Free The Witch Collector Part II by Loretta Nyhan Page A

catlike mouth turning up at the corner. “But not as much as his brother does.”
    I thought about how Miro had looked at me in the kitchen. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
    “Oh, sweet, people are such bundles of faults and insecurities and failures,” she said while walking toward the door. “Miro’s no different. Any darkness he has in him, we all have, even if we’ve never been exposed to Black Magic. Most people ignore it, but Miro fights it, over and over, every day. That’s where you two are similar. You’re a fighter, my friend, just like he is.”
    I felt my face grow hot. “Is it a good thing for two fighters to be together?”
    “It is if they’re fighting the same battle,” she said.
    “And if they lose?”
    “You won’t lose,” she said, her smile returning. It brought warmth to the room, enough to give me a faint sense of optimism that lasted until she disappeared into the hallway.
    With Shelley gone, my confidence dimmed. I flopped onto the bed. Was I a fighter? I mean . . . really?
    A fighter had weapons. What did I have?
    Gifts.
    Gifts I’d stolen.
    Stolen gifts that, whether I liked it or not, were now also mine.
    I knew what I had to do. I kicked off my shoes, stuck my head in the hallway, and listened. A mélange of voices, both male and female, spoke over one another in serious tones. I couldn’t pick out what they were saying—the group must have been at the other end of the apartment, preparing for the consecration ceremony. Hoping the entire coven practiced together, I stepped softly to Dobra’s office and checked under the door to make sure no light was visible. With a deep breath I made my decision to act, and slipped inside.

Chapter 10
    I didn’t dare turn open the curtains or flick on a lamp. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see Miro’s mother’s desk standing innocently in the corner, waiting. I hated myself a little for what I was going to do, but I curled my finger around the top drawer’s handle and gave it a yank.
    It was locked.
    I thought of my mother, of her effortlessly opening drawers and locked doors and stubborn jars. Please come. Please.
    The magic thundered through me before I could brace myself, and I stifled a cry. I breathed—in and out, in and out—and felt a little better. Evidently, the effects of Shelley’s tisane hadn’t entirely faded. With a quick plea to the goddess of luck, I tugged on the handle again. The drawer opened easily, but my mind got stuck in the past.
    “Do you think we were supposed to heat the honey?” I watched as Sonya attempted to mix it with the stinging nettle we’d gathered. I’d forgotten to wear gloves, and my fingertips still burned from where the herb had pricked me.
    “I don’t know,” Sonya said. “I guess it would have helped.” The nettle was encased in the honey like a fossil in amber.
    “Am I supposed to drink that?”
    Sonya scrunched her nose. “I don’t see how you can. Maybe just touch it to your tongue?”
    “And then he’ll notice me?”
    My best friend smiled. “Either that, or your tongue will puff up like a white tree frog.”
    “Then he’ll really notice me,” I said, laughing, and stuck my finger in the mixture.
    I didn’t taste anything, but an almost overpowering smell brought me back from the vision. It was tea leaves and something else: a faded, musty odor I associated with despair. Blinking away the image of Sonya and the love potion, I slid my hand in the drawer and ran my fingers gently over a stack of letters, a number of loose wishing crystals, and the dried, crinkly petals of long-dead flowers—typical witch keepsakes. So where were her tarot cards? Every adult witch had a deck lying around somewhere, whether they could read them or not. I leaned forward, my fingers crawling toward the back of the drawer. Lodged in the corner I found something promising—a square box made of metal.
    I drew it out. I opened the curtains a sliver and pried open the latch.