The Witch Collector Part I (6 page)

“Try again,” Shelley said.

He poured more this time, and though I tried to open my throat, the tea just spilled onto my front. I opened and closed my mouth frantically, trying to get more than a drop.

“The hell with it,” Miro growled, and brought the cup to his own mouth, filling it.

“No—” Shelley whispered.

Miro leaned over and pressed his lips to mine, forcing the tea into my open mouth. I gulped, the bitter brew spreading warmth as it traveled through my system. He released me, his pale face hovering directly over mine, watching until the muscles of my throat relaxed, and I finally drew in a full, ragged breath. Miro watched me pull another one, then settled back onto the floor, his own breathing heavy and labored.

“Oh for the love of Isis.” Shelley sighed. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Go wash your mouth out. There was comfrey in that.”

“So that's why it burns,” he said, the teasing tone from before returned to his voice. Miro hoisted himself up and walked to a sink in the corner of the room.

While Miro washed up, I concentrated on breathing, slowly and mindfully inhaling and exhaling. “You're going to be fine,” Shelley said. Her optimism filled my eyes with tears. “You'll stay here tonight. I'm sure your family will understand. You shouldn't be moved.”

“No,” I said, stopping, unable to get anything else out.
“No.”
My body wanted to sink back onto the cot for a long sleep; my mind shrieked over the idea of wasting valuable time in finding my parents.

Miro returned to my side, holding a glass filled with water. I accepted it gratefully, forcing myself to sip slowly instead of chugging it down.

He sat on the edge of the cot, opposite Shelley. “I don't think you understand,” he said, his eyes looking right into mine. “We never said we were giving you a choice.”

S
helley's hand moved to my shoulder. “Don't scare her, Miro.”

Miro studied me, his eyes drifting over my prone body with clinical detachment. “She isn't scared enough,” he said, leaning over, his face inches from mine. “Where are your parents?”

Where were they? I could
feel
them moving farther away, like a boat drifting out to sea. But what did I do now? I wanted to tell these people what had happened, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came. Frustration pricked at my eyes, filling them with tears.

“Better yet,” Miro continued, ignoring my reaction, “where is your
coven
?”

I managed a breath. “In Portland,” I whispered. “We're . . . visiting.” My throat spasmed and I coughed.

“Give her space,” Shelley said.

Miro stood, but didn't look happy to give me much of anything. “Why isn't anyone with you?” he demanded.

I pushed myself up on one elbow, taking in these two people who were basically strangers. They were witches, though, and I had to place my trust in someone. “Please,” I said. “My parents . . . are gone.”

“Gone?” Miro said. “No one leaves a transitioning witch.”

“Transitioning?” I asked.

“Unless—” he continued, ignoring my question. He shared a meaningful glance with Shelley, then turned back to me. “Did you break the oath with your coven?”

I didn't know how to answer. Shelley took both of my hands in hers. They were as warm and reassuring as her round hazel eyes. “We wouldn't judge you if you did.”

“But did you?” Miro asked again. “It's not a hard question.”

“No.”

Shelley exhaled. “Good. So, where did your parents go? If you've had an argument with them, now is not the time to stand your ground. I think you should rest for a while, but then we have to take you to them so they can help you.”

“They're missing,” I said, my voice breaking. “I don't know what to do.”

“Missing? Like, vanished into thin air?” Miro didn't bother to hide his skepticism. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at me.

A desperate kind of hopelessness took root inside me. I might have come to the wrong place, but where else could I turn?

“Let's prioritize,” Shelley said. “Breeda, where's your book?”

What book? My spellbook? In my backpack, if my mom had packed it. But where was my backpack?

Shelley interpreted my silence as resistance. “My tisane may have worked for now, but you might experience side effects we can't anticipate later.” She paled. “I don't want to be responsible for—”

“It's against the laws of most covens for a transitioning witch to be without their book,” Miro interrupted. “Where
is
it?”

“My spellbook?” I managed. My throat was still on fire.

“No, not your spellbook,” Miro huffed. “Your family book.”

I shook my head.
What?

“Where did you say you were from?” Shelley asked, her mouth curving downward. She was beginning to doubt me.

“Oregon. We didn't interact much with the other covens. We lived in the country. I don't know what other covens do.”

“I've heard of it,” Miro said, his voice quieting. “Closed covens. Like a . . . commune.”

“But I've never heard of a witch without a family book,” Shelley insisted. “Maybe you call it something different there?”

“I have a spellbook,” I said lamely. “Is it different?”

“Very. A family book is usually small, a leather-bound notepad, like the size of a cell phone,” she explained. “It lists the remedies and herbs that work for your bloodline. It's incredibly helpful when a witch is transitioning, because the tisane recipes have been perfected over the years. Without knowing what works for your line, I can only give you something that boosts your whole system. I can't address specific symptoms. Also, I could add an ingredient that could hurt you. The family book will list those dangerous herbs as well.”

“I've never heard of it.” I sighed, frustrated. How many other important things didn't I know? “Can we work around it?”

Neither of them responded. Instead, I watched Miro's eyes skip over my neck, ears, my hands. “Wait . . . where's your talisman?”

His question shouldn't have shamed me, but it did. I did know the importance of a talisman. Why hadn't my parents given me one? They knew my magic was coming—how could they have left me so defenseless? My cheeks grew hot and I looked at the floor.

“But that doesn't make sense,” Shelley said. She brought her face closer to mine. “You must have one. How old are you?”

I forced my chin up. “Sixteen. But please, listen—”

“She's lying,” Miro growled.

Careful
, I told myself.
You don't know where you are
.

“Breeda, I want you to tell us what you think just happened to you,” Shelley said softly, as if she were talking to a small child.

What
had
happened? I could breathe now, but my lungs still quivered from the aftershocks of oxygen deprivation. The muscles in my arms and legs felt tender, as though someone had pummeled them with a stick. “I'm getting my magic, I think? People get sick when that happens. Or, my mom just got sick when we were coming out here, and I caught whatever she had.”

“Of course your mother is sick,” Miro said, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “She's transitioning!”

“Like you are,” Shelley added. Her voice contained none of Miro's anger. “You're pulling your new powers from your bloodline, so your parents are feeling the impact. The magic will make you sick at the start, but it might make your parents even sicker. When you all come through the other end, they'll be weaker. You know that, right?”

I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to cry. Roll up into a little ball and sob. “I've—I've never heard it explained like that,” I finally managed. “I've never heard it called that word—
transitioning
.”

Miro's eyes seemed cold suddenly, so I could hardly remember the warmth I'd seen in them just a few moments ago, when he leaned over me. “What do
you
call it, then?”

My mind whirred, the events of the past few days forming into mismatched puzzle pieces. “We didn't have a . . . name for it. At least I don't think so. When the other kids showed signs of getting magic, they were sent to a training center in Seaside.”

“What kind of signs?” Shelley asked.

I thought about Brandon complaining that he didn't feel well before he left, and about Sonya's sudden asthma. “They got sick.”

“Yes,” Shelley said, nodding. “That kind of announces the beginning. What did they say when they got back from the training center?”

“No one said anything,” I said, a feeling of dread taking hold in my belly. “My friends were the oldest kids in the coven. Everyone else was an adult—mostly our parents.”

“This was a new coven?” Miro asked, his forehead scrunched in thought.

“Yes,” I said, though the thought felt foreign to me. My coven was all I'd ever known. It never felt new, or old, or anything other than home.

“Do you know anything else about what the transitioning process involves?” Shelley asked me.

“Not . . . really.”

“Well . . .” She opened her mouth to say more but changed her mind and looked to Miro for help.

“This is ridiculous,” Miro said. “Next thing she'll have us explaining is where babies come from.” He turned away and walked toward the door. “I'm going to make sure Donna isn't looking for us. We can't go to anyone with this until we're sure of what we're really dealing with.”

Shelley watched him leave.

“Donna?” I asked.

“My mom. She owns this restaurant. By now she's pretty wiped, so she usually spends an hour before bed watching TV.”

I thought of my own mother, of the new lines on her face, of the deep bags under her eyes. I was worried about her. “Could you tell me what you know about the transition?”

“You're really pretty clueless, huh?”

“I guess so.”

Shelley took a breath, squared her shoulders, and addressed me. “The first year is the worst—”

“The first
year
?”

“It usually only takes two,” she said almost apologetically. “Miro and I are nearly done, or at least we think so.”

“How do you know?”

Shelley gestured to the pendant around her neck. She was careful not to touch it, grasping the bronze chain instead. I leaned forward, and up close I could see the smooth lines of her talisman, a bright crimson stone called red jasper. It complemented the golden hue of her skin.

“I know I'm near the end because I feel like this is truly mine now, a part of me as natural as an arm or leg. Do you know what this talisman does?” she asked.

“It helps to direct your magic, like a conductor,” I said, grateful Gavin had at least explained that to me.

Shelley looked like she felt relieved, too. “Exactly. In the beginning, it's very hard to control your magic, and it's impossible to predict how it's going to affect you physically. What happened tonight was pretty intense. How many times did you use your gift?”

The bird in the alley. The fireball. The priest's phone. How many times had I opened the door to our apartment?

“Five or six, I think.” And four different gifts, I neglected to add. I don't know why I didn't tell her. It scared me, and I needed to understand what was going on one step at a time.

Shelley's eyes widened. “With no talisman? Oh, Breeda. You could have died.”

My head felt suddenly light, like all the blood had drained from it and was pooling at my feet.

“I'm sorry. I don't want to frighten you,” Shelley said quickly. “But you have nothing to guide you through this right now. You need to find your parents, or at least your coven leader. I don't know why they haven't explained these things to you, but they must have your family book. It's basic self-preservation.”

“I don't even know where to begin to look!” I cried. “I don't know what happened to them!”

Shelley's face softened, and she pressed one hand to my shoulder. “Why don't you begin by telling me everything? We can figure out what to do once I understand what's happened.”

“I . . .” But I needed to think about what I could tell them. My parents could be in real trouble—I had no idea what really happened in Oregon. Would Shelley bring me to the police? I thought of the demon in a police uniform and shuddered. Would she get angry for my bringing more trouble, like the priest, and kick me out? What would I do then?

Shelley squeezed my shoulder and smiled. In that instant she reminded me of Sonya reassuring me at another time, in another life. It was impossible to truly fear anything when confronted by a smile like that.

I took a breath, opening a path in my lungs. “We left Oregon in the middle of the night . . .”

“W
e'll help you,” Shelley said without hesitation after I finished my story. “Let me go fill Miro in on what's going on, and then we'll come up with a plan.”

“Miro doesn't seem to like me much,” I said, understating the obvious.

She shrugged. “He's afraid, is all. He's angry because he doesn't like to admit to it.”

I almost laughed. “He's afraid of me?”

“He's afraid of what's happening to you. I was serious when I said the uncontrolled magic could be fatal, and not just to you. It happens more often than you'd think.”

“Why aren't you afraid?”

Shelley took a blanket from the cot and wrapped it around my shoulders. She smiled again. “I'm terrified,” she said matter-of-factly, “but I'm also crazily optimistic.” Her voice, friendly and easygoing, despite her admission, felt like a balm. “We'll find your parents, Breeda. I can feel it from my toes to my nose.”