Phoenix (2 page)

He's right. The temperature has risen considerably, something I attributed to Mother's orb, but it's gone beyond that. It almost feels like summer...and I hate hot summer days.

"Mother? Do you think--"

Mother is gone, but the orb remains.

Where did she go and how?

I don't have time for that now. Instead I say to Beck
, Swing your box toward mine – the direction you felt the thump. Let's try smashing them.

I'm not sure it's wise to rely on Beck, but I have no other options right now.

On three. One. Two. Three.
I swing my box hard and hit nothing.
Again,
I order. This time our boxes make contact, but they don't break.

The walls of the box glow a soft yellow, and when I accidentally touch one, my hand burns.
 

If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to be in an oven.

Another try, Birdie?
Beck says.
 

I grunt my reply. Adrenaline floods my system, dulling the ache radiating from my stomach.

Again.
I order

This time, my box cracks. Buoyed, I slam into Beck's box again, and the box dissolves around me, turning into a fine dust. I tumble several feet through the chilly air to the unforgiving ground and sit there, blinking into the dim evening light. It does no good – I can barely see, and instead, sharp pain hits behind my eyes. I need a healer, not just for my headache, but for...

Oh. My. God.

Rust colored blood crusts the front of my torn dress and a giant slash covers my torso. Someone did minimal effort to ease my bleeding, but they didn't do a proper healing spell. Could that have been what Beck was doing?

I blanch at the sight and smell. My feet wobble, and I collapse to the ground.

I have no idea where I am, except that I am outside.
 

And there are four more boxes hanging over my head.
 

CHAPTER TWO

Slowly, my brain wakes up. Even with the oozing, rust-colored gash leaking from my abdomen, I need to stay alert since I have no idea where I am or who did this to me.
 

To my left and directly in front of me is a sparse forest. On my right, more open field. I turn around carefully so as to not tear open my wound. This direction, with my back to the forest, stretches down to the gray, fog-shrouded Bay.
 

I must be in the Presidio somewhere near my old school, yet I don't recognize this place, which seems impossible since Beck and I have scoured it from top-to-bottom over the years.
 

Carefully, I tilt my head backward and study the four remaining boxes. They float above me, suspended by magic. One of them jiggles a bit, but the others remain still.
 

The one directly to my left – the swinging one - has a large crack running across a side. That must be where Beck is, but Beck can't be here. He's in a jail cell, awaiting his death sentence. The one I gave him.
 

A memory flashes through my mind. I was crawling toward the house, praying for someone to help me, and then I was transporting, being carried away by the chilly darkness and landed...

In Beck's cell?

That can't be right, can it?

And it doesn't help me know who – or what – are in the boxes? And who was talking to me in the box?
 

More importantly, was that really my mother? Is she alive? Or was it wishful thinking on my part. What I wouldn't give to turn back time to when she was still here.

Have I gone crazy from the trauma of the experience?
 

The most logical explanation is that it was a Light witch masking as Mother. But who? And why be so kind to me?

No. I was hallucinating, much like I did immediately after her death.

I had to be.

I rub my fingers together and instantly a comfortable warmth surrounds me. I grin in delight. My magic is working again.

My celebration is short-lived, however. Vomit bubbles in my throat, and I bend forward taking care not to get any on my shoes. The pain has become more intense, but I still wipe my mouth clean and lean my head back until I'm looking at what I think is Beck's box.
 

Beck
, I say.
Swing your box so I know where you are.
 

The box at the left end begins to rock. Good, he can still hear me.

Okay, I see you. Get ready. Your box is going to disappear.
 

Hurry, Birdie. It's awfully hot in here.
 

My heart burns with magic as I concentrate on an image of the box disintegrating much like mine did.

I count to three for him before flicking my wrist and visualizing the box gone.

A dust storm rises from where the box had hung, and Beck tumbles to the ground.

Like me, deep gashes line his face and chest, but he doesn't move. He lays, face-up and spread eagle on the ground. From here, I can't tell if he's breathing or not.

Stepping over my vomit, I inch my way toward him, not out of concern for my own safety, but rather out of pain. Each step sends hundreds of sharp knives stabbing through my stomach.

When I reach Beck, I bend slowly to a crouching position and touch his arm. He doesn't stir.
 

My shoulders tighten, and my lip trembles. This isn't right. He should be up moving around. The fall wasn't too high.

"C'mon, Beck. You need to help me," I say, poking him harder. He doesn't move, and I hold back my tears.

The blood around him is darkening and slowing. His chest remains still. I close my eyes and focus all my energy on getting him to breathe.
 

Nothing happens.

Hot tears break free and run down my face. I grasp my necklace between my fingers as hysteria washes over me. The burning pain in the back of my throat matches that in my torso. Snot runs out of my nose, but I don't care. My sobs fill the air with anguish.

Suddenly, Beck sputters a breath. It's labored, but at least he's breathing. My sobbing ebbs, but the enormity of the situation I'm facing hits me. I'm a Dark witch. I can't heal. I can't help him on my own. I need Eloise and Henry. I need a Light witch.
 

Why has no one come for me? Where are my guards?
 

I tap my arm where my wristlet should be, forgetting it's missing. Beck's is gone too, replaced with the magic-robbing red wristlet - but that's to be expected since he's a condemned criminal. I lean over him, and whisper the words to release the wristlet. It clatters to the ground.
 

He may be breathing, but life is slowly flowing away from Beck. My heart, however, vibrates against my chest, like some terrible whirling machine.
 

Softly, I pull Beck's head into my lap. My own pain means nothing to me right now. All I want is for Beck to live.
 

With closed eyes, I think of all the things Henry, Eloise, and Oliver taught me. How magic is just the manifestation of energy. How Light witches pull their power from positive things and Dark from negative.
 

But what's positive here? And after all I've done is there still enough Light in me to do any good?

Against my chest, my necklace vibrates with energy of its own. Instinctively, I take it off and clench it in my palm. It grows warm.

Without knowing why, I place the necklace over Beck's heart and hold him tightly, envisioning his wounds healing and life flowing back into him.
 

Beneath my hands, he moans.
 

The gash across his face fades, and the blood stops flowing from his torso.

His hand grasps mine, and I startle. "Lark," he gasps. "What are you doing?"

"Saving you," I manage to say, surprise peppering my words. I should not be able to do this, and yet I am.
 

He points at my gut, and his olive green eyes stare up at me. "Let me help you."

I shake my head. "I'm fine," I lie. "Do you know who is in the other boxes? We have to get them out before they're cooked alive."

Beck stands on shaky legs. He rests his hand on my head to steady himself. "It's Kyra, Maz, and Ryker."

"What?"

Beck points at the boxes. "When the Splinter group took us from my cell, they were with them." His words are labored.

"With them how?" Not that I want to believe my friends would side with the Splinter group, but I can't be too cautious.
 

A dark shadow crosses Beck's lovely face, making him look menacing, and I back away from him. Could he really be part of all of this? Could he have been in the box with me pretending to be Mother?

My brain churns at the implications. This is just an elaborate set-up, Beck is trying to trick me, and my friends have abandoned me.

"Don't hurt me," I mumble. "Please," I beg. "Please don't hurt me."
 

"Birdie, no," Beck says, creeping closer to me. "I wouldn't. I swear. I want to save you."

He touches his cheek in the exact spot I healed minutes earlier. "They were prisoners. Kyra was crying. They all had on red wristlets." He reaches out to me. "Please, trust me."

Trust. He's asking so much. After all that's happened, he wants me to trust him. But how can I when I don't even trust myself?

I shoot a glance at the boxes. We have to do something fast if it is indeed my friends inside.
 

Magic tingles in my fingertips. I have to trust. If I don't, I could loose three people I love forever.

"Stand back," I order Beck and throw my magic in the direction of the first box. Orange and yellow sparks strike the box, and it shudders to life. "Open," I shout into the shimmering air, and the box explodes.

The limp form of Maz tumbles out.

Again, with the next box, and Kyra appears. She scrambles to her feet, unharmed but definitely shaken. I move the third and final box, but instead of Ryker, as I expect, Lena falls from the sky.

Beck and I exchange confused glances. The three former prisoners stare back at us. I quickly mutter a spell, and Maz and Kyra's red wristlets fall away.
 

"What happened?" Lena asks as Eamon and a dozen of his followers step out from the ring of trees just behind where the boxes used to be.
 

"Well done,
Alouette
. Well done." Eamon sneers, clapping slowly, and his group chortles. "Now that you are free, shall we have a good old fashioned battle? Real magic. Just us," he motions to his followers, "and you."

Someone behind him laughs. "Four witches and a human, Eamon? This will be more than easy."

The crowd titters, and Eamon holds up his hand to silence them. "Let us not forget we're up against Lark
and
Beck. Don't ever underestimate them, even in their weakened state."

Kyra brushes dirt off her dress. "Excuse me," she shouts. "Don't you ever underestimate me."

She sends off a flurry of destructive offensive magic. Her arms are but a blur as they quiver and shoot magic toward our attackers. Her normally carefree face is full of determination. Wave after wave of potent magic hammers Eamon's group until five men stumble backward before falling to the ground mortally wounded. Although I'm impressed, I have to save my thoughts for later, when we have time to discuss such things.
 

As I rush to my best friend's side, Maz and Beck scramble to the other end of our short line while Lena stays behind us, cowering and terrified. The four of us form a wall of magic, and I quickly throw up a defensive shield like Annalise taught me.
 

"Are you all," Lena gasps through her tears. "Are you all Sensitives?'

"Lena," I hiss. "This is not the time."

The shield quakes as magic strikes it, but nothing breaks through. For now, in this moment, we are safe.

"Is it going to hold?" Beck asks. He's facing away from me, at a slight angle, focusing his attention on Eamon's right flank.

"Of course," I say, even though I'm unsure. I haven't the heart to tell my friends that my experience with defensive spells is limited. I can rip roofs off buildings and make things explode, but protecting myself wasn't high on Mother's list of lessons for me. She expected me to be the aggressor.
 

A thought hits me. What if my shield doesn't hold? I've only done this spell once before, plus I'm dizzy and weak after healing Beck and freeing my friends. "Beck, can you do defensive spells?" I ask.

Magic hammers our protective surface, and sparks of red and blue bounce off. "Like a shield?"

"Yes."

"I can." His words come in huffs and spurts. "But Maz is better."

"Maz," I order. "Put up a secondary shield."

The air before us bends and shimmers.

Then something unusual happens: the two shields merge into one. It glows a light lilac.

"Can you hold this yourself?" I ask Maz.
 

"Yes."

I hold out my hands toward Kyra.
 

"Show me that trick," I say. "The first spell you did."

She shakes her head. "I have a better one."

I grasp onto her, the way I did with Mother and Annalise at Kyra's binding ceremony and focus all my energy on the magic flowing from my fearless friend.

The magic wells inside me bubbling like a fizzy drink that's growing in potency. When I can't bare to hold it in anymore, I release it. Sunshine-colored sparks leap from my fingertips, and suddenly, without an indication, Eamon and his followers vanish.
 

"What did we do?" I ask.

"I don't know," Kyra responds. "It wasn't supposed to look like that."

My shoulders tremble, and the shield falters. I turn to look at my friends – or my enemies, I'm not entirely sure – and collapse.
 

"Beck," I croak before allowing unconsciousness to take me.
 

CHAPTER THREE

"Would you like to play a game, little Lark bird?" Callum teased, using the nickname Beck had given me.

Beck and I sat under the tree, each of us eating an apple, and oblivious to the world around us. I never heard Callum sneak up.