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.
CHAPTER 12
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.
I was grateful she’d fallen into my life at just the right moment. I needed people I could trust. But Shelley’s friendliness made me ache for Sonya, my oldest friend. To her I wasn’t an unmarked witch; I was Breeda.
I felt in my heart Sonya knew something was wrong. I had to believe she’d help if she could.
I pulled out my phone and texted her:
I need you. Please answer.
I typed a similar message to Brandon, then hesitated before hitting send.
Betrayal. Ignorance. I didn’t want to think it, but I couldn’t avoid the possibility that one of those could refer to him. The only logical reason for Gavin to focus on me was my unmarked status. And if Gavin valued an unmarked witch, then it made sense for him to ask his son to get close to me.
The kids in our coven were tight. We had to be, as we only had one another. Brandon was always around—quick to help in the garden and with the fall canning, slow to leave after we’d had our evening tea. But on one clear Saturday morning he asked me to go mushroom hunting the next day. I couldn’t understand why he felt the need to ask me to do something we’d done a hundred times before—until my mother, grinning like a Cheshire cat, wanted to show me a new way to fix my hair before we left together.
Brandon held my hand as soon as we entered the canopy of trees, and kissed me against a giant redwood, its enormous majesty making me—and what I was experiencing for the first time—feel so small. Brandon was quiet and sweet, like he always was. During that first walk together, he found wild daisies growing at the edge of a clearing. He picked some and wove together the flowers, placing his makeshift crown atop my head.
Daisies open in the morn, pick a flower and luck is born.
Harmless, simple spells like the kind we learned at our parents’ knees were our understanding of the witching world. Now it was more than apparent that I only understood a fraction of what our life held.
My parents had kept me in the dark my entire life. And as far as I was concerned, that was proof that good people sometimes made bad decisions. Could I offer the same charitable thoughts to Brandon? I’d held his hand. I’d kissed his lips. Head on his chest, I’d placed my ear against his beating heart. Deep down, I couldn’t believe Brandon was a bad person. Like me, he could be completely removed from his parents’ decisions.
I cradled my phone in my hand for a moment longer, and then I sent Brandon the text.
I pushed the curtain to the side, sat on the window ledge, and pressed my forehead against the cool glass. The night was slowly fading, and I could see the rows of the first plants of spring pushing their way through the soil in Dobra’s kitchen garden. The natural world provided such solace.
No response came from either of my friends. I placed the phone on the sill and nestled into a corner of the window frame. My eyes grew heavy and I closed them, relieved to lose myself for a short while.
I jerked awake what felt like seconds later to a crashing sound breaking the early quiet. Squinting, I looked down at the garden. A flash of movement by the garage caught my eye: a figure too tall to be an animal. Instinctively, recklessly, I threw open the window and stuck my head into the crisp early-morning air. “Hello?”
The figure stepped onto the garden path and peered up at my window. His familiar, shy smile tugged at my heart.
“Brandon!” I called in an urgent half whisper.
I looked down to stuff my feet into my shoes. “Wait, I’ll be right—”
I had been away for a second, but the garden was empty. He was gone.
I slapped at the window in frustration, cursing magic and its cruel visions, then stopped, my heart jumping in my chest. I hadn’t done any magic. Which meant . . .
Brandon had gotten my messages and he’d come.
For me.
CHAPTER 13
“Time to get up,” a girl’s melodic voice said. “I come bearing gifts!”
It was past dawn. I could feel the bright sunlight dancing against my closed lids. I opened them to the midmorning sun.
For a moment I didn’t know where I was, until I saw Shelley balancing a bundle of clothes on outstretched arms, her offering smelling of rain and gardenias. “Fresh out of the dryer!”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Nine thirty, sleepyhead.”
I bolted upright and looked around the room for my things. “I need to get ready.”
Shelley placed the clothes on my lap. “Breathe,” she ordered, and I did, inhaling and exhaling loudly.
She smiled, the corners of her mouth tilting upward. “You feel better?”
Physically, maybe. But I nodded anyway.
“Well, in that case,” she said, “what’s on the agenda?”
I explained Ion’s offer to take me to Evie’s place downtown.
“I’m going with you.”
“I don’t know . . . you heard what Sandy said. Evie sounds like a piece of work. Maybe I should take care of this on my own.”
Shelley flopped onto the bed next to me. “No, you shouldn’t. Come on, you want
me to come with and you know it.”
I was glad of her support, but Ion was already coming. I wouldn’t be confronting Evie without someone there with me. “Ion will be there, Shelley. It’s fine.”
“You don’t know Ion.”
Technically, I didn’t really know Shelley, either. But like my mother, and Sonya, the sense of safety Shelley evoked when she was around warmed me from the inside out, like a sip of freshly brewed chamomile tea.
Shelley stretched, catlike, and combed a hand through her thick golden curls. “I’m good with difficult people,” she said.
I barked a laugh. “I can’t argue with that.”
“So don’t. The bathroom is down the hall to the right. Get dressed. And then you’re going to tell Miro where we’re off to.”
I looped my backpack over my shoulder. “I thought you were good with difficult personalities.”
“Not until I’ve had my coffee,” she said, heading for the door. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in fifteen.”
Like Evie’s, the apartment was railroad style. To my left was the kitchen and Dobra’s office. To my right was a darkened passage lined with open doors. I headed down it, then shut myself in the master bathroom. I wanted a few undisturbed minutes to gather my thoughts before jousting with Miro. It wasn’t a stretch to assume he’d want to come with Shelley and me, but that couldn’t happen. It was enough to bring Shelley and Ion, but Miro’s go-to expression in any situation was a vivid glare, with more than a hint of suspicion. No, that wasn’t going to work if I needed Evie to talk.
That is, if she would even open the door to see me.
But first, I needed to clean myself up. I looked around the bathroom. White, fluffy towels had been tied with a sprig of rosemary to add to the bath for protection. A dried bouquet of calming herbs hung from the light fixture. Amber and cobalt bottles crowded the tub, each containing mysterious concoctions and etched with an ornate letter D. For Dobra? Or did Miro’s last name start with that letter?
Oh, goddess. I didn’t even know Miro’s last name!
Or Shelley’s. Or Vadim’s. What was I doing?
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