Witch Eyes by Scott Tracey

behind my eyes that felt like it was trying to shove them right out of my skull. My fingertips started tingling, and I started getting cold sweats.
    Going through a migraine in the building wasn’t an option. I wasn’t sure of the exact protocol, aside from trying to explain what I was going through to the school nurse. And that would be a waste of time. Instead, I just grabbed the stu ff I knew I needed for homework, and lugged my now-too-heavy bag outside.
    The hotel wasn’t far from the school, realistically. Nothing was “far” from anything else in Belle Dam; the town was too small. I called Lucien to see if he could get me excused, but the receptionist wouldn’t pass my call through. She probably didn’t know how.
    She swore they’d take care of it, though. By the time I was in my room, worrying about school was the last thing on my mind. I pulled the curtains tight over the windows, then took it a step further and threw towels on top of them. Blocking out any sense of light whatsoever. A few pills for the headache, a nap, and a shower, and I’d be okay. I hoped.
    I glanced at my cell phone, pressing my lips together to stop the shaking. My first instinct was still to turn t o Uncle John and expect him to bail me out. I just needed to know I’d be okay. But while I tried to think of what to say, and how to say it, I started to drift off. I was asleep before I ever even opened the phone.

Fourteen
    The first thing I did when I woke up was smack my hand against the phone next to me, sweeping it off the bed and onto the floor with a clack.
    Fantastic. I reached up against the nightstand for my glasses and slid them on slowly. There wasn’t any trace of pain left over from earlier, just an overwhelming sluggishness trying to pull me back down into sleep.
    I leaned over the side of the bed and fumbled around for the phone. The room was pitch black, so it took awhile. Muttering annoyed protests at the inconvenience, I struggled up out of the warm, comfy bed and went for the windows.
    After I was done pulling down the towels and opening the curtains, sunlight streamed into the room once again. It was good to know I hadn’t slept the whole day away—just the school day.
    I don’t know what I was expecting when I dialed our number in Montana. Would he let me go over to voicemail? Or would he pick up the receiver only to sla m it down again? I expected each of these and worse, so when Uncle John answered the phone like nothing had changed, I sat there in silence.
    “Braden? What’s wrong?” Uncle John’s voice came through crystal clear, not even a hint of static across the line.
    Every ounce of tension slid out of me, and I eased back into the still-warm bed. It was so good to hear his voice. “Hey,” I said. A master co nversationalist, I was.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” It slipped out, along with all the hurt and confusion I was feeling.
    John didn’t respond right away. “Lucien told me you’re in school,” he said carefully. “How do you like it?”
    “Someone tried to kill me yesterday, and you’re asking me about schoo l ?”
    I heard him suck in a breath. “You all right?”
    “I’m fine,” I snapped. “But why didn’t you tell me about this? About my father, about Catherine Lansing … any of it!”
    He asked me a question instead. He softened. “Why did you run, Braden? What happened?”
    “Would it kill you to answer even one of my questions?” I leapt off the bed and stalked to the window.
    “It could,” he said, and at first I thought he was joking. And then I realized he might not be.
    “Uncle John?”
    I heard bedsprings squeaking as John said, “Remember we’re not the only thing out there in the dark, kid. There’s a lot more to the world than witches and magic.” A phone rang in the background, which didn’t make sense because we only had the one phone, and he grunted. “Remember when we talked about when it’s best to use