“Breeda.”
I curled into a ball.
“Breeda, wake up.”
I kept my eyes closed, floating in the netherworld of not-quite-asleep yet not-quite-awake. “Mmmm . . .” I groaned.
“You’re not going to like this,” the voice said. There was a sound: the head-splitting crack of metal against wood.
I bolted upright and opened my eyes to see Vadim hammering the door back into place.
He seemed too big for the room, and as his arm arched back, hammer dangling from it, I nearly had to duck out of the way or get beaned.
“You looked pretty peaceful,” he said in between whacks. “But Dobra told me I had to get this fixed.”
I took that for what it was: an apology. “No worries. It’s my fault it’s broken anyway.”
Vadim got back to work, skillfully realigning the door and popping it into place. “I need you to hold this for a second,” he said, his voice straining as he bent over to reach a drill. “Could you do that?”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and rose to standing. My muscles felt sore but not pained. If only I could erase the mental damage, I’d be almost normal. “No problem,” I said. I held the door in place while he replaced the hinge. Vadim worked with the slow assurance of an experienced carpenter. We had a few of those in our coven, and I’d often watched them work. They shared the same methodical pace, and had the same measured way of looking at the world. What they didn’t have was hotheadedness or a bully’s temperament. Had I misjudged Vadim?
“Stop leaning,” he ordered, his tone razor sharp. “You’re tipping it.”
Apparently not.
He nudged me to the side when I was no longer necessary, and I returned to the bed, silently watching him finish.
“I heard Dobra sent you packing,” he said mildly.
Was he teasing me, or curious? Vadim didn’t have much of a sense of humor, as far as I could tell. I had no idea what he was thinking. “I’ll leave after the consecration ceremony.”
He dipped his head once, but didn’t say anything more.
When the silence got to be too much, I said, “I never meant any harm.”
“No one ever does,” he said as he stood back to admire his work. The door looked exactly as it had before. “The worst decisions often start with good intentions.”
There was truth in that. “I understand why you dislike me,” I said softly. “I probably would, too.”
“I don’t have any feelings for you at all,” he said. “It’s nothing personal; it takes a lot of energy to develop trust in someone, and time. I’m careful about where I place that energy.”
“And I won’t be around for very long,” I said.
“No,” he answered. “You won’t.”
We were quiet for a long, awkward moment.
“Look,” Vadim finally said. “These people—Dobra, Miro, Shelley, Donna—they’re an important part of my coven, and they’re my only family. I would—will—do anything to protect them. You are an assault against what we’ve built. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” I lowered my head so he wouldn’t see the tears clouding my eyes.
“We’re helping you because that’s what we do,” he continued, though his tone wasn’t quite as angry. “You seem . . . nice enough. And Shelley likes you, but I can’t see this ending well.”
Vadim bent to gather his things. I reined in my emotions, trying to focus on planning my next step, but thinking about leaving my new friends brought on another wave of sadness. I’d lost Sonya, my parents were missing, and where was Brandon? Soon I’d lose Shelley and Miro. You have no friends, Evie said. Is this what she meant? The unmarked witch stands alone? But then, Vadim was right. I put people in danger. I had to remember that.
Vadim squinted at the door, then grabbed a square of sandpaper and began to smooth down an errant splinter.
“You’re a perfectionist,” I said.
He actually flushed, his ruddy skin turning a shade darker. “I guess so. I like things done right.”
“Is that why you joined this coven?” I asked, trying to make the question sound innocent enough. “To make things right?” Vadim stopped sanding the door and stared me down. I hadn’t been around anyone who could completely shut down every emotion, and I squirmed under his direct, clinical gaze.
“Do you really want to know?” he asked.
Did I? I did. I nodded once, trying not to appear overly eager.
Vadim leaned back against the dresser, the wood groaning at his weight. He tossed the sandpaper into his toolbox. “I guess it doesn’t matter if you know.”
I shook my head slightly. He was probably right, but Vadim sure did look at the world with a cold eye.
“My parents were covenless by choice,” he began, his voice lacking inflection. “Do you know what that means?”
“I’ve never heard of it,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t common. There’s a lot I don’t know.”
“It isn’t common,” he said. “And it isn’t honorable.”
“Why would they do that?”
He sighed. “I think at first they were just rebelling. My parents are from Norway, where witches can live very peaceful—but uneventful—lives. I think they got bored. They had me, broke the oath with their coven, and moved here.
“They never bothered contacting the coven who’d said they’d take them in. My parents went off on their own, using spells and charms to get what they wanted from people. They could break things, like I can, so they broke into houses and shops, always stealing what we needed. Later, when I got a little older, they’d send me in because I could fit into small spaces.”
It was difficult to imagine Vadim as small, but an image flashed in my mind of a scared, towheaded little boy.
“Once I started transitioning, they thought they’d hit the jackpot,” he continued. “But after years of their fast living, my transition was really hard on them. They both came from the same bloodline, so they both suffered. I started going out completely on my own, stealing everything that wasn’t bolted down. We had more than we could ever want, but it wasn’t enough for them—or, I guess, for me.” He took a breath. “One night I tried to break into an alchemist’s shop.”
“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.