The Witch Collector Part I Read Free Page B

arm around my shoulder and drew me as close as she could without breaking her stride. We walked for about an hour, the light of the moon providing a clear path to the desolate bus stop where my dad stood guarding two small suitcases. He shifted from foot to foot as we approached, and tugged on his gingery beard.
    â€œWere you seen?” he asked my mother.
    She shook her head. In the emerging light I could clearly see the anxiety pinching their features.
    I grasped the straps of my backpack, pulling it tight. “We’re going to Seaside, aren’t we?”
    They shared an uneasy glance. “Are you certain no one saw you leave?” my father asked again, ignoring my question.
    â€œI don’t think so,” my mother said. “Even if someone did, it would take Gavin more than an hour to get here. That gives us a good head start.”
    â€œBut Gavin’s in Seaside,” I said, trying to work out what was going on. “I don’t—”
    Mom grabbed both my shoulders and turned me to face her. She softly brushed her hand against my cheek, though the tears were spilling down her face, not mine. “I’ll explain everything once we’re on our way,” she whispered. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to be patient.”
    â€œI’m not going to see Brandon and Sonya?”
    My father shifted his gaze to empty road, stretching indefinitely toward the east. “No, Breeda. I’m sorry.”
    â€œThen where are we going?”
    Silence. My mother finally placed a hand on my father’s arm, and some unspoken communication passed between them. “Home,” he said. “We need to go home.”
    â€œBut this is our—”
    Mom pulled me into a tight hug. “Patience, Breeda,” she breathed into my ear. “Just give us some time.”
    On the long drive across the country I’d been more than patient, but there was a limit. We’d abandoned our coven, our closest friends. Evie was alive. My mother was not well. And still I wasn’t getting any answers. The anger I felt at being kept in the dark was barely tempered by the faith I had in them. I was ready to burst, caught in the few seconds between tripping the wire and the explosion that follows.
    What else were they hiding?
    â€œHow is Aunt Evie alive, Dad? Aren’t you going to answer me?” I grabbed his hand and pulled him over to where Mom sat on the window ledge, slumped against the glass. “Enough is enough. I’ve been going nuts in the backseat of that car for three days! Don’t you care?”
    â€œOf course we do.” Dad sighed. “Let’s sit down and have a family talk.”
    â€œFamily talks” usually meant negotiating my curfew or discussing who had laundry duty. I choked on a laugh.
    â€œBreeda.” My mom’s hand on my back felt so light, too light. I turned to her. Her eyes seemed set back in her head, the deep purple smudges underneath so dark they looked black.
    I bit my lip, ashamed by my tantrum. She folded me into her arms.
    â€œDid something go wrong?” I dug my head into her shoulder and thought of Greta. “Is that why we had to leave?”
    â€œMy sweet girl,” Mom murmured, patting my back. “The next few days will be confusing, but we’ll get through it.” She gently pulled away. When I looked up, my mother’s smile had reached her eyes, and I caught a glimpse of the warmth they usually held. “I need to sleep for a while,” she said. “After that, we’ll make a big pot of coffee and have a long talk. Okay?”
    I nodded, and she touched my shoulder before slipping into the dim hallway.
    My dad watched her, staring long after she disappeared into one of the bedrooms. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, knocking the leather cord to the floor. The sound made him jump.
    â€œDad? Are you all right?”
    When he turned I saw how far from all right