Nightingale (The Sensitives)

by Dawn Rae Miller

  I jump back, but I keep my hands up. The pulses radiating from Mother slam into something invisible and explode before me. But they don’t touch me.

  I quickly inspect my body, making sure I have all my parts, and see slivers of ice lying at my feet.

  “Well done, Love.” Mother grins, shifting her weight back and forth between the balls of feet and her heels. She flings both her arms toward me with fingers splayed. “Deflect.”

  A suffocating gust of hot air envelops me.

  I spin, drawing the heat closer to me just as I remember Eloise doing with the moonlight. A soft orange glow surrounds me and my body quivers as I struggle to keep whatever I’ve done from exploding from my fingertips.

  “The way you move is breathtaking,” Mother says from her position across the room. “Such innate ability. One can’t learn these things.”

  A smirk spreads across my face. Little does she know. “Eloise taught me,” I say as I ball my fists, waiting for whatever is coming next.

  “Eloise?” Mother’s voice has a hint of disbelief, as if what I’ve said is impossible.

  “Yes. Do you know her?” I haven’t forgotten the way Mother forced the healer to skip Eloise’s information during my session. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but her reaction now piques my curiosity.

  Mother taps her finger against her lips. “Only by reputation.”

  The heat inside me pounds against my chest and, no longer able to contain it, I unfurl my fingers. The small gesture sends me flying backwards into the wall and I land in a heap on the floor. Across the room, Mother is sprawled in an undignified manner, her dress bunched over her hips and her arms outstretched.

  I jump to my feet. “Mother?” I cry. “Are you all right?” She doesn’t move. I sprint across the room and skid to a stop next to her limp body. What if she’s injured? Or worse—what if I killed her?

  “Mother,” I say, shaking her. “Wake up.”

  When she doesn’t respond, I press her wristlet only to find myself immobilized. Mother suddenly stands, rearranges her clothes, and pats her hair.

  “Oh Lark, you are a quick learner, aren’t you?” Mother says. Her eyes twinkle in delight giving her a slightly manic look. When she grins like this, all teeth and eye crinkles, she reminds me of Kyra when she’s about to do something spectacularly terrible. “But you’re too sentimental. Too trusting.”

  An invisible vice squeezes me softly and my eyes grow wide.

  “This is what happens when you let your defenses down: you lose.”

  My voice is locked in my paralyzed body, like when she had Dawson set me on fire. The pressure increases substantially and the room blinks and fades out around me.

  “Make me stop,” Mother says calmly.

  My arms stay pinned to my sides despite my efforts.

  “Are you even trying? I’ll get it started for you.” Mother rocks back on her heels faster until I sense a weakening in the force around me. When she turns her head, the vibrations of her magic wash over me. Deep inside me, my magic trembles, trying to break free.

  Wind and rain whip through the room, but Mother keeps smiling at me like a lunatic. “That’s right. Feel the magic. Let it grow stronger inside you.”

  My pulse hammers in my ears as rage engulfs me. My body struggles beneath the power of her magic. Sweat drips down my forehead and off the tip of my nose, but I don’t break concentration.

  And then the hold she has on me vanishes. I slump to the ground, exhausted.

  With a sigh, Mother pats me on the head. “That’s enough for today.”

  Whatever spell she used against me is gone and I bristle at her touch. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m sorry, Love, but I had to see how your magic worked. How you do it.”

  I grind my teeth. She did all this to see what I can do? Fury oozes from my words. “I don’t know how I do it.”

  “You may not, but I do.”

  “Do you plan on telling me?”

  She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

  With a long, deep breath I stand and place my shaking hands against the conference table, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart. “Why can’t I know? Is my magic that terrible?”

  Mother glides across the room and pours herself a glass of water. “It’s not terrible, Love. It’s a wonderful, beautiful thing. You’re incredibly strong. Stronger than I was at your age.”

  I wrap my hand over my left wrist where the restraint once encircled my arm. “Then why are you making me wear that horrible device? Why can’t I have my magic?”

  “Do you want it?”

  I gape at her. Is this what she’s wanted all along? For me to ask for my magic?

  “It’s not a hard question. Do you want your magic? Are you willing to accept the responsibility?”

  Every day Mother’s come to me and asked how I feel about Beck. And every day, she’s been able to force the truth from me, even when I’ve doubted it myself. But she’s never asked if I want my magic. Never been so clear about what holding on to the dream of Beck is costing me.

  And the thing is, I do want my magic. Want it so badly my soul aches. I want to feel the power and the sense of accomplishment. And I want to be good at it.

  No. I want to be the best.

  My fingers twitch in anticipation.

  “Yes. I want my magic.”

  6

  “Do you think she knew?”

  “She looks different.”

  “You would too if you’d been held captive by heartless monsters.”

  My insides churn as the whispers grow louder and my guards part the sea of students crowding around me. I’ve always disliked being in the public eye—the stares and the implications that I am different than my classmates. But now, I hate it. I hate the way their eyes hold a combination of sympathy and loathing.

  As if I asked for any of this.

  My fingers clench the strap of my satchel and I focus on breathing slowly. One. Two. Three. Four.

  “Easy, Lark,” Annalise says from my right side. “We’re almost there.”

  The hallway looks longer and more crowded than I remember. The lights brighter. The noises louder.

  “At least there aren’t any cameras,” I say. Even though I don’t like it, I understand I have to march through campus and let everyone see me. It’s all part of the façade, a way to show that we aren’t afraid of the Sensitives.

  A blond boy jogs up the staircase and my heart leaps. I must gasp out loud because all four of my guards immediately turn to me.

  “Are you okay?” Oliver asks.

  “I thought…” I shake my head, unable to say more. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. My eyes gloss over the throng of students watching me. How many of them think of me simply as Lark Greene, daughter of the Vice Head and descendant of Caitlin Greene? How many of them are Dark like me and know what I’m capable of?

  “Lark!” The Headmaster rushes forward as if to embrace me, but Oliver blocks him.

  “I’m sorry but we can’t permit anyone to touch Lark. Not after what she’s been through,” Oliver says. He holds his wristlet at waist level and discreetly scans the headmaster.

  “Of course,” the Headmaster stammers. “Forgive me.”

  A familiar prickle runs along my arms. Annalise yanks me back into the center of our group. “Get control of yourself.”

  Before I left for my assessment, Mother returned my blue wristlet. It sits where the restraint once was. The only thing preventing me from using magic is my self-control and my guards.

  It’s not very reassuring after all.

  The headmaster pushes open the door closest to us, exposing the classroom within. There are a few desks and chairs, but not much else.

  “Are you ready?” Kyra asks. Her dark curls are, for once, restrained in the tight ponytail of a States Woman, even though she has yet to officially claim that honor. Like Annalise, she wears a long, cream-colored coat and radiates elegance and refinement. Professionalism.

>   Me? Not so much. After Mother’s assault, I changed into a new day dress - green with lace trim, tights, and t-strap heels, and redid my hair into a ponytail. I look like a student.

  “I’m ready,” I say. I’ve spent my entire life preparing for this test. Looking forward to it, actually.

  Turning away from the prying eyes of the students rushing past, I’m positive Mother wants more than a demonstration of my academic skills. After what she did earlier, she has something planned for me. But I have no idea what. And that terrifies me.

  I can’t worry about Mother right now. I need to focus on scoring well in Agriculture because if I do, then Mother will have to send me to the Advanced Ag school for further training. Which means I can get out of here and live a quiet life somewhere away from the glare of newscaster cameras and curious stares. Possibly even away from Mother and her hot-cold personality shifts.

  With a jerk of my chin, I signal to Oliver I’m ready. Since I’m no longer allowed to enter buildings or rooms without my guards’ permission, I have to wait for him to scan everything.

  He holds his arm parallel to his torso as his wristlet chirps and buzzes. His fingers twitch and I sense the tremor of magic around him. Interesting. I narrow my eyes and study him more carefully. Yes, there’s definitely a flow of magic originating from Oliver. Does that mean he’s not actually using the wristlet?

  Annalise leans into me. “Stop staring. You’re drawing attention to Oliver.”

  I quickly look away and feign interest in the flickering poster mounted to the wall. Its screen is stuck between two images: one for afterschool choir and the other for lacrosse tryouts.

  Memories of a lacrosse stick laden with clothes dances through my mind. It seems like so long ago that I lived in that room with Beck.

  It’s ironic, really. The more the world tries to erase evidence of Beck’s existence, the more I think about him. I wish I hadn’t lost my necklace, the one Beck gave me on my seventeenth birthday.

  Sigh.

  “It’s safe to enter.” Oliver touches my arm gently and I march with heavy feet into the room.

  A tablet lies on a desk in the second row, and a teacher I’ve never had stands near the window. When she sees me, she gasps.

  “Lark! I didn’t…” Her eyes dart across my guards. “I wasn’t expecting you. I was told this was a make-up assessment for an ill student.”

  “As I’m sure you know, Lark was unable to sit for her assessment because she was kidnapped,” Annalise chides.

  With wide eyes, the teacher wrings her hands together. “Yes, of course,” she stutters. “I’m thrilled you’re home, safe and sound.”

  “I need your wristlet,” Dawson says. The teacher holds out her hand, as if this level of security is a normal part of her day. Dawson scans it. “She’s clear.”

  The teacher flutters about, shifting items around the desk. “Take your seat,” she says. No Miss Lark or Miss Greene. Which means she’s not one of us.

  I slip off my coat and hand it to Dawson. To my surprise, he turns not toward the door, but to the back of the room where the rest of my guards stand.

  Kyra grins and slides behind a desk. I shoot her a puzzled look, thinking maybe she’s testing with me since she hasn’t completed her assessments. But there’s only one tablet.

  “Your mother secured permission for us to remain in the room with you during the testing,” Annalise says, pulling her tablet from her satchel. “Best of luck.”

  “Best of luck,” the other guards mumble. Oliver is already lost in his wristlet, tapping away. Probably playing a game. And Kyra is no doubt listening to music from the way she bobs her head to an unheard beat. She sees me staring and flashes an encouraging smile before turning her attention to her shiny, new, green wristlet.

  How did I not see that earlier? When did Kyra get a States woman wristlet? Or better yet, why did she get one without testing?

  I drop heavily into my seat and tap the tablet on. The screen flickers to life and a familiar sense of competition kicks in.

  The test isn’t difficult and for three hours, I lose myself in academics, typing out answers, sorting complex groupings, and doing my best. Until I get to the diplomacy section.

  The questions here are easy, too. Almost too easy. I frown at the test. There are only twelve questions left.

  My hand trembles as I punch in the answer for the next question.

  And the next.

  I stare at the third question. It’s a general knowledge one about treaties with the Center and Eastern societies. Even if I slept through twelve years of Societies class, I should still get this one right.

  But if I score too high in Leadership, then what? Will Mother force me into that career? Or one of the other areas I’m testing in? I have no doubt that given the opportunity, Mother will keep me in San Francisco. Far, far away from the greenhouses and my dream job.

  She’s given me back my magic, but it’s up to me to claim my career choice. My finger hovers over the tablet before typing out the answer—one I know is wrong, but only slightly so.

  I read the next question and again, give a slightly wrong answer.

  When I finish, I go back and change a few answers in every section except Agriculture. In that part, I scan my answers, doubling checking their accuracy. Henry would be proud.

  I pause. Henry.

  Why won’t Mother let me talk about him to the healers? What is she hiding?

  I must hesitate too long, because Annalise rushes to my side. “Is something wrong?”

  “Henry…he…” My mind churns, trying to work out…something.

  Annalise rests her hand on my arm and my mind stills. “He was your Agriculture teacher. You worked with him frequently.”

  I draw my brows together. “I know.”

  “You’re going to run out of time if you don’t finish soon.” Annalise pushes my tablet toward me.

  “Right.” I stare at the screen. Every answer appears filled in, so I rise from my seat and walk slowly toward the front of the room.

  “I’m finished.”

  The teacher takes the tablet. “Would you like to wait while I calculate the results? It could take twenty minutes depending on how loaded the system is.”

  Anxiety crawls up my arms, down my torso and explodes in my gut. “Yes, I’d like to wait.”

  She smiles at me. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  I slink back to my desk and Kyra moves up to sit next to me. “You did fabo, didn’t you?”

  I shrug. With the questions I threw, I’m actually not sure how I’ll score.

  “You did. I could tell. You went into the Lark-school-zone. Completely focused.” She holds up her shiny green wristlet. “I made a new mix. Do you want to listen?”

  I shake my head. “When did you get the new arm decoration?”

  Kyra’s fingers trace the intricate carving of her wristlet. “This morning when Annalise sent me ahead to the State. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Did you test for it?” I don’t hide the bitterness in my words.

  She purses her lips before answering. “No.”

  Flashes of red dance before my eyes. Am I the only one who has to follow official channels? Mother just gave Kyra a wristlet and I had to sit through three hours of grueling tests. Where’s the fairness in that?

  “Don’t be mad. Malin felt your rescue was test enough to prove my placement.”

  I snort and don’t bother to hide my annoyance. It’s not that I want to break the rules, I just want everyone else to follow them also. Is that too much to ask?

  “You know I despise tests,” Kyra says. This is true. Once, to get out of an exam in Societies, Kyra hid in a bathroom and then claimed she had her schedule confused.

  “Everyone hates tests,” I snap.

  “Except you. Have pity on us mere mortals.” She pushes out her bottom lip and bats her round eyes at me in the most ridiculous way, and I can’t help but smile.

  Nervous energy builds inside me a
nd to keep my legs from bouncing away, I stand and walk to the window. As I stare across the white hills, my breath forms a film of condensation. When we were little, Kyra and I would draw pictures on the steamy kitchen windows while we waited for Bethina to make us cookies.

  I close my eyes and remember how cozy it felt. Sometimes Bethina would sing songs about old pirates and blind mice. And when the cookies were done, she’d give us both one extra for keeping her company.

  “We should go out tomorrow,” Kyra says, joining me at the window. “To celebrate. Maybe see a concert? Maz said there’s a fabo band playing.” She holds her hand over her mouth in an attempt to hide her words from my other guards. “In the Haight.”

  I raise my eyebrows. The Haight is a notorious pit of debauchery and the seedy underbelly of San Francisco. No respectful States person would be seen there.

  It’s also where Sensitive sentencings take place.

  “I already told you I don’t feel up to it. Besides, I doubt Mother would let me go to the Haight. Especially after dark. I’m barely allowed out of my room.” I side-eye the rest of my guards. “And when I am, I have an escort.”

  The classroom door swings open and draws my attention to the front of the room. My stomach drops when the teacher stops near her desk. This moment could change my entire life. If I didn’t score well, because of my intentional wrong answers, I’ll be sent to some meaningless, low-level job.

  The teacher fidgets with her tablet while I hold my breath.

  Please, please let me get Agriculture.

  “Congratulations, Lark. You placed in the top two percent in Agriculture.” My breath whooshes out of me and I grin like a fool at Kyra. It takes me a moment to realize the teacher is still speaking.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You also scored in top two percent in Leadership.” She beams at me like this is a good thing. “Would you like your scores in the other areas?”

  “No.” My voice is barely audible over the howling wind and snow lashing the window. I place my hand over my heart, hoping to calm its thrumming against my ribcage.

  I scored too high in Leadership.