Nightingale (15 page)

16

The lights flicker in rhythm with my heartbeat as I sprint barefoot down the endless hallway. As soon as Annalise told me about Henry and Eloise, I transported to the hospital. I didn’t bother to land in a secure zone. Maybe that’s reckless, but I don’t care.

“Lark! Wait!” Annalise calls from behind me. Pure adrenaline and fear propel me forward. There’s no way she can catch me. Not without using magic and she won’t. Not in public.

I’m not sure where I’m going, but something tells me to head to the third floor. Before Annalise can stop me, I step and spin, transporting myself up two floors.

Annalise claims to know nothing other than what Mother told her: Henry and Eloise were taken during the battle, and at Mother’s instance, they were granted clemency.

It doesn’t make sense. Why would
they
attack us? No—why would they attack
me
? They’re my friends.

Unless, like Beck, they were being used as pawns.

A tight knot of people crowd around the entrance of a room toward the end of a short hallway.

“Excuse me,” I say. When no one moves, I raise my voice. “Excuse me. I need to get through.”

The man in front of me shoots a scowl over his shoulder. He does a double take before stepping back with a slight bow of his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Lark. I didn’t know it was you.”

I ignore him and shove through the throng of people. When I reach the doorway, I freeze.

Henry kneels next to the bed, his face covered in soot.

But that’s not what makes my blood run cold. On the bed, above the blankets, lies Eloise. Her pale, ashen skin looks almost gray in the dark room, and an enormous crimson gash oozes blood through her shredded shirt.

Henry stands to greet me. A red wristlet encircles his arm and he stumbles.

He’s been branded a criminal. 

I rush to his side, hoping to spare my uncle the humiliation of shuffling toward me and silence falls over the bystanders.

My dry mouth tries different combination of sounds, before finding the words I don’t want to say, but have to. “Is she dead?”

Henry shakes his head. “Not yet. But she will be if she doesn’t receive attention soon.”

I turn to the group watching us from the doorway. “Someone get the healer
,
” I say politely. When it seems as if I’ve gone unheard, I growl, “Get the healer.”

The room springs to life with witches jumping this way and that.

But it’s not because of me. Mother has appeared next to me and grabs me from behind. She presses my arms to my side. I struggle and try to pull away from her, but she’s stronger than she looks.

“Calm, Lark. This could be a trap.”

“You have Henry branded, and Eloise is nearly dead. It’s not a trap.” A constant drumming fills my head and I tremble. Magic flows from my fingertips, and the air around Mother and me shifts, shimmering in the dim light. I realize she’s only physically holding me. Mother isn’t trying to block my magic.

Tears of desperation sit in my eyes. “Please, Mother, help her. Eloise is my friend. She protected me. She fought for me.”

Mother loosens her grip, and I slip out and run to Eloise’s side. Behind me I hear Mother call for the healer.

My filthy ball gown hangs limply around me as I kneel next to the bed and stroke Eloise’s cold, clammy arm. “Do not die,” I whisper. “Don’t you dare die.”

Blood runs in tiny rivers over her bare torso. It’s not clotting. If I’ve learned anything from my years of living with Beck, it’s how to staunch the flow of blood, but this is more than the trickle I’m used to. It seeps between my fingers as I press my hands against her wound, and her sticky, warm blood trickles down my arms and onto my dress. Her chest rises slowly beneath my hands, each breath a labored effort, and for that, I’m thankful.

“I need to speak to you privately, Malin,” Henry says from next to me.

Both Annalise and Mother’s female guard step forward as if the mere suggestion of Mother and Henry being alone is dangerous.

I lift my head and notice Mother watching me with curiosity. “And why is that Henry? What do you need to tell me that can’t be said before these good people?” She holds her hand, palm out, toward the crowd at the door.

“I think you know.”

The Healer lifts my hands from Eloise’s torso and rolls her onto her side. I stare at my blood-stained hands, memorizing the dark red and brown patterns. Heat races across my shoulders and up my neck. I shudder and clench my hands into tight fists.

Whoever did this will pay.

Mother turns to our audience. “This man wishes to speak to me privately. Please leave us.”

Not one person protests. They just go. They do whatever Mother asks of them, like she knew they would.

I wonder if they even realize they have no control over their actions? What do they feel when she takes control of their desires? Does it frustrate them as it does me? Does it fill them with anger or are they resigned to it?

“Shall we go too, Malin?” Oliver asks. I jerk my head toward the shadow in the corner, where my guards stand. How odd. I wonder why Mother’s request didn’t affect them?

“Wait in the hallway,” Mother says. As much as I don’t want to leave Eloise, I want to respect Henry wishes and begin to follow the Healer toward the door.

“Lark, you stay.” Defeat peppers Henry’s words.

I look to Mother for permission. She dips her head and I resume my position next to Eloise.

“What is it, Henry? I have things to attend to. Funerals to plan and a public hall to repair. I don’t have time for my traitorous brother.”

“They were coming for you and Lark. To expose you. They want control of the State.”

Mother lifts her chin and narrows her eyes. “Who? The Light witches?”

“Malin.” My uncle’s voice cracks as he keeps his eyes fixed on something in the distance. “We’ve completely lost control of the Light witches.”

Mother’s body quivers and she presses her lips into a tight line. “Is Patrick still in charge?”

A slight shake of the head. “Patrick was never more than a figurehead, you know that, and Beck is just a boy.”

Beck’s name rolls through my body and stabs at my heart with the precision of a well-cast destruction spell. 

“Who’s leading them? Eamon?” Mother clips her words. Forcefully. Strong.

“Yes.” Henry’s olive eyes flash with anger. “He called Eloise and me traitors for helping Lark. He attacked us
.
” He rests his hand on Eloise’s leg. “He attacked
Eloise
. He did this to her.” Henry and Mother exchange a look that tells me there is more to this story.

“So you fled here? Why?”

Henry runs a trembling hand through his ash-coated hair. “No. That’s not right.” He’s rambling, barely making coherent sentences. “Eamon followed us. I should have known, but Beck was so determined and Eloise, she…”

“What about Beck?” I ask.

“He said Malin’s been misleading you.” Henry’s eyes drill into mine and he taps his temple in an inconspicuous way.

Before I can stop her, Mother turns her magic on Henry and he crumples to the ground in pain. He clasps his hands over his head and a guttural cry rips from his throat. “How dare you!” she shouts. “I love Lark. I’m helping her remember who she is!”

“Stop it! What are you doing?” I scream. My fists pummel Mother’s back as I try to break her flow of magic.

“Henry needs to be punished, Lark. If you can’t watch, it’s best you leave.”

“He says you’re scaring him,” Henry whispers.

Mother releases her energy and Henry falls onto his back, gasping for air. “What did you say?”

Henry presses his lips together in refusal. But I heard him. Is it possible Beck can hear me, but I can’t hear him?

Energy radiates from Mother again and Henry screams in agony.

“Stop!” I yell, but Mother unleashes her special form of torture again.

Fire fills my core. Wave after wave of energy washes over me and I gather it to myself.

“I said, stop.” My voice vibrates and bounces off the walls. It shatters the glass jars sitting on the cabinet.

Mother staggers backward under my attack. She doubles over and gasps. “Well played, Lark. Well played.”

I don’t have time for her games and quickly move around the bed so that I stand between Mother and Henry. Her next attack on him will have to go through me. I stare down at my uncle. “You said Eamon followed you. Who did he follow?”

“Me, Eloise...and Beck”

“But I saw him.” I sputter. “With Eamon.”

Henry glances at Mother, a small frown on his lips. “Eloise and Beck thought maybe, if they could find you, Lark, you’d run away with them. But Eamon and his people cornered us just outside Malin’s house.” His voice shakes. “We were with Beck, but we were outnumbered. He wasn’t strong enough to hold them off.”

Blood pumps through my body hard and I try to control the fear spreading through me. “Where is he? Does Eamon still have him?”

Henry shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

My eyes rest on Eloise. The blood covering her body. Her labored breath. This is not what I want to hear. “Mother? Do you know?”

“No.”

Rage floods my body, red hot and pulsing. I don’t try to stop it. “If Eamon hurt Beck, I will destroy him,” I scream.

When Mother steps toward me, I sprint to the door. It flings open before I touch it. The crowd in the hallway steps aside as if coming in contact with me is dangerous.

The lights lining the ceiling explode one-by-one sending a spray of glass raining down on us, and a gust of wind tears through the hall, turning it into a wind tunnel.

The crowd has moved well away from me now. Good. Let them see what I can do when I’m angry.

Lark Greene is not someone to mess with. And everyone will know.

Dawson and Oliver appear at the end of the hall, but I’m not going to let them stop me.

With my hand outstretched, I use magic to pin them to the wall. If I knew where to go, I’d transport, but what good would that do? I don’t know what to do or who to ask for help. The wind whips my hair around my head as I turn the corner. To my disappointment, it’s just another endless hallway. No exit in sight.

My body shakes with magic. Unlike at Summer Hill, there’s nothing preventing me from lashing out. And right now, I feel dangerous.

Out of breath, I sink to the ground and allow the folds of my dress to swallow me. What was Beck thinking, coming for me? I thought he understood that he has to stay away. No matter what.

“Lark?” Mother calls out as she turns the corner.

“Where is he?” I scream. “Tell me!” I hurtle a bolt of magic toward her, but she deflects it with a quick flash of her hand.

I concentrate
on
the energy building in me. Mother will tell me. I know she knows where Beck is and I’m tired of pretending he doesn’t exist.

Mother exhales dramatically. “You need to stop this. You’re going to terrify everyone.”

My magic pummels her, but she simple shakes it away. “You may be strong, but you’re also irrational when you become upset. Which, as I’ve said before, makes you predictable.” She quickly crosses to where I sit and wraps her arms around me. “And predictable is what will get you killed.”

My body goes limp and I don’t fight her. Maybe it’s her power of persuasion, or maybe it’s that I’m done fighting. All I know is that Mother’s touch consoles me.

“Sweet girl,” she says stroking my hair. “It pains me to see you hurt like this.”

I want to believe her words. But more than anything, I wish it were Bethina comforting me. In my mind, I see her open, friendly face, hear her heart-warming laugh. The tears I’ve held back fall freely now. Tears I should have shed weeks ago for the woman who raised me. For Bethina, who sacrificed herself to protect me.

For the woman who was once my mother’s friend.

“Shhh,” Mother whispers as she rocks me like a small child. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

“How can you say that?” I manage to say between sobs. “My life is a mess. And your idea of safe is for me to kill the boy I love. I’d rather be dead than hurt him.”

“Lark, love, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Annalise said he’d be safe,” I choke out.  “He was supposed to be safe. You were going to have Eamon killed. That’s why I left Beck.”

Mother moves her hands to my shoulders and pushes back so that she can peer into my eyes. “You left him because you knew staying was wrong. You don’t belong together.”

I shake my head. “No. I left him because I thought he’d be safer. Away from me. But he’s not.”

Mother lets go of my shoulders. “I can teach you to be so much more than temper tantrums, if you’d let me.”

“I’m not having a tantrum.”

She studies me, like she’s trying to gage how upset I am. “So these little outbursts of yours
,
they’re what exactly?”