Nightingale (3 page)

The healer’s mouth drops open in horror and his eyes grow wide. “They’re bound?” he gasps and jerks his head toward Mother. “How could you hide that information, Malin?”

Mother’s icy eyes narrow and she curls her fingers, once, twice, three times.

The healer makes a strange gargling noise as his fingers tear at his neck. His eyes bulge from their sockets and his face turns red, then purple.

He drops dead at my feet.

3

My name is Lark Greene and I may have already killed the boy I love.

4

Hours. Maybe days have passed. I don’t know anymore.

I can’t remember.

“You understand, don’t you? Why no one can know about you and Beck?” Mother stands at the end of my bed. Dark half-circles fill the space under her eyes and fly-away pieces of hair stick out of her normally tidy up-do. Exhaustion has stolen all remnants of the polished Malin Greene I’m used to seeing.

But no matter how troubled Mother appears, I can guarantee I look a hundred times worse. I haven’t been able to eat more than a few crackers. My stomach feels like it’s in a constant state of distress, prepared to toss back anything I give to it. And I haven’t showered or crawled out of bed for two days.

“I understand,” I say, pulling the covers up to my chin. My back and hips ache from lying around all day, but I’m too tired to climb out of bed. To ease the pain in my hip, I roll onto my side. “You’re not going to kill Kyra are you?”

I’m half-joking, but more serious. I haven’t seen my friend in days and I’m growing worried, since Kyra knows about Beck and I being bound. And after what Mother did to the healer…

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lark. Kyra is a sworn member of your guard, entrusted to keep your secrets. Just as Annalise is.”

Mother tugs the blanket away from my face. “I don’t think you understand the seriousness of your situation, Love. People are already whispering about whether you’ve been brainwashed. We absolutely do not need them thinking Beck Channing can control you.”

“People or witches?” I say.

“People and
Dark
witches are the only ones that matter.” Mother picks up her tablet, consults it for a moment and sets it back down. “So far, I’ve been able to control the information leaving Summer Hill and no one believes the Light witches’ version of events.”

“Because you paraded me on television and made me denounce Beck.”

Mother closes her eyes, inhales, and opens her eyes. “I’m doing what needs to be done. To protect you. You’d be wise to remember that.”

“Like killing that poor healer.”

Mother bows her head. Her lips move, as if speaking to herself.

I watch her closely, studying the way her hands quiver as she continues her silent chant.

“Is Beck okay?” I whisper. The words leave my mouth before I can stop myself.

Mother startles. Her blue eyes bat rapidly and numbness creeps from my toes to my legs to my torso. Panic races through my mind. Not again. No.

I wiggle my fingers and my blood runs cold. Mother jumps, waving her hand before her as if batting at an annoying gnat. When she smiles at me again, a deep sense of relaxation replaces the panic.

“Why would I know?” The smoothness of her voice is almost convincing, but when she turns toward the window, I notice the tenseness of the muscles in her neck.

“Because you know everything that goes on in the Western Society.”

Mother shakes her head. “You give me too much credit, Love.”

“Would you tell me if you did?” I challenge.

Mother purses her lips as if carefully considering her words. “No. I wouldn’t. Dwelling on a boy you should have no part of isn’t healthy. Trust me, I have experience in this.”

“With my father?”

Mother clenches her jaw and doesn’t answer me.

“Why won’t you talk about him? You had no problem with it at Summer Hill. Or was that just a ploy to get me to trust you? So that I would believe you were on my side? Was it all just a way for you to start a war with the Light witches, Mother? Henry told me—”

“Enough!”

The chandelier above us explodes into a million tiny slivers of crystal. I duck and cover my head with my arms, preparing for the inevitable pain of glass piercing my skin.

But there’s nothing.

I slowly open my eyes and lift my head. The shards hang suspended in the air, each one reflecting the light of the fireplace and sending a cacophony of color dancing around the room.

Mother stands just to the side of my bed. A red, mottled flush covers her exposed chest and neck. “Do not push me, Lark. It may appear I’m in control of my emotions, but I assure you, that is not always the case.”

I open my mouth but she glares at me and I snap it shut. “You are a Dark witch. It’s time you behaved like one.”

With a flick of her hand, the shards of glass fly back into place and the chandelier looks like new.

My heart seizes. I hold my hand before me. It quivers and shakes, but unlike in the past, my magic remains trapped inside me. The restraint somehow prevents me from using it.

“This isn’t fair,” I scream, sitting up. “This isn’t what was supposed to happen. Beck was supposed to be safe and you were going to teach me how to use magic.”

“Beck was supposed to be safe? From who? Me? You?” Mother paces along the edge of the bed, her fingers twirling her long necklace. “His own people? Who was he supposed to be safe from?”

I bang my balled fists against the bed. “Me.”

Agitation simmers in her voice. “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t know where he is.”

Her words are like a slap to my face. Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, if Beck is alive, there’s a good chance he’s hiding. From me.

Because he understands I’m a threat.

And I have no idea what I can do to him. Set him on fire, like Mother’s done to me? Melt his flesh from his bones? Choke the air from his lungs like the poor healer? Freeze his eyeballs?
What
?

I slump back into my pillows and pull the covers over my head. Mother is right, if Beck is alive, he needs to stay away from me. The rational part of my brain understands this. My fragile, empty heart does not.

Mother lifts the edge of the comforter and peers into the warm, comfortable darkness of my cocoon. “I don’t want to fight with you, Lark. Please believe me when I say this.”

I nod.

“Would you like a visit from Kyra?” Mother’s voice is soft. All the anger from the past few minutes has disappeared.

Other than an endless stream of healers, I haven’t seen anyone besides Mother in two days. Not even Annalise. 

I sniff loudly and clear my throat. “I’d like that.”

Mother points to my closet. “Then get dressed. She’ll be here in a few minutes.”

I slide off my bed and shove my feet into a pair of fleecy slippers. Mother strokes my knotted mess of hair as I pass her. “Wear purple,” she says. “You look lovely in that color.”

I run my hand across the day dress section until I find a soft lilac sleeveless dress. With one hand, I tug my night clothes over my head.

Once I’m dressed, Mother hands me a brush and a hair tie. The brush catches in the tangles as I try to glide it through my hair. “It’s no use. I need scissors or something to get these out.” I drop the handful of hair I’m holding.

Mother lifts the brush from my fingers and begins gently working on the ends of my hair. She repositions my body so that I’m looking in the mirror and I watch as she transforms my hair from a wild halo of knots, to a low sleek bun. Just like the one she often wears.

Mother gives me the once over. “You look much better.”

“I feel better.” I stare at my reflection, realizing it’s true. I’ve never worn my hair like this before. It makes me look more mature.

“Kyra,” Mother says into her wristlet. “Lark is ready to see you.”

Not even three seconds later, the air across the room pops and Kyra steps out of nothing.  She rushes toward me and draws me into a bear hug. As usual, she’s full of energy and immediately launches into a rapid-fire series of questions. “How are you? Feeling better? What do you want to do? I found this new gossip feed that only reports on the latest fashions. It’s insane.”

“Slow down!” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll leave you girls alone. I’m sure you have much to discuss.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I notice Mother point to her wristlet.

Kyra gives a barely noticeable nod before grabbing my hand in hers and leading me over to the fireplace. She sits on the floor in front of me, cross-legged, elbows on her knees. I copy her. Behind us, a subtle pop lets me know Mother has transported from the room.

“Maz said to say ‘
heya
.’ He and Ryker can’t wait to see you! We’re planning a fun night out once it’s okay.”

Going out has never been something I do. Even when we reached year ten and were allowed to visit the social center in the evenings, I preferred to stay home.

“I don’t know. I don’t feel like going anywhere.” The thought of venturing outside of my safe cave frightens me. What if I hurt someone?

“Where are you living?” I ask. “At our house? Maybe I could come over?”

She shakes her head. “No. Malin told everyone that Maz, me, and the others were State spies or something. We weren’t allowed to move back home since we’re heroes and played an important role in rescuing you.”

Ah, so that’s how Mother explained how my once Sensitive friends are no longer enemies of the State: they weren’t actually Sensitives.

“Not that it matters,” Kyra continues. “Everyone was sent to their parents’. Only a few of us are still in the City: me, you, Maz, Ryker, Lena, and Matson.” She tugs at the fibers of the shaggy carpet. “It’s boring without everyone around. Empty.”

I nod. I can understand that. Despite having my own room at Summer Hill, I’m still not used to being alone at night. Sometimes, I wake and imagine Beck sleeping across the room, his arm flung over his head and a book resting on his chest.

“Is Beck dead?” I blurt.

Kyra’s flinches. “Yesterday, Maz was supposed to hire a musician for our binding.” Her shoulders tense as she ignores my question. “Do you know what he did?”

“If you knew, could you tell me?” I ask, determined in my questioning.

This time my friend grimaces. She keeps her hands in her lap, twisting them.

“Maz hired a band,” she continues. “But not a classically trained band. No. My future mate hired a traveling band of musicians. They probably have nothing in their repertoire that’s acceptable.”

“Kyra, I don’t want to talk about this. Not right now. Maybe after you tell me what you know about Beck.”

Her shoulders sag and her face contorts. For a moment, it looks like she’s trying to not be sick. She wraps her hand over her wristlet. “I can’t talk to you about him,” she lip-speaks. At school, when we didn’t want anyone to hear us, we had a way of lip-speaking to each other. I touch Kyra’s knee with one hand and point to my lips with the other.

Is he okay?
I ask silently.

She shrugs.
I don’t know.

I believe her. Whenever Kyra lies, a faint pink tint colors her chest and neck. Right now, she looks normal.

I sigh. If Kyra doesn’t know, who else can I ask? Not Annalise or my two male guards. A healer wouldn’t dare. The servants never come in my room without Mother being here. Not that they’d know anyway.

Kyra’s wristlet pings and the color drains from her face. Unlike my other guards, she doesn’t have a microchip embedded behind her ear for incoming private pings since she’s technically not a States person yet.

“What?” I ask.

She jumps to her feet. “I have to go.”

Before I can ask why, she’s gone.

#

“We’ll be transporting. I’ll show you where to land, so that you don’t alarm any humans in the building.” Mid-morning light casts harsh shadows across Annalise’s face, highlighting her razor sharp cheekbones. She’s the first person I’ve seen since Kyra left last night, and despite myself, a little flutter of relief tickles my gut.

“I can’t transport on my own.”

Annalise rolls her eyes. “Yes, you can. You just have to try.” She slips back into her typical brisk business-manner. She checks her wristlet. “It’s important people see you enter or leave your office every day. The public cameras must capture you
walking
between locations at least twice a day. And you must never transport in the presence of humans. Do you understand?”

She’s treating me like a child. “Yes,” I say sullenly.

“Good. Are you ready?”

I sling my satchel over my arm and, despite the million bouncy balls sitting in my stomach, follow her into the hallway and down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, Dawson leans against the banister while Oliver stands a few paces away. The two men stare at each other with intense concentration. Without warning, Dawson lunges forward and the air around him crackles. Energy ricochets through the grand foyer and I grab onto the railing to support myself.

“What are you doing?” I yell out in horror.

The two men swing their attention around to me, and Oliver lifts his hand and smiles in greeting. “Good morning, Lark.”

“Morning, Miss Lark,” Dawson mumbles as he steps away from the staircase. “Oliver asked for a demonstration of a defensive technique I’ve been working on.”