Nightingale (The Sensitives)

by Dawn Rae Miller

Maz holds up his hands. “Never.”

  Kyra shows me a picture on her wristlet. “This is the alley on Haight. I’ll meet you there.”

  She blinks out, leaving Maz, Ryker, and I behind.

  A plan forms slowly in my mind. Maybe we don’t have to go anywhere at all. Maybe I can send Maz ahead and Ryker and I can talk alone for a few minutes? “Maz?” I say. “You next?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m going last. Why don’t you and Ryker go at the same time? Just in case something happens?”

  My legs shake. “Okay.” I don’t move.

  “Are you ready?” Ryker asks.

  “Yes.” Not really. If I can’t do this on the first try, then what? Will Kyra have to come back to get me? How mortifying.

  I picture the alley in my mind and step forward. To my surprise, everything goes black. My toe hits the ground and I wobble to gain my balance.

  Next to me, Kyra shuffles her feet. “Not bad. But next time, try not to land so close. Personal space and all.”

  “Sorry.”

  Maz and Ryker step out from the shadows. Even though he saw her minutes ago, Maz lifts Kyra so her feet dangle off the ground and kisses her on the lips. I turn my head. Open affection disturbs me. It feels wrong.

  Ryker fidgets with the sleeves of his coat and walks closer to me. “Do you think they’ll always be so nauseating?”

  I laugh. “Probably.”

  “When I get my mate, I promise we’ll never act like that.” He jabs his thumb in Maz and Kyra’s direction.

  I pause and double check his wristlet. It’s blue, not orange like a Singleton. “You don’t have a mate?” By this time, everyone should be sorted out and paired off.

  “When I switched houses, all the Dark witches had already been paired off.” He shrugs. “Not that I mind. If Lena wasn’t human, I’d want to be with her.”

  Well. Ryker is full of surprises today, isn’t he? “You…loved her?” I say the word slowly. It’s not something that rolls naturally off my tongue.

  “I guess. I like her more than any other girl. I think about her all the time. But it doesn’t matter. She’s not for me.” He tilts his head back and stares at the sky. “Besides, she’s bound to someone else. Last week. Kyra told me.”

  Part of me wants to tell him that’s why he should have followed the rules and not formed an attachment to her, but he sounds…sad. Ryker actually liked Lena. And he’ll never be allowed to be with her because she’s human.

  “Laaark,” Kyra singsongs. “Let’s go.”

  I glance at Ryker. There are a million questions I want to fire at him about Beck and Lena. But with Kyra and Maz here, it isn’t the time. There’s a reason he waited until we were alone to say what he did.

  We step out onto a bustling street. I’m not entirely sure where we are, having never ventured outside of the allowed areas.

  People, who I think are mostly humans, pack the street. Music floats around us as Maz guides us toward the venue. The closer we get, the thicker the crowd grows.

  Suddenly, worry nibbles at me. “What if someone recognizes me?”

  Ryker and Maz exchange knowing glances before they burst out laughing.

  “What?” I demand.

  “We’re counting on you to scare the hell out of them to keep them quiet,” Maz says. “Give them that bitchy look of yours. The one you threw at those diplomats on the train.”

  My mouth drops open. “What?” Apparently, I’m stuck on that word.

  Kyra pats my hand. “No Dark witch will dare snitch on you. Not with the rumors floating around about your abilities. As for humans, Malin has little contact with them.”

  Great. So I terrify everyone.

  But as we walk down the street, four across and wearing formalwear, I begin to think maybe it isn’t such a bad problem after all. Most people do a double take and upon recognizing me, scurry away. Excitement builds in my chest. Maybe being famous isn’t so bad after all.

  Kyra stays at my side, quiet. She holds her finger against her wristlet and her eyes scan the crowd. Of course. She’s in guard mode. We may be sneaking out, but if something happens to me…

  “What’s there?” I ask, pointing up the block to the where people stand at least six deep.

  “Looks like a daily display of Sensitives,” Ryker says. We’ve stopped before a slightly run down building.

  My heart plummets at the mention of Sensitives. “It doesn’t look the same as on the wallscreen.”

  Ryker shakes his head. “Do you think the State would broadcast this?” He motions to the crowded street around us. “I bet most of the ones we see are staged.”

  Even though he’s probably right, my eyes grow wide. Am I the only person in the entire society who isn’t cynical about the State?

  Kyra and Maz slink through the blacked out front door of the building and I follow them. Music pulses through the confined, dark space.

  “Are they…like us?” I yell into my wristlet. I have no word for non-witch. Human doesn’t sound right, since we’re all human. Plus, I’m still not convinced our wristlets aren’t being tracked or listened to.

  Ryker’s eyes glow slightly under the black lights. “Who?”

  “The people being sentenced out there.”

  He gives me a funny look. “I don’t know. Probably not. Most look like normal people.”

  I take a step back toward the door but Kyra holds her wristlet to her mouth. “Let it go, Lark.”

  But how can I? Those innocent people are accused of crimes and will be condemned to hard labor and lives away from their families. It’s wrong.

  And yet I know Kyra’s right. The people want to see that the State is strong on this issue. It’s the only way to protect the witches. Or is it? Everyone has told me the best way to stay safe is to hide in plain sight, but is it the truth?

  The concert goers gyrate around me and sweaty bodies bump into me without an apology. I dodge swinging arms and force my way through the dimly lit club. The hem of my dress drags on the ground, and I lift it so no one steps on it.

  It’s not the most pleasant place, but for once, I’m anonymous. A wide grin stretches across my face. Never in my whole life have I been in public and not had people pay attention to me.

  It’s…odd.

  A cheer rises from the crowd as a woman, wearing not much more than her orange wristlet and three strategically placed pieces of fabric, struts across the stage. Her shorn hair is so short that if I couldn’t see the curve of her breasts, I’d believe her to be a man. She throws something and the audience goes wild. The more they scream, the more feral she looks.

  I hold my wristlet to my mouth and beam to Ryker’s feed. “What is this place?

  He places his wristlet to his ear before speaking into it. The words blast out of my wristlet. “It’s an off-grid club. Our wristlets only work over the local feed. They scramble the State’s signals.”

  Off-grid club? Scrambled feeds? I had no idea such things were even possible.

  “Won’t the Listeners get suspicious?” I ask.

  I can’t hear him laugh, but his eyes crinkle and he grins. “Not when they’re paid off, they won’t.”

  Jaw meets floor.

  Music that sounds like trains colliding pours from every wristlet around us. I cover my ears to block the noise, but Kyra, Maz, and Ryker bob their heads to some unheard rhythm.

  It’s positively awful.

  “Have a drink,” a woman, no a man, in an yellow ruffled dress says as he hands me a tall glass. “It’s called ‘Power to the People’ and we made it special for the show tonight.”

  Before I can ask him what’s in it, he saunters away, handing out drinks to the next group.

  Kyra darts out her hand and takes the glass from me. “Where did you get this?” she demands.

  I point in the direction of the odd man, but he’s been swallowed by the crowd. She sniffs it and shakes her head. “I have no idea what’s in it.”

  “Try it,” Ryker says. “It’
s not like anyone here knew Lark was coming or can really see her in this light. I doubt it’s poisonous.”

  “They saw us come in.” Kyra flashes him a look of disgust. “You try it.”

  Never one to back down from a challenge, Ryker takes the glass and begins to chug. The three of us watch him.

  Ryker wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s fine. Just some rum and fizzy soda.” He hands it back to me. “Try it.”

  I look to Kyra for approval. She shrugs, so I take a small sip. It tastes sweeter than champagne, but not sickly sweet. I take another sip before passing it back to Ryker.

  He sets the glass on a nearby table and grabs my hand. “C’mon, Lark. Let’s dance..” As he spins me, I lose my balance and knock into the man next to me.

  “Careful, now,” the man says. A flash of red wristlet from beneath the edge of his shirtsleeve catches my attention and I jump back as he yanks at his sleeve.

  Once I would have screamed for security. I would have let fear overwhelm me. I would have hated him. Now, all I see is a poor man, forced to live on the fringe of society all so that we witches can perpetuate a charade.

  I glance at my friends but they’re too busy ogling the barely dressed performer gyrating on the stage to notice the man and me.

  When I look at him again, our eyes lock and I can’t turn away. His skin is leathery brown, but he can’t be much older than me. Maybe twenty-two, at the most. His cheeks have a gaunt, underfed look and his chapped lips are parted in surprise, as if he recognizes me. He looks like a Sensitive: mangy, dirty, wild.

  And I look like Lark Greene. The privileged daughter of the woman who branded him Sensitive.

  I am everything he should hate.

  9

  The man doesn’t break eye contact with me. His lips pucker and he raises an eyebrow. The noise in the club can’t drown out the ten haunting notes as they pass his lips.

  The Alouette.

  The song of the Splinter group.

  The man’s lips twitch into a taunting smile.

  Adrenaline rushes through my body, heightening my senses. Everywhere I look, flashes of red wristlets glow in the darkened room.

  How could we—no, how could my friends be so stupid as to come here? They had to have known the clientele of the club. I should have known better.

  Magic burns in my heart, begging to be released. It presses against my chest and I rock back on my feet.

  I can’t lash out here.

  I can’t—

  A ball of fire explodes near the stage. For a second, the crowd stands in stunned silence, but not me. My entire body trembles as another wave of magic builds inside me.

  “Kyra,” I scream. All three of my friends pivot toward me. Ryker, who is closest to me, throws his arms around my body, shielding me.

  “Are you okay?” he says.

  Kyra shoves between us. “Did you do that?”

  I nod. “I don’t know. There was a man. A Sensitive. He whistled the Alouette. And…and I couldn’t stop it.”

  The crowd has now gone into panic mode, pushing and shoving their way toward the exits. Black, acrid smoke fills the area around the stage.

  “We have to get out of here.” Kyra scans the crowd. “Ryker, stay right next to Lark. Do not leave her side. Do you understand?”

  Ryker nods. “Should we transport?”

  “No. We can’t risk it. Even in this mess. Let’s just get her outside.”

  We push our way through the maze of flailing body parts toward the exit. The closer we get to the doors, the thicker the crowd grows. There’s one door and at least two hundred people fighting to get out. I’m bumped and jostled from every direction, and shoved deeper into the core of the mob. But Ryker never lets go of me. His fingers dig into my arm and yank me back toward him.

  When we’re within feet of the exit, he throws out his arm, knocking a woman backward and flings me forward.

  The frigid night air stings my face and my ears ring. Everything sounds distant. I’m pushed off to the side, out of the way, and I lean against the wall. Filth and grime cover the hem of my dress and sweat dampens my underarms.

  Kyra rushes toward me while Maz and Ryker stand a few feet away. All three of them have the same terrified look. “Are you okay?” Kyra asks.

  I smooth the front of my dress. “I’m fine. I was frightened and I couldn’t stop myself.”

  Firemen rush toward the building carrying packs of retardant on their backs. A few of them hack at the exit, trying to make the escape route bigger.

  “Malin is going to kill me.” Kyra sags against Maz. “Of all the stupid things, Lark. Couldn’t you have at least tried not to set the stage on fire?”

  “This isn’t my fault! You know I can’t control myself.”

  “Not your fault? You suggested sneaking out. You wanted to come here.” Kyra’s eyes flash with anger.

  “And you went along with it,” I snap, “after suggesting it.”

  “Because I thought it would cheer you up. You’ve been acting deso all day. Moping because you did so amazingly fabo on your assessment. Well boo freaking hoo.”

  My fingers twitch in anger. All three of my friends stare at me, waiting for me to say something. But instead, I turn and sprint into the crowd gathered at the far end of the block, back toward the location of the safe transportation zone. I have to get away from Kyra before I hurt her.

  “Stop!” Ryker yells. Ice cold daggers of magic stab at my back, but I keep running.

  My heart pounds in my chest as I squeeze and duck through the crowd. Tears run down my face. I should never have let Mother take off the restraint. I’m too unpredictable.

  An indecipherable shout rings out. For a moment, I think the crowd I’ve been swallowed by has noticed the burning building at the other end of the street. But the people around me face the opposite direction of the fire, toward an illuminated stage where screens hover on each side.

  I turn in a circle, trying to figure out which way to go next. Only few people separate me from the stage. Four men in their twenties stand shackled together with their left wrists clamped in heavy red wristlets.

  Just like the man in the club.

  What was I thinking leaving my friends? Maybe it’s the alcohol, but ever since Ryker whispered to me at the banquet tonight, I’ve felt reckless and I’ve been making stupid decisions.

  My alert mind searches for Eamon, or anyone I recognize from Summer Hill. But the truth is, I have no idea how to tell if I’m standing in a crowd of humans or witches. Or the Splinter group.

  And that scares me. I need to get back to Kyra. Running off may have kept me from lashing out at her, but she has to be terrified that she’s lost me. It’s not fair to her.

  As I begin to move away from the stage, the crowd falls silent. Damn. There’s no way through the throng without drawing attention to myself.

  My finger hovers over my wristlet. I could ping Kyra and tell her where I am…but what if it gets picked up by one of Mother’s people?

  I groan. There’s no good solution except staying here for the moment and hoping my friends haven’t left.

  A fit woman in a skin-tight Enforcer uniform crosses the stage and the temperament of the crowd shifts from excitement to anticipation.

  When the woman stops in the middle the stage, the crowd roars to life chanting in manic unison: “Pun-ish them! Pun-ish them!”

  The shortest of the four condemned men hangs his head dejectedly while the rest of them show a mixture of fear and panic.

  With a satisfied smile, the woman holds up her hands and the chanting turns into a soft mew. The State’s anthem blares around me and everyone snaps to attention, eyes fixed forward until the song’s end.

  When it’s over, the people in front of me move so that I can’t see the stage. Whatever is happening, the crowd loves it. I can’t even see the hover screens. A drawback to being short. All around me, people yell, stomp their feet and cheer.

  Then the crowd quiets do
wn.

  “Dear people of the State,” the Enforcer woman begins. Her words have an Eastern society trill, which I find odd. Why not use our own Enforcers?

  I stand on my tiptoes, for a better look. Newscaster cameras buzz over the Enforcer’s head. “These Sensitives before you stand convicted of heinous crimes against the State. Stealing. Vandalizing. Consorting with enemies. Even mind control. They must be punished.”

  Yells of “Punish them” rise up again along with a few whistles.

  “Li Bai Smythe,” the Enforcer says as another woman pushes the first man forward. “You are accused of using your abilities to steal produce from a public market and are hereby sentenced to a labor crew in the far north for a time no shorter than eight years.”

  My hand flies to my mouth. No one can survive that kind of work for that long under those conditions. Not with the constant below freezing temperatures, poor shelter, and lack of quality food. Surely the State knows this. It’s why the Northern Society remains largely uninhabited.

  Whistles fill the air again as the atmosphere takes on an almost festival-like feel. As if watching the sentencings of these men is equivalent to watching the performer back inside the club.

  I roll my shoulders a little and try to calm the sense of unease growing in me. Knowing that most, if not all Sensitives, are nothing more than petty human criminals, I can’t help be feel disgusted over the whole charade. And yet, I can’t tear myself from the spectacle.

  The second and third men are sentenced and hurried off the stage in much of the same way, leaving the final short man alone on the stage. The Enforcer bobbles her head between the tablet in her hand and the man, before motioning to a woman off stage, who runs to her side. The Enforcer points at the tablet in confusion.

  It’s strange the way the two women keep checking the tablet and then glancing at the last man. He keeps his blank eyes fixed on something just beyond the audience. He doesn’t smile, or sneer, or give any indication that he’s aware of the crowd.

  Finally, the original woman shakes her head and hands the tablet to the new woman, whose mouth is slightly ajar. She looks like she may cry.

  The new woman faces the crowd and keeps her eyes down on the tablet. “Toran Mikas, son of Stellan and Sava Mikas.” The woman’s voice breaks and I’m not sure she’s going to finish. Finally, she says, “You stand accused of plotting the assassination of Malin Greene, our Vice Head. For this, you are sentenced to death.”