by Larissa May
“What if we get caught?” Brandon knocked on the trunk of the giant redwood. The hollow sound reverberated through my body as if he’d plucked a nerve.
“I used to hide here when I was little,” I said. “No one but Sonya could ever find me.” I crouched down and slid my body into the small cavern. “We can both fit if we hold our breaths.”
Brandon stuck his head inside. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, but crawled in anyway. We wrapped our legs around each other, twisting and turning until we’d disappeared into the depths of the tree. It was dark and cool. I could barely see Brandon’s face, though it was so close his warm breath tickled my cheek. In the dim light our skin, hair, eyes were the same shade of gray.
I’d never kissed Brandon first. Shyness and insecurity kept me always waiting for him. But the redwood tree was my territory.
I tilted my head forward and found his lips. I led the kiss, a feeling of confidence rushing through me like liquid gold. In the small space, with our bodies pressed together, we were equal.
“Wow,” Brandon said when we finally came up for air. “Now I know you feel the same way about me that I feel about you.”
“You weren’t sure?” I said, nearly laughing with disbelief.
“I’m never sure,” he said. “About anything.”
I kissed him again.
“Breathe. Come on, Breeda.”
I opened my eyes, expecting to see the outlines of Brandon’s face. Instead of finding the soft blue of Brandon’s eyes, I stared into the browns and greens of the forest. Miro was crouched over me. When I blinked my understanding, he called out to Shelley. Then he lifted me from the ground, resting my cheek on his broad shoulder. “Pretend you’re breathing through a straw. Slowly, slowly,” he said.
I tried. The air stalled, as though someone had erected a brick wall in my throat.
“Picture it,” he said gently. “Create the opening with your mind.”
I saw it clearly, the oversized, red-striped straw given at the Burger-Town back in Oregon. Sonya and I made a pilgrimage there every Saturday, walking for miles until we hit the outskirts of town. The image clear in my mind, I pursed my lips and drew the air in, slow and steady like I was sucking down a peanut-butter-and-chocolate shake. It worked.
“You’re an ass,” I whispered once my breathing steadied.
“You are an ass,” Shelley agreed, suddenly standing over both of us. She kneeled and tilted my head back carefully, drawing a tisane to my open mouth. I drank, the hot liquid both burning and soothing. “The tisane was barely done,” she said, addressing Miro sharply. “Give me more warning the next time you plan to do this.”
“Don’t count on a next time,” I croaked.
“Smart girl,” Shelley said, glaring at Miro.
He ignored her, and gestured toward the apartment. “Bye, Shelley.”
“Be nice,” she said. There was a dark warning in her tone. I thought maybe she’d stay, but she didn’t. She placed the tisane on the ground next to me before heading back inside.
Miro helped me sit upright, settling my back against the wall of the fire pit. He sat across from me, his long legs bent underneath his body.
“Why did you do that?” My voice sounded lower than usual, and outlined in menace. I thought of Evie’s growl and shuddered.
Miro didn’t answer right away. Instead, he brushed the stray hairs from my eyes and used his thumb to smooth the creases anger had etched into my forehead. The effect was soothing, and I felt the fury drain from my body into the soil beneath me. “During the first phase of the transition, the fastest way to bring on the full force of your magic is to attack you,” he explained. “I couldn’t warn you, or it might have failed.”
“Oh, it definitely worked.”
He smiled and for once I didn’t catch one trace of a sneer. “The core of what makes you live—your heart, your breath, your brain—they all become overstimulated during a witch’s transition. We have to calm them with remedies from the earth—the herbs and roots from the places our ancestors come from are like a tonic.” He paused. “I sound like a textbook. Or my dad.”
“I need to know this stuff,” I said. “Keep going.”
“You don’t have ties to any one bloodline that we know of, so all bets are off with you. Shelley’s tisanes help, but probably not for long.” He paused. “Especially without a talisman.”
I wanted to say I would have one soon, but that was naive. I had to accept the possibility of never having a conductor for my magic.
“So what do I do?” I said after a moment. “How do I control it?”
“With the only weapon you have—your mind. Self-hypnosis is the only thing I can think of. Sometimes we’re our own best medicine.”
I tried to hide my skepticism. I had no other options, and if he was truly trying to help me like I thought he was, I didn’t want to insult him. “Okay, how do I hypnotize myself?”
“You’ve only been reacting so far,” he replied. “That’s fine, but you’re too impulsive. You’re not thinking first.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of hard to think when a chair is careening toward you.”
Miro laughed. “Once you really learn to control your magic, your thought process will take a fraction of a second. You need to learn to meet magic with magic, not with uncontrolled emotion.” He leaned toward me. “What gifts have you collected so far?”
I didn’t want to think of it that way. “I’ve watched my mother open anything hundreds of times, so I can now, too. Evie’s neighbor, Sandy, directed electricity in front of me. I watched Vadim break a cement block in two. And I saw Shelley in the alley by Belladonna’s, so I can manipulate fire.” I paused.
“And you have my gift of levitation,” Miro said mildly.
I thought of the cartoon in The Mysteries of the Unmarked, of the gluttonous, thieving witch. My face grew hot.
Miro stood. “As far as I’m concerned you didn’t take anything from me, so stop worrying. You simply made a copy, and a cheap copy at that. You’ll never be as good as I am at levitation.” He walked over to the side of the garage and picked up a snow shovel leaning against it. “Get up,” he ordered. “This is coming toward your head in a second.”
I jumped to my feet, my lungs throbbing. Miro brought one hand to his light blue talisman. He raised the shovel slowly, giving me time. “Ready?” he asked.
No! I wanted to scream. I knew what was coming this time, so there was no anger, only fear darting around inside me. Was I supposed to ask my magic to help? How did I do that? Fight back, I thought. Fight back.
The shovel circled once, twice, then traced the perimeter of the garden and drew nearer with each pass. Miro stared at me, waiting.
I closed my eyes. Come to me, I thought, calling my magic, feeling slightly awkward with him watching. I need you.
I pictured a branch before I opened my eyes. The branch poking out of the fire pit, probably used to stir the ashes.
Miro’s snow shovel stopped its circling, hovered for a second, then hurtled toward my skull.
Only it didn’t make it halfway across the yard. The branch I’d envisioned stopped the shovel in its path, making a clanging cross above our heads in the air. I held on to the magic, my hand grasping at my useless talisman. I felt just as I did standing in the alley by Belladonna’s last night—the magic, active and alive, electrified every cell in my body.
“That’s it, Breeda!” Miro shouted. “Hold on as long as you can!”
I had no idea how I was holding on. Force of will?
My lungs pulsed once, twice, and a ragged inhale broke the strength of my hold. The branch fell, sending the shovel straight for my forehead. Too fast to duck.
The shovel stopped just as it brushed my nose, and fell to the ground.
But I had no time for relief.
“That’s too shallow,” my dad said. “Dig a little deeper, girls.”
Sonya and I pushed into the unyielding soil with our shovels. We were l
ittle and it was hard work, but after a while we managed another half a foot. “Are we done yet?” I asked. Sweat stained our T-shirts and dampened our hair.
My dad lifted the small tree, cradling its roots with his hand. “Everything deserves a good start,” he said, and lowered the tree into the hole we’d dug. He tucked it into the earth with the same care he took when he tucked me into bed every night, drawing the soil gently around the tree’s base. “And nature always provides that start. We just need to trust her enough to put down our roots.”
“Not bad,” Miro said as I stumbled a little, disoriented from the vision and the residual pain. He brought me the mug Shelley had left for us, put one hand at the back of my neck, and slowly poured the tisane into my mouth. Still hot, the tisane gently opened my lungs again.
“How did the magic feel this time?” he asked after I’d mostly recovered.
“Like the branch wanted to help me,” I whispered, conscious of his touch.
Miro didn’t step away from me. “In a way, it did,” he said softly. “Nature always wants to come to our aid. That branch is her representative.”
I nodded slowly, thinking of my dad. Then a forceful wave of nausea sent my head spinning. Miro’s face swam before me, his words indecipherable. I felt numb, my senses shutting down. Frantic, I focused on the one thing I could—his scent, the warmth of cinnamon and cloves keeping me in the world. I breathed it in, again and again, until everything roiling inside me settled.
“I’m okay,” I said, placing my hands on his chest. “It’s fine now.”
Miro stepped back, concern knitting his brows. “You need your rightful talisman. I could be putting you in danger practicing without it.”
“If I don’t practice, I’ll be worse off. I can’t stop the transition and it won’t wait for me to sort things out.”
Miro nodded.
“My parents will have it,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I’m going to find them. I know it, Miro. I feel it.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment; then his attention shifted to the apartment building behind me. “Look,” he said, pointing toward the second floor.
Shelley stood in a window watching us intently. When I gave her a little wave, she smiled and flashed a thumbs-up sign.
“I’ll give you whatever help you need to find your parents,” Miro said without hesitation. “But don’t involve her.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I responded just as quickly, and with almost enough force to convince myself. I hated thinking it, but I selfishly did want Shelley to help. I wanted a friend, and she felt like a true one. I did trust Miro, but like our kiss, our interactions seemed clouded by too many questions.
Shelley breathed on the window, and then traced out a symbol: a spiral, growing outward, large enough to cover the entire pane of glass.
Rebirth. Transformation. Embracing the new.
Then she drew a B in the center.
Me. Smack dab in the middle.
Whether I liked it or not.
CHAPTER 21
I heard from Brandon once more after dinner. Two words.
Alley. Midnight.
I decided to stay at Dobra’s another night, though when I wasn’t panicking over my parents’ whereabouts, I wondered again and again if I should be. Miro had a closed-door meeting with his dad after our training, and Dobra hadn’t left his office since.
I didn’t tell either of them about Brandon’s text. My vision stuck with me, and I felt protective toward him. I didn’t think by not telling them that I was betraying my new friends in Chicago, but I couldn’t get Seralina’s tarot cards out of my head. Betrayal. I’d been thinking of myself as the victim, but maybe I was wrong.
I wouldn’t make any judgments about Brandon until I could look directly in his eyes. But time was ticking by so slowly, and I was crawling out of my skin waiting to see him. Dusk had only just settled.
Since I couldn’t call the moon, I shut myself in the spare bedroom, hoping the cool, blue walls would temper the storm of fear, magic, and frustration raging in my veins. I needed to plan.
I grabbed Shelley’s cardigan and shoved my feet into my boots. Midnight wasn’t going to come any faster with me sitting around waiting for the clock to strike. Since it was dinnertime, chances were Sandy was home. I had some questions for her and there was no reason to wait.
“Are you going to see your boyfriend?” Shelley said from the doorway.
I jolted, nearly dropping the window screen I had just removed. “What?”
She glanced at the floor, abashed. “Miro told me you have one. I’m not upset like he is. I think it’s fine to keep some secrets to yourself. Especially if you’re trying to protect someone.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” I said, flopping on the bed. “Or maybe it was, just . . . not right now.”
Shelley snapped the window screen back in place. “I could go with you.”
“Thanks, but—”
“It’s not up to Miro whether I get involved or not,” Shelley said. “He told you to leave me out of things, didn’t he?”
“Like you said, sometimes we keep things from people to protect them,” I said, thinking of my parents and all they’d kept from me.
“Dobra and Miro took my mom and me in when we needed help, but that doesn’t allow them to run my life. I still make my own decisions.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s not your decision to make,” I said as gently as possible. Miro’s voice sounded in my head. Don’t involve her. Part of me knew he was right, and part of me agreed with Shelley. I didn’t like other people making decisions for me, so why should she?
“You shouldn’t be out alone,” Shelley insisted, further breaking my resolve. “I saw you in the garden today, Breeda. You don’t know what you’re doing yet. You need me and I like to be needed, okay?”
If I said yes, Miro would be upset, and rightfully so. Still, I could relate to Shelley’s desire to control her life. I knew Miro was being protective of her, but shouldn’t Shelley be allowed to choose?
“Okay,” I said finally. “I was going to Sandy’s apartment. She’s already met you, so it’s probably not a big deal if you come with. Can we get out of here without anyone noticing? It shouldn’t take long.”
Shelley brightened. “Sneak out the front door while Miro’s cleaning up. I’ll tell him I’m heading home.”
Inside, I cringed at the deception. But my reservations didn’t stop me from grabbing my bag and heading for the door.
The rain had given way to a cool, pleasant evening, and Chicago’s streets were teeming with life. Everyone moved with purpose, smiling and dressed to be noticed. Shelley’s blond curls were piled on top of her head, tendrils falling artfully to her shoulders. Her white, tiered skirt brushed the sidewalk with every sway of her hips. Men stopped midstride to watch her cross the street, but she barely noticed, her attention focused on me. “We can take a break,” she offered when I slackened our pace. I was still exhausted from training with Miro. “Maybe sit down for a while?”
I shook my head, slowly, like a windup toy running out of steam.
“Training during the transition is difficult for everyone,” Shelley said gently. “Don’t think it’s just you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to regulate my breathing.
“I know you will be,” she said quickly. “Miro worked you too hard for your first session, though. He knows what he’s doing but he’s still an ass.”
I smiled at her. “I don’t think I gave him an easy time of it.”
Shelley threaded her arm through mine and leaned in. “I don’t think he minded,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
I stopped, pulling her back awkwardly.
“What?” she said, laughing. “You feel it, too. I can tell.”
What did I feel? Everything and nothing. My emotions churned close to the surface—I could cry any second, or lash out in anger, or tumble into a deep and all-consuming kind of love. It was dange
rous and frightening and tempting. But was it real? I knew who I was back in Oregon. My nerves twisted when I thought about how different I was after just a few days here. Would Brandon notice the change in me?
I tried to focus my mind on the task at hand as we rounded the corner. St. Sylvester’s spire pierced the late-afternoon sky. As we walked toward the church, I spotted Father Brennan sitting on the steps, sipping from a huge Starbucks cup. In the diminishing light his white hair was more subdued, and he looked even smaller than I’d remembered. He spotted me and waved.
“You know that guy?” Shelley said.
“He saved me from the demon,” I said, waving back to the priest.
“Seriously? That coffee looks like it’s too much for him to handle.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
He stood as we approached the church steps. “Breeda,” he said. “Just the witch I wanted to see.”
Shelley and I looked at each other. “What did you call me?” I asked.
“Well, it’s not a secret, is it?” he said. Father Brennan took a sip of his coffee. “Can I speak freely in front of your friend?”
“Of course,” I said, though a small knot was forming in my stomach. What did he want?
“When you left last night,” he began, “your magic should have left with you.”
“And?” Shelley said.
“It didn’t,” he said. “I can still feel it.”
Shelley looked puzzled. “Why would you be able to feel it in the first place?”
Father Brennan shrugged. “I just always have. Legend has it my family has witch blood running through it, but . . .” He gestured toward his collar. “There can’t be much left if I chose this life, right? Then again, we haven’t persecuted witches in centuries.”
“But we haven’t forgotten,” Shelley said, though she smiled at him. “Do you mind if I step in the church to see if you’re right?”
After a brief moment, Father Brennan nodded. Shelley bounded up the stairs and disappeared into the church.
Father Brennan trained his bright, blue eyes on me. “Is there something off with your magic?” he asked, his tone mild. “Is that it?”
