The Witch Collector Part I by Loretta Nyhan

me.
    â€œOregon. We didn’t interact much with the other covens. We lived in the country. I don’t know what other covens do.”
    â€œI’ve heard of it,” Miro said, his voice quieting. “Closed covens. Like a . . . commune.”
    â€œBut I’ve never heard of a witch without a family book,” Shelley insisted. “Maybe you call it something different there?”
    â€œI have a spellbook,” I said lamely. “Is it different?”
    â€œVery. A family book is usually small, a leather-bound notepad, like the size of a cell phone,” she explained. “It lists the remedies and herbs that work for your bloodline. It’s incredibly helpful when a witch is transitioning, because the tisane recipes have been perfected over the years. Without knowing what works for your line, I can only give you something that boosts your whole system. I can’t address specific symptoms. Also, I could add an ingredient that could hurt you. The family book will list those dangerous herbs as well.”
    â€œI’ve never heard of it.” I sighed, frustrated. How many other important things didn’t I know? “Can we work around it?”
    Neither of them responded. Instead, I watched Miro’s eyes skip over my neck, ears, my hands. “Wait . . . where’s your talisman?”
    His question shouldn’t have shamed me, but it did. I did know the importance of a talisman. Why hadn’t my parents given me one? They knew my magic was coming—how could they have left me so defenseless? My cheeks grew hot and I looked at the floor.
    â€œBut that doesn’t make sense,” Shelley said. She brought her face closer to mine. “You must have one. How old are you?”
    I forced my chin up. “Sixteen. But please, listen—”
    â€œShe’s lying,” Miro growled.
    Careful , I told myself. You don’t know where you are .
    â€œBreeda, I want you to tell us what you think just happened to you,” Shelley said softly, as if she were talking to a small child.
    What had happened? I could breathe now, but my lungs still quivered from the aftershocks of oxygen deprivation. The muscles in my arms and legs felt tender, as though someone had pummeled them with a stick. “I’m getting my magic, I think? People get sick when that happens. Or, my mom just got sick when we were coming out here, and I caught whatever she had.”
    â€œOf course your mother is sick,” Miro said, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “She’s transitioning!”
    â€œLike you are,” Shelley added. Her voice contained none of Miro’s anger. “You’re pulling your new powers from your bloodline, so your parents are feeling the impact. The magic will make you sick at the start, but it might make your parents even sicker. When you all come through the other end, they’ll be weaker. You know that, right?”
    I didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to cry. Roll up into a little ball and sob. “I’ve—I’ve never heard it explained like that,” I finally managed. “I’ve never heard it called that word— transitioning .”
    Miro’s eyes seemed cold suddenly, so I could hardly remember the warmth I’d seen in them just a few moments ago, when he leaned over me. “What do you call it, then?”
    My mind whirred, the events of the past few days forming into mismatched puzzle pieces. “We didn’t have a . . . name for it. At least I don’t think so. When the other kids showed signs of getting magic, they were sent to a training center in Seaside.”
    â€œWhat kind of signs?” Shelley asked.
    I thought about Brandon complaining that he didn’t feel well before he left, and about Sonya’s sudden asthma. “They got sick.”
    â€œYes,” Shelley said, nodding. “That kind of announces the beginning. What did they say