The Witch Collector Part I by Loretta Nyhan

art of tisane making.”
    I accepted the tisane he offered and sipped it slowly, taking the opportunity to study the room. It was cozy, with shiny oak floors and walls painted a watery blue. The lightest blue to soothe the mind . .  .
    Weak light filtered through the sheer curtains. “Is it morning?” I asked.
    Miro smiled wryly. “I guess you could say that.”
    I slid the mug next to a pile of books on the nightstand. “Did you stay up all night?”
    Miro glanced at his father, then looked back at me. “We were worried.”
    â€œHow did I get here?”
    â€œI carried you to a cab when you collapsed on the stairs. Do you remember any of it?”
    I didn’t. The thought unsettled me.
    â€œDon’t upset her,” Dobra said. With my eyes adjusting, I could see Dobra’s face more clearly. His eyes were a mud brown, a contrast to his son’s beautiful, shifting color. “She’s tired. We can talk in a few hours.”
    â€œNo, it’s okay,” I said, trying to assure them both. “Did Miro tell you about my parents?”
    â€œYes,” Dobra said evenly. “He also mentioned that you’re unmarked.”
    I looked at Miro, but he only shrugged. “You didn’t think I could keep that a secret, did you?”
    â€œAn unmarked witch is rare,” Dobra said. “Your transitions are more difficult.” Dobra stopped, as if unsure if he should go on.
    â€œI need to know,” I said. “Please don’t hold back.”
    â€œIs there any possibility your parents left of their own accord?”
    â€œDefinitely not.”
    He smiled, but there was a wariness in the way he tilted his head, like he didn’t quite believe me. “I had to ask. Transitions are more successful the closer the parents are to the child, but this also strengthens the force of it. And the effects of the magic can be much harder on the parents than on the younger witch.”
    I swallowed my guilt. No wonder my mother was suffering so much. My father, pale and shaking, had probably begun as well. “Why don’t all parents send their children away during the transition?”
    â€œSome do,” Dobra answered.
    I thought about my mother sleeping next to my bed when I had the flu, about my father tending to every scratch I got from running through the woods. My parents had fought against whoever took them. “They would never leave me.”
    Dobra frowned. “Then I suppose they were . . . taken.”
    â€œWill you help me find them?” Emotion tore at my voice.
    Dobra was silent a moment, then moved closer to the edge of the bed. When he stood closer, I noticed his deep worry lines, and the gray threaded through his hair. “I will send word out to every coven in the area, alerting hundreds of witches,” Dobra said. “But I have to ask you something in return.”
    â€œAnything.”
    â€œYou need to leave. You cannot stay as a guest in my home. I will do everything I can to help, but I won’t allow you to bring danger to my son.”
    â€œAre you serious?” Miro said. “She has nowhere to go.”
    â€œI hope you understand I’m not being cruel—simply cautious,” Dobra said, his voice clipped.
    â€œDad,” Miro said through clenched teeth.
    Dobra only addressed me. “You are unmarked, and an unmarked witch is extremely dangerous. And not just because of the strength and unpredictability of your powers. You will always be a target. I am sorry, but I can’t have you here.”
    I felt like I was about to close my eyes and jump into a strange, dark lake. “I don’t understand,” I said, half dreading the explanation to come. “Why am I so dangerous?”
    â€œPeople are afraid of things that have no limits,” Dobra said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, no limits?”
    Dobra glanced at Miro, who said, “I don’t think anyone’s