Nightingale (32 page)

My hands curl inward, the way Dawson taught me, and I prepare for whatever is about to hit us.

Silence.

Then I hear a low whistle. The haunting melody of the
Alouette
. Which means only one thing.

A long, low chuckle erupts from my throat. “Hello, Eamon.”

Magic whizzes toward me, but with one small movement, I toss it aside. “Is that all you have?”

Oliver’s back is pressed to mine, protecting our rear. “There are only three of them.”

I could have told him that. “Who’s with you tonight, Eamon? Dasha? Who else?”

A deep gray shadow shifts and oozes across the ground. As it comes closer, the shadow solidifies until Eamon stands a mere twenty feet from me. Two women I don’t recognize, flank him.

Oliver shifts his position so that he’s on my left. Dawson stays to my right and Kyra begins swinging out along the perimeter, like she’s going to try to circle behind the three witches.

“Well, well, well.” Eamon clenches his jaw and his cruel eyes glint in the fading sunlight. “It looks like we caught a bird in the bush. Next time, tell your guards not to send your whereabouts over a public feed. Not very smart.”

One of the women laughs. I take advantage of the distraction and hurl a wave of lethal energy at Eamon. At the last second, he whips his hand, sending my spell back toward me.

I’m too slow.

The magic rolls past me, narrowly missing my arm and hits Oliver. As he falls his eyes meet mine. “Tell Lisi…” He hits the ground hard and his body jerks once before going still.

A roar, like the ocean pounding against rocks, rages through my mind. The noise grows until it blocks out all other sounds around me.

Time moves slowly as Dawson charges the small group on the other side of the creek, his magic sparking from his fingertips. Kyra stands stock still with her mouth wide open. My eyes glance at Oliver’s lifeless body. Flashes of red dance before my eyes.

“You bastard!” The air around me rolls like waves and the thunder booms.

“Go,” Dawson shouts over the clash of magic. “Take him and go, Kyra!” He shoves my best friend toward Oliver’s body. “You need to bring him home. To Annalise.”

She wraps her arms around Oliver and transports.

Heat burns through my insides, and I try to focus on the lopsided battle before me. How Eamon and the women try to position themselves around Dawson while keeping an eye on me. I move stiffly, as if in a dream, magic dripping from my fingers. Slowly, like being forced through a tunnel, I feel myself waking up. First my toes, then my fingers, and then with a jolt, my mind.

I focus my narrow gaze on Eamon as adrenaline rushes through me.

“Lark,” Dawson calls without a hint of breathlessness or worry. “Do you remember what you did at Kyra’s binding?”

“Yes.”

“Do it again.”

My fingers spasm as Dawson’s magic enters me. It races up my limbs, into my core, and pressure builds in my chest. When I can’t hold it anymore, I lift my arms. Wind lashes at us, and dirt swirls around our heads making it difficult to see. The water in the creek bubbles and begins creeping up the sides of the bank.

The blond woman begins chanting. The water quivers, but it keeps climbing the bank.

But what’s a little water going to do? Get their shoes wet? With my palm turned up, I slowly raise my hand, and the water rises into a sheer curtain separating Dawson from our attackers. I form a fist and punch my arm toward Eamon. The wall of water crashes down on them.

And they’re gone.

“Lark?”

A scream erupts from my throat and I stumble backward.

Beck Channing stands before me. My heart accelerates into an erratic pattern and sweat beads along my hairline. I swing my head around wildly, looking for Eamon. How stupid of Dawson and me to not protect our rear. How stupid of me to think Beck wasn’t working with Eamon.

The easiest thing would be to transport. Immediately.

No. I’m not a coward. I’m stronger than him. And I always have been.

“If you didn’t notice, Eamon isn’t here,” I sneer, hoping I sound more threatening than I feel. Beck, Ryker, and Maz stand near the tree, looking down at Dawson and me. I may not be a tactical genius, but I know we’re in the weaker position.

My eyes meet Dawson’s. “Behind them,” I whisper before transporting to the other side of the tree.

The three boys turn in unison and Beck throws up his hands. “Lark, stop. I just want to talk to you.”

Every muscle in my body tightens in anticipation. Dawson stands at my side, waiting for my command. Where the hell is Annalise? Why hasn’t anyone sent backup?

“Talk to me?” A shaky laugh escapes my lips. “Is that what you call it when you send Eamon after me? You can’t even fight your own battles?”

Beck runs his hand through his blond hair. “I didn’t send him.”

I snort. “Right.” I focus on Maz. “Kyra’s not going to be happy about this Maz. You’re in so,” I launch a tiny spurt of magic at Maz’s feet and he jumps, “much trouble.” The ground before him catches fire.

“Not funny,” Maz says as he blots it out with his foot.

“I’m not exactly known for my sense of humor.”

Dawson touches my arm. “I need to remove you. Now.”

“But I’m just getting started.” I bat my eyes and smile at Beck and his friends. “I think the boys have missed me. Haven’t you?”

Beck steps into the empty space between his group and mine. “Look at you. Gnashing your teeth like a feral animal, circling me. You don’t know what to do, do you? Why is that, Lark? Is it because you know this is wrong?”

The wind swirling around us picks up, and the canopy of leaves rustles. I turn my face toward him. My chest constricts under the pressure of my racing heart. “Are you upset because I’m bad, or because I’m so damn good at it?”

“This isn’t you.” He plants his feet wide and folds his arms across his broad chest as if he can force me to feel things I don’t.

“Yes, it is,” I scream. An irrational sense of misery pummels me. Why do I care what he thinks?

Beck lunges at me, and it takes me a second to understand that he’s attacked me not with magic, but with brute force. I’d expected a magic-on-magic battle, but he surprised me.

I fall backward, my mind racing to recall Mother’s lessons, as the air around us snaps and cracks from Ryker’s attack on Dawson.

Beck reaches out to me, his hand hovering in my face and I twist it. I want to throw him to the ground, but he grabs hold of my arms and pins them to my side.

I thrash, pushing against his body, and attempt to wrap my leg behind his in hopes of knocking him off balance, but he anticipates my move and avoids my knee. Once, long ago, we used to play fight like this. He taught me how to escape every hold possible.

So why can’t I escape?

Calm down, Birdie,
Beck says to me in his maddening mind-speak.

My lungs deflate. How dare he use that name. How.
Dare
. He.

“Get out of my mind! Out!” I ram my head into his chest, but his arms tighten and he clutches me closer.

A low snarl forms in the back of my throat and with a surge of energy, I bash my hips backward. Beck stumbles, but he doesn’t loosen his grip on me and we fall to the ground. Our bodies roll over and over each other. Rocks jab into the soft parts of my skin and sticks break beneath us. Just when I think I’ve finally got the upper hand, Beck grabs one of my flailing fists and pins it over my head.

“You love me,” he says. There’s a hint of urgency and worry in his voice.

My heart hammers at the wall of my chest. I channel my energy and visualize throwing his weight off me. But instead of the typical rush of magic flooding my system, I feel like I’ve hit an invisible block. Like the slippery space between two like-sided magnets. My magic creeps along his, searching for a way to penetrate whatever shell he’s pulled over himself. Nothing works.

I bang my head against the ground in frustration.  “Get off me,” I order. “Or I’ll call for help.”

Beck shakes his head. “Call everyone you know. Show them how I caught you.” Tears drop from his eyes and splatter on my chin. I watch each one fall with growing horror. This boy, my enemy, is crying.

And despite his obvious weakness I can’t—no, I don’t want to—hurt him.

“Birdie,” he says, loosening his grip on my wrist. “Please, stop this. It isn’t you.”

I squirm beneath him and get just enough leverage to throw Beck to the side. I scramble to my feet as he leaps up.

“Are you trying to drive me insane?” I shout. I don’t know why, but my heart thrums, not in fear, but with some other type of feeling. “Is that what you’re doing?”

He reaches for me, but I jump back. “I told you once, I’d never hurt you. And I won’t. But I can’t watch this anymore and not try to help you,” he says.

“I don’t need help and I don’t need you.”

Sorrow fills his eyes and he takes a quick step forward. “You can bruise my hands and scratch my skin, but you can never make me not love you,” he whispers, stretching his arms out to me.

I hold my hands behind my back and imagine the cool, hard metal of a restraint. I reach out to the item, like Oliver taught me until it’s physically in my hands. Behind me, Dawson continues to fight with Maz and Ryker, but I keep my eyes on the prize: Beck Channing.

A slow smile forms at the corner of his lips as I step forward to greet him. I don’t pull away from Beck’s kiss. He presses harder, his tongue darting carefully along my mouth until I yield and let him devour me. With a shudder, he grasps the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.

And when he least expects it, I slap the restraint around his wrist.

35

With every minute that passes, my mind slowly unravels. Piece by piece, Beck Channing chips away at it.

I clench my teeth and dig my nails into the cushion of the couch. Since we took him and Maz into custody, Beck’s been assaulting my mind non-stop. If only I knew how to block him.

And then there’s, Ryker. He escaped the fight, and even though Dawson put out a Society-wide alert for him, our chances of finding him are slim. With his training, he could be anywhere.

It doesn’t help my nerves.  A free Ryker is a dangerous Ryker.

I can help you,
Beck says.

Have you forgotten you’re in jail?
I reply.

Tomorrow, Beck will be paraded across the Sentencing Stage, with a red wristlet around each of his arms. And even though I haven’t officially recorded my sentence, there’s only one I can choose: death. He’s accused of assassinating my mother, and for that he must pay. Just as I swore before every member of this Society.

Dawson taps his finger against my desk. Thud. Thud. Thud. We’ve been waiting for news of Oliver for the past hour. We both know he’s dead. But until there’s official word, then perhaps there’s still hope.

Perhaps, but probably not.

Beck’s voice works around my brain.
I need to see you.

“No,” I say aloud.

Dawson lifts his head from the data he’s studying. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” I flick at the seams on the couch. “What are you working on?”

He beams an image to the wallscreen. It’s a mark-up of the fight we had with Eamon. “Getting close to Eamon will be all but impossible now. You probably had the best chance at the creek.”

The way he looks at me speaks volumes. Once again, I had a chance to rid us of Eamon and I didn’t follow through. Instead, I sent a wall of water after him.

Pathetic.

I don’t even know who I’m fighting anymore. The Splinter group? Beck? The people of our Society. Or the wars Mother engaged us in with every other major Society.

My chin quivers.

Mother was right; my predictability is my biggest liability. Only I wasn’t the one who paid the price.

Dawson’s wristlet pings and he touches the area behind his ear. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I have news.” His voice cracks. “Oliver is dead.”

Even though I knew it, hearing the words aloud send stabs of pain into my body. Poor, sweet Oliver. 

“We’ll need to do something for Fiona.” My voice shakes and I don’t hide it. We’re all grieving today.

“I’ll see to it.”

We both stare off into space, letting the finality of the news sink in.

I sigh. “Any word on Kyra?” I ask. After delivering Oliver to Annalise, she disappeared.

Dawson shakes his head. “I’ve pinged twice in the past ten minutes. She’s most likely busy taking care of…things.” He drops his voice.

“Check the jail,” I say with a sinking heart. “If she heard of Maz’s arrest, that’s where she is.”

Dawson wipes his finger across the screen of his tablet. He nods.

I sigh. Looks like Beck is going to get what he wants.

#

Kyra sits on the rough, cement floor with her forehead pressed against the metal bars and her fingers are curled around them.

“You need to go home,” I say, touching her shoulder. “Annalise needs your help.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt him.” Maz sits across from her, his fingers stroking hers. He doesn’t acknowledge me.

I suck my upper lip between my teeth and breathe deeply. Kyra may be my best friend, but she’s making a scene. “Have I hurt him? He seems fine to me.”

“You’re going to send him to a work camp.”

I run my hand over my mouth.

“Would you like to join him? Would that make you feel better?”

She turns her head to the side and glares at me. “Why can’t you admit you made a mistake? You hurt Lena and now you want to send Maz away.”

I notice she doesn’t mention Beck. Funny.

Anger boils inside me, and I lift my hand. I’m about to strike her face, when my heart sputters.

“Lark?”

I turn slowly. Beck’s olive green eyes captivate me, and I shuffle closer to his cell. His shaggy blond hair hangs a little too long in the eyes and his clothes look like they haven’t been changed or cleaned in several days

“Where were you hiding?” I ask. Perhaps I should try to get information from him before he’s condemned.

“In old buildings, worried you or the Splinter group would catch us at any moment.”

“So you want me to believe you’re not working with Eamon?”

He grimaces. “I swear I never worked with them.”

“Where’s Ryker?”

“I don’t know.”

What a mess
, I think.

You can fix it.

Beck reaches through the bars. His fingers graze the back of my hand leaving a trail of energy in their wake.

“I think you should step down,” he says. “At least for now.”

My mouth drops open. “I hardly think you’re in a position to give me advice,” I tell him. But even as I say this, part of me believes he’s right. So far, under my guidance, things have gone from bad to worse.

“It’s for the best.”

             
I purse my lips. “For whom? The person who takes over?”

“For the State. For both of us.” He catches my hand and his fingers fly over my skin, drawing tighter and smaller circles.

I jerk my hand away. “Is that why you wanted to see me? Not to help me, but to convince me to give up everything I have?”

“Just until things are sorted out. The people need someone they can trust and they don’t trust you,” Beck says, his voice matter-of-fact.

“They think you killed my mother!”

“And most of them think Malin was a monster who thought nothing of starving them.”

“And
I
think you killed my mother.”

He grabs at the bars, enraged. “You know I didn’t. You know that.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. Plus, you’re a Sensitive. The thing that lives in their nightmares. They’ll never accept you.”

Beck slams his fist against jail cell. His rage rolls through me and I savor the feel of it.

“Can’t you hear them whistling that damn song? They want you dead. The Splinter group is growing, Lark, and you
need
help.”

And there it is: the truth. I can’t lead because no one, other than a handful of Dark witches will follow me. People fear me. But they don’t respect me.

“This is bigger than us,” he yells and I startle. Beck doesn’t yell. Ever.
You know I’m right,
Beck hisses.
Just consider what I’m asking.

His knuckles turn white as they clench the bars. I turn away. Kyra’s still curled next to Maz’s cell.

This is what I have: a best friend who thinks I’m a monster, two guards, and a State council that will toss me aside the first chance they get.

The world’s on fire and I don’t know which way to run.

#

The garden is still. I inhale deeply, savoring the sweet scent of jasmine and try to clear my mind. Decisions are piling up, and I have no one to help me choose the right one.

Next to me, Annalise walks stiffly, lost in thought.

“Oliver was my oldest friend. We were raised together,” she says softly. I stop walking and turn to face her. I had suspected they were close. It makes sense that they were raised together. The State likes to keep housemates together as much as possible.

Tears shimmer in her eyes and she flicks them away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you.”

I rest my hand lightly on Annalise’s arm. “It’s fine. I miss him, too.”

She closes her eyes. “I shouldn’t say this, but once, I had hoped he’d be my mate. Of course, the State selected Callum for me.”

It’s an oddly personal confession from my normally distant sister-in-law. “Why do you think you were picked for Callum? He’s a Light witch.”

A long sigh tumbles out of Annalise. “Malin. I think she had her eye on me for a long while. I don’t think she liked the fact that Callum is Light and she thought maybe I could somehow fix him.”

“You don’t love him?”

She shakes her head. “He’s my mate, but no. I don’t think I do.” A light wind brushes through the garden releasing the scent of roses and jasmine. “Sometimes, I think he hates me.”

I suck on the inside of my lip. In many ways, she and I are alike. Both bound to Light witches. Both highly ambitious. Both despised by our mates.

“Can I ask you something?” She nods at my question. I want to ask if she killed Mother, but decide to be less direct. “Why did you keep Beck’s secret?”

She gives me a lopsided smile. “Mostly for leverage. But also because I wanted you to have happiness. At least one person in this family should have that.”

“Didn’t you think it was dangerous?”

A light breeze sends her loose hair fluttering around her face. “I saw how he looked at you.” She balls her fist to her mouth. “It’s how Oliver looked at me. So, no. I never believed he’d hurt you.”

The stars create a canopy of light above us and I tilt my head back, trying to find the North Star. It blinks at me, like a beacon.

“Why don’t you send Dawson out and take the rest of the night off.”

Annalise’s body becomes rigid. “I’m capable of doing my job.”

“You need rest. Since Mother’s death, you’ve been on duty every day. You run interference with the State, oversee the security detail, and who knows what else. Take a few hours for yourself.”

When she doesn’t move, I press my wristlet. “Dawson, can you please relieve Annalise? She’s taking the night off.”

He appears next to us within seconds. I give Annalise a reassuring smile. “Everything will be fine. Go.”

She sniffs quietly before disappearing. I turn to Dawson. “Where did she go?”

He pulls up her data on his wristlet. “She’s at home.”

“Good. Hopefully some rest will help.”

In a nearby tree, a bird trills and whistles. Its sweet song fills the night air. “What’s the name of that bird?”

Dawson searches his wristlet. “It’s a nightingale.”

“It’s pretty.”

He reads on. “It’s one of the few birds that sing in darkness.” He stifles a sob.

I reach for him. “What is it?”

“The old poets believed it sang a song of mourning.”

I close my eyes and let the melody fill my heart. On the crescendo, I open my eyes and find Dawson dabbing his.

“For Oliver,” I say.

He nods. “For Oliver.”

I meander down the pebbled path toward the back of the garden, and Dawson lumbers along behind me, dragging his foot over the rocks.

I pause to let him catch up. “How did you injure your leg?”

“In the fight with Eamon.”

Huh. I hadn’t noticed, but then again, there was so much going on. “Why don’t you sit,” I say, gesturing to a stone bench not far from us. “The garden isn’t that large. I promise to not hide in any corners or scale the walls.”

“Thank you.” He hobbles off to the bench and I continue on, mulling over what happened today. I have no idea what to do.

My options are limited. I
have
to parade Beck across that stage. And Maz, too. Although I won’t condemn him to death. I promised Kyra.

But Beck is right, I can’t do this on my own. What I’ve been doing isn’t working and it’s destroying the State. People are starving and the Splinter group grows stronger every day.

I stop to smell a large, full rose.

The only thing Beck and I agree on is that the Splinter group must be stopped. But does that mean I have to help him rally the Light witches? And what of the Dark witches? Will they agree to work with their sworn enemy?

A branch snaps next to me and as if being pulled through the hazy part of a dream, I turn. A dahlia brushes my arm.
How odd
, I think.
Dahlias in December.
My eyes land on the empty stone bench.

A bolt of pain stabs my core, ripping me from top to bottom. I lurch forward and my arms flail at the open space around me. “Dawson,” I cry. “Help me.”

My guard doesn’t come.

A burning wave begins at my toes and spreads to my legs, my stomach, my arms, my heart. I spin wildly, trying to stop the fire. “Please, someone…” I cry, but my voice barely registers.

I’m dying.

I know this. I accept it.

It’s probably better this way.

Blood seeps from the front of my jacket and I press my hands into the sticky, warm mess.