Free The Witch Collector Part I by Loretta Nyhan Page B

of jasmine, the ghost of my mother’s scent, floated through the air. Shelley smiled weakly, then turned to give me some privacy, opening dresser drawers, running a hand around the solid, attached mirror. “Nothing here,” she said.
    My parents’ suitcases were in the closet. Shelley and I hauled them onto the bed.
    â€œDo you want me to leave while you go through them?” Shelley asked.
    â€œNo. Please stay.”
    She squeezed my hand, and we got to work.
    My parents had packed lightly but practically. Their clothes would only last a week, but could meet every kind of weather. Neat rows of socks. T-shirts separated by tissue paper. A rain jacket folded into a small triangle. The open suitcase resembled a finished jigsaw puzzle, every piece in its place.
    Considerable time had been taken to pack these bags, which meant my parents’ decision to leave our coven was not entirely rash. Why hadn’t they included me when making their plans? I stared down at the bags again, wishing I could force answers from them. Then it hit me. They were packed with such a strong sense of purpose. It meant my parents had hope for the future. Believed in it.
    â€œI don’t think these have been touched,” Shelley murmured. She placed a comforting hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
    Instead of answering, I shook her off and focused on zipping up the bags.
    â€œDo you want to cry?” she asked. “Go ahead. Get it out.”
    But I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to scream and yell and hurt. I tossed the suitcases into the closet and kicked the door shut. I kicked the wood door again and again, hoping it would splinter into a million pieces.
    Shelley sighed and placed her hands firmly on my shoulders and guided me to the bed. My breath came in short, angry gasps. The world looked slightly tilted.
    Shelley knelt in front of me. “Anger is okay,” she said. “But you’ve got to understand, every emotion you have right now is going to hit you tenfold—especially the negative ones. You can’t let it get out of hand. Your emotions are tied to your magic, and if you can’t control one, the other will fall out of your grasp as well.”
    She lifted the stone at my neck, her mouth turning down at the corners. “Look, this talisman was supposed to be mine. The boy who gave it to me—Piotr—picked it out with my mother, and we had plans for our coven leader to consecrate it. Piotr should have been mine, too, but he never made it through the transition. The magic overtook him. I don’t want that to happen to you.”
    â€œWhy did it happen to him?”
    â€œBreeda! Shelley! Come look at this.” Miro’s voice registered barely above a whisper, but its sharp edge ripped through the veil of sadness settling over us. Without another word, Shelley pulled me to standing. We walked quickly, our feet stepping lightly over the polished wood.
    Miro and Vadim were in my room. My backpack lay on the center of the floor like a deflated balloon. Its contents were scattered over the bed, dresser—even my underwear hung from the windowsill like wilted flowers. I was too shocked to feel embarrassed. Too shocked to move.
    Miro looked at Shelley. “Is this what you found in the parents’ room?”
    â€œNo, their stuff wasn’t touched,” she said, concern outlining her words.
    I felt a hollowing out in my chest, and I knew it would fill with either hysteria or a sense of purpose. I took a breath. “My parents were running from something.”
    Vadim raised an eyebrow. “Or someone?”
    Gavin? I hated to think it. But I remembered the night we’d left, my parents’ nervousness, their fear. “I think my parents were running from our coven leader, Gavin. I’d thought they’d done something wrong, or were a target of his for some reason, but I’m wrong, aren’t I? It was me. If it is him, he came for