The Witch Collector Part I (9 page)

“Breeda,” Shelley said, a strange look on her face. “I think he wants you. I don't know much about what it means to be an unmarked witch, but I'm pretty sure it's rare.”

“Then I should definitely stay here,” I said. “If he never finds me, I'll never get my parents back.”

“Look,” Miro said, his voice taut, “you're an easy target sitting in this apartment. The only thing we know for certain is how dangerous this is. You involved Dobra's coven in coming to us. He will need to know why.”

“Then you can go tell him,” I said, trying to sound confident. “I'm staying here.”

“Then you're being stupid,” Vadim said flatly. “Wouldn't your parents rather you were alive? Do you think a little girl could take on a demon?”

I knew he had a point, but anger—however irrational—pulsed through me. My hand curled into a fist.

“Let's calm down,” Shelley said quickly. She grabbed my hand and pressed her fingers into my flesh, distracting me from the rush of adrenaline shooting through my system.

“She's a stranger,” Vadim spat. “For all we know her parents left her on purpose . . . or she killed them herself. It's not our business.”

White-hot fury blinded me, and Shelley's tight grip was the only thing keeping me from lunging for Vadim's throat.

“That's enough,” Shelley said, raising her voice a notch. “We said we'd help her and we will.”

Miro held his hand up. “Shhh . . .”

The sound of a woman's laugh, deep and throaty, seemed to rise from the floorboards. The music we'd heard earlier dipped and rose again, as if an insane conductor guided it.

“I need to talk to whoever's down there,” I said. I tugged on my hand, freeing it from Shelley's grasp. “Maybe she heard something.”

Miro stared at me for a beat, his expression unreadable. I forced myself to hold his gaze. “It's too dangerous,” he finally said. “Vadim and I will go.”

Vadim exhaled audibly in protest.

Miro scowled at him. “If we're here, we might as well help.” He turned to me. “Is this building spellbound?”

“What does that mean?”

For once, Miro didn't deride my ignorance. “It means only witches live here.”

“I would assume so. Do witches live with regular people in Chicago?”

“Sometimes,” Miro said to my surprise. “I live in a spellbound building with Vadim, but not all witches do. Shelley lives above the restaurant with her mom. Some of us don't mind being around humans more, especially in a city.”

The mysterious woman from the second floor laughed. The mandolin music started up again, the tune a Gypsy-tinged song of Isis.

“Definitely witches,” Shelley said.

Vadim folded his arms over his broad chest. “It's a woman downstairs. If the two of us go, she'll feel threatened. Let Breeda do it.”

Vadim's willingness to send me alone irked me, though I couldn't tell if it was because he liked the idea of putting me in danger or because he thought I wouldn't threaten her. My hand fluttered unconsciously to my false talisman. “I can protect myself. You guys don't need to stay.”

Miro smirked. “You sure about that?”

I wasn't. But I was halfway down the hallway, Shelley right beside me, before he could object.

T
he smoky, citrusy smell of burning frankincense filled the hallway leading to the second-floor apartment. The door to 2A was slightly ajar, and I could see the light from wavering candles licking at the walls.

“Don't jump all over her right away,” Shelley whispered. “Let's see what we can learn.”

I nodded and then rapped my knuckles on the door. “Hello?”

The music cut off and the door flew open. A woman stood grinning at me, her bright yellow hair escaping its bun like rays shooting from an overexcited sun. She was younger than my mom, but not by much. “Are you Evie's friends?”

“We . . . are,” I said.

“Oh, good! She dropped by earlier and left a spare key on the counter.”

So Evie had been there. What had she seen?
What had she done?

The woman thrust her hand out and a row of plastic bracelets danced over her skinny forearm. “I'm Sandy. Come in, come in! We're having a party.”

We're
. Before I could prepare myself, she yanked me into her living room. The footprint of her apartment was the same as ours, but that's where the similarity ended. This woman liked the past and disliked order. Vintage books, sheet music, and empty takeout boxes dotted the floor. A long, console-style 1950s television set bisected the room. On the side closest to where we stood, a Victorian-style settee held a skinny, dark-haired boy, about my age. He flicked a lighter on and ran his finger through the flame.

“Ion, I told you to quit doing that,” Sandy said, kicking his booted feet off a tasseled mustard ottoman. “Watch some TV.” She touched the citrine stone hanging from a gold chain around her neck, and the television flickered on.

“You only have three channels,” he complained. “And I can barely see them.”

Sandy patted the thick, greenish glass of the TV. “It's such a beauty, though,” she said. “We can forgive its shortcomings, can't we?”

“Useless junk,” the boy muttered.

Sandy ignored him. “Well, at least say hi to my new friend . . . what was your name, dear?”

“Breeda,” I said, and immediately wanted to kick myself for not even trying to lie. I could sense Shelley's disappointment.

Sandy went still. “Lupe and Ryan's girl? But you were just a wee thing . . .” She brought a pale hand to her cheek. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting . . .” I said, and paused. She remembered my parents? I silently debated whether to start barraging her with questions or to wait and see what else she would reveal. Shelley lightly nudged my elbow, and I thought of her advice. I would wait.

Ion extinguished the lighter and studied me curiously, his black eyes trailing from the top of my head down to my feet. “Hey,” he said, acknowledging me for the first time.

Another woman, all straight lines and neat edges, walked around the clunky television. Her blond hair grazed her chin in a precisely cut bob. She wore a black pencil skirt and gray silk blouse. Her talisman, a delicate ruby nestled in the hollow of her throat, was beautiful. “Now was that so hard?” this woman teased the boy, Ion. “A little civility never hurt anyone.” Her voice held a hint of an accent.

Sandy cleared her throat. “Breeda, this is Ion's mother, Seralina.”

Seralina squeezed my hand.

We stood in awkward silence until I realized they were waiting for Shelley to say something. I nudged her ribs.

“Oh,” she said. “Hey.”

There was another uneasy pause; then Sandy jumped. “I'll get that key,” she said, heading toward the kitchen. “Don't want to hold you up!”

Seralina smiled. “Are you girls new to Chicago?”

I nodded, angry with myself for not instigating the questions. “How about you?”

She glanced at her son. “Ion and I travel quite a bit. We're Romany.”

Shelley raised an eyebrow.

Romany witches came from the oldest family lines, tracing back to the first recorded covens. Sheltered and as ill informed about the witch world as I now knew I had been, I'd heard the stories of the Romanies. Since their forest had burned, Romany witches traveled from place to place, never settling. The fire had destroyed their ancestral home, but it had given their ancestors powers of divination.

Sandy returned with an odd key chain dangling from her index finger. It was rectangular and flat, its oxidized silver surface etched with a face that looked like the figure in Edvard Munch's
The Scream
.

“Evie can be a little . . . aggressive when it comes to her creative urges,” Sandy said uneasily.

Seralina laughed. “That's a very diplomatic way of putting it.”

Sandy handed the screaming key chain to me. “I guess you should be going now,” she said, inching us toward the door.

“We had some people over,” I said, stalling. “Did the noise bother you?”

“Oh, tish-tosh, I barely heard a thing. I didn't even know Evie was around until I saw the key on the counter.” Sandy's smile held a touch of desperation. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time in Chicago. . . .”

“Actually, I was thinking of going downtown tomorrow,” I said, forcing some lightness into my voice. “My parents sleep in, but I thought I'd get an early start. Aunt Evie works in the city, right? I'd like to stop by and say hello. Do you know her address?”

Sandy's face darkened, a storm cloud marring the summer sky. “That's not a good idea, Breeda. It's not my place to . . . Evie is . . . not always a nice person.”

There was too much at stake to let her shut me down. “Please?” I said, smiling. “I really want to see her.”

Sandy flinched. “I'm not sure the feeling is mutual.”

“Why don't we find out?” Ion interrupted. He glanced from Sandy to me, a smile playing on his lips. “My mom was going to give Sandy a reading anyway, so everything's ready.” To me he added, “The cards will tell you what you want to know, Breeda.”

“The cards will give me her address?”

“She's right.” Sandy bristled. “It's silly. And I don't think they have time for that, Ion.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Shelley muttered.

“Why?” Ion said. “The cards might tell Breeda if her aunt
wants
to see her.”

I couldn't afford not to try. Seralina was Romany, so if there was something to learn from the universe, she could pluck it out better than anyone. “We can stay for a reading,” I said.

“It's okay with you, Mom, right?”

Seralina nodded. “I'm not responsible for what the cards tell me. I need to make that clear from the start.”

“She
knows
that,” Ion said, and led me around the television console to the other side of the room. The incense, stronger in this part of the apartment, combined with my nerves, made me dizzy.

“The frankincense usually loosens my gift,” Seralina said. “Sorry if it's a bit strong.”

My stomach flipped. Had she read my mind?

The five of us sat on overstuffed Turkish pillows around a low, round table with deep indigo candles circling its edges. A poem my mother had taught me flashed through my mind:
The lightest blue to soothe the mind, the deepest to reveal all kinds . . 
.

Seralina pulled a deck of worn tarot cards from a black satin purse. I glanced at Shelley, but her eyes, warm and glowing in the candlelight, were fixed on the cards.

Seralina touched the talisman at her throat and mumbled to herself.

The Romany magic, so powerful and dynamic, pushed into the room like a gust of wind. I tensed, fearing its effect.

“Cut the deck,” Seralina ordered, looking at me. The magic tugged at my veins, starting its dance. I hesitated.

“Are you all right?” Seralina asked, concern puckering her brow.

“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound defensive.

“Well, could you stop . . . ?” She gestured toward my upper body.

I froze. My fingers had absentmindedly traveled down the chain at my neck, inching toward the stone. “Sorry. I didn't mean—” I whipped my hand away but it caught, sending the talisman slapping against my palm.

Seralina inhaled sharply, but nothing happened.

“Well, under the moon and through the woods,” Sandy said with a small laugh. “You haven't been through the trans yet.” Her bright eyes studied my face. “You definitely look old enough.”

I couldn't shake the feeling I'd made a tactical error.

“Don't worry,” Seralina said. “It'll happen before you know it.”

In an effort to end the conversation, I moved my fingers to the cards, wincing as the magic pulsed through me. The pain grew with each inhale, and I tried to remember my mom's advice for dealing with it.
Take a step on the exhale
. I took a deep breath, let it out, and cut the deck.

Seralina gathered the cards again. “Don't look so upset. Ion hasn't begun his transition, either. It's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ion groaned. He sighed and lifted the leather cord around his neck and then flicked the stone hanging from it, a rough-cut ruby that looked much tougher than he did. “This is useless. Completely useless.”

“They say the longer the wait, the stronger the gift,” Shelley said.

Ion glanced over at her, surprised.

“I'm ready,” Seralina said softly. “Are you, Breeda?”

I nodded.

She closed her eyes. “Form your question.”

I tried to think about my parents. Mom. Dad. Where were they? Were they still alive? But all I could do was struggle to contain the magic the cards had forced through me.

Seralina's eyes flicked open. They were dark, like the night in winter. She turned over the first card, which depicted three steel swords viciously puncturing a crimson heart. “Three of Swords,” she said, watching my reaction closely. “Betrayal.”

The magic slapped at my nerves.

She turned the second card. Shelley gasped. It was the Devil, the beast of wings and horns, perched on an altar with two demons chained at his feet.

“Ignorance,” Seralina said, frowning.

“Your life is worse than mine,” Ion muttered.

Shelley tapped my ankle with her foot. I glanced up and she gave me an appraising look, and then tilted her head toward the door. I didn't budge. If I kept my breathing shallow, I could hang on a little longer.

The flames wavered on the candles in front of Seralina. Her hand hovered over the deck, and for a second I thought she'd stop the reading, that she'd ask us to leave before she finished. “Please,” I whispered.