Winter Fire (The Witchling #3)(56)

“So, what? You hate Christmas and decided to ruin ours as well?”

Morgan didn’t realize the students nearby were staring at her. She faced the speaker, Isaac. He looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes and his hair singed, as if he’d gotten too close to the fire.

“Morgan wouldn’t do this,” Connor snapped, standing. He, too, looked tired as he strode towards her.

“Everyone heard her say she wanted to burn the tree down,” one of the girls seconded. “You heard Amber. Only a fire witchling could’ve done this.”

Morgan’s heart slammed into her chest. Pain and anger were suddenly all around her, as more people realized she was there.

“I don’t see any other fire witchlings,” Isaac said. “You’re sister’s been a screw up since she got here. They should’ve sent her to the Dark Campus!”

“Back off!” Connor shoved him.

“She almost killed Ronnie!” another girl cried. “The roof collapsed on him!”

Morgan couldn’t speak. The amount of hurt around her was overwhelming, and the looks everyone gave her made her want to cry.

“She didn’t do this,” Sonya said.

“Oh, the killer speaks!”

Sonya flushed, her hurt the deepest of all. But she raised her head. “Morgan is the only good person here. You can all go to hell!”

“Then why isn’t she a Light witchling?”

Their words were like blows, and Morgan flinched at each one.

“Stop it!” Connor shouted. “The next person who dares insult my sister will have their head knocked off by me!”

No one spoke. He waited a second, then turned to Morgan. She saw it then – the look in his eyes that said he, too, doubted her.

“Connor – “

“C’mon. You need to be somewhere else right now,” he said gruffly. He took her arm and pulled her back into the school.

“Connor, I swear to you, I didn’t do this!” she said, recovering at last.

“Where were you last night?” he demanded.

“What?”

“You’re the only one who wasn’t accounted for this morning. It’s kind of suspicious that you threatened the tree and then disappeared after it caught on fire!”

“Connor,” she whispered, wounded beyond anything she thought possible. “You know I’d never hurt anyone or anything.”

His face softened, and he rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so tired. Everyone is blaming you, and I couldn’t find you, and I started to think, well, after you showed up yesterday all bloody and Amber and Beck said you’re not fitting in, that maybe you just lost it.”

Devastated, she felt tears rise.

“Please, just tell me where you were, so I can tell Amber, and she won’t call our parents.”

Morgan hesitated. She’d been with Beck, and Connor would kill him if he found out. Not only that, but the no fraternization and no fighting rules at school were the two rules that Amber repeated would call for instant suspension.

If she wanted to see Beck again and stay in school until she was old enough to run away, she couldn’t tell Connor or Amber where she was.

“Is there going to be an investigation?” she asked. “I mean, I’m not the only fire witchling on the planet.”

Connor stared at her.

“It only has to last a week and a half. When I’m eighteen, I’ll be out of everyone’s hair for good,” she reasoned.

“What? Morgan, what –“

“I’m not going home again, Connor. Ever,” she replied. “I guess I could run away earlier and just hide out for two weeks. Then there’s nothing anyone can do to me,”

“There is no way on earth I’ll let you do that!” he said. “You didn’t do this either!” He motioned to the Square. “Just tell me where you were last night, so you have an alibi!”

Morgan drew a shuddering breath.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself,” she said. “Thank you, Connor, for always believing in me.” She walked away from him, not breaking into a run until she was at the stairs. She ignored his calls and raced up the stairwell then slammed the door to her room, locking it.

Last night was the best of her life. It was only fitting that today was one of the worst. Morgan struggled to catch her breath, not wanting to break down and cry. She let herself hope that things would get better when she was with Beck, and now this.

Someone set her up. But it wasn’t this thought that made her feel worse. If she had been here, she could’ve stopped this. The fire would answer to her, and she could’ve prevented all the grief and distress she saw on the faces of the students.

She could’ve protected them, and she failed. Yet she wouldn’t trade her night with Beck for anything.

She didn’t know what to think. Except that she wanted to run. The room was too confining, but she wasn’t eighteen yet. If they found her, she’d be sent home to New York, and she’d never escape, if that happened.

Morgan wiped away a few stray tears and went to the drawer where she kept the black rock. She opened it and rustled around, surprised to see a hole in the bottom of the drawer. It was singed by black, as if the rock had burned through the bottom to the drawer below.