“Not to get a better handle on my abilities?”
“Lark! What in the world is wrong with you?” Henry asks. “Eloise wants to enjoy time with you and you’re accusing her of spying?”
Miss Tully slips between us and sets the tea service on the low table. As she passes me, she gives my shoulder a soft squeeze. It’s such a Bethina thing to do that tears sting in my eyes.
Damn it. I promised myself I was done crying.
“I…I…” The fog drifting through my mind recedes a little. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Annalise said that if I took control of the State, everything would be better, but it’s not. I’m making a mess, and I don’t know what to do.”
Henry reaches over takes my hand. His olive green eyes search my face. “Did Malin do something to you? When you first arrived?”
I jerk my hand away. “She helped me remember who I was.”
“By hurting you?” Henry speaks in a soft, soothing tone.
“No.” I pick at my fingernails. “Maybe. She set me on fire, once.”
Eloise’s mouth drops open. “She did what?”
I shrug. “It’s nothing. I did the same to Ryker when I needed to teach him a lesson.”
Henry’s face twists into a weirdly pinched look. “Did she ever tell you about Northwoods and Bethina?”
“Yes. I know Bethina was her step-sister and that you are their half-brother. I also know she killed your mother.” I squint at him. “I thought you were tongue tied.”
“The spell broke when Malin died.” Henry shifts uncomfortably. “When Malin came into her powers, she locked my mother in a room and tried to confuse her by switching day and night. But she took the magic too far and it turned lethal. She blew up our home to hide what she’d done.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because my sister has done that to many Light witches. It’s her way of ‘helping’ them.”
“Is it possible your mother brainwashed you?” Eloise asks.
“Of course not! She loved me!”
“Did she lock you in a room and make you think you were crazy?” Henry counters.
I wilt against the chair. The memory of the fireballs burning my skin races through my mind. The lack of contact with anyone other than her. The way she kept repeating what she wanted me to say.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Annalise bursts from the empty space near the table and shoves herself between Henry and me. “What are you two doing? Who gave you permission to speak to Lark?”
I push myself up so that I’m facing Annalise directly. My sister-in-law is taller than me, but I’m stronger and she knows it. “I wanted to speak to them. Is that a problem?”
She smiles coolly. “Of course not, but I have to think of your safety. They’re Light witches.” There’s a tiny hint of nervousness to her voice. “Not to mention that Eloise is Eamon’s sister.”
My body stiffens. “What?”
“Did she not tell you?”
Eloise’s wide eyes stare at me in fear. “I wanted to, but it never seemed like the right time.” She moves closer to Henry, as if seeking his protection. “Lark, you have to believe me, I want nothing to do with him.”
My shoulders sag under the weight of the revelation, but somehow, miraculously, I keep my magic in check. “He’s your brother?”
“Yes.”
I press my hand against my stomach as bile churns.
“It’s really no different than you and Callum, though, right?” Her eyes flit to Annalise. “I mean, Eamon and I can’t stand each other. Just like you despise Callum. You told me that yourself.”
“Lark?” Annalise says. Her fingers curl around my shoulder and magic nibbles at me. Softly, as if it doesn’t want to be detected. “You want them to leave, don’t you?”
I shift so Annalise’s hand falls off my shoulder and the sensation disappears.
Without giving anything away, I keep my face blank and say to Henry and Eloise, “Go.”
Beneath my calm façade, my heart whirls in a mess of emotion. Kyra was right: Annalise is using magic to keep me in check. Or at least to get me to be more agreeable.
“I don’t think you should be alone. I’ll stay with you,” Annalise says, touching my upper arm. Again, a faint trace of magic washes over me, but this time, I manage to keep my brain lucid.
Eloise was right, I never trusted my brother, but it was his wife I feared. Until recently. When she became my mentor.
Stay calm. But that’s easier said than done, because every muscle in my body feels like it’s being stretched taught, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.
How did I not see it before? Annalise had access to Mother. She knew Beck’s secret. She wasn’t with us at the Ag Center that day.
“I need to be alone.”
“Not when you’re like this,” my sister-in-law insists, trying to guide me back to the chair. When I jump at her touch, she narrows her eyes. “Very well. If that’s what you want.”
“I’ll ping if I need anything.”
As soon as she’s gone, I rip my wristlet from my arm and hurl it into the fire. Annalise has been using magic on me, and I’ve been too numb to sense it.
Like an agitated snake, I slink to the ground and curl up before the fire. My hand arcs before me, and I say, “On.” The wallscreen appears on the far wall. For a long moment, I stare at the blank screen, trying to figure out what exactly I should be searching for. Finally, I say, “Annalise De la Cruz.” My sister-in-law’s life fills the screen: images of her as a child, her family tree, her school merit awards. A picture of Annalise and Callum on their Binding Day catches my attention. Annalise looks nervous, but undoubtedly excited while Callum looks…pained. Mother stands behind them with her hand resting on Annalise’s shoulder and a wide smile.
Mother always like Callum’s mate more than him. Which would explain why they’ve been married for several years and have no children to show for it. And it would also explain why Callum is so positively nasty to her in private.
The fire cracks, sending an array of sparks into the air, and I startle.
With a sigh, I swish my hand and the wallscreen disappears. If Mother preferred Annalise, then what reason would Annalise have for wanting her dead? Surely, she was better off with Mother in control. I’ve done nothing but make a mess of things and make her life difficult.
I visualize a cool glove encasing my hand before sticking it into the fire to retrieve my wristlet. After I dust off the ash and inspect it for damage, I wrap the still warm metal around my forearm.
Maybe Kyra’s right. Maybe Beck didn’t do this. And if Henry and Eloise are telling the truth, Mother manipulated my mind.
If I thought things were confusing before, I’m positively bewildered now.
But one thing’s for sure: I’m going to find out who killed Mother. And when I do, they’ll beg for death.
34
The house sits on the edge of the road. There’s no sidewalk or landscaping. Just a three story-high house that looks like it may tip forward at any moment.
“Are you sure this is it?” I ask Kyra. Dawson stands off to the side, his back to me and his eyes scanning for any sign of trouble. On the way here, I occasionally caught strains of the Alouette, another reminder the Splinter group is seeping into my city. It also proves that what I’m about to do is absolutely the right decision.
Kyra half-glances at her wristlet. “Positive. Three sixty-five Fourth Avenue.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I can’t imagine living like this. Stacked on top of another family with no privacy. It’s like being at school all over again.”
“I don’t know. It’s not that bad.” Kyra turns to my older guard. “Where do you live Dawson?”
“A few blocks over. In a house much like this.”
Sometimes I forget my male guards have families. They rarely speak of them. “I’m sure your home is lovely,” I say and glare at Kyra.
I squint at the house. “D
oes she know we’re coming?”
“No.”
“Ring the bell.”
A deep boom sounds inside the house. We wait a few seconds, listening, and then I hear it: feet rushing down a flight of stairs. The door flings open, and Lena stands before us. “Kyra! I thought you weren’t coming today.” Her hands fly to her mouth, and she blinks in confusion. “Lark! What are you doing here?”
Her voice is a little too high and her hug a little too enthusiastic.
Kyra taps her foot. “You’re being rude. Invite us in.”
“Of course.” Lena holds the door open and motions us up the stairs. “Timothy isn’t here right now. But if I ping him, I’m sure he’ll hurry home.”
“No need,” I say, taking in the home’s meager furnishings. “It’s you we want to see.”
“Can I get you a drink? Something light to eat?”
“No, but you can tell me where Ryker is.” I smile sweetly.
Lena’s mouth drops open before she quickly snaps it shut. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen Ryker since he was kicked out of our house.”
“I know that’s not true. I saw the two of you together, but you don’t remember, do you?”
I jerk my head and Kyra walks toward our old housemate. Lena’s eyes grow wide, but she doesn’t pull away when Kyra lazily drapes her arm over her shoulder. When Kyra told me she believed Lena had been hiding the boys, she was livid. But not for the same reasons as me.
“Has he contacted you?” Kyra asks.
Lena grimaces and her jaw locks shut.
“Someone tongue-tied her,” Dawson says from his station behind me.
I circle Lena and she spins with me. “He was here, wasn’t he? I can see it in your eyes.”
She shakes her head vigorously.
“Lena’s lying,” I singsong. “You’ve always been a little too…”
“Bitchy?” Kyra offers. The anger in her voice radiates across my skin and I draw it into my core.
I tap my finger against my lip. “I was going to say ‘mean girl’, but bitchy works.”
Lena scuttles backward, slowly, like a crab. Her chest heaves.
“Do you fear me?” I ask, closing the distance between us.
She shakes her head again, but she’s lying. The fear radiating off her oozes into me and I savor it.
“Oh, Lena. That wasn’t the right answer.” I flip my hand over and a ball of energy bounces in my palm. “Ryker told you what I am, didn’t he?”
She keeps her arms tucked into her sides, as if trying to become as small as possible. “Please don’t hurt me,” she begs.
A knot forms in my stomach as I stare down at my former housemate’s quaking figure. The energy ball blinks out, and I run my hands over my face. What am I doing?
“Leaders don’t hesitate, Lark.” Dawson’s voice booms from the corner of the room.
This is wrong. So, so wrong. I don’t need to hurt Lena. I take a half-step away from her.
“Is this how you show strength? I thought you were a leader, Lark,” Dawson chides. “Malin would never back down.”
My gaze flits between my guard and the girl on the floor. Dawson’s right, I need to show strength, but at what price? What has Lena done besides love the wrong boy?
“Please,” Lena whimpers. “I don’t want to die.”
As she speaks, her fear floods my body, and I gasp. Horror follows and my blood sings. It’s absolutely intoxicating.
“I could,” I whisper. And looking down at Lena, I realize it’s true. If I wanted, I could end her life.
The thought sends a thrill rippling through me.
“Please,” Lena begs. “Please, Lark. “
Across the room, Dawson gives a curt nod.
Kyra stands at my shoulder, her breath ragged in my ear. “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?”
“And if I did?” I challenge. “Would you be disloyal and try to stop me?”
Panic radiates from Kyra. “No. Never.” Her eyes search the room madly. “It’s just that, if she’s hurt, she’s of no use.”
My head aches and I rub my temples. She has a point. If Lena’s incapacitated, she can’t tell me what she knows. However, she’s tongue-tied and can’t give me the information anyway.
“Lark.” Dawson’s firm voice jerks me from my thoughts. He stands just inches from me. “Do not show weakness.”
A fluttering grows in my chest and my muscles tense. I am not weak. I’m Lark Greene. Descendent of Caitlin Greene. Daughter of Malin Greene.
I am not weak.
Lena whimpers and I throw my head back and laugh.
“Oh, Lena. Do you know what I do to girls who don’t give me what I want?” I push my face in front of hers so that my lips are just inches from Lena’s colorless skin. “I eat them.”
I snap my teeth and she curls tighter in on herself.
A ball of energy vibrates in my hand again. “I’m afraid there is no mercy for the wicked. And you’ve been helping Ryker hide. That’s very wicked indeed.”
Kyra grabs my wrist. “Okay, you’ve scared her. I think that’s enough.”
“Mind yourself, Kyra,” Dawson orders.
“Mind myself?” my friend shouts. “What’s the point of this? Why are you encouraging Lark to lash out? Malin never did.” She jabs her finger in Dawson’s direction. “What’s wrong with all of you?”
“Enough.” I whirl on my friend. “Lena still hasn’t told us where Beck is. Once she does, she can go. I promise.”
“She’s tongue-tied.” Kyra shakes her head with mouth wide open. “She can’t tell you even if she wants to.”
Damn it, Kyra’s right.
I study the trembling blond girl. I can’t leave her here. Not after what she’s seen.
Dawson’s sharp eyes watch me intently.
My mind scurries through several options, none of which end particularly well. If I let Lena go, I’ll have to wipe her mind again, which could leave her in a vegetative state. If I don’t wipe her mind, she could expose me.
I can’t let her go.
“I’m sorry, Lena,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
With a flick of my wrist the glowing orb strikes her chest and a blood-curling scream fills the room. Her pain floods my system and re-invigorates me.
Lena’s body spasms on the cold, hard floor.
Kyra shrieks and yanks at my arms. “What have you done?”
“I…I…” What have I done?
With numb legs, I stumble toward Lena, but Kyra shoves me out of the way. She kneels next to our former housemate and holds her head against Lena’s chest. “She’s barely alive. She needs a healer.”
My brain races in a chaotic mess of images, feelings, and memories. I blink hard, trying to push them away, trying to make sense of what just happened. Across the room, Dawson stands with his arms folded, coolly watching Kyra and me.
“It was the right thing to do,” my burly guard says. “You did well.”
I rub my temples and try to still my thoughts. I have to fix this. I have to show Dawson I’m strong, but I can’t let Lena die.
“Take Lena to my house, Dawson, and fetch a healer.”
My guard lumbers across the snug room, and Kyra scoots back so he can lift Lena’s motionless body.
“Wait,” I order. “Bring her here.” Dawson holds Lena’s body before me and with one, swift movement, I unfasten her wristlet and toss it to Kyra.
“No one can know she’s injured other than the Healer. Do you understand?”
Dawson nods. Seconds later, he blinks out and Lena disappears with him.
“What are you doing?” There’s a sense of desperation in Kyra’s voice.
Somewhere deep inside me, my heart trembles as if it were crying. I press my hand against it as I stride across the room, hoping the pressure will ease some of the pain. “The boys probably ditched their wristlets, but I bet Ryker has a way to listen to the secure feeds.” I’m moving forward with my plan, trying not to think
about what just happened. “How often do you talk to Lena?”
Kyra’s lips are nothing more than two thin lines. She refuses to answer me.
“I’m not stupid. I know you’ve kept in touch with her.” I keep my voice even, trying not to betray the confusion of emotions rolling through me.
With her chin to her chest, she says, “Once a week.”
“Good. I want you to ping Lena’s wristlet and say you’ll stop by in an hour. That you have to run an errand to the school with me.”
She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “And then what?”
“We wait for Beck to show up.”
#
No sooner does my foot touch the bare earth then I link my arm through Kyra’s and pull her into the Presidio. Small purple flowers dot the hills, and when the wind blows, they look like they’re dancing. We pass beneath the lone grove of trees until we reach the small creek that snakes across the Presidio down to the Bay.
My friend is unusually quiet as we trudge along.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when her silence becomes unbearable.
She pulls in a deep breath before releasing it. “You didn’t need to hurt Lena. It was pointless.”
Her accusation stabs at my heart, but the truth is, she’s right. I know she is. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I say for the hundredth time, swallowing hard. “Sometimes I feel like I’m in control, and other times, it’s like I’m watching some horrible version of myself.”
“Beck can help you.”
Even in my confusion, there is one thing I’m sure of: I need to find Beck Channing. Whether or not he can help is a different story.
“You think Ryker told Lena about us?”
Kyra brings her shoulders up to her ears. “I don’t know. Probably.”
“You didn’t ask her?” I say in disbelief. “What good is the power of persuasion if you don’t use it?”
Kyra stops abruptly, and I nearly bump into her. She scrunches up her face. “I couldn’t get close enough to her before someone tongue-tied her.”
“Then she knows,” I say matter-of-factly.
With one hop, I jump over the tiny stream and land on the opposite muddy bank. I race up the small hillside to a tree and lean against it.
Nightingale (The Sensitives) Page 27