I can’t be benched because I finally told the truth. “You can’t tell her. We need David.”
Mom pulls up her contacts. “The Council can find someone else.”
“There isn’t time.” I reach for her phone, but a gust of air slams into me, knocking me back several steps. “Mom, you can’t.”
“I’m not going to lose you, too, Hannah. Even if that means locking you in the house.”
Something angry and bitter and wicked boils over inside me. She can’t do this to me. She’s supposed to help me, not take away my only chance to destroy the Hunters. “Dad wouldn’t do this,” I say through hot, angry tears.
“Your father isn’t here.”
The words land like a bat to the chest, and it feels like my lungs are collapsing. Whoever Mom called must have answered, because now she’s talking about meeting tonight. There are location options and times as they try to coordinate schedules. I sink back to the ground beside Dad’s grave and glare up at my mother. “I hate you,” I say, the words small but filling all the space between us anyway. Growing that space until it seems uncrossable.
Mom hangs up and stares down at me, her expression unreadable. “I’d rather have a daughter who hates me than a daughter who’s dead.” She rests her fingers on top of Dad’s headstone and closes her eyes. “Come on. Ryan’s waiting for us.”
14
TREES WITH THE FIRST blush of their autumn colors speed by my window.
“You’ve been quiet.”
“Hmm?” I tear my gaze away from the shifting landscape and look at Cal. Last night, Archer agreed to set up a meeting between Mom and Elder Keating. I rode in silence all the way to Archer’s house, even as Mom promised she was only doing it because she loved me. But when Mom told them about my magic, something unexpected happened.
Elder Keating didn’t care.
She actually apologized for assuming that my magic was unaffected by what happened to me. She apologized for making me feel pressured to keep my condition to myself. She even made sure I knew that struggling with my magic—or even losing it completely—would never invalidate my identity as an Elemental.
Even now, I feel the warmth of those words. The reassurance. I didn’t know how much I needed someone to say that.
Mom quickly agreed with the Elder, but then Keating told her I was going to Ithaca anyway. My job as a recruiter doesn’t require magic—though our strategy for contacting David is a little different now.
Mom and I haven’t spoken since.
“Sorry,” I say finally, shaking the memories away. “There’s a lot on my mind.” Namely, that I’m a terrible daughter. Mom might never forgive me for going to Ithaca, but I’m still mad at her, too. Instead of helping me, she tried to take away the one thing that’s given me purpose.
“Me too, actually.” Cal checks his rearview and glances over his shoulder before passing a semi. “I’ve been thinking about Morgan.”
“My girlfriend? Why?”
“I keep wondering why being around her helps your magic.” We pass the truck completely, and Cal slides back into the right lane. “I have a theory.”
The excitement in his voice makes me want to smile and groan simultaneously. “Is it a better theory than the whole ‘let in a little grief’ thing?” I felt plenty of grief in the cemetery last night, but that didn’t do shit for my magic. I grab my soda and twist open the top to take a drink.
Cal glances at me before refocusing on the road. “I think you love her.”
His words catch me off guard, and I cough and sputter, soda bubbles burning my nose. “I’m sorry, what?” Embarrassment burns at my face and neck as I wipe drips of soda off my chin.
“Think about it,” he says, ignoring my flustered choking. “Grief is closely tied to love. You miss your dad because you love him, but if you’re closing off the bad feelings, you’re probably blocking the good ones, too.”
“And being around Morgan fixes that?” I don’t say the L word. I don’t know if that’s what I feel when I’m around her. I know it’s good and warm and safe. I know I want to see her every day, that I want to protect her and make her laugh. I want to know what she thinks and the secret hopes she holds in her heart.
But I thought I loved Veronica, and that fell to shit. I’m not ready to say those words again. To even think them too hard.
“It makes sense,” Cal