Phoenix (22 page)

"We'll find him, Birdie. Just not tonight."

I sigh, knowing he's right. "I guess he'll have to be ill." I stare up at Beck and pout out my crimson painted lips. "How about a little kiss?"

"How about a little more?" He says, bending down to me and cupping my face in his hands.
 

"Maybe we should skip the ball," I mutter.
 

Beck laughs and scoops me up, but I protest too much and he sets me back down.
 

"Girls," he says. "You look beautiful, but we can't touch you. It's really quite unfair."
 

I kiss the palm of his hand, leaving behind a bright red mark. "We do it to drive you wild."

"Well, it works," he says, walking toward to the door.

"Send my team back in, please."

Beck gives me one last hungry glance before striding through the door.

I clasp my hand over my thundering heart. How will I make it through the ball if he keeps acting like that? Even worse, how will I send him away, if that's what he truly needs?

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Grand Ballroom is a vision of green and gold, with a smattering of violet, cobalt, and lemon whirling around in the form of masked dancers. Banners emblazoned with the insignia of the Society hang from the high ceiling, and a plush green rug delineates the dance floor from the seating area.
 

Before me, Annalise and Mr. and Mrs. Channing walk the long path lined with masked, cheering Statespeople. Beck and I wait behind, until the Channings are near the middle of the room. Then, with my arm laced through his, we step forward.

The cheers stop, and gasps erupt - no doubt over my see-through dress. My scars are prominently on display, as are my nipples. Not exactly the girly, subtle dresses I usually wear.

Beck tightens his grasp on my arm slightly - almost as if we are children again, and he's protecting me from the curious horde pressing in on all sides.
 

"Smile," he says under his breath. A newscasting camera whirls before us zooming in and out on our faces.

Stupid things
, I respond.
 

The crowd flanking each side of the walkway claps politely as we pass. I should be used to prancing before audiences by now, but this time, everything feels different, almost like they're waiting for me to do something.

So I wave.

And the crowd gasps again.

"Shy Lark Greene engaged the crowd," Beck says, a laugh dancing in the back of his throat. "Imagine that."

"I can imagine a lot of things that would have them gasping even more."

He chuckles, and even behind his gold mask, I can still make out his teasing eyes. They sparkle with happiness. This is the Beck I know and love. How could I possibly distance myself from him?
 

"Mind yourself," I say. "The cameras are watching."

We approach the stage where Mr. and Mrs. Channing wait along with Annalise. In comparison to Beck and me, they all look miserable and uncomfortable.
 

Typical Founders' Ball. Except Mother usually made sure everyone smiled and presented a unified front.

An idea nibbles at me.

You all are happy
, I suggest, allowing the emotions of the Channings to fill me.
You love the
Founders' Ball.

Immediately, both Channings beam and wave to the crowd before them, but Annalise raises her eyebrows at me. I keep forgetting that power doesn't work on her.
 

Beck and I snake through the crowd and join the rest of our party on the stage. Through the narrow eye holes of my mask, the room appears in small slices. In order to see everything, I have to keep turning my head this way and that. It's not the most comfortable thing to wear – and that includes my crazy up-dos.
 

"Well done," Mr. Channing says, clapping Beck on the back. "I heard you were successful in the Eastern Society."

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 others 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.