The Witch Collector Part II Read Online Free Page A

of who we are.”
    She stopped, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I forgot you don’t understand that.”
    “I can still feel my parents,” I said. “It’s like there’s something physical connecting us. I think I do understand.”
    “Of course you do,” she said, touching my hand. “It’s just, my dad’s gift became so closely aligned with who he was that the gift started to take over. As he got older, the fire became him. He began to burn, Breeda. Burn from the inside, slowly. It was horrible to watch. We tried every remedy, every spell, but nothing worked. After watching how badly he was suffering, we all hoped he would pass to the other world—begged for it—but he hung on. Our coven leader said we could do nothing but wait. But, of course, he didn’t have to witness it.
    “My father asked my mother to kill him, and when she said no, he asked me to do it. Only a few months before, Piotr had died. I was a mess.”
    I sank next to her, gutted by the pain she must have felt. “I’m so sorry.”
    Shelley’s laughter—hollow and haunted—broke through her tears. “He asked for a tisane of belladonna. My father was a poet, and he felt it had a delicious sense of irony. I didn’t know where to get it. The next morning, I found a packet on the counter in the restaurant.”
    “Your mother?”
    “Yes. She couldn’t stand seeing him in such pain, but she couldn’t take that final step herself. I’d been up all night listening to his screams—he threw himself off the bed and crawled to my room, shouting for help. That morning I brewed the tisane, adding wolfsbane to make sure it would be quick, that he wouldn’t suffer.
    “Taking someone’s life is a crime against nature. In some ways it’s the blackest of black deeds. What I did was the worst thing a witch can do.”
    “I would have done it for my mom or dad,” I said, and I meant it. “In a second. Anyone who has truly loved someone else would understand.”
    Shelley shook her head. “Our coven didn’t understand. They allowed my father a death ceremony, but then forced my mother and me to break the oath directly afterward. We were lost, my mom and I both.” She paused.
    “Then Dobra took you in,” I said.
    “He collects hopeless cases. And that’s exactly what we were.” Shelley scooted off the bench and wiped under her eyes and smoothed her skirt. “Let’s get you back before Miro notices that we were gone,” she said quickly. “Your eyes are starting to droop and I’m not strong enough to carry you home.” She smiled, letting me know she wanted the conversation to move on. I knew why. Some things were too painful to dwell upon.
    I placed my hand lightly on Shelley’s arm. “It’s not my right to tell you how to feel,” I said, “but I don’t think you deserve the guilt on your shoulders.”
    “Thanks,” Shelley said. “Nothing will make the guilt go away, but it’s still nice to hear you say it.” She placed her hand over mine for just a second, and then we headed back to Dobra’s.

Chapter 3
    A t a quarter to twelve I left the warm guest bedroom and, carrying my shoes, tiptoed down the back staircase to the garden, my backpack heavy on my back. I left a note for Shelley, Miro, Vadim, and Dobra, expressing my thanks. I didn’t know what to expect or how long I’d be gone—or if I’d ever be back. I folded the note into a small square, stole into the kitchen, and sprinkled some cloves into it, trying not to think of the scent mixed with cinnamon.
    “Prosperity be ever yours, in every way,” I whispered over the folded note. I placed it on the bed along with Shelley’s unconsecrated talisman. My neck felt odd without it, but it was strange to miss something I never really owned.
    The apartment was quiet, without even the soft sounds of people sleeping and breathing. I padded barefoot down the back staircase and stepped into the chilly garden. After a moment’s hesitation, I shoved my ballet flats into my backpack. The