The Witch Collector Part II (14 page)

I leaned against my dad, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in. We talked, telling our stories. “Your mother and I fought,” he said, “but Brandon had a bewitched demon with him. He forced us into the church and trapped us inside.”

“We could still feel you, even without our talismans,” he continued, his voice growing raspy. “More so when you were in the church. It nearly drove us insane to know you were in such danger, but deep down we knew you’d be okay.”

My mother smiled sadly. “Brandon thought your magic could purify him of the demons within him, but nothing could do that. I pitied him, honey. I hated him and I pitied him—but once I’d loved him.”

I had, too. But it was difficult to remember who he was, who any of us were, even just a few short weeks ago.

“Love and hate reside in close quarters,” Evie said. “We all know that.”

Miro cleared his throat. He’d been quiet, wanting to leave us to our reunion, but I’d asked him to stay. I wanted him to stay. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I think you need to make a decision,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “Brandon needs a proper burial, or—”

“We’re not burning him,” my mother said. “Destroy what’s left of his talisman, but don’t burn that poor boy.”

Miro nodded. “I’ll take care of everything.”

I couldn’t let him do that alone. As much as I wanted to stay with my parents, dawn approached, and the task needed to get done. “I’ll help you,” I said. “Mom, Dad, you should lie down. We’ll have all of tomorrow to talk things through.”

Shelley gathered their mugs. “Seralina and Ion are still in the front bedroom,” she said. “I don’t think she wants to move him.” It was the first thing she’d said in hours. I approached her, not knowing what to say or do but wanting her to understand I was there for her.

Shelley held up her hand and said, “Not yet, Breeda.” I deserved the pain that caused, but she deserved nothing. Everything she’d done in the past few days she’d done for me. It was childish to think I could even begin to make it up to her, but I would try as soon as she gave me the opportunity.

I glanced at my parents, who both looked like they could pass out right at the kitchen table.

“Come on, you two,” Evie said, placing her ringed hands on their shoulders.

“If they sleep in the back bedroom,” I said to Evie, “I want to sleep on the floor, okay?”

“Right next to me,” she said. “If you think I’m letting any of you out of my sight you’re crazy.”

I squatted next to Brandon, staring as his hair began to shine gold in the early-morning light. “He really was good once.”

“I’m sure he was,” Miro said gently.

I worked to remove the destroyed talisman from Brandon’s grasp. The sun sent its first rays, hitting my bracelet and illuminating the stone.

“Breeda, do you see—your talisman.”

I ran a finger over the thick, black line marring the stone. I couldn’t rub it away; it was mine—it was who I was. I fell back onto the grass, staring at my wrist, sorrow leaving me breathless. I flashed to Seralina choking me, to my murderous thoughts. “I know. Do I have Black Magic in me now?”

My question brought Miro to my side. He sat next to me, lacing his fingers through mine. “It doesn’t matter,” he assured me. “You’ll deal with it. I know you can resist it. You’re definitely strong enough.”

I didn’t feel strong at all. Black Magic destroyed a witch from the inside out, exploiting weakness in its uniquely cruel way. I wondered which part of me it would twist to serve its purposes.

“When I did magic earlier, at the church, I didn’t have any visions.” I swallowed. “Is that the Black Magic messing with me?”

“No,” Miro said, smiling faintly. “It means you’ve survived your initiation into the transition. You might still get them off and on, but they won’t be like before.”

I hadn’t minded them. The visions kept me close to my past, to the people I’d loved.

“You’ll need a coven,” Miro said, interrupting my thoughts. “Gavin’s death broke any oaths you had with him.” He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Your family has a home with our coven. If you want it.”

“But Shelley—”

“In the coming days, Shelley will need a friend. I’m not enough.”

“After what happened with Vadim,” I replied, “how could I ask that of any of you?”

“I just offered,” Miro said, his voice serious. “My friendship with Vadim is separate from my feelings about you.”

“Dobra will never allow it.”

“Dobra can’t refuse a witch in need,” Miro replied. “But if he does, I’ll fight for you.”

I drew his face to mine. “I know you would, and that means so much, but I’ll never let anyone fight on my behalf again. Not now. I know what there is to lose.”

Miro traced the lines of my face, ending with his thumb on the spot where he kissed the jasmine oil onto my lips. “If I don’t fight, then I’ll lose you,” he said. “And I don’t want to lose you.”

The sun rose higher in the sky. We stood to face it, preparing ourselves for what the day would bring.

Together.

Epilogue
A Witch’s Oath

T
he coven danced around the fire pit, holding hands, mending hearts. The circle broke for just a moment, and we three filled the open space: My beautiful, raven-haired mother, my brave bear of a father, and me, a girl with shining eyes.

We all joined hands, and raised our voices as one:

The circle never ends,

but always begins.

Its strength binds the heart,

and through blood,

it speaks a solemn vow.

To the moon

our witness,

we pledge our sacred oath.

We offered our wrists. Threads of crimson bled into the waiting chalice.

The fire was then fed. It flared with the lifeblood it had been given, sealing the oath.

My mom and dad smiled their relief.

Conscious of the shared sacrifice, I clasped the hand of Miro beside me and hoped the moon was merciful, and would shine upon us.

READ ON FOR THE BEGINNING OF BREEDA’S STORY IN

THE WITCH COLLECTOR

PART I

Chapter 1

W
hen riding in a speeding car, chances are you’re either heading toward something new or running away from something old.

We were definitely running away.

My mom, fidgety in the front passenger seat, jabbed at the tuner on the radio. “Aren’t there any good stations anymore? I want real Chicago music. I want the
blues
.” She turned to grab a CD, giving me a closer look at how much our journey had affected her. Mom’s skin, usually tan and glowing, had gone sallow. Her wavy black hair hung limp, and the creases around her eyes cut deep lines into the sides of her face.

“We’re almost there,” my dad said, flexing his fingers. He’d been white-knuckling the steering wheel since we hit the cheery sign welcoming us to Illinois. He changed lanes, glanced in the mirror, and then changed lanes again. I turned around and spotted the reason why through the rain-dotted rear window. The white sedan behind us had the square, clunky look of an undercover cop car. I didn’t know the specifics of the reasons behind my father’s fear, but its presence in the car was practically another passenger. It slowed my heart, stilling the blood in my veins.
How much trouble were we in?

I held my breath as the sedan passed our car, the grim-faced man behind the wheel tossing us a dirty look. My dad tugged nervously on the leather cords tying back his russet-colored hair. “False alarm,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “We crossed into the city limits a couple of miles back. The last thing I need is a ticket.”

The excuse didn’t make me feel any better. I knew we were in trouble; I just couldn’t figure out why. I’d stopped pleading with my parents to tell me—their drawn faces and jumpy movements said enough. The panic I felt at the beginning of our journey, intense and unfocused, had quieted to a steady hum of fearful anticipation.
What came next?

If I’d learned anything over the past few days, it was that worry led only to more worry. I forced myself to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere in the car and focus on the city unfolding out my window.
This was Chicago?
I watched the office buildings fly by, one after another, the line broken only by the occasional strip mall or stretch of sober-looking brick bungalows. I waited for one of these images to pluck a memory from my brain, and came up blank. I’d spent the first seven years of my life in this city, and I didn’t recognize a thing.

Dad exited one highway, climbed the entrance ramp to another, and cursed. “I forgot how bad the traffic can be here. The Kennedy was always such a parking lot.”

“Some things don’t change,” Mom said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Lupe, I don’t know—”

She lowered her head and touched the turquoise talisman lying just below her collarbone, calling her magic. Now, when my dad attempted to merge into a new lane, the other cars changed lanes, pulled over to the shoulder, or headed for the exit ramp—anything to clear the way for our tiny Fiesta.

Mom settled back in her seat, satisfied.

I waited for the residual effects of her magic to buzz through my veins, like a shot of espresso. I could always feel when she used her magic. It started in my toes, a low hum of pure energy.

But this time was different.

The magic pounded through my system like a bully. It curled around my lungs and squeezed, cruelly forcing my breath. I lunged toward the window, desperate for fresh air.

“Breeda?” Mom unclicked her belt and bent awkwardly into the backseat. “Honey, pretend you’re breathing through a tiny straw,” she said, gently rubbing the side of my face. “The air will come, but you’ve got to take it slow, okay?”

I pushed my head out the window, the first drops of a spring rain whipping against my forehead.
Let it in,
I thought, and a thin ribbon of oxygen filled my flattened lungs. I took a few more labored breaths, and then sank back in my seat.

My mom clutched at my father’s arm. “I think it’s beginning,” she said, her breathing uneven. “Please hurry.”

Was the magic attacking me? I wanted to question her, but I couldn’t find the energy to form the words. I closed my eyes and saw my forest home, my mind mercifully transporting me to the safest place I knew.

“I almost can’t believe it.” Brandon lowered himself onto the cold, wet grass. He looked pale and dazed, the skin beneath his eyes stained the purplish blue of a fresh bruise.

“You haven’t been feeling well,” I said while unfolding our blanket. “At least sit on this. You’ll catch a chill.”

Brandon stared at me while I tucked the flannel underneath him. “You’re welcome,” I said. “I shouldn’t be so nice. I should be mad at you. You’re getting your magic and you’ll get to hang with Sonya while I’m stuck here by myself.”

“Not for long,” he said, a spark of life returning to his light blue eyes. “You’re up next.” Brandon wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned back until the earth seemed to catch us. I tugged his jacket around me and sighed.

“How does it feel?” I had so many questions I wanted to ask, so many things I needed to know. “Sonya said she felt this rush, like her toes had set off a string of bombs exploding up her body. She nearly had an asthma attack.”

“It was sort of like that,” Brandon said, his mouth at my temple.

His kiss, light and warm, usually distracted me, but my curiosity won out. “Did you get your dad’s gift? Can you manipulate light?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He sighed.

I couldn’t ask about his mother because he wouldn’t be able to answer. I didn’t want him to dwell on her absence, however long she’d been gone.

Brandon shifted, resting his weight on his forearm. His head, framed by the trees above us, hung over mine. Their leafless branches formed a lace canopy, filtering the stream of the late winter sun onto his golden hair. The gentle wind brought color back to his cheeks, fading the signs of exhaustion under his eyes.

“You won’t be right next door,” I said quietly, reaching up to touch the smooth line of his jaw. “We’ve never been apart.”

“The training center isn’t that far.”

“Far enough.”

He drew me against his chest, his heart beating steady and strong next to mine. I could have stayed there forever, basking in the unseasonable heat of the sun. But then its rays shifted, setting only his face alight, and I knew nature had saved all its warmth for this magical boy.

I jolted, and my forehead bounced against the car window. How long had I been out? Long enough to dream? But it was a memory, not a dream. It happened, word for word, gesture for gesture, barely two months ago. I’d never had a dream like that. I could still feel the ghost of Brandon’s kiss at my temple. I could still smell the forest.

“Mom?”

“We’re almost there,” she said, her voice low and soothing.

“I need to know what’s going on,” I said. “I can handle whatever it is.”