The Witch Collector Part I (7 page)

We
. The word filled me with an enormous sense of relief. Still, I had no idea what I was getting Shelley involved in. “That demon police officer I told you about—I wasn't making that up. I've never seen a demon before, but I knew that's what he was. Every campfire story stars a demon.”

Shelley blanched. “His eyes were black, right?”

“Like tar.”

“I've never seen one,” she said. “But I've heard stories, too. Still, I don't think Chicago usually has many demons skulking around.” Her expression grew serious. “Are you worried the demon took your parents?”

My spine turned to ice. “I hadn't been, but could that be a possibility?”

“Not likely. A demon would have killed them on the spot,” she said gently. “There wouldn't have been much of a struggle. Demons destroy everything in their paths, indiscriminately.”

I thought about the demon's face so close to mine and shivered. “I knew he wanted to hurt me, but he was in no hurry,” I said. “Are there mellow demons?”

Shelley laughed. “Um, no. Unless it was bewitched. But only rare witches can bewitch a demon, and it doesn't last long. Once it wears off the demon tries to destroy the witch who did it.”

“He was dressed as a police officer.”

“Definitely bewitched,” Shelley said. “I can't imagine a demon doing that willingly.”

“I ran up to him because I was so afraid. My coven stayed far away from police officers.”

“That's where we're similar,” Shelley said. “We shouldn't seek help from the police. They'll treat it like a regular robbery and kidnapping, if they take us seriously at all. Even here in the city, where we live shoulder-to-shoulder with regular people, witches are still thought of as creatures from fantasy books. Some people are more aware—but most try to explain away whatever magic they happen to witness. Cops usually think we're fakers, charlatans—criminals, even. If you tried to explain what happened, they'd probably put you in Child Protective Services, with people who would have no idea what to do with a transitioning witch.”

It would be terrifying to go through the experience of getting my magic with people who didn't understand what I was—but I was still nervous about getting Shelley involved when I couldn't fathom how dangerous my situation was. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I promised we'd help and we will,” Shelley assured me. “Sit tight, okay? I'll be back in a minute. While I'm gone, why don't you make a list of everyone your parents know in Chicago. That's probably a good place to start.”

After Shelley left, the room felt colder. I wrapped myself in the blanket and rubbed my chin against the soft cotton while I tried to think of everyone my parents knew in Chicago. I'd been so young when we left, and they never mentioned anyone from our original coven. As far as I knew, my list would have only one name on it. My aunt Evie.

When the door finally opened, I jumped to standing. The big blond boy from the alley walked in, his presence even more intimidating when we stood in the same small room. Shelley followed him, trailed by Miro, his expression unreadable.

“Before we do anything else, we need to find your family book. You'll be no good to your parents if you aren't breathing,” Miro announced.

“Easy,” Shelley warned.

“I don't know where it is,” I said, looking at Shelley.

Miro stepped closer, right in front of me. “Are you Polish?”

“What?” What did being Polish or not have to do with anything?

He sighed, exasperated. “Levitation is your gift. That gift usually belongs to us Poles. If you're Polish, that will suggest what may have been in your book. It's better than nothing.”

“Unfortunately, I'm not Polish.”

His eyes showed disappointment. “Whose marks do you have, then?”

“Marks?”

“Whose side do you favor?” he asked impatiently.

A panicky feeling fluttered through me, and my breath caught in my throat. “What do you mean?”

“Who do you look like?” he said after a moment, his tone a shade gentler. A bit of the warmth returned to his strange eyes. “Your mother or your father?”

That was another difficult question to answer. I had dark mahogany hair, a mix of my mother's black hair and my father's reddish brown hair. My mom was short and slight, my dad massive—I was thin and of average height. I had my dad's light complexion but my mom's dark eyes. “I look like both of them. . . .”

“What's your father's last name?”

“Fergus.”

“Irish.” Miro nodded and stepped behind me. His fingers lightly brushed the nape of my neck.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering me, he pulled out the rubber band holding my braid together and began sifting through my hair. I shivered.

“He's looking for a Celtic stripe,” Shelley explained. “Every witch has a bloodline mark, and the mark shows up on different parts of the body. If we know what line you're from, I can be more precise when I make your tisane.”

His fingers combed through my hair slowly, moving back and forth along my scalp. Then he leaned over and said, “Do you dye your hair?”

“No,” I said.

“She's not a Celt,” Miro said to the others. He stepped around me again and handed over the rubber band. “I'll let you put it back together,” he murmured. His low voice hummed against my ear.

Shelley rolled her eyes and stepped closer to Miro and me. “Most witches marry within their line, but maybe your parents didn't. What was your mother's name before she married your dad?”

“Soledad.”

“Okay, then. Mexican, right?”

I nodded.

“Perfect. I can get closer to the correct tisane ingredients. It'll be—”

“We should be sure, shouldn't we, Vadim?” Miro interrupted, turning to their enormous friend, who leaned impassively against the far wall.

“It always pays to be certain,” the blond one—Vadim—answered solemnly.

Miro's mouth curled into a wicked smile. “Can you unbutton your jeans, turn around, and bend over?”

I gulped. “Pardon me?”

“Don't worry,” he purred. “I'll help.”

Shelley swatted at him. “Miro, stop. Leave, and I'll look.”

Shelley shooed the boys into the hallway, Miro obviously fighting the urge to laugh.

“They're really not that bad, once you get to know them,” she said, after slamming the door on their heels. “And Miro
is
right. We should be sure. There were a lot of things you weren't told. . . . I'd feel better if we definitely knew your line.”

She took another step closer. “Okay,” she said, “I'm not being weird, but Mayan markings lie at the base of the spine. It's symbolic, really, and beautiful because, um, when you're sitting, your markings are closest to the earth, drawing power from nature . . . I mean, sort of . . .”

I turned quickly and lowered my jeans slightly, halting her nervous rambling. When I was certain she'd seen what she needed to see, I turned and faced her again. “Now can we start looking for my folks?”

Shelley's skin looked like milk, the color all but drained from her face. Her eyes were round with shock. “There's . . . nothing there,” she said. “You don't have any marks. At all.” She crossed her arms over her chest, as if protecting herself.

I fought the urge to hug myself as well. “Is it really that weird?”

“Yeah . . . but . . .” She caught herself and began speaking quickly, finding her ground. “I don't think it's unheard of. And anyway, maybe another line runs through your family? That must be it.”

“My parents are first-generation Americans, so I doubt it,” I admitted.

Shelley winced, as though my answer stung. “Maybe you've never noticed? Some bloodlines mark witches in weird spots.”

I started taking off the rest of my clothes. Shelley turned around, embarrassed. “I didn't want to ask you to do that,” she said.

“I need to know,” I said, hoping she'd spot something. “Turn around and look quickly, okay?”

Red-faced, Shelley gave me the full once-over. “What's the thing on the back of your shoulder?” she asked hopefully.

“Mole.”

“And on your knee?”

“Hiking accident.”

“Oh, Breeda, put your clothes back on. There's nothing.”

I took a breath and slipped back into my clothes. “It's bad, isn't it?”

“Marks, talisman, a family book. These are the things a witch needs to survive the transition.”

“I'm missing all three.”

“Basically,” she sighed, and hugged herself tighter.

This girl was nice, and I suddenly felt guilty for drawing her into my problems. “I don't know what I'm involving you in, do you understand? I need your help, but how can I ask for it when I can't tell you what's going on?”

In response, Shelley reached into her jeans pocket to pull out a long silver chain. It held a pendant the color of a summer storm, a swirling mix of grays and greens and violets.

“I want you to wear this,” she said, handing it to me. “A transitioning witch without a talisman is a liability. No one needs to know you don't have one.”

“Miro knows.”

“I can handle Miro,” she said, but her voice lacked confidence.

“It's beautiful,” I said, fixing it around my neck. “Thank you.”

“I've never worn it,” Shelley said, her tone wistful. “It was a gift from someone who died before it could be consecrated. Do you know what that means?”

“It's a ritual,” I said, relieved I could answer. “It marries the talisman to the witch.”

“Yes,” she said. Her eyes were dry, but I could hear the tears in her voice. “It's not going to help you control your powers, but it will keep people from asking questions.” Shelley frowned. “It seems like quite a few people kept secrets from you. Maybe it's time you started keeping some yourself.”

M
iro and Vadim were silent when Shelley explained that I had no markings for any bloodline at all. They sat with their backs against the counter in the darkened café, the only light coming from a flickering neon bar above the cash register, facing us.

“You're sure?” Miro finally asked. His mouth had settled into a serious line.

“I'm sure,” Shelley said.

Miro stood and said, “We need to go see Dobra.” Vadim nodded.

“Dobra is our coven leader,” Shelley explained before I could ask who he was.

“Dobra is my
father
,” Miro said. “We can trust him.”

I understood. Brandon would have taken me to Gavin, no question. Up until this week
I
would have taken me to Gavin. But the tisane Shelley made was doing its work, clearing my brain of the fog of the aftershock of performing magic. Now all I could think about was my parents. I remembered reading somewhere that the chances of finding a missing person drop significantly after twenty-four hours. I needed to go back to the apartment to look for clues. I needed to find Evie.

“No,” I said.

Miro's eyes flashed, a seeming shot of lightning in the dim café. “We just saved your life. You are a stranger with no coven, no marks, no—” He stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on my neck, on the pendant Shelley had given me. When he spoke, his eyes never strayed from it. “Oh, Shell.” He sighed. “What are you—”

“We're going to help her. And she's right. Dobra might know why she isn't marked, but that won't find her parents.”

Miro turned to Vadim. “What do you think?”

“I think Shelley's taken in another stray kitten,” Vadim said. He glanced in my direction but avoided eye contact with me. “But what if she does magic again? You know what could happen.”

“Exactly,” Shelley said. “All the more reason to find her family. The faster we find them, the faster we ensure
nothing
bad happens.”

Vadim pushed himself up from his barstool. He wasn't much taller than Miro, but carried enough extra weight to make his presence loom over all of the rest of us. His talisman shone even in the poor lighting, a jagged shard of bloodstone cutting through the middle of his broad chest. He walked up to Shelley and leaned over her, attempting to have a private conversation. “That policeman she told us about was
demonic
,” he said. “Have you ever seen what a demon can do?”

Shelley drew her head back and looked him in the eye. “Have you?”

Vadim straightened. He turned to me, his eyes cold and appraising. “She brought trouble here, and a little bit can quickly become a lot.”

“If a demonic police officer is roaming the city, the trouble is already here,” Miro said.

“I don't like it,” Vadim replied. He glared at me like I was a rabid dog he couldn't wait to take back to the shelter.

Miro and Shelley glanced at each other uneasily. Walking away seemed like a very good option. They weren't my coven, and Gavin had always said the coven was the only unbreakable circle, the only thing that could truly protect a witch. The panic and worry swirling in my stomach since my parents' disappearance mixed with a strong feeling of resentment. Why did we run away from that protection?

I felt our coven's loss, but that question was low on the list of things I needed to ask my mom and dad. And I needed those answers soon, with or without help from Shelley, Miro, and Vadim. I eyed the door, still propped open a crack.

As if reading my thoughts, Shelley said, “I'm going with you.”

“We're all going with,” Miro said with a sigh. “Between the three of us we can take on a demon.”

“Four,” I said.

In a flash Miro stood in front of me, his fingers tilting my chin up so I could meet his eyes. His touch wasn't exactly gentle. “As much as you can help it, you are not to do any magic. Do you understand?”