26
Rain drizzles on me as I climb the hills of the Presidio. Dawson and Oliver weren’t happy when I asked to go for a walk, but I need to clear my mind.
I don’t shuffle my feet or hang my head. There’s no deep feeling of horror or even fear. And yet sometime soon, I will be dead.
It’s a strange thing, knowing I will die before long. Time simultaneously slows down, each minute captured with perfect clarity by my mind, and then speeds up, the minutes ticking more like seconds, and there aren’t enough of them.
Since finding out I’m a witch, I’ve thought constantly of Beck’s death, but very little of mine. It was as if we’d both assumed he’d do the honorable thing and let me kill him, leaving evil, wicked me behind.
But here’s the thing: Dark witches can die. And we do. Caitlin did. As did her daughter, and my grandmother. They’re all long gone. The Dark magic doesn’t make us immortal, only dangerous.
Through all this, one thing’s become clear: I’d rather die than lose myself and destroy Beck in the process.
His face flits through my mind as I skirt a puddle and the urge to reach out to him consumes me. The more I think of him, the more I want to be with him. It’s like swimming in a flood—I can’t stop without fear of drowning.
And I will drown in Beck. My body craves him.
As we near the school, the rich, earthy smell of Spring fills my nose and I inhale deeply. I’ve always loved this time of year, when slivers of green push their way skyward and the birds return. And while the days are still short, they grow warmer, but not too hot.
This may be the last time I experience a perfect day. Perhaps these are last breaths I take.
Ryker swears he will do it quickly and without warning.
In the distance, the greenhouses sit nestled in the glen. Students sprint between them and the main building. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time. Everything was simple and my biggest worry was passing my assessment.
Dawson pauses at the gate of the barrier dividing the Presidio from the City and waits for the gate guard to wave us through.
Tiny rivers flow down the hill, washing away rocks and mud. Sunlight glints off their surface and the water glimmers.
I smile. At least there’s still beauty in the world.
Dawson motions to us, and Oliver and I follow him into the bustling City beyond the barrier. Mother’s house is just up the hill and our steps shorten as we climb. Men in trench coats and women in clear, flexible rain bubbles cross the street to avoid us. I suppose we look odd without protective gear or bubbles, but I don’t care. The rain feels comforting on my skin.
Mother’s front door is already open. Oliver must have pinged our arrival. The house manager waits for us in the entryway and offers warm towels to dry ourselves with.
I don’t take one. Instead, I run up the stairs two at a time and turn right. Mother agreed to move Eloise here. More for my convenience than sisterly love towards Henry, but she did say keeping them here would allow for better monitoring. I suspect she doesn’t want me visiting without her knowledge.
When I pass my old room, I pause, remembering the way Beck grinned at me as the sun lit him from behind.
A perfect moment.
Oliver beckons me forward and as I get closer to the Eloise’s room, I hear a laugh. It stops me cold and I wrinkle my brow.
It rings out again. A soft, lilting laugh.
My lips turn into a wide smile and I sprint the rest of the distance.
“You’re—”
“Awake,” Eloise finishes for me.
She’s sitting in an oversized chair with a plush throw across her lap. Other than sallow skin and slightly sunken eyes, she looks fine.
Alive. Eloise is alive.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I ask Henry.
He runs his hands through his hair front to back, back to front. “And interrupt your time with Ryker? You’re newly bound.”
“You know that it’s not real. Besides, this is more important than bindings and Ryker.” I drop to my knees next to Eloise. “How do you feel?”
“Weak. But the healer says if I drink this, that I’ll feel like my old self in no time.” She points at a steaming mug of questionable contents and laughs again before taking a long sip. “What?”
When she looks at me, I realize I’ve brought my fingertips to my mouth. There are so many things I want to say to her, starting with, “What were you thinking?” but this isn’t the time.
“I’m just relieved.”
Eloise drinks again. When she’s done, Henry takes the mug from her hands, and she rests the side of her head against the chair back. Her chest lifts slightly, then falls. Her eyes flutter before closing completely.
Alarmed I start to rouse her, but Henry stops me. “There’s Sleep Tea in the medicine. Let her rest. She needs it.”
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.”