The Near Witch by Victoria Schwab Page A

playing.”
    “Playing? You think it’s a game?”
    She nods very seriously. “They asked me to come play, too, but I said no. I’m not afraid,” she adds quickly, “but it was just, they came so late.”
    “What do you mean, they , Wren?”
    “Ed and Cece.”
    “Cecilia?” I ask, the name caught in my throat. Cecilia Porter. The girl who took Wren’s hand in the singing circle, a splash of freckles and a cluster of auburn curls.
    Wren leans forward, in the exaggerated way children do when confiding a secret.
    “I heard them, out there.” She points to the world beyond the window, soaked in morning light.
    “When did you hear them? Last night?”
    She nods, matter-of-fact.
    “Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”
    Wren shakes her head, focusing again on the window.
    “Did you see anything out there?”
    “No, it was too dark.”
    I remember the night wind and the way it curled into almost-voices.
    “You’re sure you heard Cecilia’s voice, too?”
    Wren nods. “I know I did.” Beyond our room, sounds pour through the house. My uncle’s gruff tone. Bo’s lazy drawl. My mother’s slow, steady words. But the voices are all tense, troubled in their own ways. I swallow, knowing the reason before I’ve heard the child’s name. By the time I throw on my clothes and join the group in the kitchen, the conversation is trailing off.
    “…again.”
    “…spoken to Maria or Peter?”
    “…Alan saw nothing.”
    “…would do something like this?”
    “What’s happened?” I ask, slipping into a wooden chair. But I already know. My heart sinks as my mother says: “Cecilia.”
    “Been taken,” grunts Otto.
    “Or walked off,” says Bo, leaning an elbow on the counter.
    “Disappeared, nonetheless,” whispers my mother.
    “No one knows.”
    My chest tightens. Wren knew. Footsteps sound on the threshold, eager and strong, and moments later, Tyler strides into the kitchen.
    “Otto,” he says, “the men are gathered.” I notice he’s careful not to say where , or what they plan to do. But I’ll find out. I have to. My uncle gives him a curt nod, setting his cup on the table.
    Tyler’s eyes find mine, and his chin tips up. I know he is proud at being considered one of the men. He crosses the room to me, taking my hand from my side and kissing it, knowing I’ll endure it in front of my uncle. I can feel the weight of Otto’s eyes as Tyler relishes the moment. I stiffen, waiting for him to release me, but his grip lingers.
    “I promise, Lexi,” he says, his mouth a strong line, his eyebrows appropriately knit, “we’ll stop this thief before anyone else comes to harm.” Yes, we will, I think, keeping my face a mask of calm. But I don’t trust myself to speak, so I only nod and pull my fingers slowly free. I wait for them to go, already carving out a path to Cecilia’s in my mind. I’ll have to be fast. I can’t afford to have them trample what few clues there are to find.
    Tyler turns to Otto, waits for his orders. My uncle looks between us.
    “Tyler, you’ll be staying here, with Lexi.”
    “What?” we both say at once, frowning. No. I cannot lose this day.
    “But, Otto—” starts Tyler.
    “You will stay here, Tyler.” He turns to me. “As will you. Together.”
    “If you want us together, then let us both come search,” I press.
    “Head back to town,” my uncle says to Bo. “I’ll be right behind you.” Bo hoists his gun and disappears.
    Tyler slumps back against the table, arms crossed.
    Otto’s gun is leaning in the corner, and he takes it up without another word. As he passes my mother, he gives her hand a small squeeze. Maybe it’s meant to say Don’t worry , or I’ll fix this , but my mother only bends her head over her work. As he passes me, I touch my uncle’s sleeve.
    “Please,” I say, trying to keep the anger from rising up in my throat, trying to sound soft, “let me help you search. You said…”
    Otto looks at me, and for a moment his mask slips,