This Coven Won't Break - Isabel Sterling Page 0,57

bark of the tree beside us. “I’ve been going to therapy. They have a counseling center at school and . . . Well, I didn’t want to make the same mistakes with Savannah.”

“That’s great, V.”

“It’s not just about the relationship stuff,” she admits slowly. Carefully. “My therapist says I have PTSD from this summer. I’ve been too afraid to create fire since that night, not that I’ve told her that part.”

The breeze kicks up around us, and I pull my sleeves over my hands. “I can’t be near it, either. And I see him everywhere. At school. When I’m asleep. I hate it.” My voice breaks, and Veronica reaches out and squeezes my hand in hers.

“You should talk to someone.” She keeps her voice low and makes sure no one is close enough to overhear before she continues. “I thought it wouldn’t help, since we can’t mention any of the Clan stuff, but so much of what happened is public knowledge. You don’t have to explain why he hurt us to get help.”

“Really?” I always thought you had to explain everything for therapy to make a difference. That’s why I turned down Mom’s offer to schedule an appointment. None of the Elementals in my coven are psychologists or social workers, which meant if I wanted to see someone in person, I’d have to talk to a non-witch. And how could a counselor like that help someone like me? But if it’s working for Veronica . . . maybe I should try, too.

After the raid, I add, solidifying the promise to myself. I don’t have time for anything else until then.

“Really,” Veronica promises. “Now come on, there’s this shop with handmade gifts I want to show you.” She tugs on my arm until I’m following her down the street again. V casts me a conspiratorial glance. “How awkward is it to work with her? The Blood Witch we met in the city?”

“Alice? I think it’s safe to say she hates me.” My phone buzzes against my leg, cutting off any further explanation. I pull it out and see David O’Connell’s name on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is David. Is this Hannah?”

I turn and scan the street for Cal, waving him over. “Yes, this is her. She? I mean—” I take a deep breath. “Yes, I’m Hannah. Did you get my message? Can we meet?”

“Not tonight,” he says, sounding breathless, like he just ran up a flight of stairs. “Can you come by tomorrow? I’ll have everything set up by then.”

“Tomorrow?” I ask, and Cal nods vigorously. “Yes. Yeah, I can do that. Text me the address and time. I’ll be there.”

15

MORNING DAWNS IN ITHACA gray and drizzling.

I shower and dress quickly, wearing the same black slacks I wore to Dad’s funeral. I’ve paired them with a soft gray cardigan over a light blue button-down. Even though it might not make any difference, I want to give Dr. O’Connell every reason to take me seriously when I ask him to help the Council.

Outside Cal’s door, I pause before knocking. Part of me wants to leave without him. He’ll be safer here, and I don’t want to risk him being drugged like Sarah was. But this time will be different. The Hunters don’t know we’re in Ithaca. I haven’t posted anything online, and I’ve changed all my accounts to private. According to Wes and Paige, they were the only Hunters tracking my phone, and only because of Riley’s obsession with Morgan.

An obsession the rest of their Order doesn’t share.

Before I can sneak away, the door swings wide. Cal, who looks like my twin today in dark jeans, a navy dress shirt, and a soft cream sweater, startles when he sees me. “Oh. You’re already up.” He adjusts the messenger bag slung over one shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” I fidget with my phone since there aren’t any pockets in these pants. David said there’s only street parking by his house—which is on one of the town’s ridiculous hills—so last night we decided to walk the near mile from the hotel.

My legs are screaming by the time we make it to David’s, and the place looks like it’s ready to fall down. Half the shutters are missing, the paint has faded to gray where it isn’t peeling off completely, and the back steps are dangerously uneven.

I climb the stairs, the wood creaking under my weight, and find the door unlatched. “Hello?” I expect the Caster Witch to be waiting for me inside with a blood-collection