I hesitate. After sleeping for nearly a week, does she really need anymore? “The healer gave her that?” I ask.
“Yes. I saw it prepared with my own eyes.”
“And you know the exact contents of what they mixed?”
Henry chuckles. “Lark, I wouldn’t let anyone give Eloise anything questionable. I swear.”
Satisfied, I stand and stretch my legs. “Is Mother treating you well?”
“Everything is exceptional.” He frowns, two tight lines that cause wrinkles near his eyes. “I heard about your outbursts.”
Heat builds in my chest. “It’s getting worse. I don’t realize what I’ve done until after.”
“I had hoped it wouldn’t be like this for you.” Henry twists his hands together. Wringing and rewringing them until I fear they’ll fall off.
“Why didn’t you tell me Mother was a pure Dark witch?”
My uncle taps his lips. “I can’t. But I should have at Summer Hill.”
“Did you hope my father’s Light magic would be enough to prevent me from becoming like this?”
He bobs his head. “You’re so different than Malin. Perhaps it was naïve of me, but yes, I did hope.”
“All those times at Summer Hill when you swore I’d be different. You convinced Beck to bind us because it would keep his Light magic locked in me.” I glance at Eloise and lower my voice. “You told him it would protect me from going completely Dark. Was it all based on guesses?
“And you told me that Mother blew up Northwoods. Did she kill your mother? Is that what you’ve been keeping from me?”
Henry watery eyes find mine. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?” I say more sharply than I mean to.
“All of it.”
I rub my eyebrows. This is my future. Killing. And more killing. Unless I die first.
“Lark? Are you okay?”
Nothing is going the way I had hoped. Or the way Henry had promised Beck. And despite this, I feel no anger toward Henry.
“I’ve been better.” I force a smile. “At least Eloise is healing.”
Henry rearranges the blanket on her lap. “Small miracles.”
“Indeed.”
#
There’s a certain kind of sadness that hangs over the condemned. I saw it the night I snuck out to the club. It was present in the way the Sensitives shuffled around on the stage with the weight of their sentences crippling them. It blotted out any other display of emotion.
That’s how I feel. Trapped under a cloud of misery. Unable to feel anything else.
Oliver’s been trying to distract me for the past hour by playing with magic. But I can’t bring myself to pay attention.
“Do you want to talk about it?” He flops down on the other end of my office couch where I’m balled up. “Fio says I’m a great listener.”
It takes me a minute to remember that Fio is his mate. I give him a weak smile. “I’m not sure you can help.” I pick at a piece of lint on my tights. “I’m going crazy.”
He scratches the back of his head. “Tell me what crazy is.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you serious? I blew up the binding hall. ”
“At Malin’s order.”
“I set my mate’s clothes on fire.”
“A trick you learned from Malin,” he says.
“I tried to choke Annalise and Maz.”
“Can’t help you there. But knowing Annalise, she probably deserved it.” He grins at me and I can’t help but chuckle. “I’ve noticed when you get stressed, you default to offensive rather than defensive magic. I’d wager it’s because no one’s really taught you defensive skills.”
“Annalise showed me how to shield,” I say.
His eyebrows jot upward. “Did she? Well, that’s one small piece of defensive skills. You should learn as much as you can.”
“You think that would help?”
He flashes a lop-sided smile. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
Right now, I rely completely on my guards to protect me. I’ve picked up a few things, but Oliver is right, Mother has only taught me how to hurt others. “Can you show me?”
“I could, but I have someone better in mind.” He taps his wristlet. “Dawson, can you come to Lark’s office?”
The air crackles near the door and Dawson steps out of nothingness. “How can I help you, Miss Lark?”
Oliver leaps off the couch. “She wants to learn defensive skills and I thought she should learn from the very best.” He winks. “Don’t ever repeat that. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Of course. Miss Lark, if you’ll please stand near your desk.” Dawson’s deep timber vibrates like a cello at the orchestra.
I scurry across the room and turn toward my guard.
“On my mark, I want you to imagine deflecting the magic I’m sending at you.”
I flinch. “If I can’t do it, will it hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
I grimace. That doesn’t sound promising. Still I raise my hands to my chest, palm sides out like I’ve seen my guards do.
“Three, two—”
Before he finishes, a piece of magic whizzes at me from Oliver’s direction. It hits me in the side and knocks me over.
“That’s not fair!” I say, as I right myself. “I didn’t know you were going to do that!”
Dawson pushes up his glasses. “It was fair. The first rule of defensive training: always be alert. You never know where your enemy will appear.”
I suck in my breath and ready my hands. “Fine. Try again.”
This time, both of them fire magic at me. I deflect Oliver’s, but Dawson’s strikes me square in the chest.
“If we were engaged in battle, you’d be dead.”
I try not to laugh. Little does he know, I don’t plan on living much longer. I huff and ready myself again.
Just as I’m about to dodge an attack from Dawson, an alarm blares from all three of our wristlets. A soothing female voice speaks: Security Breach. Please follow protocol. Security Breach. Please follow protocol. Over and over again.
Oliver and Dawson exchange troubled looks.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
My guards both have their fingers to their ears, listening to their secure feed. With a weary glance, Oliver replies, “A minor incident. It’s nothing to worry about, but we need to get to a secure area.”
A dull numbness radiates across my body. At school, we practiced drills for Sensitive attacks. Drills just like this one. Only we are the Sensitives. So what’s going on?
Before opening the door, Dawson says, “It’s important we appear calm. Do not smile, but try not to look concerned. Calm. Think calm.”
The door swings open. States people pour into the hallway. Despite years of training, confusion reigns as everyone races to the secure area. The panic radiating off the crowd grows as more people push and shove, trying to make their way to the front of the pack. Oliver drags me into the crush coming at us.
“Who’s attacking? The Splinter group?” I shout over the noise of the hallway and the alarm.
Oliver presses his lips together. “Humans.”
#
My guards and I are the last to cross the threshold before the door is bolted shut. The door scanner gathers our names from our wristlets and we move to the center of the room.
At the front, Mother and Annalise stand beside several dignitaries. But there’s no Kyra.
I search the room, but she’s nowhere.
Mother climbs the stage, and when she turns around, her face is somber.
She holds her green wristlet to her mouth. “Dear members, there’s nothing to worry about. We’ve experienced a small breach in the outer perimeter of security. While no Sensitives have been found in the building, we’re taking every precaution. We’ll remain here until the all-clear signal.”
It takes me a moment to process why Mother used the word Sensitive. Then I remember there are numerous humans in the
building.
Shouts come from outside the secure room. Someone bangs on the door in a rapid pattern; a code no doubt, since we’ve been taught Sensitives steal wristlets and impersonate States people. An Enforcer I’ve never seen before holds his wristlet to the door scanner. The door swings open, and a man who I think is the head of building security collapses into the Enforcer’s arms. He’s bruised and his clothes are torn.
“What is this?” Mother demands, loud enough for everyone to hear.
The man gasps and struggles to speak. “Sensitives. A dozen or so, just outside, on the street.”
This throws the room into chaos. Some begin to cry while others stand stunned and wild-eyed.
Humans are so predictable.
My skin trills as their fear surrounds me. I shuffle through the crowd pulling the energy to me, soaking it up, and savoring the charge rushing through my blood.
I catch Mother’s eye and with one finger, she motions me toward her.
“Yes?”
“Don’t get carried away. Erasing a roomful of memories is not on my agenda today.”
I smile sweetly. “I’m under control.” It’s a lie. I’m anything but under control. Magic licks at my heart, taunting me. I want more.
Razor sharp pain rolls over my skin and I jump. The sensation gives way to euphoria and I move closer to the source of the pain. A woman, a little older than Mother, sobs uncontrollably. There’s a deep scratch across her nose and cheek.
“Not now, Love. I need you to help me calm the room. Can you do that? Do you feel strong enough?”
I don’t feel strong. I feel unstoppable. Every time someone sobs or worries about Sensitives attacking, my power surges.
I could stay in this room all night, savoring the emotions coursing through me. “I feel perfect.”
Mother lifts her hand so that it’s near her face, palm out. “Do not panic,” she says smoothly. “Everything is…under control.”
I suppress a laugh and try my hardest to keep my face blank.
The crowd before me slowly settles down and the fear subsides. Along with the ebbing fear goes my growing power.
I scowl.
“It’s for the best,” Mother whispers.
I give a reluctant nod and, as I take in the crowd, I realize I am completely surrounded by diplomats from the Eastern Society.
“Why is the room half-full with Eastern diplomats?” I ask.
“They’re our permanent guests.”
“Guests?”
Mother chuckles. “Guests sounds nicer than hostages, don’t you think? Besides, most of the humans are unaware of their change in status. And the ones who were, were dealt with.”
My eyes grow wide. “You’re holding members of another society hostage? Why?”
Mother sighs. “They decided the one-hundred and fifty year old treaty they signed with Charles Channing means more than our loyal friendship.”
I lift my eyebrows in confusion.
“They declared for the Light witches. Until the Eastern Society comes to its senses, any of its members caught within our borders will be a permanent guest of the State.”
“We’re at war with another society?” I squeak. It’s one thing to handle uprisings within your own domain, but Mother is talking about something much larger.
“Of course not.” She frowns. “We’re at war with all of them.”
27
“We leave for the Midlands in thirty minutes,” Mother says as she passes my office. “Pack for several days. Ryker can join us, if he wishes, but you must not tell anyone else.”
I gape at my empty doorway. Nothing like advance notice.
As soon as Enforcers secured the State buildings, Mother spun into crisis mode. First, she called a news conference and explained that what happened today was nothing more than a test. Next, she gathered her top advisors in a room. Apparently, they decided to send her to the Midlands.
I ping Ryker. “Heya.” I rub my sweaty hands on my skirt. We haven’t talked since this morning when I made him promise to kill me. “Did you see the feeds?”
“Which ones? The official ones or the Enforcer ones?” He sounds agitated, and I bite my lip. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. After all, inviting my would-be-assassin to go on a trip with me hardly seems logical.
But then again, I am crazy.
“So you know about the uprising?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Mother is taking me to the Midlands. Would you like to come?”
“Sure. When do we leave?”
I tap my fingers against my desk and check my wristlet. “Twenty-five minutes.”
A long pause.
“I’ll meet you at home.” He pings off.
I hurry home and find our house empty. Well, not empty, Kyra waits for me in the entryway.
“Where were you today?” I demand.
Kyra wags a finger at me. “Official business. I could tell you, but I’d have to tongue tie you.”
“At least let me know you’re okay, next time. Please?”
She grins. “Yes, Miss Lark.”
I roll my eyes. “Is Ryker upstairs?”
She shakes her head. “Last I saw, he was at my house with Maz.” She glances at her wristlet. “He’s still there.”
Disappointment consumes me. Not that I blame him for not wanting to come. After all, an official business trip to the Midlands probably sounds boring. I guess he probably thinks it’s too weird.
Once upstairs, I begin handing Kyra things to place in my travel bag. “I need farming clothes,” I say, skipping over the gowns. I find a few pairs of pants and toss them to her. “Can you grab a pair of sturdy shoes for me.”
She holds the pants out like they’re toxic. “What are you planning on doing? Malin is holding a press conference, not digging in the dirt.”
“It’s the Midlands, Kyra. The largest Ag Center is there.” I throw a shirt at her and she catches it. “I plan on making the most of my time.”
She rolls her eyes. “Only you.”
I take my bag from her and sling it over my arm. “Are Oliver and Dawson back?”
She nods. “They’re waiting downstairs.”
I hustle to the entryway and stop dead in my tracks. Ryker, and I know it’s the real Ryker because my heart doesn’t thrum, stands near my guards with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s in full Enforcer gear: skin tight, gray uniform and boots. But that’s not the part that sends a chill up my back. Around his waist, he wears a belt with a gun on each side.
His toothy, white smile lights up his face and he takes my bag. “Shall we Miss Greene?” He holds out his arm and I stare at it.
Kyra nudges me forward until I latch onto Ryker’s arm. “I’ll meet you at the office,” she says. “I still have to pack.”
I bite my lip. I don’t know what Ryker is playing at, but I intend to find out.
#
“We’re transporting onto a moving train, about an hour outside of the Midlands Center.” Annalise stands before our small group, hands on her hips. “Can the three of you manage that or should I assign you someone to piggy back with?”
Kyra gives a little snort of disgust. “Of course I can transport on to a moving train.”
Everyone looks at me. I shrug. “I don’t see why not.”
Annalise studies me closely. For a moment, I think she’s going to tell me I have to double up, but she says, “This is a surprise visit. No one is to know where we are. Not our mates or friends. Is that understood?”
We mumble our agreements and my guards’ wristlets ping in unison. “The itinerary,” Annalise says. “Lark, Malin wants to talk to you privately. Ryker, you will transport with the rest of us into one of these berths.”
Ryker’s wristlet pings and he quickly reads it.
Annalise waits for him to finish. “You’re official role is to be Lark’s consort and provide back-up security as necessary.”
That doesn’t sound good. “Why would we need back-up
security?” I ask.
Annalise waves her hand as if I’m a pesky gnat. “Dawson, prep Lark for transport.”
I’m suddenly overcome with nerves. “Is it hard? I’ve only ever transported to stationary places.”
My sister-in-law purses her lips. “We can leave you here if this is too much for you.”
Heat flares across my face. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I—”
Annalise cuts me off. “Good because we’re ready to go.”
My mouth is dry. To my surprise, Ryker grabs my hand and squeezes it. “It’s going to be okay.”
“On my count,” Dawson says. “Three, two, one.”
I drop Ryker’s hand and spin into the void. My feet strike solid ground, but the train rocks and I slam head first into a wall.
“You need to work on your landings, Love. Graceful, they’re not.” Mother folds herself into one of two chairs crammed into the tiny berth as I rub the spot that will surely swell and turn purple. Thankfully, it’s just the two of us, not our entire entourage or else we’d be standing on top of one another.
“Do you need a healer?” Mother asks.
I wince in pain. “No. I’ll be fine.” I slump into the chair across from hers. “Where’s everyone else?”
“In the neighboring rooms.” Mother touches her wristlet. “Annalise? Is everyone accounted for?”
“Yes, Malin,” Annalise’s voice says from the other end. “Is there anything you need?”
Mother stares out the window. Her eyes have an unusual distant, glassy look to them. “No. That’ll be all.”
For a long moment, neither of us speak. It’s not uncomfortable, but rather different. Usually, when Mother and I are alone, she’s explaining things or drilling me or giving orders. I’m not sure what to make of a quiet Mother.
“What do you know about our food production problems?”
I blink. That’s not what I expected her to say. “Miss Tully,” I say and Mother winces as if hearing the name of a human pains her. “She briefly mentioned not having enough rations when I was at her home.”
Mother nods. “It’s more than that now. Eight months ago, we noticed a drastic drop in production from the Midlands. We rely heavily on a handful of Light witches to produce the amount of food we need in the small amount of fertile land available to us.”
Nightingale (The Sensitives) Page 21