“Is Beck dead?” I blurt.
Kyra’s flinches. “Yesterday, Maz was supposed to hire a musician for our binding.” Her shoulders tense as she ignores my question. “Do you know what he did?”
“If you knew, could you tell me?” I ask, determined in my questioning.
This time my friend grimaces. She keeps her hands in her lap, twisting them.
“Maz hired a band,” she continues. “But not a classically trained band. No. My future mate hired a traveling band of musicians. They probably have nothing in their repertoire that’s acceptable.”
“Kyra, I don’t want to talk about this. Not right now. Maybe after you tell me what you know about Beck.”
Her shoulders sag and her face contorts. For a moment, it looks like she’s trying to not be sick. She wraps her hand over her wristlet. “I can’t talk to you about him,” she lip-speaks. At school, when we didn’t want anyone to hear us, we had a way of lip-speaking to each other. I touch Kyra’s knee with one hand and point to my lips with the other.
Is he okay? I ask silently.
She shrugs. I don’t know.
I believe her. Whenever Kyra lies, a faint pink tint colors her chest and neck. Right now, she looks normal.
I sigh. If Kyra doesn’t know, who else can I ask? Not Annalise or my two male guards. A healer wouldn’t dare. The servants never come in my room without Mother being here. Not that they’d know anyway.
Kyra’s wristlet pings and the color drains from her face. Unlike my other guards, she doesn’t have a microchip embedded behind her ear for incoming private pings since she’s technically not a States person yet.
“What?” I ask.
She jumps to her feet. “I have to go.”
Before I can ask why, she’s gone.
#
“We’ll be transporting. I’ll show you where to land, so that you don’t alarm any humans in the building.” Mid-morning light casts harsh shadows across Annalise’s face, highlighting her razor sharp cheekbones. She’s the first person I’ve seen since Kyra left last night, and despite myself, a little flutter of relief tickles my gut.
“I can’t transport on my own.”
Annalise rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can. You just have to try.” She slips back into her typical brisk business-manner. She checks her wristlet. “It’s important people see you enter or leave your office every day. The public cameras must capture you walking between locations at least twice a day. And you must never transport in the presence of humans. Do you understand?”
She’s treating me like a child. “Yes,” I say sullenly.
“Good. Are you ready?”
I sling my satchel over my arm and, despite the million bouncy balls sitting in my stomach, follow her into the hallway and down the stairs.
At the bottom of the staircase, Dawson leans against the banister while Oliver stands a few paces away. The two men stare at each other with intense concentration. Without warning, Dawson lunges forward and the air around him crackles. Energy ricochets through the grand foyer and I grab onto the railing to support myself.
“What are you doing?” I yell out in horror.
The two men swing their attention around to me, and Oliver lifts his hand and smiles in greeting. “Good morning, Lark.”
“Morning, Miss Lark,” Dawson mumbles as he steps away from the staircase. “Oliver asked for a demonstration of a defensive technique I’ve been working on.”
The two of them stand at attention, waiting for Annalise’s direction. Side-by-side, they couldn’t look more different. Dawson has to be at least fifty and appears somewhat professor-like with his antique, wire-rimmed glasses and stiff, tweed jacket. Oliver, on the other hand, can’t be much older than my brother Callum, about twenty-two. But unlike Callum, Oliver looks friendly. Maybe it’s the wide smile he’s trying to hide or the way he hangs his head as he scrapes the toe of his shoe over the squeaky floorboard, but he reminds me a little of Beck.
My lips twitch into a half-smile.
“Enough of that,” Annalise orders. “Malin’s home is no place for your idiotic feats of strength.” Neither man answers. Like Mother, Annalise has a way of making people obey her. I wonder if she has the power of persuasion also. “Dawson, you’ll transport first, followed by myself and Lark. Oliver, you’ll bring up the rear.”
She touches the feed behind her ear and listens for a moment, nodding her head in response to a question I can’t hear. Dawson and Oliver do the same.
“Where’s Kyra?” I ask. Annalise holds up a finger to hush me. When she’s done listening to whatever is on her feed, she says, “Kyra will join us at the State building.”
It doesn’t sound ominous, but the tone of her voice sends shivers down my spine. Did I get Kyra in trouble with my questions about Beck?
“Don’t worry about Kyra, Miss Lark,” Dawson says, anticipating my feelings. “You need to focus on transporting.”
He disappears before me without spinning. He simple blinks out. I’ve never seen that before.
“We’ll land in an alleyway one block from State offices and walk in. It’s a secure location.” Annalise unsnaps my restraint and drops it into her pocket. “You can’t transport with it on,” she explains.
“Okay.” I stretch my neck from side-to-side and pretend that being restraint-free doesn’t excite me.
“I want you to clear your mind and envision this place.” A steel door appears on her wristlet. “It’s important you focus on that location and not something more general like Hyde Street.”
“Why? What would happen?”
She shakes her head in exasperation. “You’ll end up in the middle of Hyde Street where everyone can see you.”
Sweat beads under the back of my neck. I can do this.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” With a jittery stomach, I take a tiny step forward, like I’ve seen others do. I keep the image of the door locked in my mind. I wait for the rush of air over my arms. Or maybe even a broken nose like I suffered at Summer Hill. Instead, I hear Annalise sigh.
I fling my eyes open, only to find I’m still standing in the foyer.
“Did you try?”
“Yes,” I snap. “I focused. I cleared my mind. I stepped.” Anger builds inside me. Why can’t I do this? Everyone else makes it look so easy.
Oliver shuffles closer to me and I fight the urge to step back. “May I?” he asks.
Annalise throws up her arms. “Go ahead.”
My young guard smiles at me. “Before you can do any sort of magic, you need to feel its presence.” He swishes his hand through the air and it ripples like a mirage. “All magic is simply the gathering of energy, and the ability to change it from one form to another.”
I raise my eyebrows. “When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound any easier.”
He chuckles. “Don’t look so concerned. Once you do it, it’ll be easier each time.”
“Okay.” I have no reason not to believe Oliver. Unless you count the fact he set me on fire at my mother’s command. Of course, he did hesitate. So there’s that.
“Close your eyes and feel the energy in this room.”
I squish my eyes shut. A dull emptiness surrounds me but slowly, little pricks nip at my arms.
“Do you feel that?” Oliver asks.
“Yes.”
“Good. Now allow it to grow. Pull it closer to you.”
I have no idea how to do what he’s asking, but I try anyway. My heart whirls and my body quivers as magic begins seeping through my body.
“Now, I want you to imagine the door again. And as you do, step forward.”
“Okay.” I call up the image of the metal door. No sooner is my foot off the floor than I’m hurtling through space. Air rushes over my bare arms, tickling me. It’s not at all unpleasant like at Summer Hill. When I open my eyes, I’m standing in an alleyway with Dawson and Annalise. Oliver pops in moments later.
I grin. Magic pulses through me. It’s a heady mix o
f power and excitement.
“All it takes is practice,” Annalise says.
My smile widens.
I can do magic.
5
Oliver and Dawson create a small buffer of space between me and the States men and women hustling past us. They’re all dressed in formal day clothes and carry overstuffed satchels.
My fingers trace the edges of the restraint. Before Annalise allowed me to leave the safe zone behind the gate, she slapped it back on my wrist and cut off the sensation of magic, which left a dull ache in my muscles.
We draw long looks as we march through the halls and people whisper behind hands, too polite to point, but rude enough to openly stare.
I sigh. Despite what Mother believes, I think four bodyguards is overkill. One, perhaps two, but four…
“This way, Lark,” Annalise orders. I reluctantly follow her around a corner and down another seemingly endless hallway. Dawson, Oliver and Kyra, who met us at the entrance of the building, trail behind me.
“We entered through the back entrance today,” Annalise says, turning another corner. “In the future, Malin would like you to come in through the front. It’s important for you to be seen.”
Ahhh…so Mother’s not done parading me around. Wonderful.
As Annalise fires off information, I stash it away. Do not acknowledge the lowly humans who clean the floors; always greet the Enforcers; use this set of stairs and never the other; address Eastern diplomats by their full title; and so on.
It’s all a bit overwhelming.
When I was young—before I had dreams of working in the Agriculture branch—I fantasized about walking into the State’s Great Building and marching up the stairs to my office. In those daydreams, I never allowed myself to admire the artwork or notice any of the details. But now that I’m here, nothing escapes me. The rotunda is a riot of color and people: bright green wraps designating the Western society and red hats favored by Eastern diplomats are everywhere. A few flashes of yellow and blue mingle in, but the group is overwhelmingly East and West. Perhaps the other societies don’t report until later in the day.
I tilt my head back until my shoulders nearly touch my ears. The pale green flourishes and gilded flowers of the ornate dome soar overhead. Along the curving walls, busts of past leaders fill individual niches, and the statues of Caitlin Greene and Charles Channing stand side-by-side. The warrior and the diplomat. Brother and sister. Dark and Light.
What would happen if our entire society, not just the witches, knew our government was founded and run by Sensitives—the very people we’re taught to fear. Would the humans revolt? Would our Society crumble?
Next to the statues, hangs a massive map colored to show the corresponding societies Small points of light dot its surface.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Conflict map,” Oliver answers. “It details where fighting has occurred. It’s updated every ten minutes.”
At least fifty dots cover the map and not one is in our Society. Not even at Summer Hill. How odd. Everyone knows Mother rescued me, so why isn’t it on the map?
“I wasn’t aware of fighting abroad.” I learned at Summer Hill, my school lessons were inadequate and revisionist, but the extent of what I don’t know still astounds me. “Are the conflicts local or between societies? Human? Or just between Light and Dark?”
As I speak, about thirty Eastern society members file through the foyer. It’s strange how representatives from the East outnumber the others four-to-one.
“That information is confidential,” Annalise says from behind me.
Well, that makes no sense. I face her. “There’s a map showing fights around the world, but I can’t know who’s fighting?”
“You’re allowed to know.” She gestures to herself and the rest of my bodyguards. “We’re not.”
“Oh. Then why is it here?”
Annalise huffs “To show the peacefulness of our Society. We want our foreign guests know they are safe within our borders.”
“Are they?”
She scowls. “What do you think?”
I spin slowly, taking it all in. The foreign dignitaries, the humans, the ornate décor. The feeling of power.
It’s all a sham. How many of these people know what’s really going on?
“It’s…” I say, searching for a word that encompasses how I feel about the cover-up and being in the States offices. “Amazing?”
Annalise nods approvingly.
“This way, Miss Lark.” Dawson leads us up a flight of wide, curving stairs to the second floor. An excited shiver climbs my back when we stop before an elaborately carved wooden door. I run my hands over my soft cotton dress and fear I look like a child wearing tights and a sweater.
“Kyra,” I whisper. “Do I look ridiculous?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not any more than normal.”
“Fantastic.”
The heavy door creaks open, revealing a long table. Mother sits at the far end, dwarfed by the tall back of a chair, with her arms folded. Two rows of men and women line the sides, but no one sits at the end closest me.
All eyes are on us. Or rather, me.
My stomach can’t decide if it wants to stay where it belongs or move into my throat. I’ve imagined sitting in on a State meeting, but now that the moment is here, I feel woefully underprepared.
My eyes run over the group, memorizing each face. Annalise nudges me forward and my stomach rolls . As I walk closer to the table, the corners of Mother’s eyes crinkle. If she is still angry with me, she’s hiding it well.
When she stands, all heads pivot away from me, toward her. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the State.” She pauses and nods to me. My heart pounds. “My beloved witches. Let me present my daughter, Lark.”
She stretches out her arms, and without thinking, I cross the room and step into them. My short frame and shyness is amplified by Mother’s elegant posture and the respect she draws.
Whistles ring out across the room and my cheeks flush hot. Mother beams at me for a moment before addressing the gathered dignitaries. “As you know, Lark will turn eighteen in twelve days. Under normal circumstances, I’d mark the day with festivities, but given the current situation…” She stops speaking for a moment to look at me and wraps her hand tightly around mine. “We will celebrate privately, at home, with only family.”
If there was any doubt in my mind before, it vanishes. The only reason Mother would forgo a public celebration is if she’s unsure of my mental state. Which means, despite what she’s told me, I could still go crazy.
“Now, I’d like a moment with my daughter.”
Immediately, the room clears. My guards and all. No one questions Mother. They just leave.
“Lunch?” Mother gestures to a row of delicacies lining the middle of the table.
My stomach hasn’t settled down yet and I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
She clucks at me. “You’re going to need your strength for the assessment.”
I tuck a strand of chestnut hair behind my ear. “The assessment?”
Excitement flickers across Mother’s face. “I’ve arranged for you to sit for it today. In two hours, to be exact.”
My mouth drops open. I had thought…
“You didn’t think you could skip it, did you?”
Actually, yes. “Of course not.”
Mother knits her brows together. “You’re scowling and that isn’t becoming. You should be excited, not to mention thankful. Annalise told me how distraught you were about missing it the first time.”
“I am excited.” I try to sound happy, but my voice falls flat. “But how can I join the State if I don’t have…” Beck. But I can’t say that. Especially after the conversation we had earlier. “An acceptable mate?”
“What would you like me to do about your problem, Lark?” Mother clasps her hands before her like one of my old teachers waiting for me to give the right answer.
“I can’t be bound, you know t
hat.” Once a witch is bound, the only way to undo it is by death. If Mother doesn’t see this as a problem, it means one thing: she knows Beck is dead. My legs wobble and I grasp the edge of the table for support.
“I’ll ask you again. What would you like to do about that?”
I frown. What is she asking me? If I want to be bound to someone else? What does that mean? I can’t be bound to anyone else as long as Beck’s alive. Which means…is she asking if I want him dead?
My heart flutters. This is the first hint she’s given that he may be okay. I clench my jaw and smash my lips together in hope that I don’t give away my emotions.
Tiny pulses of ice pummel my body as Mother targets her magic at me. It creeps along the edge of my arms, over my chest and toward my heart. In response, my pulse accelerates.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping back from her.
Mother raises her eyebrows and sighs. “Helping you remember who you are.”
I bite my lower lip. Something isn’t right about this.
“Mother, I know who I am.”Another wave of magic hits me in the chest, knocking me off balance and my unease turns to fear. Once I regain my footing, I scramble to the far end of the table, but I don’t take my eyes off my Mother.
She waits at the other end, one hand on her hip, her headed cocked to the side. “Hold out your arm.”
Tension rolls through me. “Why?”
“Lark, do not disobey me.”
The hard edge of her words sends my heart into overdrive, but I’m more afraid of what she’ll do if I don’t listen. I lift my trembling arm.
“The other one.”
I raise my left arm slowly, holding it before me. The restraint falls to the ground.
Mother smiles. “That’s better.”
I blink. “Thank you.”
“Hands up.” Mother paces between the table and the wall.
This can’t be good. Vomit sits in the back of my throat, but I lift my hands so that they’re chest height and hold my breath.
The air around Mother vibrates with magic, and even though it does me no good, I imagine a wall between us. Magic rips through the room, electric and crackling.
Nightingale (The Sensitives) Page 3