The Witch Collector Part I (10 page)

Then she flipped over the final card. A black knight sat atop a horse, his helmet pushed up to reveal the hollowed eyes of a skull.

“Death,” she announced.

I stifled a cry by biting hard on my tongue. My eyes burned—with emotion, magic, and fear—and then all I saw was darkness.

“I can see you in there,” Sonya called to me. “Why don't you come out?”

I nestled farther into the furrow at the base of the redwood tree. No light could reach me there, and I liked it that way. I'd started running to the forest when I got angry, and I was burning mad. The kitten I'd picked out for my eighth birthday had been given to another witch. The one standing right in front of me.

“Go away.” I pressed my face against the bark and took in the fresh, woodsy scent.

“I'll share him with you,” Sonya said. “Honest to Isis.”

“I said go away.”

“It's not my fault my birthday comes first,” Sonya said. “Stop being silly.” She stuck her hand in the small space between me and the tree's outer trunk. “I'll let you name him.”

I thought about it for just long enough to make her sweat. “Okay,” I said, and wiggled out of the tight spot. Sonya smiled at me, relieved.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.

She shrugged and picked a twig from my hair. “I just always know.”

The vision was gone as soon as it had come. I was no longer in the woods, but looking into the smoke-yellow walls of Sandy's apartment.

“Breeda?” Shelley jumped up, tugging at my arm. “I think the reading's made her kind of emotional,” she said quickly. “We have to get going. It was so nice to meet you all. Thank you for the key.”

I looked wildly at the witches around me, halfway expecting to see Sonya's expectant face again.

Shelley shot me a pointed look. I choked out a good-bye and let her push me out of the door.

“I'm not finished,” Seralina called out.

“Let them go,” Sandy said quickly. “I don't want to get into Evie's business.”

I tripped, collapsing against the wall.

“It's only one flight,” Shelley whispered just as I fell hard on the stairs, my limbs going numb.

“I'll carry you,” she said. But I shook my head.

I could feel Shelley looking at me, at my head thrown back, slackened. “I'll be right back,” she promised.

Tears filled my eyes. I could see the nightmarish picture of Death in my mind's eye. Did it mean the worst for my parents, or was Seralina predicting my future? Shaking, I pushed myself up on one elbow.
Hurry, Shelley. We don't have much time
.

“Breeda?”

Ion. He ducked his head over the railing, black hair flopping onto his forehead. “I'm sorry for being a smart-ass back there,” he said apologetically. “Don't freak out. My mom's not always right. Her gift isn't as accurate as she thinks it is.”

I didn't answer, a last-ditch effort to conserve my strength.

My silence made him nervous. “I know your aunt,” he said. “She's the alchemist, right?”

“Do you know where she works?” I whispered.

“Sandy took my mom and me to her shop a few weeks back.” He tipped his skinny upper body over the rail. “Why don't you know?”

Inhale. Exhale
. “Family drama,” I managed to say.

He nodded. “I know what that's like. Look, you don't know the city, right?”

I shook my head.

“Then I'll take you to see her,” he said. “Meet me in front of St. Sylvester's at ten thirty tomorrow.”

“Ion?” The sharpness of Seralina's tone caused Ion's thin, pale face to darken with embarrassment.

“I'd better go,” he said. “Tomorrow. Don't forget.” He slipped back into Sandy's apartment just as my eyelids closed.

I heard another door opening and voices and then the sound of boots hitting wooden stairs. I heard Shelley shout my name.

Then I blacked out.

I
woke to the smell of my mother's garden.

Soft, lavender-scented sheets cocooned my body. I pulled them tighter, wanting to draw the scent of my old life closer to me.

“She's awake,” a voice said from somewhere above me.

I didn't want to open my eyes. For a few seconds, I'd been home. Reluctantly, I pushed myself up to sitting. The muscles in my arms and chest protested, sending electric currents of pain down my limbs. I groaned and let my eyes adjust to the dim light in the room.

A chunky candle flickered on a table in the corner. Its fragrance—rosemary and cedarwood—mixed with the lavender to settle my nerves.

Miro sat in a straight, hard-backed chair near my bed. An older man sat next to him, and I knew instantly he was Miro's father. They shared the same thick, dark hair and grim expression.

“This is Dobra, my father,” Miro said. “He leads our coven.”

Dobra was holding a mug, which he passed to me. “Shelley's been busy,” he said. “I think you'll want to drink this before we talk. That girl has mastered the art of tisane making.”

I accepted the tisane he offered and sipped it slowly, taking the opportunity to study the room. It was cozy, with shiny oak floors and walls painted a watery blue.
The lightest blue to soothe the mind . . 
.

Weak light filtered through the sheer curtains. “Is it morning?” I asked.

Miro smiled wryly. “I guess you could say that.”

I slid the mug next to a pile of books on the nightstand. “Did you stay up all night?”

Miro glanced at his father, then looked back at me. “We were worried.”

“How did I get here?”

“I carried you to a cab when you collapsed on the stairs. Do you remember any of it?”

I didn't. The thought unsettled me.

“Don't upset her,” Dobra said. With my eyes adjusting, I could see Dobra's face more clearly. His eyes were a mud brown, a contrast to his son's beautiful, shifting color. “She's tired. We can talk in a few hours.”

“No, it's okay,” I said, trying to assure them both. “Did Miro tell you about my parents?”

“Yes,” Dobra said evenly. “He also mentioned that you're unmarked.”

I looked at Miro, but he only shrugged. “You didn't think I could keep
that
a secret, did you?”

“An unmarked witch is rare,” Dobra said. “Your transitions are more difficult.” Dobra stopped, as if unsure if he should go on.

“I need to know,” I said. “Please don't hold back.”

“Is there any possibility your parents left of their own accord?”

“Definitely not.”

He smiled, but there was a wariness in the way he tilted his head, like he didn't quite believe me. “I had to ask. Transitions are more successful the closer the parents are to the child, but this also strengthens the force of it. And the effects of the magic can be much harder on the parents than on the younger witch.”

I swallowed my guilt. No wonder my mother was suffering so much. My father, pale and shaking, had probably begun as well. “Why don't all parents send their children away during the transition?”

“Some do,” Dobra answered.

I thought about my mother sleeping next to my bed when I had the flu, about my father tending to every scratch I got from running through the woods. My parents had fought against whoever took them. “They would never leave me.”

Dobra frowned. “Then I suppose they were . . . taken.”

“Will you help me find them?” Emotion tore at my voice.

Dobra was silent a moment, then moved closer to the edge of the bed. When he stood closer, I noticed his deep worry lines, and the gray threaded through his hair. “I will send word out to every coven in the area, alerting hundreds of witches,” Dobra said. “But I have to ask you something in return.”

“Anything.”

“You need to leave. You cannot stay as a guest in my home. I will do everything I can to help, but I won't allow you to bring danger to my son.”

“Are you serious?” Miro said. “She has nowhere to go.”

“I hope you understand I'm not being cruel—simply cautious,” Dobra said, his voice clipped.

“Dad,” Miro said through clenched teeth.

Dobra only addressed me. “You are unmarked, and an unmarked witch is extremely dangerous. And not just because of the strength and unpredictability of your powers. You will always be a target. I am sorry, but I can't have you here.”

I felt like I was about to close my eyes and jump into a strange, dark lake. “I don't understand,” I said, half dreading the explanation to come. “Why am I so dangerous?”

“People are afraid of things that have no limits,” Dobra said.

“What do you mean, no limits?”

Dobra glanced at Miro, who said, “I don't think anyone's explained anything to her. I wasn't much help. I don't know much about this.”

Dobra sighed. “An unmarked witch has the potential to hold every power in our world. You don't have any natural gifts of your own, but you are a collector. Every time you witness a witch performing magic, you have the ability to . . . pick up the gift.”

No
, I thought.
No
. I had nothing of my own, so I had to take others' gifts? Steal them? I'd spent so much time dreaming about which gift I'd inherit: my mom's or my dad's. I'd weighed the pros and cons, worried about hurt feelings, imagined one and then the other teaching me to perfect my magic. Now both gifts were mine, but not because I'd inherited them—because I took them. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. “Are you sure?” I said, embarrassed by the desperation in my voice.

Dobra gave me a pitying look. “At the beginning of the transition, a witch will get sick after performing magic. It's the body's natural response to the change. An unmarked witch will also get sick every time she takes another's gift. Is this happening to you?”

I nodded, slowly letting it sink in that he knew what he was talking about. “When I take someone's gift . . . do they know?”

“Most of the time, a witch wouldn't notice,” Dobra said, frowning. “But some say the unmarked steal a bit of each gift when it happens, that they somehow weaken the witch ever so slightly.”

I looked over at Miro, guilty. That's why I could lift the restaurant menu? Because I'd taken his gift?

“Don't be crazy,” Miro said, bristling. “You didn't steal anything from me. I feel exactly the same.”

I knew I should keep asking Dobra questions, to learn more, but I couldn't. How could what Dobra had told me be true? No one ever treated me any differently. Why didn't my parents tell me? Then there was Gavin. Was he after me because I was unmarked? If other witches distrusted the unmarked, wouldn't he be glad I was gone?

Then my thoughts all melted away but one: there was the possibility that Brandon knew. He was so weird and vague before he left for Seaside. Was he pulling away from me or had he wanted to say something about my status, and been told not to? The possible answers to those questions made my heart hurt.

Dobra cleared his throat. “I'll call around and see if I can find a place for you.”

“No,” Miro said, watching my face. “Not yet.” He glanced nervously at his father. It was the first time I'd ever seen him unsure of himself.

The air in the room stilled to a silent standoff.

“Fine,” Dobra finally said. “I will consider allowing it. You can stay until breakfast.” He left the room without another word to either Miro or me.

I swung my feet to the floor and hoisted my backpack to the bed. I needed their help—and I needed a quiet place to think—but I didn't want to get between father and son. “Look, I should probably head back to the apartment anyway. What if someone tries to contact me there? Or, hey, you never know. What if, miraculously, my parents show up?”

Miro said nothing. He only watched as I searched for my ballet flats.

“Stop,” he said as I shoved my foot into the first shoe. “It's not safe. You'll sleep here. Vadim will swing by the apartment in case someone tried to make contact. No one's going to try anything with him.”

“What about the bewitched demon?”

A shadow crossed Miro's features. “Would you believe Vadim's been up against worse? He came out in one piece.”

I wanted to know what could possibly be worse than a demon, but I'd save that question for later. “And what happens when your father finds out?”

“I'll take responsibility.”

“But if he gets hurt,” I countered, “
I'm
the one responsible.”

“No one's going to get hurt.” He looked at me and then knelt at my feet. I didn't stop him while he removed my shoes. I was confused and tired and still frightened by what Dobra had told me. Unsteady, I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders, my palms resting on corded muscle. His rough hand held my right ankle for just a moment too long, and heat rose from it all the way to my cheeks. Guilt made my heart even heavier. I hated that I was reacting to his touch.

“You were clutching a key when we found you earlier,” he murmured. “I put it in your bag.”

Grateful for the distraction, I rummaged through my backpack. “It's the key to the apartment. We should give it to Vadim,” I said, handing it to Miro. “How many times can we fix a broken doorknob?”

Miro glanced at the screaming figure etched into the key chain. “Let's hope this isn't a bad omen,” he said, and slipped the key into his pocket. Once it was out of sight, I felt what little power I had ebb away. I should be grateful. So why did I feel like I'd given away too much?

Miro blew out the candle. “Get some rest, Breeda.”

“I'll try.”

He paused in the door frame before vanishing into the darkened hallway.

Sleep wouldn't come. The day's events scrolled through my brain, over and over. I'd been too distracted at Sandy's. What had I missed? The tarot cards I'd chosen told a story, but I hadn't stuck around long enough for Seralina to put it together. Betrayal—Ignorance—Death. The combination brought such an emotional response, it was hard to think objectively. I made a mental note to go over everything with Shelley in the morning.