The Witch Collector Part I by Loretta Nyhan Page B

could be in real trouble—I had no idea what really happened in Oregon. Would Shelley bring me to the police? I thought of the demon in a police uniform and shuddered. Would she get angry for my bringing more trouble, like the priest, and kick me out? What would I do then?
    Shelley squeezed my shoulder and smiled. In that instant she reminded me of Sonya reassuring me at another time, in another life. It was impossible to truly fear anything when confronted by a smile like that.
    I took a breath, opening a path in my lungs. “We left Oregon in the middle of the night . . .”

CHAPTER 8
    â€œW e’ll help you,” Shelley said without hesitation after I finished my story. “Let me go fill Miro in on what’s going on, and then we’ll come up with a plan.”
    â€œMiro doesn’t seem to like me much,” I said, understating the obvious.
    She shrugged. “He’s afraid, is all. He’s angry because he doesn’t like to admit to it.”
    I almost laughed. “He’s afraid of me?”
    â€œHe’s afraid of what’s happening to you. I was serious when I said the uncontrolled magic could be fatal, and not just to you. It happens more often than you’d think.”
    â€œWhy aren’t you afraid?”
    Shelley took a blanket from the cot and wrapped it around my shoulders. She smiled again. “I’m terrified,” she said matter-of-factly, “but I’m also crazily optimistic.” Her voice, friendly and easygoing, despite her admission, felt like a balm. “We’ll find your parents, Breeda. I can feel it from my toes to my nose.”
    We . The word filled me with an enormous sense of relief. Still, I had no idea what I was getting Shelley involved in. “That demon police officer I told you about—I wasn’t making that up. I’ve never seen a demon before, but I knew that’s what he was. Every campfire story stars a demon.”
    Shelley blanched. “His eyes were black, right?”
    â€œLike tar.”
    â€œI’ve never seen one,” she said. “But I’ve heard stories, too. Still, I don’t think Chicago usually has many demons skulking around.” Her expression grew serious. “Are you worried the demon took your parents?”
    My spine turned to ice. “I hadn’t been, but could that be a possibility?”
    â€œNot likely. A demon would have killed them on the spot,” she said gently. “There wouldn’t have been much of a struggle. Demons destroy everything in their paths, indiscriminately.”
    I thought about the demon’s face so close to mine and shivered. “I knew he wanted to hurt me, but he was in no hurry,” I said. “Are there mellow demons?”
    Shelley laughed. “Um, no. Unless it was bewitched. But only rare witches can bewitch a demon, and it doesn’t last long. Once it wears off the demon tries to destroy the witch who did it.”
    â€œHe was dressed as a police officer.”
    â€œDefinitely bewitched,” Shelley said. “I can’t imagine a demon doing that willingly.”
    â€œI ran up to him because I was so afraid. My coven stayed far away from police officers.”
    â€œThat’s where we’re similar,” Shelley said. “We shouldn’t seek help from the police. They’ll treat it like a regular robbery and kidnapping, if they take us seriously at all. Even here in the city, where we live shoulder-to-shoulder with regular people, witches are still thought of as creatures from fantasy books. Some people are more aware—but most try to explain away whatever magic they happen to witness. Cops usually think we’re fakers, charlatans—criminals, even. If you tried to explain what happened, they’d probably put you in Child Protective Services, with people who would have no idea what to do with a transitioning witch.”
    It would be terrifying to go