This Coven Won't Break - Isabel Sterling Page 0,9

time. Dad driving Veronica and me to the mall before either of us had cars of our own. The first time he gave me the Sex Talk, the Google results for lesbian safe sex practices still on his phone screen for quick reference.

The memory makes me smile, even though it was absolutely mortifying at the time.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m going to start charging you a dollar every time you ask that. I’m fine, Gem. Some idiot boy with a recorder is the least of my concerns.” I pull out of my spot and head toward Gemma’s house. When we pass the cemetery, my heart clenches and I have to fight back the wave of grief that threatens to drown my vision. A chorus of not fair, not fair, not fair screams in my head, but I can’t let the thoughts take hold. I can’t let myself miss him or I’ll fall apart completely.

Gemma reaches for my hand and squeezes tight. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. I squeeze back, pushing the last of the tears away. But once I drop her off, I can’t stop them anymore. The world turns blurry, and when I pull into my driveway, I feel lost.

This place isn’t home. My home was another casualty of Benton’s reign of terror against my coven, burnt down by his Hunter parents. I lost my dad and everything he touched. The recliner where he used to read me stories. My childhood art that he kept plastered all over his home office. The family grimoire with his tight, cramped handwriting.

All of it’s gone.

And it’s never coming back.

3

THE NEXT DAY, I have my first prep session with Dad’s boss, district attorney Natalie Flores. She’s back from maternity leave and in charge of the case against Benton. With the trial looming at the end of the month—in twenty-four days—we can’t put off preparations any longer.

DA Flores eases me into the questioning, asking about my relationship with Benton and the events leading up to my capture. It’s hard to get the words out, harder still to function with painful flashbacks overtaking my memory with each new question.

You and Veronica weren’t treated for burns. Did Benton actually set fire to the wood?

Why did you go to Benton’s house that night?

Did you know it was Benton you fought at Veronica’s house earlier that summer?

And on and on and on. By the time the DA ends the session, I feel phantom flames pressing against my skin, and my insides are twisted into knots.

“Have you heard anything?” Mom asks as we’re leaving. “About the search for the boy’s parents?”

“The police are following up on every lead,” DA Flores promises, but Mom and I have listened to Dad enough over the years to know that means they’ve got nothing.

In the car, when Mom reaches for my hand, I flinch away before I can stop myself. “Sorry,” I say, crossing my arms tightly around me. “That was just . . . It was a lot, Mom.” I shudder again as the memories rise up. Benton’s hands curled around my arms as he dragged me to the pyre. His strength as he tossed me over his shoulder when I tried to slow him down.

“I know, Han.” The temperature in the car dips slightly. Mom starts the engine and pulls into traffic. “I wish I knew how to make it better or how to keep you from having to do this at all.” When she stops at a light, Mom turns to me. “Ice cream?”

A smile pulls at my lips. “I could do ice cream.” Mom turns on her blinker so we can go to my favorite ice cream stand, one of the few still open after Labor Day. “Can Morgan come over later?”

At first, Mom doesn’t say anything. She still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Morgan is a Blood Witch, despite my ongoing #notallBloodWitches campaign at home. Mom hasn’t said anything weird to Morgan about it, and her rules are the same as they were when I was dating Veronica, but there’s still this shadow of fear and doubt whenever I bring her up.

Part of me wants to believe it’s her Momma Bear tendencies going into overdrive after what happened this summer, but there’s another part of me that knows all the same horror stories about Blood Witches that she does. A part of me that knows those kinds of beliefs don’t disappear without real work.

But then Mom slips on a bright smile. “Of course she

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