The Witch Collector Part I by Loretta Nyhan Page B

responsibility.”
    â€œBut if he gets hurt,” I countered, “ I’m the one responsible.”
    â€œNo one’s going to get hurt.” He looked at me and then knelt at my feet. I didn’t stop him while he removed my shoes. I was confused and tired and still frightened by what Dobra had told me. Unsteady, I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders, my palms resting on corded muscle. His rough hand held my right ankle for just a moment too long, and heat rose from it all the way to my cheeks. Guilt made my heart even heavier. I hated that I was reacting to his touch.
    â€œYou were clutching a key when we found you earlier,” he murmured. “I put it in your bag.”
    Grateful for the distraction, I rummaged through my backpack. “It’s the key to the apartment. We should give it to Vadim,” I said, handing it to Miro. “How many times can we fix a broken doorknob?”
    Miro glanced at the screaming figure etched into the key chain. “Let’s hope this isn’t a bad omen,” he said, and slipped the key into his pocket. Once it was out of sight, I felt what little power I had ebb away. I should be grateful. So why did I feel like I’d given away too much?
    Miro blew out the candle. “Get some rest, Breeda.”
    â€œI’ll try.”
    He paused in the door frame before vanishing into the darkened hallway.
    Sleep wouldn’t come. The day’s events scrolled through my brain, over and over. I’d been too distracted at Sandy’s. What had I missed? The tarot cards I’d chosen told a story, but I hadn’t stuck around long enough for Seralina to put it together. Betrayal—Ignorance—Death. The combination brought such an emotional response, it was hard to think objectively. I made a mental note to go over everything with Shelley in the morning.
    I was grateful she’d fallen into my life at just the right moment. I needed people I could trust. But Shelley’s friendliness made me ache for Sonya, my oldest friend. To her I wasn’t an unmarked witch; I was Breeda.
    I felt in my heart Sonya knew something was wrong. I had to believe she’d help if she could.
    I pulled out my phone and texted her:
    I need you. Please answer.
    I typed a similar message to Brandon, then hesitated before hitting send.
    Betrayal. Ignorance. I didn’t want to think it, but I couldn’t avoid the possibility that one of those could refer to him. The only logical reason for Gavin to focus on me was my unmarked status. And if Gavin valued an unmarked witch, then it made sense for him to ask his son to get close to me.
    The kids in our coven were tight. We had to be, as we only had one another. Brandon was always around—quick to help in the garden and with the fall canning, slow to leave after we’d had our evening tea. But on one clear Saturday morning he asked me to go mushroom hunting the next day. I couldn’t understand why he felt the need to ask me to do something we’d done a hundred times before—until my mother, grinning like a Cheshire cat, wanted to show me a new way to fix my hair before we left together.
    Brandon held my hand as soon as we entered the canopy of trees, and kissed me against a giant redwood, its enormous majesty making me—and what I was experiencing for the first time—feel so small. Brandon was quiet and sweet, like he always was. During that first walk together, he found wild daisies growing at the edge of a clearing. He picked some and wove together the flowers, placing his makeshift crown atop my head.
    Daisies open in the morn, pick a flower and luck is born .
    Harmless, simple spells like the kind we learned at our parents’ knees were our understanding of the witching world. Now it was more than apparent that I only understood a fraction of what our life held.
    My parents had kept me in the dark my entire life. And as far as I was concerned, that was proof that