This Coven Won't Break - Isabel Sterling Page 0,64

to do this, Hannah,” Mr. Hughes says, resting a hand on my shoulder, “but I think we need some family time tonight. Can we raincheck?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” I say, realizing he’s already managed to steer me out of the room. I glance back over my shoulder, but Morgan and her mom are sitting on the couch now, Alice sandwiched between them. Morgan glances up at me, and an apologetic smile flashes briefly across her worried face.

I try not to take their dismissal personally, but it still hurts more than I want it to. I’m the only witch in this house who has actually felt the effects of the Hunters’ drug. If anyone can relate to what they’re going through right now, it’s me.

But maybe . . .

Maybe there is something about being a Blood Witch that makes this different. That makes my experience not as relevant as it feels. The Blood Witch boy is in the hospital, unable to wake up. Sarah was physically fine after her magic left her.

So I don’t argue to stay when Mr. Hughes asks me to gather my things. I don’t say anything when he promises that Morgan will call to reschedule dinner soon.

But when the door slams closed behind me, their rejection hurts.

Knowing that they’re in there, hurting even more than I am right now, hardens the rejection into rage. There’s somewhere I need to be. Someone who owes us answers no one else seems willing to get.

I climb into the car and grip the steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles are white.

It’s time I paid Riley a visit.

* * *

Voices trickle through Archer’s house when I sneak in the front door. Elder Keating’s voice isn’t loud enough for me to make out the words, but I recognize Archer’s murmured disagreement. If I had access to my power, I could use the air to draw their conversation closer. I could dampen the sound of my creeping footsteps so they wouldn’t hear them as I inch across the floor toward the basement.

Thankfully neither of them are Elementals. If they were, they’d sense my breath on the air the moment I entered.

At the basement door, I check the handle and find it unlocked. Gently, I pull it open, cringing when the hinges whine, and stand frozen in the entrance. When no one comes to yell at me for sneaking through the house, I descend.

The basement looks the same as it did a week and a half ago, though there are more empty vials sitting on the work table, the potions within already used up. When I reach the bottom stair, I spot the Hunters.

Riley stands with his back to the cell door while Wes perches at the edge of one mattress and Paige stands facing them both. They’re eating sandwiches, bottles of water scattered around the cell. Riley says something that makes Wes chuckle before taking another bite of his dinner.

Ice crackles around my heart, the shards piercing the fragile muscle. I step farther into the room.

Paige spots me first, her face contorting into a scowl. She presses her lips into a thin line but doesn’t say anything.

Riley notices Paige’s expression and turns. “What do we have here?” He cocks his head to one side and lets his gaze roam all over me. His attention travels over my body like pawing, unwanted hands. He saunters to the edge of the cell and rests his forearms on the horizontal bar. “How’s it hanging, Not Hannah?” he says, playing the role of the intrepid reporter I met nearly three weeks ago.

I don’t waste time with pleasantries. “Did you know?” I demand, clenching my fists.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” he says lazily. He takes a large bite of his sandwich, lettuce crunching as he chews.

“The drug,” I say, torn between holding my ground and rushing the cell to punch that fucking confidence off his face. How? How does he look so at ease and in charge when he’s the one behind bars? “Did you know the drug would kill Morgan?”

Riley freezes. His entire body goes rigid, and then his brows arch up his forehead as concern settles over his features. But then he blinks, and all that falls away. He takes another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly.

His silence chips away at my composure. I feel like a string pulled too tight, on the verge of snapping. I close the distance between us. “You didn’t know, did you? They didn’t tell you the drug could kill a Blood