Witch Season: Does she have what it takes to outsmart the craft?

by Larissa May

  “I hope not,” I said. I didn’t know if there was or not, but I knew that I didn’t want to discuss it with a priest. “Maybe I’m just sloppy.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “And you neglected to tell me about your family’s witch blood last night,” I said, changing the subject.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t forthcoming. But neither were you.”

  Shelley walked out of the arched doors, saving me from further conversation. “You’re right about the magic,” she said, frowning at Father Brennan. “But maybe it just needs time to fade. I’ll ask my coven leader what to do if it doesn’t.”

  We said our good-byes, and then continued down the boulevard. “Do you think something is going wrong with my transition?” I asked her as we pushed open the iron gate in front of Evie’s apartment building.

  She ran a hand through her hair and tugged on a wayward curl. “I don’t know. I wish I could reassure you somehow, but that would mean ignoring what’s going on with you. I don’t want to do that.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and meant it. I didn’t want anyone shielding me from reality.

  We walked through the small front yard and up to the main entrance. The front door was locked. My body knew what I needed, and magic stirred in my veins. I tried to cut it off, and quickly rang the bell for Sandy’s place.

  She buzzed us in immediately.

  “Not what I was expecting,” Shelley whispered. “Don’t let your guard down.”

  I didn’t, but plastered a friendly smile on my face. Sandy’s door was open a crack, and I could hear noises coming from within the apartment. “Let me find my purse,” she trilled from behind the door.

  When Sandy opened the door her face fell. “You’re not Thai Smile.”

  “We just want to talk,” I said, before she could tell us to leave. “That’s all.”

  “It’s enough of a trial that you’re living in my building,” she snapped. “But now you show up at my doorstep? Your mother knows better than to show her face.”

  “Why are you so angry?” I kept my tone neutral, attempting to make the question sound innocent. Sandy wasn’t having it, and narrowed her eyes skeptically.

  “Don’t you know what your mother did?”

  I stared at her, keeping my expression blank.

  “She broke the oath with Evie,” Sandy huffed. “She destroyed their coven, so she has no right to return.”

  “Isn’t that Evie’s fight?”

  Sandy’s eyes crackled with a dangerous energy. She took a step closer to me. “Seralina and I are forming a new coven. Evie will join us if your mother doesn’t stick her nose where it doesn’t belong anymore. She can’t repair what she’s broken, and if she tries, she’ll regret it. Now leave me be!”

  “Can’t we come in for a few minutes?” Shelley asked, her voice sounding sweet and young. “Breeda doesn’t know her aunt very well and has more questions. It’s a touchy subject with her mom. I’m sure no one means to disrupt your plans.”

  Sandy’s hand moved to the citrine stone hanging at her neck. “If you don’t leave right now, I will shroud your apartment in darkness until next week.”

  Since we weren’t staying there, it wasn’t much of a threat. “We’re harmless, Sandy,” I said.

  “I swear I’ll short-circuit the phones in your pockets,” she said coldly. “Go. Now.”

  Now, that we didn’t need. We left.

  "Well, clearly she doesn’t know where they are,” I complained to Shelley as we sat on a wood bench in the Friends & Neighbors Garden. “She doesn’t even seem to know they’re missing!”

  The garden looked the same as it did the night before. The same hard, unyielding soil, the same trees waiting patiently to bud. Only my life was completely different. What if I hadn’t stopped here? Where would I be?

  We’d listened at Evie’s door before we left, but the apartment was silent as a tomb. I decided not to risk using magic to open the door, and now I regretted it.

  “Maybe we should have checked the apartment again.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Shelley said. “Vadim searched the whole building. Let’s see if we can glean anything from what Sandy said.”

  “An alchemist, a Romany witch, and a crazypants,” I said. “What a coven.”

  Shelley laughed. “If Evie and Ion are in the same coven, maybe she could scare him into beginning the transition.”

  “Ha! Yeah . . .” I said, distracted. Something gnawed at my consciousness.

  “You’re off in space,” Shelley said. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I’m not sure. When we were at Sandy’s apartment last night, I was too nervous to focus on much besides controlling my magic. I can’t help feeling like I missed something important.”

  “Then don’t focus on other people. Re-create what happened outside of yourself from the moment we walked in the door.” Shelley paused. “It’s kind of hard to do that, I guess. Maybe close your eyes?”

  I shut my eyes and allowed my mind to return to the night before, at Sandy’s apartment. I saw Sandy opening the door with her wild hair and wobbly bracelets. I saw Ion flicking the lighter on and off. Then I watched as Sandy touched the citrine talisman hanging from her neck and turned the television on.

  “Shelley!” I cried when it hit me. “I didn’t have a vision after I picked up Sandy’s gift with electricity! What does that mean?”

  She thought for a moment. “It could mean her magic is weak, or she is. And if that’s true, it gives her another reason to want to be in a coven with powerful witches.”

  I let that settle, trying to make sense of it all. “So, that gives Sandy a motive for getting my mom out of the way, but my dad is a big guy. Where would she stash both of them? And how would she move both of them?”

  Shelley seemed to deflate. “I don’t know. Every question brings another question.”

  “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” I said. “Maybe we should keep asking until one of them has a clear answer.”

  “You’re right,” Shelley replied, straightening her posture. “Okay, I can think of one. What about Seralina? She’s Romany, so freakishly strong. What if she wants the coven just as much as Sandy? Maybe she helped take them somehow.”

  “I hate to poke holes in your theory, but what could she do? Read their cards until they did what she said?”

  She nodded, conceding my point. “Well, Seralina did visit Evie,” I said. “So there’s somewhat of a connection between the three.”

  Shelley tugged on one unruly curl, winding it around her finger again and again. At first I assumed she was trying to fit everything together, but when she wouldn’t look at me, I knew something was bothering her. “What?” I said.

  She finally looked at me again, her features pinched. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but there is a connection between the three of them; we can’t ignore Evie’s possible involvement. Your parents kind of showed up out of the blue—what if she’s not cool with that? And what if there’s more to her story? There could be things she’s not telling you.” She swallowed. “She didn’t destroy the demon, Breeda. She’s walking him around like a pet. You’ve got to think about that.”

  “I know,” I said, the feeling of dread inside me settling further into my bones. “You’re right.” I rested my head against Shelley’s shoulder, grateful to have a friend.

  “What are you going to do if Brandon contacts you again?” she asked, her voice as soft as the evening air. “I don’t like the idea of you meeting up with him alone. You have no idea what he’s capable of, and he’s able to control his magic—you’re not. You’ll let us know before you decide to see him, right?”

  “I’ll figure something out,” I said, knowing it really wasn’t an answer. I hadn’t told her I had already heard from him, and I didn’t want to. I wasn’t naive enough to think I had a chance against a fully transitioned witch—or two, if Gavin and Brandon were together—but if Evie was right, and Gavin wanted me alive, ma
ybe I could use that to my advantage somehow if I was alone. If Brandon had come to protect me, then it would be two of us against one. I didn’t have to involve Dobra’s coven at all.

  Shelley grew very quiet. The wind shifted, bringing a chill.

  “Let’s go back,” I suggested. I stood and offered her my hand.

  She ignored it. “You don’t want my help, do you?”

  “That’s not it.”

  Shelley hugged her knees to her chest, and half of her body disappeared into the fabric of her skirt. “What did Dobra tell you about my family?” she asked quietly.

  “Not a thing.”

  She watched my face, trying to catch a lie. “I suppose that’s not his style,” she finally said.

  “You’ve spent the past two days dealing with me,” I replied. “I can listen, if you want. You asked me not to judge before—and I wouldn’t do that, especially now. I’m learning that sometimes people have unusual reasons for doing what they do.”

  Shelley closed her eyes, pressing her fists hard against them. When she dropped her hands, her expression was businesslike and determined. “Okay,” she said. “I guess I do want to talk about it, but no judging.”

  I smiled at her. “Not even a little bit.”

  She took a breath and began. “My father was much older than my mother. He had some money saved, so right after their binding ceremony, they opened Belladonna’s. It was an inside joke, a play on my mom’s name. We always made enough money to keep the restaurant going, but not much more. They were happy, though, so I was happy. Our coven on the North Side was loving and tight knit. I’d known all my friends practically since birth. It was a good feeling, you know?”

  I did know. It was safe. Gavin might not have been a warm person, but I always felt sheltered in his coven . . . until my parents spirited me halfway across the country. Even if my whole life was a lie, it didn’t change how I felt at the time.

  I nodded for her to go on.

  “Both my parents are Italian, from the North, near Milan,” she continued. “I have fire on both sides, both lines. My father’s family is ancient, going back to Roman times. Witches are all so closely tied to our blood and our natures that our gift becomes part of who we are.”

  She stopped, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t understand that.”

  “I can still feel my parents,” I said. “It’s like there’s something physical connecting us. I think I do understand.”

  “Of course you do,” she said, touching my hand. “It’s just, my dad’s gift became so closely aligned with who he was that the gift started to take over. As he got older, the fire became him. He began to burn, Breeda. Burn from the inside, slowly. It was horrible to watch. We tried every remedy, every spell, but nothing worked. After watching how badly he was suffering, we all hoped he would pass to the other world—begged for it—but he hung on. Our coven leader said we could do nothing but wait. But, of course, he didn’t have to witness it.

  “My father asked my mother to kill him, and when she said no, he asked me to do it. Only a few months before, Piotr had died. I was a mess.”

  I sank next to her, gutted by the pain she must have felt. “I’m so sorry.”

  Shelley’s laughter—hollow and haunted—broke through her tears. “He asked for a tisane of belladonna. My father was a poet, and he felt it had a delicious sense of irony. I didn’t know where to get it. The next morning, I found a packet on the counter in the restaurant.”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes. She couldn’t stand seeing him in such pain, but she couldn’t take that final step herself. I’d been up all night listening to his screams—he threw himself off the bed and crawled to my room, shouting for help. That morning I brewed the tisane, adding wolfsbane to make sure it would be quick, that he wouldn’t suffer.

  “Taking someone’s life is a crime against nature. In some ways it’s the blackest of black deeds. What I did was the worst thing a witch can do.”

  “I would have done it for my mom or dad,” I said, and I meant it. “In a second. Anyone who has truly loved someone else would understand.”

  Shelley shook her head. “Our coven didn’t understand. They allowed my father a death ceremony, but then forced my mother and me to break the oath directly afterward. We were lost, my mom and I both.” She paused.

  “Then Dobra took you in,” I said.

  “He collects hopeless cases. And that’s exactly what we were.” Shelley scooted off the bench and wiped under her eyes and smoothed her skirt. “Let’s get you back before Miro notices that we were gone,” she said quickly. “Your eyes are starting to droop and I’m not strong enough to carry you home.” She smiled, letting me know she wanted the conversation to move on. I knew why. Some things were too painful to dwell upon.

  I placed my hand lightly on Shelley’s arm. “It’s not my right to tell you how to feel,” I said, “but I don’t think you deserve the guilt on your shoulders.”

  “Thanks,” Shelley said. “Nothing will make the guilt go away, but it’s still nice to hear you say it.” She placed her hand over mine for just a second, and then we headed back to Dobra’s.

  CHAPTER 22

  At a quarter to twelve I left the warm guest bedroom and, carrying my boots, tiptoed down the back staircase to the garden, my backpack heavy on my back. I left a note for Shelley, Miro, Vadim, and Dobra, expressing my thanks. I didn’t know what to expect or how long I’d be gone—or if I’d ever be back. I folded the note into a small square, stole into the kitchen, and sprinkled some cloves into it, trying not to think of the scent mixed with cinnamon.

  “Prosperity be ever yours, in every way,” I whispered over the folded note. I placed it on the bed along with Shelley’s unconsecrated talisman. My neck felt odd without it, but it was strange to miss something I never really owned.

  The apartment was quiet, without even the soft sounds of people sleeping and breathing. I padded barefoot down the back staircase and stepped into the chilly garden. After a moment’s hesitation, I shoved my boots into my backpack. The cold numbing my toes made shoes tempting, but I could run faster in bare feet.

  The garage blocked most of the alley but offered access to it from two points, slim walkways, one on each side. I glanced around, searching for a ladder or something I could use to boost myself up onto the garage roof. Nothing. The wooden fence, unfortunately smooth and at least six feet tall, was my only option. Not much different than a tree, I told myself. Jumping up, I grabbed hold of the top of the fence and pulled myself up, reaching for the aluminum gutter to steady myself. Then I hooked a toe over the corner of the garage and hoisted myself up onto the roof, landing with a thud.

  Streetlights lit both ends of the alley, but since Dobra’s apartment was in the middle of the block, my view was obscured by shadows. The moon, watching from the sky, helped a little. I knew the moon had begun waning, but its fullness reminded me of the magic I felt standing in front of Belladonna’s. I wasn’t powerless. I had to remember that.

  I waited. No cars passed, and the faint sounds of the night lulled me into a hazy state. I was tired, so tired, but I couldn’t let that work against me. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to study the trees and trash cans and the strangely patterned roof tiles lying underneath me—anything to keep me awake.

  Then a sound, so subtly different, so strangely familiar, woke up my senses.

  Boots.

  We all wore them in the country. Brandon’s were thick-soled and heavy, and I knew the sound of his step anywhere. He walked down the middle of the alley, his gait sure and purposeful, the stride of a boy with nothing to hide. The light of the moon settled on his hair. He glanced up as if he sensed my presence, his mouth tugging into an easy grin.

  Brandon.

  I didn’t care why he showed up, just that he did. I slid off the roof, landing on the cement breezeway with a thud, and we lunged for each other. I held on to him for a long minute, tears falling down my face. He was my home. I clutche
d at him, feeling the familiar muscles in his arms, taking in his scent, trying to feel like I did in Oregon. Safe.

  Brandon ran his fingers through my hair, murmuring my name over and over. “I missed you so much,” he whispered. “So, so much.”

  “I missed you, too,” I said. And then I remembered. “Where were you today? Why did it take you so long to get here?” I demanded, feeling a sharp spike of anger. “My parents are missing. Do you know where they are? They’ve been gone two days, Brandon. Two days.”

  “Listen,” he said, stepping back so he could look at me directly. “You’re not safe. I don’t understand everything that’s going on, but I can tell you this—my dad is in Chicago and he’s after you for some reason.”

  To hear this from Brandon sent a shiver of fear up my spine. It was real. “Did Gavin take my parents?”

  “I don’t know what happened to your mom and dad,” Brandon said. “I’m sorry—I wish I did.”

  The news brought fresh tears. I brushed them away before they fell. “I need to find them,” I said. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I knew something was wrong before Greta died,” Brandon began. “My dad was acting short-tempered and agitated. He often asked me if I’d heard from you since I’d gone to Seaside. I thought it might be a trick—we weren’t supposed to have contact with anyone, so I never told him that you had been texting. I thought I was going to get special training, but he ignored me, singling out Greta instead. She stopped eating with us, or hanging out. We hadn’t seen her for days when we found out she’d died. The morning after her funeral, Dad called a meeting. He didn’t want us worrying we would catch her illness. He wanted us to feel safe. But something definitely wasn’t right. Later, when I found him in his room to press him about what had happened, he was packing.”

  I swallowed. “We’d already left.”

  “He said your parents had stolen something valuable from him, and that he had to get it back. He said you were caught in the middle and he was worried about you.” Brandon moved closer. “I knew the valuable thing was you,” he said, and caressed the side of my face. “What is it, Bree?”