be the one to destroy the drug that stole my magic and gave it back broken and wrong.
Fresh shame claws up my chest, using my ribs like a jungle gym. The drug only affectedmelike this.Veronica’s magic returned after only a few weeks. I don’t understand why mine is almost impossible to reach, and when I do manage to push hard enough to touch the elements, it hurts too much to use. I don’t get why three of the elements stay so far out of reach while even thesmallest fire consumes my attention and trails across my awareness like barbed wire on bare skin.
“Hannah...”
“Gemma...” I imitate her concerned tone, which only makes her scowl at me. “We’ll talk later, I promise. Are you ready to go?”
She shakes her head. “I want to get some amethyst before we leave. Lauren said it could help enhance my tarot reading.”
I glance toward the register where Lauren keeps the handmade crystal jewelry. The deity candles burn steadily, and I falter. “I’ll wait for you over here, if that’s okay.” I hope she can’t hear the fear that makes my voice tremble.
My best friend gives me a curious look that tells me shedefinitelynoticed. “I’ll be quick,” she promises.
Behind me, the bells jingle as the front door swings open. Reflexively, I turn to see who has come in. A white guy who looks around my age, with floppy brown hair and hazel eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, enters the shop. He isn’t the kind of guy I normally expect to find in a place like this, dressed in crisp khakis and a maroon polo.
He scans the room, and something flickers across his expression when he spots me. He pulls out his phone, flipping through a few screens before settling his gaze on me again.
Nerves twist in my gut.
Cal appears from an aisle over and approaches the dark-haired boy. “Can I help you find something?”
“Actually...” The guy doesn’t even look at Cal, too busy glancing from his phone to me. “I think I’ve found what I’m looking for.”
Another customer calls for Cal, and once he’s occupied, the guy closes the space between us. “You’re Hannah Walsh, right?”
I tense when my name passes his lips. “Sorry. You have the wrong girl.” I brush past him and head back down the book aisle. Fucking news stories. He was probably looking at a photo from one of the articles. I wonder which channel or wannabe investigative blogger spilled that I work here.
That Iusedto work here.
The dark-haired guy appears around the other side of the aisle, an easy smile curving his lips. His posture is open and relaxed, like he’s used to getting his way. “So,Not Hannah. I assume it wouldn’t interest you to learn that Benton Hall’s lawyers intend to argue self-defense.” He pauses, and his words are like ice in my veins. “If you’re not her, I suppose you don’t care that they plan to expose every facet of Hannah’s life to the public. They may even drag her new girlfriend in to testify.”
I whirl on him. “What do you want from me? How do you even know about her?”
He shrugs. “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to know things.” He fusses with his phone again. “In fact, I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you quit.”
“If you thought I quit, what are you doing here? Are you even old enough to be a reporter?”
“There isn’t an age limit on talent. Besides, every good reporter knows the value of research. I was hoping to talk to your former coworkers, but since you’re here...” He opens an audio recording app on his phone and shoves it in my direction. “Would you like to make a statement? You can get ahead of the narrative. Humanize your position before the news paints you as therealbad guy.”
The words dry up on my tongue. I can’t read this boy. I can’t tell if he wants to help me or paint me as the villain himself.There’s something about him that sets me on edge. Something so assessing about his gaze, like he’s piecing together an intricate puzzle, not talking to an actual person.
A shudder rattles through my bones.
“Come on, Hannah.” The young reporter smirks and leans against the bookshelf. “Will you tell your side of the story? The whole world wants to know the truth of what you are.”
My gaze snaps back to his. “What did you just say?”
“Okay, fine, maybe not the whole world. But my readers definitely want to know what happened to you.” He holds the phone out to me. “Do you have a statement? Maybe we could set up a meeting with this new girl of yours. Morgan, right?”
But I shake my head. That’s not what he said. “You want to knowwhatI am?”A witch, I think.A broken, grieving Elemental who can’t even keep her ice water cold. “I’m furious. I’m sick of vultures like you trying to turn my life into a soundbite for your stupid blog.”
“It’s not a blog—”
