Nightingale (The Sensitives)

by Dawn Rae Miller

  Not again.

  Annalise and Oliver shove Ryker out of the way and position themselves on each side of me. “We need to leave,” Annalise says in a ragged voice.

  Panicked senior officials and their mates hurry off to secure rooms.

  Cowards.

  “Who is it?” I shout. The adrenaline flooding my system has left me breathless.

  Annalise keeps her clear blue eyes focused on a spot near the front window. “I’m not sure. We’ve had no reports of unrest in the area.”

  “Unrest?” I say. “This is magic. It’s either the Light witches or Eamon’s Splinter group—”

  An explosion at the rear of the hall sends debris flying toward us. Annalise flings me to the ground and throws her body over mine. My ears ring and everything around me sounds muffled.

  Annalise stands up and yanks me to my feet. “We’re leaving.”

  Ash and smoke fill the air, burning my eyes and choking me.

  “No.” I copy my guards’ defensive posture, hands ready. “I’m not running away.”

  I may not of have been able to fight at Summer Hill, but I can now. Nothing will stop me from defending my friends and family.

  Somehow, Mother has made her way to the front of the room, toward the noise. Her body quivers has she paces. “Lark, I want you here.” When I don’t immediately move, she snaps, “Now!”

  The crowd parts and I hurry to Mother’s side. The walls of the banquet hall shake with such force I fear the ceiling may collapse.

  “Listen very carefully. I want you to feel my power, wrap your mind around it and use it. Annalise’s too. Let her power enter you.”

  “I…I’m not sure I understand.”

  The windows at the front of the room shatter and screams erupt all around me.

  “Now!” Mother yells. “Do it now, Lark!”

  Wave after wave of magic lashes at me. But unlike in the past, I can sense which piece is Annalise’s and which is Mother’s. They wrap around me and snake into my core. Horror, sadness, fear—it all mingles together, churning, gathering, growing stronger until I can’t contain it anymore.

  Magic bursts from me and I can’t stop it. The side of the hall explodes and the dark sky erupts in fireball, exposing the shadowy figures circling the perimeter of the hall. They fall back, blasted by whatever I’ve done.

  I stare at my quivering hands and then the gaping hole. What have I done?

  15

  The world rushes past me. Men in evening coats and woman in elegant gowns storm through the gaping hole in the side of the house, hurling magic at our attackers. The air crackles and sparks.

  I’ve lost track of Mother, but as always, Annalise and Oliver are at my side. And Ryker? I swing my eyes around the now near vacant room. “Where’s Ryker?”

  “He went out, as he should,” Oliver replies. His disapproving gaze is locked on my brother, Callum, who stands near the back of the room. “Only cowards hide.”

  To my surprise, Annalise makes no effort to defend her mate.

  My brother may be a coward. But I’m not. And I’m not going to let my future mate show me up, either.

  Before my guards can stop me, I run through the opening. Whizzing balls of magic soar past me and explode on impact. The smoke chokes the oxygen from my lungs, but I press forward. Eamon is here. He has to be. No one else is crazy enough to attack a hall full of Dark witches.

  And unlike the last time I saw him, he’s not going to scare me into running away.

  Wind whips around me and my body trembles with magic. It surges through me leaving a sense of invincibility in its wake.

  “Lark!” Annalise yells as I stomp straight into the middle of the battle. “It’s not safe!”

  But I’m not thinking about safety. I have one goal: to find Eamon, make him tell me where Beck is, and then destroy the man who tormented me.

  A ball of light zooms toward me and I fling out my hand in an attempt to push it away. To my surprise, it spirals back toward the sender and makes contact. An unearthly howl of pain fills my ears.

  Interesting. I focus on another light ball and shove my hand forward again. Like the last one, it too reverses course. I may not have Mother’s abilities, but at least I can do something.

  My dress drags through the mud and melted snow as I press deeper into the mêlée. A woman I don’t recognize grabs my arm. When I can’t shake her loose, I whip my elbow into her gut. She doubles forward, releasing me, and I slam my forearm across the back of her neck. She slumps to the ground.

  A familiar mop of dark hair darts past me.

  Ryker.

  I spin and run after him as best I can in my heels. He’s a sight to behold; the attacking witches crumple before him and anytime magic nears him, he dodges it or slams it away. I am in awe. I had no idea he was so skilled.

  Frustrated by my slow progress, I kick off my shoes. Ryker weaves in and out of the fighting, determined to move forward. And then I see who he’s headed for: Eamon.

  My heartbeat accelerates and hate floods my system. Eamon stands behind a line of Light witches I vaguely recognize as members of the Splinter group. A cruel smile forms on his lips. I lift my hand and stretch it out toward him. Magic sparks off the tips of my fingers. I can feel it, all I have to do is will him dead and he would be.

  I want this so badly, so why can’t I do it?

  Ryker turns toward me and he shakes his head, before charging ahead, into the line of Light witches.

  No. Ryker is not going to take this from me. With singular focus, I move closer to the Light witches. They see me now.

  Eamon sees me.

  He holds out his thumb and forefinger and pinches them together. Like he’s blotting me out. He shifts to the right and my heart plummets.

  A flash of wavy blond hair. A bronzed arm. My eyes lock on two olive green ones staring back at me and the air rushes from my lungs. My legs wobble, threatening to give out.

  Beck.

  There is no sound. No battle. Just the two of us. My heart thrums and threatens to burst through my chest. His emotions flood my mind, drowning me in his sorrow and worry. He’s terrified.

  I stretch my arms toward him, beckoning him closer. I don’t care if it’s dangerous; Beck is alive. He’s alive and he’s here. With me.

  You’re safe, I say in my mind. A cry rips from my throat. It’s insane, but all I want is to run away with him. Right now.

  Run with me? I ask.

  He shakes his head and turns his face from mine. I can’t.

  He moves deeper into the fold behind Eamon. I blink, trying to understand what I’m seeing. Did he really turn his back on me? Did we just communicate, after months of nothing but static? Does he hate me? Was Mother telling me the truth?

  Two hands grab me from behind and pull me down. “Your Mother said to stop,” Dawson says.

  “Let me go!” I kick at him, but he continues to hold my arms down. I can’t move my arms. And if I can’t move my arms, I can’t do magic.

  Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

  “Beck!” I scream. “Come back! Please.” Not even the roar of battle muffles my sobs.

  Annalise materializes next to us. “Get her out of here. She’s going to ruin everything.”

  While still holding my arms, Dawson transports us away from the battle and into my office at the State’s building.

  “Let me go!” I sputter as Dawson releases me. “I could have had him! Eamon was right there.”

  “And so was Beck. You were headed into their trap.”

  I cross my arms and clench my jaw. “There was no trap.”

  “Have you forgotten that no one can kill Beck without harming you? Eamon is using him as a shield. If we moved against him, he’d most likely kill Beck and in turn, you.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. How did I forget that? All this time, I’ve been worried that he’s dead. But of course he’s not. Because I would be dead, too.

  Which means, there’s still the possibility he isn’t here w
illingly.

  I pound the side of my head with my palm. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?

  Annalise and Oliver materialize, one after the other, into my office. Their eveningwear is splattered with mud and jagged holes line Annalise’s dress. She glares at me. “You stupid, stupid girl. Are you trying to get killed?”

  “I’m…” My voice trembles. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”

  Annalise’s lip curls. “You didn’t realize what? That running into a battle with no training is a completely idiotic thing to do?” She rips her torn skirt in half and tosses the rags into the fire. “You’re not ready for that kind of fight. Not yet.”

  “But Ryker—”

  “Is a trained State assassin. He knew what he was doing. Unlike you who thought it was a good idea to run into the middle of the fight and fling magic all over the place. That woman you nearly killed is one of Malin’s advisors. She’s with us.”

  My mind spins. “Ryker is an assassin?” I manage to choke out.

  “He’s an Enforcer. That’s his job. To kill people. Humans. Light witches. Splinter group. It doesn’t matter. If they threaten the State or you, Ryker takes care of them.”

  I press my fingertips into the bridge of my nose. “He doesn’t work in correspondence deciphering wristlet communications?”

  My voice sounds pathetic, even to me.

  Annalise’s thin laugh fills the air. “Of course not. Why do you think he took so many extra classes?” She shakes her head at me. “Malin would never allow him to be your mate if he was only a low level clerk.”

  I sit on the edge of the sofa. The tattered, dirty bottom of my dress brushes my bare feet. Ryker is a State Enforcer. I knew this. Back at school, he let everyone around him know it was his career choice. But I had no idea he was training to be an assassin. To kill enemies of the State…like Beck.

  The two of them are out there right now. Only Ryker can’t touch him, because doing so will hurt me. At least for a few more days.

  Then it’s open season on Beck. And me.

  I drop my head into my hands. Nothing makes sense.

  I remember the way Ryker looked at me, when I told him about our binding. He grabbed my arm and told me he was loyal. To never, ever forget.

  He was warning me.

  His loyalty is with the State. Just like mine should be. And when the time comes, he’ll do his duty.

  Even if it means killing someone who was once his best friend.

  Tears splatter across the bodice of my mud-crusted dress. “Which mate should I be loyal too? The one I love or the one I’ve been sentenced to?”

  Annalise yanks at my arm and jerks me to my feet and drags me across the room. “The two of you need to leave,” she says to my other guards.

  Oliver crosses his arms and plants his feet wide. Dawson is his normal stoic self. Quiet and brooding.

  “Don’t lie to me, Lis,” Oliver says, grabbing Annalise by the shoulders. The color drains from her face and she drops my arm. “What’s going on?” he says, angrily.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “She’s permanently bound to him, isn’t she?” Oliver demands.

  Annalise twists away from him, but Oliver grabs her face in his hands and pulls her back around. He bends his head while tilting her chin up, so the two of them are staring into each other’s eyes. Annalise’s body trembles. She’s flustered. Or more correctly, lost.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her like this.

  Except it isn’t. At her binding, Beck and I overheard her talking to a boy about…my mother punishing them. Annalise was crying and the boy was encouraging her to…

  “Lis, Malin can’t keep this secret forever. You know that. You know how dangerous secrets are.”

  My eyes dart between Oliver and Annalise. They’re about the same age. Is it possible Oliver was the boy in the garden?

  Dawson clears his throat and Oliver releases Annalise. She stumbles backward, and grabs the corner of the desk for support. Her face is flushed and unshed tears sit in her eyes.

  “Lark,” Dawson says in his deep baritone. “Are you bound to Beck?”

  “Yes.” My voice is barely audible. “Beck and I bound ourselves. We love each other.”

  Oliver kicks over a table. “Damn it, Lis. Who the hell am I supposed to defend her against? The Light witches? Our own people? And why didn’t you tell us about this mess?”

  I don’t want to discuss this, or hear it discussed. Like a child I cup my hands over my ears.

  “Are we not supposed to attack Beck now?” Dawson asks. “Will killing him after her birthday injure Lark?”

  Annalise snaps her head up. Gone is the trembling woman of a few moments ago. She’s been replaced by a cool, collected States woman. “The objective remains the same. After Lark’s birthday, if Beck Channing is within your range, you are to kill on sight.”

  “Stop it! No one is going to kill Beck, do you understand? No one.” I pin Annalise against the wall, my forearm to her throat. Her eyes grow wide, first in terror, then delight.

  I loosen my grip and Annalise slides under my arm. “At least you care about something.”

  I tap my head against the wall. One. Two. Three. Four. My heartbeat slows and my breathing evens. “I’m sorry.”

  Annalise gives an exasperated sigh. “You did nothing wrong. In battle you’ll have to do much worse. You need to get over it. Killing is who you are. It’s in your blood.”

  Waves of nausea pummel me. I can’t deny it anymore.

  I am a killer.

  #

  According to the wallscreen, there was a gas explosion at the Binding Hall. Several members of State were killed along with two Eastern diplomats. Dozens of others were injured.

  “Off,” I say and the screen fades to black. My guards and I have been locked in my office for nearly three hours. So far, Annalise has only told me that Mother is at an undisclosed location and that she is working on securing our home so we can return. In the meantime, I’m stuck in a twenty by twenty space with three people who quite possibly despise me. And more secrets and half-truths than I can keep track of.

  “Do you think the blast killed all those people?” I ask.

  Annalise has taken up residence behind my desk, far away from Oliver, and has logged into the State’s secure feeds. She looks up from her work. “I believe they died honorably while fighting.”

  Well, there’s that at least.

  “Is Ryker okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Annalise drops her tablet on the desk. “Is there anything else, or can I get back to work. Unless you would prefer to sleep here tonight?”

  I shake my head. I want to inquire about Beck, but I know it will only make things worse.

  Annalise’s wristlet chirps and she presses the soft spot behind her ear. As she listens, her lips press tightly together, and her eyes become distant.

  “Where are they now?” she asks in a monotone voice. She waits for a response. “I see.”

  She swings her eyes to me and then to a spot across the room. “Malin, are you sure? She’s—”

  After a few seconds, Annalise turns off her wristlet.

  “Malin requests your presence at the hospital. Henry and someone named Eloise are there.”

  16

  The lights flicker in rhythm with my heartbeat as I sprint barefoot down the endless hallway. As soon as Annalise told me about Henry and Eloise, I transported to the hospital. I didn’t bother to land in a secure zone. Maybe that’s reckless, but I don’t care.

  “Lark! Wait!” Annalise calls from behind me. Pure adrenaline and fear propel me forward. There’s no way she can catch me. Not without using magic and she won’t. Not in public.

  I’m not sure where I’m going, but something tells me to head to the third floor. Before Annalise can stop me, I step and spin, transporting myself up two floors.

  Annalise claims to know nothing other than what Mother told her: Henry and Eloise wer
e taken during the battle, and at Mother’s instance, they were granted clemency.

  It doesn’t make sense. Why would they attack us? No—why would they attack me? They’re my friends.

  Unless, like Beck, they were being used as pawns.

  A tight knot of people crowd around the entrance of a room toward the end of a short hallway.

  “Excuse me,” I say. When no one moves, I raise my voice. “Excuse me. I need to get through.”

  The man in front of me shoots a scowl over his shoulder. He does a double take before stepping back with a slight bow of his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Lark. I didn’t know it was you.”

  I ignore him and shove through the throng of people. When I reach the doorway, I freeze.

  Henry kneels next to the bed, his face covered in soot.

  But that’s not what makes my blood run cold. On the bed, above the blankets, lies Eloise. Her pale, ashen skin looks almost gray in the dark room, and an enormous crimson gash oozes blood through her shredded shirt.

  Henry stands to greet me. A red wristlet encircles his arm and he stumbles.

  He’s been branded a criminal.

  I rush to his side, hoping to spare my uncle the humiliation of shuffling toward me and silence falls over the bystanders.

  My dry mouth tries different combination of sounds, before finding the words I don’t want to say, but have to. “Is she dead?”

  Henry shakes his head. “Not yet. But she will be if she doesn’t receive attention soon.”

  I turn to the group watching us from the doorway. “Someone get the healer,” I say politely. When it seems as if I’ve gone unheard, I growl, “Get the healer.”

  The room springs to life with witches jumping this way and that.

  But it’s not because of me. Mother has appeared next to me and grabs me from behind. She presses my arms to my side. I struggle and try to pull away from her, but she’s stronger than she looks.

  “Calm, Lark. This could be a trap.”

  “You have Henry branded, and Eloise is nearly dead. It’s not a trap.” A constant drumming fills my head and I tremble. Magic flows from my fingertips, and the air around Mother and me shifts, shimmering in the dim light. I realize she’s only physically holding me. Mother isn’t trying to block my magic.