Larkstorm (25 page)

I keep track of the passing seconds by counting the beats of Henry’s fingers drumming against his thigh. When I get to fifty-two, he stands and walks to the tent opening. He ducks his head outside and swings his head left to right as if checking to see if anyone is listening.

When he faces me directly, I see shadows under his eyes and notice, for the first time, his rumpled clothes. Henry hasn’t slept well.

“This is bigger than the issue between you and Beck. Malin is also preoccupied by the splinter group. Instead of following the normal diplomatic channels, they’ve resorted to violence against Malin and other high-ranking State officials. They’re angry about the restriction the State has placed on us and concerned about the increasing arrests of actual Light witches. Some believe she’s purposely dwindling our numbers, like the State has with humans.”

His words lie heavy in my heart. I was right. The State, the ideal of peace and prosperity, has been slowly depleting the numbers of humans.

“Is she?”

Henry paces in front of the desk, each footfall muffled by the elaborate floor rug. “I don’t know. But I do know we need a diplomatic solution
—
something that results in the fewest witch deaths possible. Otherwise, the survival of magic is doomed.”

“Because of the genetic limitations?”

“Yes. We’ll never have greater numbers than we do now.”

“But what does this have to do with keeping me here?” I ask.

Careful to keep his eyes from mine, Henry rearranges items on his desk. “It’s politics
—
you don’t understand.”

The fragile truce between calm and rage snaps. “Stop telling me that I don’t understand! Of course I don’t
—
no one tells me anything! I have to dig around in old books and pester Eloise to get any sort of information. But this is
my
life. Mine.”

I strike my fist on the couch for effect.

Henry clenches his jaw and the muscles in his neck tighten. “You want the truth? How about this?” His voice grows louder, more defiant. “I believe Malin’s looking for a public reason to attack either the splinter group or the Light witches, whom she suspects of aiding the splinter group. What better reason than if they openly attacked private citizens
—
like her daughter.” He drops his voice and it wavers. “I think my sister wants more than just Patrick and Beck Channing dead
—
I think she wants to eliminate all the Light witches.”

Everything clicks.

I’m a weapon, but not the kind I thought. She’s not waiting for me to kill Beck, although she wouldn’t mind.

“She wants to start a war,” I whisper. The room rocks and flashes of red blur my vision.

“Yes.”

My breath and pulse race.

“Malin will destroy anyone she suspects of harming you. You must believe that, Lark. She loves you, but she loves power more.

“There is a contingent of Dark witches on the other side of the dome, waiting for her word, to attack. They will tear Summer Hill apart in seconds, if Malin wishes it. What they did before was just a warning. Eamon has no chance against her. But she needs irrefutable proof.”

It’s too hot in this little tent. Sweat beads along the back of my neck, under my arms, along the top of my lip. I run my hand over my face and wipe it away. The familiar hum of anger vibrates in my blood and pressure builds behind my eyes.

“Lark, look at me. You have to focus or you’re going to do something rash.”

But I don’t want to focus. I want action. I want to strike out and hurt Eamon; I want to scream at Mother for putting me in harm’s way after professing to care about me; I want to tell everyone I’m done being used and kept clueless.

But mostly, I want to run and find Beck
—
to feel his arms around me, grounding me, pulling me out of my anger. Desperate, I reach out with my mind and call to him.
Beck? Please. I need you.

Something distorted and muffled comes through, but I can’t understand what he’s saying. It sounds like he’s underwater or very far away.

I’m all alone. Untethered.

Rage threatens to overtake me. I stand and walk to the far side of the room. My footsteps keep rhythm with the beat of my heart. The quicker it beats, the faster I pace until my movements must be nothing more than a blur. To my surprise, the repetitive action calms me, and my heartbeat slows and my mind clears.

“We can’t let Mother know Eamon attacked me.” My voice holds no emotion now. I’m factual and removed, just like I learned to be at school.

Henry nods. “My thoughts exactly. And we need to keep you away from Eamon. I’ll tell the Channings about your run-in with him.”

A question presses to my lips. If I run away, maybe they’d all be safe. “If the Dark witches can get in whenever they want, can I leave? With Bethina?”

The thought of being the trigger for a brewing war stabs my conscience. If I’m not here, then no one will get hurt. And honestly, even though the majority of the Light witches either fear or hate me, Eamon is the only one I want to see punished.

“No. Your mother won’t let that happen. Bethina can’t keep you safe. When you leave, you have to go to Malin.”

31

War. Death. Destruction. That’s my future
—
and all that separates me from it is twenty-one days.

My fingers dip in and out of the dense barrier of Summer Hill’s dome, searching for a break in the surface. Even if I find a way to open it, I won’t get far
—
not with Annalise and Mother’s other guards are out there, watching me. Protecting me and
,
at the same time
,
ensuring I stay a prisoner of Summer Hill.

The muggy summer air weighs heavily on me as I wind away from the edge of the dome, through the dusk, and toward to the north field. Though the days are shorter now, sunshine and warmth still fills the air during the day, and a damp heat dominates the night. The seasons here seem to move between uncomfortably hot and bearable.

Part of me wants to skip my lesson. After all, what’s the point? I can’t learn or change what’s going to happen. But the other, more dominant part forces me on. If there’s the slightest possibility
—
no matter how small
—that
I can learn self-control and not harm Beck, I’ll do it.

At the end of the trail, moonlight drenches a vast field and Eloise stands in the middle. She pirouettes, her tiny frame but a blur, and wraps sheer layers of light around her body until she’s glowing and breathless.

It’s beautiful in a way I’ll never be. Pure and good.

“Heya, Eloise,” I give a half-hearted greeting. It’s just us in the field. I don’t know how she managed to scare them off, but my normal peanut gallery avoids her classes.

“Hello, Miss Gloom.”

With one leap, she crosses the expanse between us, and the light surrounding her scatters and fades.

“What was that?” I ask, lifting my voice to make it less morose.

Eloise beams. “A new piece of magic. I’m harnessing the energy of the moonlight.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course. That’s what all magic is, harnessing the energy that surrounds us in different forms. Hasn’t anyone taught you that?”

I shake my head. “I’m still stuck on practical magic, I believe.”

“Well, my friend, I’m afraid it’s more of the same old, same old for you tonight. I’m supposed to teach you castings.”

For a good hour, I repeatedly walk three paces, turn and throw my spells toward Eloise.

“Like this,” Eloise demonstrates again. Her steps are quick and dainty.

One, two, three, turn and…nothing. Again.

“It’s no use, Eloise. I can’t cast and we both know it.”

“That’s only because of the encasing.”

“Henry’s convinced you, too?”

“I’m sure of it. If the Channings would only let us remove it. Then we’d see some magic.” She flashes me her ‘they’re-being-pains-in-the-ass’ look.

I flop onto the grass. That will never happen. Now that I know the Channings only keep me here because Mother is forcing them, I better understand their fear of me. Not only do I pose a threat to Beck, but my mother will destroy anyone who harms me. Even if I start it. With my unpredictable temper, it’s best to keep the encasing on, in my opinion.

I sigh and tilt my head back. Above me millions of stars twinkle against the inky sky. It’s perfect. Like a painting.

A thought pops into my mind. “Hey, Eloise?”

“Yeah?”

“Are those really the stars or is that just part of your dome?”

She grins. “Oh I wish! If I could only control the heavens!”

“So that’s really up there?”

“It is.” She throws her head back and takes in the sight. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

It is. Except for the Dark witches peering in, watching my every move and reporting back to Mother.

We admire the stars for a few minutes until Eloise jumps up. “C’mon, Lark. There’s no point in doing this. Not with the encasing on your heart.”

“So we’re done?”

“Yeah.” Eloise spins in a circle, arms outstretched. “Plus, I have a date.”

“A date?”

“Well, you know, it isn’t every day a Gathering this large happens. And I’m going to take advantage it!” She laughs.

“I may be slow here, but what exactly is a date?”

“Oh.” She stops spinning. “You wouldn’t know
,
would you? Being Dark and living at the school your whole life and all.”

“Um, I guess not.” What does that have to do with anything?

“Okay, so it’s like this. Unlike the Dark witches who are all about bloodlines and protocol and mating for strength, we Light witches have free choice. We get to pick who we’re bound to. That’s what a date is, like a trial to see who you want to be with forever.”

“You get to pick?” I ask unsure of the wisdom behind that. “Just find some random person you barely know and hope they’re a good match for you?” It didn’t seem to work out too well for my parents. Or my grandparents. Or my…well, whatever Caitlyn and Charles’s parents are to me.

“Yup. And I have a date. Tonight.” Her captivating smile lights up the night.

“Oh, I see,” I tease. “You’re ditching your responsibilities as a teacher because you have a date?”

“Exactly!”

My eyes wander across the sky as I think everything over. “Eloise, if Light witches get to choose, does that mean Beck doesn’t have to be with me?”

“I doubt it. You guys have some
freaky
thing
going on.” She flips her hair over her shoulder.

“But he could be with someone else? If I wasn’t around?” Pangs of jealousy nibble at me. Beck with another girl. It doesn’t seem possible.

“I suppose. But he doesn’t want to
—
I’ve heard the arguments between him and his mom. Plus, you wear his token.”

I press my lips together in an attempt to hide my smile. “You’ve said that before. What does it mean, other than he likes me and it upsets his parents?”

She grows solemn. “He doesn’t want anyone but you. When Light witches select a mate, we give each other a token to show our commitment. Beck gave you his token, even though he knew you were Dark.”

“Mrs. Channing doesn’t have a necklace.”

“Each token is different
—
it’s supposed to be special to the receiver. I’m guessing he gave you this one because he calls you Birdie.”

 
I rub the bird between my fingers trying to sense whether or not it’s magical. “Is there a spell or anything on it?”

“We fill our tokens with love. So, yeah, I guess it’s magical.”

The day he gave it to me, Beck made me promise to never take it off. He positively beamed when I put it on. No wonder he insisted on finding it immediately after Eamon ripped it from my neck. My necklace means so much more to him than I ever knew.

He chose me, knowing he can’t have me. He could have picked someone else, someone safer. Beck’s not held to the same rules as humans and Dark witches. Is this what dating lets you do? Choose unavailable people? Or choose no one at all?

Eloise rakes her fingers through her long hair until she finds a knot and begins working on it. She’s fidgety and nervous.

“So, who’s the mystery man?” I ask, curious about the guy who’s captured my friend’s interest.

“No one really.” The moonlight doesn’t disguise her blush.

“And does this no one have a name?”

She presses her lips and hesitates.

“C’mon. Tell me. You know you want to.” I say in a sing-song voice.

“Fine. It’s Rorik.”

Huh. I expected her to say Henry. “Rorik? My illusion teacher? Really?” I chuckle. Outgoing, vivacious Eloise has a date with shy, reserved Rorik.

“Don’t laugh!” She slaps at me playfully.

I compose myself. “All right. When’s the date?”

“Right now?”

My face falls a bit. I’m enjoying our time talking about normal things
—
it’s a reminder we’re more like friends than student and teacher.

She hurries on. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course!” I lie. “I’ll find my way home.”

At the edge of the field, Rorik emerges. Eloise straightens up, grins and runs to join him.

“Thanks Lark!” she calls over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Details!” I yell after her. “I want lots of details!”

I watch Eloise and Rorik disappear into the woods and then settle back into my spot in the field.

Except for the hum of the crickets, everything is still. I want to lie here longer, enjoying my solitude, but unsure of the time, I decide to head back to the house. If I’m not back by midnight, the Channings will have a search party out.

The forest path ends at the East Lawn. Over the past week, the number of tents has grown. Eloise told me more and more Light witches arrive daily in preparation for my birthday.

I didn’t even bother to ask what they expect to happen because honestly, I don’t want to know.

The night conceals me as I meander through the tent area and no one pays me any attention. Then again, people probably don’t expect to see me walking around, down here, by myself.

Smoky fires and evening meals scent the air. It must not be as late as I thought.

I sidestep to avoid a group of children and end up walking down an aisle where a group of witches, around my age, is engaged in a heated game of lacrosse. The ball, lit by magic, whizzes through the air. I study the group, hoping Beck is in the thick of it. At the sight of a tall, blond witch, my heart leaps. However, when he drops the ball, I realize it isn’t Beck.

All around me, life goes on
—
playing, laughing, having fun. I wish I could do the same, but I can’t. Every moment of my life is consumed by the knowledge I’m a threat.

I turn down another aisle and a large, circular tent looms before me. Banners from each of the five Societies hang around the perimeter. The Gathering Council’s tent
—
where they conduct official business. Eloise has mentioned it to me once or twice, but I have no desire to visit. I turn left, away from it, worried that if I get caught walking around, I’ll get in trouble.

“Lark
–
” The rest of the words are lost, but I’m positive I heard my name.

I stroll back to the tent.

“It’s hopeless. She’ll never be able to control herself.”

“I don’t know why we continue to even try.”

“She is too dangerous to remove the encasing.”

The words sting my ears. I shouldn’t eavesdrop but can’t help myself. With a quick glance to see if anyone is watching me, I position myself between the tent and its neighbor.

The voices are clearer.

“You have no evidence Lark wants to harm any of you. None.” I throw my hand over my mouth to hold in my surprise.

It’s Bethina’s voice.

A wave of guilt washes over me. I shouldn’t be listening. Bethina will reprimand me if I get caught.

As I turn to head back to the house, another voice stops me.

“Evidence?” Eamon snarls. “Did you not witness her outburst on the lawn? What more do you need? For her to actually kill someone? Or perhaps you’d be happy if Lark created a natural disaster unlike any we’ve ever seen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beck says, his voice calm and strong. I close my eyes and focus on keeping my heartbeat slow and steady. I’m not going to influence him again.

“We’re not the ones advocating unencasing a Dark witch so she can turn her power loose on us.” Eamon’s words drip malice.

“If you want Lark to be able to control herself, or at least have a fighting chance at being able to, you need to allow us to unencase her. It’s the only way we can teach her.” My heart skips. It’s Henry.

Eamon shouts, “I don’t want her to have a fighting chance. I want the bitch dead.”

No one says anything. Eamon openly admitted he wants to kill me, and not one person, not even Henry or Bethina, protested. My stomach churns.

The air hangs heavy around me, as if weighed down with anger and fear. There’s a stillness. No one speaks. No noise is heard.

Then, suddenly, the tent erupts in a cacophony of noise. Screams, shouting, and the splintering of wood fills the air. Rage courses through my veins pumping hard and chasing my fear away. It chokes me and squeezes at my heart. This fury isn’t mine, but Beck’s. Like when he fought with Eamon, his emotions overwhelm my own until I’m trembling.

Please, no
—
don’t let me act out. Don’t give Eamon the proof he needs. I focus everything I have on steadying my breath, trying to gain control over Beck’s feelings. With each exhale, his anger subsides until it slips from my body, leaving me ragged.

A silence descends over the group until a woman whose voice I don’t recognize speaks. From her high, trilling accent, I can tell she’s from the Eastern society. “You will not talk of such things Eamon. We are not killers. We will not fight unless attacked.”