The Witch Collector Part II (10 page)

“Please tell me it wasn’t Evie’s,” I said.

“No,” he said. “But could you imagine going up against her? I wasn’t prepared to fight that kind of magic.” He tugged on his collar, revealing a scar as jagged as his bloodstone talisman. “The alchemist cut my original talisman from my body. It didn’t bother her that my skin was in the way.”

I swallowed. “What happened then?”

“When I got home, I collapsed on our front stoop.”

“Where were your parents?”

“They saw I was dying, so they locked the door, turned off the lights, and left me to pass to the other world.”

It was too late to clear my face of any response. I gasped, horrified. “I’m so sor—”

A tentative knock on the door interrupted us. Vadim appeared flustered for a moment. I’d never seen him anything but completely composed.

“Can I come in?” Shelley asked.

Vadim’s cheeks went up in flames, the heat running all the way up to his hairline. He took a breath before opening the door, and I mentally slapped myself for not seeing it before—he was protecting his coven, but it seemed one witch in particular stood out. Shelley’s crush was definitely not one-sided.

She walked in carrying a white, button-down shirt and the white, tiered skirt she’d worn the day before. “Freshly starched and ironed,” she said.

I took the clothes in my arms. “Does it matter what I wear?”

“You must be pure to accept your consecrated talisman,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The white clothing is symbolic, but not exactly stylish. All I could find was one of Miro’s old shirts and my white skirt. You can put your own clothes back on afterward.”

Shelley took in Vadim’s face. “What were you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” we said simultaneously.

“Ohhh-kaay,” she said, and shot me a look that said the subject wasn’t closed. “Change your clothes. You’ll need to get ready soon—it’s already past seven.” She waltzed out of the room, Vadim tracing her movements with his eyes.

“Come midnight, you won’t have to deal with me anymore,” I promised Vadim. “I’ll go with my aunt, and leave you all alone.”

The muscles in Vadim’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Shelley found me,” he said. “She was delivering food to my neighbor. She called Miro and Dobra and they brought me back here. I wouldn’t be alive without them.” He paused. “I guess what I’m saying is, it’s nothing against you. I don’t want anything to happen to this coven.”

He shoved his hand into his front pocket and drew out Evie’s key. “I should give this back. I don’t think anyone is going to show up at that apartment. It was quiet as a tomb.”

The protectant. I still had a few hours before leaving this coven, and I didn’t know what could come our way in the meantime. “Keep it,” I said. “After tonight I won’t need it. Evie infused the key chain with some kind of spell. I like the idea of you owning an alchemist’s protectant. There’s a kind of poetic justice to it.”

He shrugged, but I could see a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. After a second’s thought, he held out his hand. “Like I said, it’s not personal, it’s—”

“I know what you said,” I interrupted, taking his hand in mine. “But it is personal, and that’s why I’m leaving. I know what needs to be done.”

Miro’s shirt barely fit, the buttons pulling at the front. Shelley must have snagged it from the back of his closet, a leftover from two or three growth spurts ago. In contrast, her skirt hit the floor even though I’d folded the waistband twice, making me look, and feel, much younger.

The sun sat low in the sky, its rays shining through the gap between the curtains, blinding me. I tugged them closed and sat on the bed in semidarkness waiting for Shelley to return.

I still wore her talisman. Tonight I’d return it to her, replacing it with my own. Her stone of greens and purples and blues wasn’t meant to conduct my magic, but then, Evie’s stone was not the talisman my mother had intended, either. Did she have mine with her? Would she feel something when it was replaced? The thought saddened me, dampening my excitement at finally being able to perform magic without going into total respiratory distress.

Any apprehension I had about the ceremony itself lay buried under the mountain of unease I had about my next step. Where would I start? I’d had contact with Brandon, so it made sense to start with him. I picked up my backpack, pulled my phone from the front pocket, and typed a quick message to him.

Sonya is dead. I need you.

With shaking hands, I placed the phone on the dresser.

Where are you, Brandon? Why did you run?

I thought about Seralina and Brandon, about me and my mom. All of us in the same city, separated by Gavin and so many secrets. I indulged the fantasy of a reunion, of everyone coming together.

Until a knock at the door jolted me back to the reality of the present.

Chapter 13

I
t was Miro.

He stood in the open door, dressed in a clean, white T-shirt and jeans, awkwardly balancing a wooden tray crowded with bottles of essential oils, a towel, and a number of candles. A navy-blue stone lay on a white, folded towel, drawing my eyes like a magnet.
That must be it,
I thought. My new talisman.

Miro leaned against the door frame. “Can I come in? This is kind of heavy.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Shelley,” I blurted. “And I’m sorry about before. We should have told you we were going.” Embarrassment sent a wave of heat over my face.

Miro smirked; the temptation to laugh danced over his unusual features. “I would have tried to stop you, so it was probably a good decision not to tell me. I’m not
always
right, you know.”

It was my turn to smirk. “I’ll keep that in mind.” We stared at each other for a moment, and then Miro placed the tray on the dresser.

“Anyway, Shelley was supposed to do this,” he said, but changing the topic did nothing to dispel the weird tension that had entered the room. “But she’s taking care of Evie. Vadim offered, but Evie said she’d rather swallow molten gold.”

My pulse jumped. I didn’t dare question whether my nervousness stemmed from my ignorance of the ritual or from Miro’s role in it. Or about his role in helping me to prepare. How exactly did one get ready for a consecration ceremony?

“Have you done this before?” I asked.

“I helped my father prepare Piotr’s talisman,” he said. Instantly, I was sorry I asked. “I gave him my blood for the family line.”

“Blood?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, the teasing smile returning. “This has more to do with Evie than it does you. She’ll need to give enough blood to cover the stone, to bind it to your family.”

But I didn’t follow a family line. Disappointment slashed my hopes.

“Don’t look like that. My father thinks it will work, even though you’re unmarked.”

I smiled at him. “Your father
hopes
it will work.”

“True enough,” he replied. “Without a family book to guide us, I’m working on instinct and tradition.” He lit the candles, four in all—blue, green, white, pink. “Do you know the preparation spell?” he asked.

“My mother taught it to me when I was little,” I said quietly.

“So did mine,” he said, his voice also low, respectful. “I lit the pink candle for your parents, Breeda. The white is for you.” His hands were warm and strong as they clasped mine. We closed our eyes and began:

The lightest blue to soothe the mind,

The deepest to reveal all kinds,

Crimson brings unbridled lust,

And Purple keeps a ruler just,

Green for health as well as wealth,

While white protects the mortal self,

Pink draws near the friends who roam,

But blackest black keeps them from home.

I opened my eyes to the soft glow of a candlelit room. Miro’s smile was gentle but mildly anticipatory. “Now—”

A boisterous laugh interrupted, and then Evie’s voice, scolding and sharp, cut into the peaceful atmosphere. Miro rolled his eyes and closed the bedroom door, shutting us off from the others. I tried to hold a neutral expression, but my nerves quivered. We were alone.

“Okay,” he said. “I think I know what I’m doing, but be patient.” He lifted the white candle and held it in front of me, like an offering. His large hands shook slightly. Surprised, I glanced up at him, but his eyes were closed. Was he nervous, too?

“Breeda Fergus, do you accept the consecration of your talisman, the true conductor of your magic?”

The words caught in my throat.
It’s what my parents would want me to do,
I thought.
It’s what I need to do.

Miro’s eyes flashed open. “Well?” he said, but not unkindly.

“Yes,” I answered. “I do.”

He exhaled audibly and returned the candle to its place with the others. He laid the towel on the dresser, dug four bowls out of the pile of stuff on the tray, and lined them up. Each one got a few drops of carrier oil. Then he rifled through the amber bottles and chose one, adding a drop of something else to the first bowl.

Miro stirred the oil mixture with his finger. “Rose of Jericho brings the beginning. New thoughts for a new life.” He placed his fingers at my temples and gently rubbed in the oil. The delicate scent of fresh-cut roses calmed my frayed nerves. I reveled in it, losing myself so completely it felt like a loss when he finally dropped his hands.

He chose a second bottle and added its liquid to another bowl. “Marjoram, for the change flowing through your blood.” He caught my hand in his, turned it over, and traced one blue vein from my wrist to the inside of my elbow with the fragrant oil. I shivered as the path he drew tingled with life. My blood seemed to rise to the surface, heating the flesh from the inside out.

I focused on breathing and watched Miro prepare the third bowl. He began to move slowly, finally stopping completely, staring at the bottle in his hand.

“Is everything okay?”

He turned to me, an uncharacteristically sheepish smile curling his lips, and gestured toward the buttons on my oxford shirt. “You, uh, need to . . .” he mumbled.

“What?”

“You need to unbutton your shirt,” he said quickly, a flush sweeping over his features.

His comment set fire to my face. “That’s fine,” I said, my words barely audible as I fumbled with the buttons. I undid the top three and pulled the shirt open, exposing my bra.

At first I couldn’t look at him. My thoughts went to our kiss in the laundry room, to the way his lips felt on mine, to the curiosity I felt when I thought about the chaos that desire brings. Was that what I really wanted? It seemed selfish to ask myself that question, given the circumstances, and yet . . .

When I met his eyes, I couldn’t deny the surge of hope I felt when I found a spark of longing that mirrored my own.

Miro dipped his index finger into the third bowl he cradled in one hand. “Pine. To give the heart strength.”

I held my breath, shivering while Miro did . . . nothing. He stood perfectly still, head bowed. I brushed my hand across his arm. “It’s fine,” I murmured. “Go on.”

He raised his head, locking eyes with me. In the swirl of green and brown and gold of his eyes I saw the mysteries of the forest, my second home, the place of our life and death, beginning and end. The birthplace of the natural world. The heart and soul of a witch. The feeling nearly overwhelmed me, shaking me to the core in a more intense way than magic ever had.

Trembling, I inhaled deeply, the heady scent of pine nearly overwhelming my senses.
“Please,”
I whispered.

Miro touched his finger to my chest, resting it gently against the skin. My pulse sounded in my ears.

His finger began to move, slowly tracing a star over my racing heart. “Star of day and star of night, guide the heart to choose what’s right.” He placed his palm over the star, the heat of his skin warming the oil.

“You’re ready,” he said softly. I didn’t dare to breathe as he slowly refastened the buttons on my shirt. His callused fingertips lightly scratched my skin, prompting goose bumps.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No,” I lied. A chill had taken hold of me—not on the surface, where his hand had been, but in my heart, where I realized my feelings for Miro ran deeper than the quick flicker of mere attraction. Shortly, though, the bedroom door would open and I would walk into my future. Alone. I felt a stab of guilt—what I wanted to do and what I needed to do should not be at odds, not with my parents still missing. I thought about them, about Sonya, and forced myself to ask Miro, “What comes next?”

“We wait for midnight,” he replied, looking at me strangely. “Is something wrong?”

I couldn’t reveal what I was thinking: that the temptation to lock the guest-room door with both of us inside and never leave would be unforgivable. I spotted a distraction. “The fourth bowl,” I said, gesturing toward the dresser. “You forgot one.”

Miro picked up the last amber bottle. He uncapped it and held it under my nose. “This is my addition,” he said. “It’s not an official part of the ceremony.”

I smiled sadly, thinking of my mother. “Jasmine.”

“Mixed with evening primrose.” He nudged one drop of the thick oil onto his pinky finger, then touched it to the middle of his lower lip. Before I could react, he leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine, anointing my lips with the oil.

Reflexively, I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss. Miro froze for a second, then wrapped his hands around the back of my head, pulling me toward him, our bodies crashing together. I ran my hands up the muscles of his arm, wove my fingers through the silky hair curling over his ears, caught his breath and mixed it with my own. His touch electrified my skin, drawing me closer to the edge of complete surrender, to falling into something I couldn’t quite comprehend, or didn’t want to. Frightened by the power of my desire, I brought my hands to the sides of his face, slowing our movements.

He felt my apprehension and broke the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine. “Are you okay?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

Miro pulled back slightly, so we could look at each other. “I wish my gift was stopping time,” he said, his face reddening a little. “I’d hold this moment, just as it is.” He drew a finger over the oil on his bottom lip, and a teasing smile slowly appeared. “And that is the single most cheesy thing I’ve ever said to a girl.” He kissed me once more, quickly. “But it doesn’t make it any less true.”