“Why?” I ask aloud. More text appears.
Officially, to preserve the meager resources left after the Long Winter. Unofficially, to force the problematic witches of the North to other societies where they could be better monitored. The answer covers the wall in a delicate script.
Oliver slides off the desk and touches the wall where the words appear. “So, you just ask a question, and if there’s an answer, you’ll be able to find it.”
“But first I have to know what to ask.” I sigh. There’s so much I don’t know.
My office is a jumbled mess of old-fashioned books, weird metal objects, and obsolete technology that Oliver has had me retrieve. A room full of old, useless things.
Things.
“I know that look.” There’s a playfulness to Oliver’s voice and he grins. “What are you thinking?”
“Is it possible to retrieve living things? Like animals or flowers?” Or people, I think.
“No.”
I must look disappointed because Oliver adds, “Be happy it isn’t. Can you imagine if Malin could summon you whenever she wanted? You’d be in the shower and—pop—you’re suddenly in her office, naked, dripping water?” He laughs.
“Uhhh…yeah. I think I’ll pass.” I shudder. “Does it just not work? Has anyone tried?”
“It doesn’t work and I’m not sure why.” He stands and stretches. “Are you tired? We’ve been at this for awhile.”
“Not even close. I could do this all day long.” My lips turn into a wide smile. The more I tap into my magic, the more alive I feel.
“Well, I’m done.” Oliver makes a half-wave motion and the book and the words disappear. “I promised Fio a trip to the symphony tonight.”
“Fio?” I ask.
“My mate, Fiona.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Oliver is mated. After all, he works for the State. But for some reason, I have a hard time imagining him having a life outside of being a guard.
“Perhaps I can meet Fiona some time,” I say, politely.
Oliver rubs the faint stubble on his chin, as if what I’ve said amuses him. “I’m sure Fio would be honored to meet you.”
A tight smile stretches across my face. I keep forgetting I’m no longer Lark Greene, student. I’m now a States woman. And an extremely powerful one, at least among the Dark witches. Once I was simply fodder for the gossip feeds Kyra loves, now, people are honored to meet me.
I question their judgment.
“You should go. Before Fiona begins to worry about you,” I say while trying to force my voice to sound upbeat. “I don’t want her to think I overwork you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Oliver says. “Tell Annalise I’ll ping her tonight, will you?”
“Sure.”
Oliver dips his head, steps forward and disappears. A wave of jealousy washes over me. I should be going home to Beck. To our home where I can listen to him tell me about his non-exciting day as a junior diplomat. We’d have tea and maybe watch the wallscreen. We’d be normal like Oliver and Fio.
Instead, I’m sitting alone in my office, waiting for my bodyguards to escort home, where, if I’m lucky, Kyra, Maz, and Ryker will come by to keep me company. Otherwise, I’ll sit alone in my bedroom all night, bored.
Random objects Oliver had me retrieve are scattered all over the room. I guess I should put them away, but he never taught me how to send things back.
I check my wristlet. Twenty minutes until Dawson and Kyra come to escort me home.
To still my nerves, I touch the bare skin where my necklace used to lie. And then a plan begins to take shape.
With my palm turned upward, I stretch my hand forward and clear my brain of all thoughts except one: my necklace. Once, at Summer Hill, Beck helped me locate it after Eamon ripped it from my neck and tossed it into the clutter of a battle-torn room. He told me I found it on my own and Oliver has insisted that he’s not assisting me in retrieval either.
There’s only one way to find out.
My necklace, I think as I envision the way it feels against my skin.
Magic ripples in the air around me, and a warm area rolls over my palm. When I look down at my hand, a long chain dangles from my fingertip. I yank my fist up until the soaring bird is eye-level. Mud is crusted into the crevices, but other than that, it appears undamaged.
As I polish it with a handkerchief, my heart whirls in excitement and I grin. But only for a moment. There’s no way I can walk around with my necklace on. Mother will take it and hide it somewhere beyond my reach.
Still, it feels comforting balled into my fist. Almost, but not quite as good, as holding Beck’s hand. A peace, that wasn’t present earlier, runs like sunshine through my veins.
Clenching the necklace, I sit behind the desk and admire my day’s work.
All these hidden things, half forgotten in the archives. I wonder…
Oliver said he doesn’t know much about Mother’s early years. Plus, Henry said she was different as a child. That he loved her dearly and she was kind. But something changed as she grew older.
Curiosity gets you in trouble, Lark. But I can’t stop the new idea that’s now taken hold of me.
Once again, I hold my hand open, palm upturned the way Oliver demonstrated. “Malin Greene, photos, ages twelve to seventeen.”
The tablet lying on the table beeps and I pick it up. Mother’s name flashes across the top of the page and I scroll through the standard school pictures until near the bottom. My mouth drops open.
Staring back at me, with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders and sunlight casting a hazy, lemonade-like glow across their faces, is a picture of a young Henry, my mother, and…Bethina?
12
I trace the curve of Bethina’s chin with my fingertip. Her smile is wide and carefree, and her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, not the normal bun I remember. Her caramel colored skin is smooth and unlined.
My lip trembles. This is how I want to remember B, happy and laughing. Not limp on the grass.
Under the photograph is the inscription: Malin Greene (age 16), Henry Trevern (age 12), and Bethina Desoto (age 16); Northwoods. On holiday.
I scrunch up my forehead. My mother and Bethina were friends. Why didn’t anyone ever mention that? Surely Henry could have said something?
And what’s Northwoods? Out of habit, I type the unfamiliar name into my tablet.
A listing pops up:
Undefined estate.
Hmmm. I’m fairly sure magical retrieval can’t help me find an estate, so what should I search next?
“What are you looking at?” Kyra calls from the doorway. I snap my head up and cover the tablet with my hand. My necklace dangles from my fingertip, under the desk.
“Just old photos. Historical research for a project Oliver has me working on.”
She rolls her eyes. “Boring.”
I nod in agreement, even though research has never been boring for me. As she skips across the room, I shove my hand inside my pocket and release the necklace.
Kyra leans across the desk and pushes at the corners of my mouth with her fingertips. “What’s this? A smiling Lark? Is it even possible?”
I laugh and lazily slap her hands away. The contrast between our moods now and this morning, when we thought we were marching toward our doom, is stark. Somehow, miraculously, we both made it through the day without suffering Mother’s wrath.
“I had a decent day,” I say, powering down the tablet before she spots the photo. The outline of the necklace presses into my hip, reminding me it’s there. Calming me. “To start with, I’m still alive. And so are you.”
Kyra flippantly shrugs her shoulders. “There’s nothing on the feeds, by the way. It’s gone. Like it never happened.”
“Really?” I touch my wristlet and scroll through a popular feed. Not one mention of me, or what I did. “How?”
“Your mother is the most powerful woman in our Society. If she wants something gone, it’s gone.” The gl
ee in Kyra’s voice is disturbing.
“Don’t forget,” I say sharply, “she can make people disappear, too.”
Kyra huffs. “Only you would take something good like this and make it into something bad.”
I suck on my tongue before speaking. “How does my mother make sure everyone watches the feeds? Someone could turn on the wallscreen and walk away. People could still know. We still know.”
“Really, Lark?” Kyra holds up her arm and hits her wristlet. “What do you think these are for? Malin broadcasts those types of messages through the wristlets. She targets who she wants to watch.” She drops her voice dramatically. “Just like she does with Enforcers and the super-secret witch feed.”
“Stop teasing me.”
“I’m not. We have our own feed. We don’t get the same info humans and non-state witches do.” Kyra waves her hand and my coat appears. “Are you done? Maz and Ryker are meeting us at your house.”
In all my worry about punishments, I’ve forgotten about Ryker. “Oh.”
Kyra wags her finger at me. “Don’t give me that. I saw the two of you, huddling together and whispering. You looked cozy.”
My cheeks burn. “No. I have zero interest in Ryker.” Beyond what he can tell me about Beck.
“I don’t believe you,” Kyra sings and runs toward the door.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. He’ll be paired with whomever the State chooses.” And it can’t be me because I’m already bound, I add silently.
Kyra rolls her eyes. “Haven’t you learned there are ways around things? The rules don’t apply to us.”
A chill runs up my back. “Just because my Mother hasn’t shipped us off to the Northern Society doesn’t mean we can do whatever we want.”
My friend gives me a sly grin. “But it means we can do a lot.”
There’s no point in arguing with Kyra. When she gets an idea in her head, it’s impossible to change her mind until there are consequences.
“Let’s go,” I say, opening the door. Dawson waits outside and the three of us make the short walk back to Mother’s house.
As soon as we enter the front room, Kyra pounces on Maz’s lap and wraps her arms around his neck. They used to do this at school before they knew they would be bound. Every time it happened, I’d worry about their futures.
I watch my friend plant kisses down the side of Maz’s face. From the way she’s acting, you’d never know that just last night she was sobbing on my floor, worried about what I’d done and how it would affect her.
Maz’s hand creeps slowly up Kyra’s thigh and heat builds in my cheeks. Why do they have to act like this in front of others? It’s embarrassing.
“I’m so happy we’re all here, together,” Kyra giggles.
Ryker leans against the arm of the couch wearing a dark gray Enforcer uniform. I raise my eyebrows. I had no idea where he’d been placed, but I guess it makes sense after the way Kyra relied on him last night to protect me.
He rubs the back of his neck. The movement pulls the already skin-tight Enforcer uniform tighter across his well-defined chest.
“Kyra,” Dawson says in his deep base voice. “You may be off duty, but you still need to follow protocol.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Dawson,” she sasses. But she still untangles herself from Maz and plops down on the couch next to me. When Dawson exits the room, she says, “I cannot wait until I’m in my own house and can do whatever I want.”
“Where is your new house?” I ask Kyra.
“On Washington,” Kyra answers. Her voice rises excitedly. “When are you going to come see it? It’s absolutely fabo. Three stories and we don’t even have to share it!”
Most younger couples share homes with other couples until they have children and a house opens up. Only the wealthy and elite are given their own homes immediately after binding. Maz’s parents are mid-level States people; Kyra’s are upper-class, but not wealthy. Not like my family.
I realize she’s still giving me a rundown of all its amenities. “Sounds lovely.”
“It is. Malin said she wanted us to have the best. I couldn’t believe it! Right across from Annalise and Callum!”
I freeze. “Mother gave you a house?”
“She did! She called me into her office after I left you with Oliver.”
This doesn’t make sense. First, we don’t get in trouble. Next, Mother erases all evidence of my actions. And then she gives Kyra a house?
“Who lived there before?” I ask.
She blinks. “What?”
“Who lived in your new house? I doubt it was vacant, just waiting for you.”
Kyra’s eyes look like they’re going to bug out of her head. “What is wrong with you? Malin gave me a house for being a good employee. Why can’t you be happy for me?”
Something about it doesn’t feel right. “Why would she do that? Did she make you promise her something in return?”
Kyra makes a face like I’ve insulted her. “Maybe she likes me, Lark. Not everything has to have an ulterior motive.”
I want to tell her Mother doesn’t like anyone, as evidenced from the way she tried to barbecue me, and she claims to love me. All these favors she’s doing for Kyra—not having to sit for the rest of the assessments, a new home—are going to come with a price, but I bite my tongue. One thing’s been clear to me since my return, Kyra may be my friend, but she’s willing to give up certain things, like friendship, to be a Dark witch. She loves the power it brings.
We’re in need of a change of conversation before she becomes upset. So I ask Maz, “Do you like your new job?”
Kyra yawns loudly. “Are we playing twenty questions? Because I can think of some much better ones than that. For example: Ryker, do you like Lark?”
My eyes grow wide and I blush. “What?” I stammer.
Ryker, to his credit, gets up and walks over to the piano.
“My job is interesting,” Maz answers even though we’ve moved on to something else. I appreciate his effort to spare me embarrassment. “I’m working with flying technology. The ancient stuff. It wouldn’t do us any good, not with transporting.”
Kyra sashays toward the liquor cabinet. She fake shudders as she pours drinks. “Can you imagine humans flying around? Not a good idea. We need to keep them confined so it’s easier to manage them.”
I nod in agreement, as if the thought of humans having free reign appalls me. In reality, I wonder if Kyra’s right and the State’s forbidding of private vehicles and aircraft had more to do with keeping humans under control and less to do with the environment, like they claim.
“I had no idea you wanted to work in mass transit,” I say to Maz.
Kyra hands me a drink. “It’s not like you ever asked. Or cared.”
She’s right. In the past, I tolerated Maz. Not because of her, but because he was Beck’s best friend. Our interactions, until he showed up on my train, never went beyond him doing something asinine and me becoming exasperated.
Unlike Ryker, who I’ve always gotten along with. Until now.
Silence falls over us. Kyra and Maz resume their display of affection and I study the glass of whatever Kyra poured for me. After last night, I can’t say I’m particularly fond of the effects of alcohol.
Across the room, Ryker plunks out a short song on the piano. I can’t remember having ever seen him play before. In fact, I vaguely recall him making fun of Beck for practicing. Not that Beck ever advanced beyond intermediate songs, but at least he tried.
“When did you take up playing?” I ask as I walk closer to the piano.
He shifts over on the bench to make room for me. The song he’s playing changes into something upbeat. “Lena taught me.”
“When? I never saw you practice.”
His fingers come to a rest. “We used to play together after school in the music room.”
“Ah.” He doesn’t need to say anything more. In the music room, they’d be alone for a little while. I blush at the thought.
Ryker jerks his head toward our friends, who aren’t paying any attention to us. “Why don’t we go for a walk?”
My stomach flops. Earlier when Kyra asked if Ryker liked me, I marked it up to her being…well, her. But here he is asking me to go walking. Alone.
Stop it, Lark. You’re being ridiculous. Ryker’s asking you to go for a walk because he wants to talk to you. Probably about Beck. And you want to talk to him.
Ryker stands up and holds out a hand to me. I stare at it for a long second. He tilts his dark head slightly and grins. “Coming?”
It’s such a Beck gesture. The angle of his head. The way his eyes twinkle. The mischief in his voice. I shove one hand into my pocket and toy with my necklace, while my other hand hovers just above Ryker’s, waiting for me to decide if I should accept his offer or stay here, with Kyra and Maz.
“We can talk,” he says, trying to prod me into accepting.
I don’t take his hand, but I do walk to the door and lead him to the back of the house. I stop just outside the kitchen. What am I doing? Going for a walk with Ryker? Didn’t I decide last night that he can’t possibly know anything about Beck?
I turn around and eye his Enforcer uniform again. “What exactly is your job?”
“Sorting and organizing data sets.”
That sounds far from uninteresting. “Since you’re in enforcement, surely that data must hold secrets.”
He shrugs. "I see the information off every wristlet that pings the system. I’m supposed to scan and classify it.”
“Anything good?” I ask, trying to keep my tone conversational. Fishing for information has never been my strong suit.
Ryker’s eyes light up. “Classified.”
I smile pleasantly. Somehow, this is beginning to feel like a challenge between the two of us. “Lucky for you, I’m allowed access to classified information.”
“Of course you are. Is there something you want to know?” He’s trying to dodge my question and I can’t figure out why.
Our eyes lock and my heart whirls. Madly. Like it wants to leap from my chest. “Where is he?” My voice is embarrassingly breathless.
Nightingale (The Sensitives) Page 9