Phoenix

by Dawn Rae Miller

  Beck dips his head. "Thanks to you and Mom, I kept myself in control the entire time."

  Patrick Channing puckers his mouth. "Are you sure it's not due to being separated from Lark?"

  "Not now," I hiss under my breath as James Martinez, the News Feed 5 reporter I had at the press conference, walks across the stage toward us. He greets me with a kiss to the hand.

  "Lark, you look lovely tonight!"

  Heat flashes through me, and I shuffle my feet. I've never been good at compliments. Especially when half-naked. "Thank you."

  "Such a daring choice for the evening." He nudges me forward, and I parade across the stage in my sheer dress, making sure the newscasting cameras see my scars. It's like I'm a girl showing off her pretty dress, and I beam, turning this way and that before waving to the crowd.

  Beck grins at me, his eyes lingering on my nearly nude torso. I tip-toe up and plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

  Sure enough, the crowd reacts. This time with whistles of approval.

  Perfect, I have them right where I need them. "James," I say, "We really should get on with the speeches. They're so much more interesting than my little dress."

  The newscaster laughs. "I hardly think so."

  I motion Mr. Channing forward. As the eldest Founders' descendant, he speaks first, as is tradition.

  The mixed crowd of Dark and Light witches stands before us, and Patrick Channing eyes them with hesitancy. Since so many Light witches have poured into San Francisco, it seemed only appropriate to invite them to the Ball. Beck doubted they would come, but not only did they accept, they haven't segregated themselves, and instead, stand intermixed with the Dark witches.

  At least I think so. It's hard to tell with the all the masks.

  Patrick clears his throat. "My paternal great-great-great grandfather Charles Channing once said, 'Through struggle comes peace. It may take weeks, months, or years, but surely peace comes. It is our natural state of being.'" He looks at across the room. "We are one Society. One people. Let us have peace within the walls of our great Western Society. It is what our beloved Founders wanted, and it is for what we shall strive."

  The room politely claps, and Mr. Channing takes his seat at the long table positioned behind him.

  I'm up next and a huge lump has taken residence in my throat - not from nerves, but out of fear of that some may notice Callum isn't here. I'm waiting for James to say something, but he surprises me.

  "Lark," he says holding out his arms to me. "Join me for a moment." My mind whirls trying to figure out what James is doing, and yet still, I make my way toward him and allow him to envelop me in his rigid, cold arms.

  "Your mother, Malin Greene, was a great woman, and she is deeply missed." The audience mummers its agreement. "It is a testament to her that we now have a leader such as you. Only a woman like Malin could produce such a strong young woman. And yet," he turns to me. "And yet, Lark is so incredibly stupid. All these weeks of searching for her attackers, and she can't see who it is. She is blinded by her loyalty.

  "Just the other day, Beck Channing attacked her and a few others as well. Yet here he stands tonight, dapper in his evening clothes, and side-by-side with Lark. Malin would never have let that happen."

  My mouth gapes open. The newscaster cameras whirl before my ashen face. How does he know all this? I swing my gaze widely around the room. Who amongst those present at Summer Hill told him?

  All I can see are slivers and glimpses of the sparkling room. I adjust my mask and turn my attention to James. Under my breath I chant a tongue-tying spell. James tries to speak, but nothing comes out. With a small, satisfied smile, I glance at Beck, and he smirks.

  I tap my wristlet and hold it close to my mouth while Landon hurriedly escorts James from the stage. Good, take him in for questioning…unless Landon was the leak.

  Paranoia isn't pretty, Lark. You need to focus.

  I survey the masked attendees. They stand in a clump before me, Forget James's words. Focus on mine.

  "Dear Statespeople," I say, summoning my inner Malin Greene. "Welcome!"

  Silence.

  My pulse races in confusion. Did I not do it right?

  "Welcome!" I say again and hold my breath.

  The crowd erupts into applause and whistles. The cold sweat that had been working up and down my spine vanishes, and I beam at the audience.

  When the cheering continues, I hold up my hands until the crowd quiets down.

  "Each year," I say. "We gather to celebrate the founding of our great society. This year, despite the hardships, is no exception. In fact, this year, we should celebrate even more. Powerful forces and nature have conspired against us, and yet here we are, strong as ever."

  I motion to Beck. Say something, I order, and he holds his wristlet to his mouth.

  "As for our dealings with foreign Societies, have no concerns. Our treaties remain strong and intact." Beck's voice is that of a sure and confident leader. "In fact, they've never been stronger."

  I flinch. Such a bold face lie, and yet it drips so easily from his lips. Beck, I say, you surprise me.

  I'm not doing anything you wouldn't do, Birdie.

  He's right. I lie, and I lie often. It's part of the job. But just a few days ago, he was arguing with me over reading the morning reports. So what's changed? Why is he willing to lie now?

  "If my parents will join Lark and me on the dance floor, we'll begin the customary first dance." He raises both hands over his head, and the crowd parts, revealing a dance floor. The Channings leave the stage and take position on the parquet. Beck once again offers me his arm.

  When we're all assembled, the music begins to play, but instead of the customary waltz, it's a frantic tempo-pounding song that I can't quite place.

  No one moves. The confusion is palatable.

  "Excuse me," I say to the crowd. "There must be a mistake."

  Before I can finish my sentence, Beck is already at the Dance Master's table.

  Next to me Annalise blanches. "If Callum were here, I'd tell him to stop with his silly little games."

  "Silly games?" I ask.

  She gives me a quizzical look. "It's the song that was playing at the night club when you set it on fire."

  My breath hitches. It has to be a coincidence. A bad one, but a coincidence nonetheless. However, the song is completely inappropriate for the Ball. No one in their right mind would request it, or even believe it to be a proper first dance song.

  Across the room, Beck and the Dance Master confer. Beck flashes a grin at me over his shoulder, and my heart tap dances a little faster. As he walks back toward me, his blond waves bounce, and I'm reminded of the boy I loved at Summer Hill, not the slightly mad version who now lives with me.

  How long ago it all seems.

  When Beck reaches me, the correct waltz begins, and after three spins across the dance floor, senior Statespeople join us, each announced by the Dance Master. Eventually, the entire room is a whirling vortex of silk, taffeta, feathers, and other fine materials. Gemstones glint under shimmering chandeliers and cast rainbows throughout the room.

  At the end of the dance, Beck guides me back toward the stage where our table awaits. From up here, the dancers' turns and bows look like carefully choreographed moves – almost like a performance. It's lovely.

  "Another Founders' Ball is underway," Beck says, poking me in the arm. "See, there's nothing to be nervous about. I'm fine. You're fine. Kyra looks thrilled dancing with Maz. Light and Dark are getting along. Everyone seems happy."

  "Everyone except Annalise."

  Beck rolls his eyes. "When is she ever happy?"

  "Good point."

  I scan the masked crowd. Some of the attendees are easy to identify – like Minister Sun-Wei, but others are a mystery.

  This, right here, is the best of our Society, and the reason I need to keep fighting.

  The song changes into a long piano piece, and some of the dancers adjust to the difference in tempo, but ot
hers look around in confusion.

  Then I hear it: the Alouette.

  Before Beck can stop me, I race to the Dance Master's station. "That is not funny!"

  "I'm sorry, Miss Lark?" The Dance Master wears a look of confusion behind his mask.

  "The song. The Alouette. It's not funny."

  "We had a request for the song."

  The music is like acid to my skin, and I can't stop flinching. What is going on? And why would the Dance Master agree to this song. Everyone knows it's the anthem of the Splinter group.

  "Who requested it?" I demand, staring out into the crowd of masked dancers. "Who?"

  The Dance Master pales. "It was a gentleman wearing a red mask".

  "Change it," I growl. "Change it, or I'll change it for you."

  Beck is at my side. He slams his hand down on the Dance Master's table. "You heard her. Change the damn song. Now!"

  The lights dim, then go out completely for a beat before flickering back on.

  Against my skin, my necklace burns. I pick up the charm and rub it between my fingers intensifying the heat.

  My eyes narrow as I search the room. The mask obstructs my vision, so I rip it off and throw it across the floor.

  Good. Now I can really see.

  And yet, no where is there a man in a red mask.

  The confusion and fear in the crowd works its way through my body and settles into my core. The lights flicker again.

  And again.

  Annalise is at my side. "Get control, Lark."

  I swallow hard. The emotional cocktail coursing through my veins is powerful, but I can't give into it.

  Beck grabs onto my wrist. His pulse thunders in my ears.

  I need to stay present. If not for me, for Beck.

  "Beck," I say as calm as I can. "You can control this. You don't have to give into the magic."

  He stares down at me. "It's you I'm worried about."

  I shake my head, lying once again. "I'm okay. I'm under control."

  He opens his mouth as if to speak, but is cut short. The door at the far end of the hall blows open. Actually, it literally blows to pieces. Screams fill the air. However, unlike at Kyra's binding, there is no one waiting outside. Despite being off duty, Annalise slides the guards into place. Protecting Beck and me, while trying to secure the room, is as always, her first priority. Even with her rounded tummy.

  She ushers me to the back of the room, away from the door, and into a circle of guards. Beck is by my side, as are the Channings.

  "What's happening?" I ask, even though I know no one knows anything. It's just filler. Something to say.

  Annalise holds up one finger to her lips, shushing me, while placing the other on her secure feed behind her ear.

  The guards tighten around me.

  Curious, I peer out from between my bodyguards.

  That's when I see him.

  Eamon.

  He holds a feathered mask in one hand and a smirk dances across his full lips.

  A feathered mask, not red. So who requested the song?

  "Hello, Alouette." He hums a few bars of my least favorite song ever. "It's been ages."

  Space opens around Eamon, and Annalise runs straight for him, her rounded stomach guiding her forward. I step forward, to stop her, but Beck holds me back. I know he's right, but I wish she wouldn't run straight into the fray - not with the baby, but it's her training, and it's her instinct.

  She stops short - almost in the middle of the dance floor and grabs her bulging middle before doubling over and collapsing on the ground.

  I start toward her again, but Beck tightens his hold on me. Anger and rage radiate from him.

  "Easy, Beck," I say even though I'm anything but calm. "Breathe, don't let the hatred overwhelm you."

  He loosens his grip. "I don't like this. It feels like a trap."

  "Let our guards do their job." I keep my eyes on my sister-in-law. Her limp body still holds life from the way her chest falls and rises. Anxiety pricks along my nerves like a clingy friend.

  My heart is exploding with magic - magic that I must, absolutely must - keep under control while on public feeds. I'm keenly aware that this is being broadcasted out to our entire Society. The last thing I want to do is wipe out an entire Society's memories like I did with Lena. Especially after seeing what it did to her.

  No, Beck and I have to look like normal humans, while making Eamon appear to be a Sensitive. I have to keep my magic – and Beck's – in check. I need the public to fear Eamon. Which may be impossible because with his handsome, chiseled face and ripped body, Eamon looks more like most women's dream man than a violent criminal.

  "What brings you here this evening, Eamon? Surely, you know Sensitives aren't invited."

  My tormenter cracks his neck. "Looks like little Larky-Birdie is confused. We were invited, just not by you."

  "No one here invited you. We don't allow criminals into such festivities." But even as I speak the words, I'm unsure. With all the masked attendees, it's impossible to tell who is in the crowd. Annalise assured me security clearance for the event was tight. Every person was finger scanned upon entry. Every person. So how did Eamon get in?

  Eamon cackles. "Maybe I should help you understand." He turns to the woman on his right. "Sherin, fetch our leader."

  My heart disappears to somewhere around my ankles. Eamon isn't in charge? What's going on? I study the crowd with intensity. Somewhere out there, amongst the feathers and glitter, is the person behind the attacks, I'm sure of it. Whoever the leader is, that is who tried to kill Beck and me. That is the person who murdered my mother.

  And there is a good chance, I unknowingly invited them to the Ball. With all the Light witches present tonight, it isn't out of the realm of possibility.

  "James," I yell at the newscaster. "Cut all the feeds now."

  "Why?" he asks. After being removed from the stage, Landon allowed the newscaster back into the party to resume his role as official News Feed Host. I notice he's backing closer to Eamon's side of the room. But James is just a human. Why would the Splinter group want him?

  Then it hits me. They want to expose all of us, and the cameras are the best way to do it. They're waiting for me to use magic. Waiting to catch me acting out.

  Well, if James won't cut the feeds, then there won't be any more cameras. I stretch out my fingers, and the two cameras nearest me explode. The last hovers near the Splinter group. I hold out my hand again, and it too, disintegrates.

  James's face falls, and he lingers, as if unsure what side to join. The Dark witches in the crowd have been steadily pulling back toward me, away from Eamon. Most of them hold their hands up in either defensive or offensive positions. Landon and two other guards form a wall before Beck and me.

  Beck grabs my hand. His eyes rest on Annalise, still curled on the ground. "She'll be okay," he whispers even though we both know there's no way of being sure.

  I search the sea of faces until I see Kyra standing off to the side in her purple gown. She seems torn between coming to my aid or helping Annalise. I jerk my head in Annalise's direction, and without hesitation, Kyra launches herself from the crowd toward Eamon and Annalise. With a speed I didn't know she possessed, Kyra transports Annalise away. Seconds later, she's at my side having left Annalise somewhere else.

  "Where did you put her?" I ask.

  "My house."

  I give a nod of approval.

  The crowd grows more and more anxious, and it's feeding my magic. Wave after wave licks at my core, filling me with magic. I flick my wrist and let the lights flicker again and again. The strobing effect adds a layer of eeriness to the room. Just as I'm about to send off another wave, the crowd around Eamon parts.

  "Say hello to our leader, Lark," Eamon orders.

  My eyes lock on the person standing before me: Callum.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  My mouth unhinges.

  Callum? He's the leader of the Splinter group?

  Everythin
g begins sliding into place – his ability to get close to Mother and me; the way the Splinter group always knew when and where I'd be; his outright hatred of me.

  "Where's all your bravado now, Lark?" Callum sneers.

  The room has split into two camps, his and mine. To my surprise, mine is a fair mix of Dark and Light witches – and much larger. From the look on Callum's face, as he surveys the room, it isn't what he expected.

  Callum stares at the empty floor. "You can have Annalise," he says. "She's useless now anyway."

  Thank God I did away with the cameras, or there would be havoc across the Society right now. My gaze flits around the room, and I see it, a fourth camera, hovering just near Eamon, focused on Callum and me.

  I must not use or mention magic. It's not an easy decision. In fact, my body aches from holding it all in, but if I want to protect the witch race, I need to keep us hidden.

  Too bad Callum doesn't agree. He paces back and forth before his followers. Eamon touches his arm gently, and Callum stops.

  "All my life, I've been told I'm not good enough. Not Dark, not strong, not anything but everyone's errand boy."

  "Callum," I say. "Let's go somewhere and discuss this in private. This isn't the place."

  He wags his finger at me. "Ah ah ah. It's time the world knows the truth."

  "What truth? That you're jealous of me?"

  My brother's ears turn a deep red, and he sneers. "You know what I'm talking about."

  "No! Wait!" Panic fills my words. I can't let Callum undo decades of hard work. "Have you thought this through? The ramifications are going to be disastrous."

  But my brother is determined, and he addresses the lone camera. "The Sensitive threat is made up." The crowd begins to titter and churn. "Those you call Sensitive are merely human criminals."

  "Callum! Stop!"

  He ignores me and stares into the camera. "We, the people who run the State, are witches."

  The magic hibernating inside me explodes, and the windows blow out of the hall. "I said, 'stop,'" I scream. "Stop. Stop. Stop."

  A hush falls over the crowd. My guards stand before me, creating a magic bubble around Beck and me. I push through them until I stand face-to-face with Callum.