Larkstorm

by Dawn Rae Miller

  My fingers tremble as I unzip the front pocket of my backpack and take out the picture I stole from the album in my room. Beck and I smile from the wooden steps of the very porch wrapping three sides of this house, in front of the same row of low, white-washed chairs.

  The second story appears to be made entirely of glass, which gives the illusion the sloped roof floats above the rest of the house. Further off to the left are the smaller, brilliant white outbuildings. Just like the picture.

  I’m here.

  Like earlier, an invisible string tugs on me, urging me forward. I can’t explain how, but I know, absolutely know, Beck is here.

  Tears of relief threaten to ruin my moment as I run toward the house, eager to see him. But I’m stopped after three leaps by an invisible barrier. There’s no pain; just a sensation. Like landing in a thick mess of immovable pillows.

  Like at school, a transparent barrier protects Summer Hill. Only this one extends over the house as well. Like a giant, inside-out snow globe, where the snow whirls around the outside, but inside the sun shines, bright and steady. Insects buzz through the grass and there’s not a cloud in the sky.

  I reach out with my fingers until the smooth surface slips through them. It molds to my shape but doesn’t let my fingers pass. Small vibrations radiate from the dome. It’s not at all like the barricade at school.

  I make a fist and swing at the invisible wall, but my hand finds nothing solid to strike.

  “Hello!”

  No one answers. I thrust my hand at the dome again, grasping for something to hold, but come up empty.

  My eyes dart around the interior. Summer Hill is silent. And seemingly empty. The only sign of life is a lone dragonfly flitting amongst the tall grass.

  I crouch on the frozen ground and puzzle over the security system. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. There’s no visible opening and no way over it. Whoever put it here doesn’t want Beck to leave.

  The dome only goes over Summer Hill as far as I can tell. Maybe I can tunnel under the wall?

  I sink to my knees and dig through the snow. Once I hit the ground, I pull a fallen branch over the spot and use it as a shovel. It snaps—the ground is rock hard.

  Tears well in my eyes, but I shouldn’t cry. I need to just keep digging. My fingernails claw at the frozen ground. Bits of dirt loosen.

  Anger latches onto me. It removes all my previous excitement. My fists strike the barrier, but like before, they’re unable to find a target.

  I didn’t come all this way to be turned away. Small flames lick my burning heart and copy the escalating fury of the storm. A scream forms in the back of my throat. “Let me in!”

  A small pop—like a cork being released from a bottle. I slam my fist into the nothingness again. The barricade wobbles and a wall of warm air hits me and blasts through my ears. Beneath my hand, the thick, soft barrier dissolves.

  I leap backward.

  The barrier’s gone, completely disintegrated. Afraid the wall will close, I grab my backpack and push my arm through.

  A thunderous voice calls out to me and I freeze.

  “Lark Greene. What are you doing tearing holes in the sides of people’s homes and bringing in all the cold air?”

  15

  Bethina watches me from the porch.

  An icy fright spreads through my veins and paralyzes me. I envision Annalise and Callum standing behind me, laughing as Annalise wraps me in her heavy air trap.

  I raise my hands toward Bethina, prepared to ask for help. But I can, in fact, move. There’s nothing holding me.

  My attention swings back to B. Is this a trick? How’d she get to Summer Hill before me? The only time she ever leaves our house for more than a few hours is when she accompanies Beck and me to our parents’ homes. She’s never gone away without us before. But neither of us are at school anymore either.

  I hesitate, then place one foot where I believe the opening to be and swing it side-to-side, trying to locate the invisible edges. I’ve encountered too many things in the past two days to blindly walk through the barrier.

  “Lark Greene, either you get over here right now or I’m going to put a world of hurt on you.” Bethina stands tall, arms folded, and waits.

  Years of experience have taught me this is her serious mood. The dread disappears and I push my body through the hole. Once inside, there’s a faint zipping noise. The snowflakes disappear. The tall meadow grass brushes against my shoulders as I walk toward the porch.

  “Quickly. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” She turns and disappears through the front door.

  A rush of air hits me from the right, then another from my left. They tickle over my body, probing into the loose edges of my jacket. When they find an entrance, they race under my clothes, like a swarm of invisible mosquitos.

  What are they?

  Before I can figure it out, the tickles become nibbles, then bites. I swat at them, striking my arms, legs and torso until they recede.

  Behind me, a whisper. I spin to confront it.

  “Who’s there?” My weak voice wavers more than I’d like.

  Hushed voices float across the field, churning into one another and mingling with the wind so that I can’t make out specific words.

  Something, or someone, watches me from the grass. My quickening pulse thunders in my ears. “I can hear you. I know you’re there.”

  A tall, young man steps into the path in front of me. My breath hitches. Even in my confused state, I can see he’s gorgeous. Chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, light brown hair. The kind of guy Kyra would make all kinds of inappropriate comments about.

  He throws up his hand, like telling me to stop. I freeze.

  “Bethina’s waiting for you,” he says, the words razor sharp. For being beautiful, there’s something ugly about the way he regards me.

  A sliver of pale yellow streaks through the grass. Dull blue appears to my left. A glint of green pulls my attention to the space behind the man.

  All around us, dozens of people crouch low in the swaying grass. Watching me.

  The man, dressed head-to-toe in muted red, squares his shoulders as if to challenge me.

  The hair on my neck pricks up and I take a step back. “I know.”

  My eyes find his wrist. Like mine, it’s bare. So, he’s not a State-identified Sensitive. But who, or what, is he? And does he have something to do with the invisible mosquitos?

  The man glares at me before retreating back into the grass. He whistles a few snappy notes of a song I vaguely recognize, and vanishes.

  I swing my head from side to side—surely he didn’t disappear?

  Unease grows in me. Anxious to be with Bethina, I race the rest of the way to the house. I leap the stairs two at a time and cross the wide expanse of the porch to the unlocked screen door. It slams shut behind me.

  In the large, sunlit entryway, my heart thunders in my ears. The Channings have always welcomed me into their home and I have many happy memories of Summer Hill, but the strange barrier over the estate, and the sinister people outside, have left me feeling less than safe. For all I know, I could be entering a home full of Sensitives—Beck included.

  “I’m in here, Lark.” Bethina’s voice calls from the room I remember as the library.

  Generations of smiling Channings peer down at me from the photos lining the hallway. The library door is ajar and I slip through the crack, not bothering to open it further. Unlike the rest of the world, Beck’s father insists on keeping old, paper books and they line three of the walls, floor to ceiling.

  An oversized window dominates the fourth wall and Bethina stands before it, looking out.

  “I see you met Eamon.”

  “The man in the field?”

  She dips her dark head but doesn’t say anything else, just stares out the window.

  “What is he?” The man’s—Eamon’s—naked wrist could mean anything. Maybe he’s an uncaught Sensitive or perhaps an extremist living on the fringe of the so
ciety. Either way, whatever he is, it isn’t good.

  “He’s a healer.”

  That’s not the answer I expected. “A healer?”

  Bethina turns around. The corner of her eyes crinkle and she smiles. Instead of answering me, she says, “I’m very happy to see you.”

  That makes two of us. Bethina always knows how to fix my problems. Seeing her here, at Beck’s home, makes me wish I’d been more patient. Maybe she would have helped me. “I’m sorry I ran off, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Her gaze locks on mine as if searching for something. Seeming to find it, a rush of air escapes her lips. A sigh. “There are some things we need to discuss.”

  She lifts a pile of clothes I hadn’t noticed before off a side table. “But first, why don’t you change? You’re soaked and shivering.” She holds out a sundress and undergarments. “I brought these for you. There’s a bathroom down the hallway.”

  “Where’s Beck?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “He’s here.”

  Tears sting my eyes as relief overcomes me. He’s here. Not in jail. Not on his way to a labor camp. But here, with his family.

  Beck is okay.

  I start for the door, eager to find him. “Is he outside?” I ask. He can’t possibly know I’ve arrived, or he would have greeted me the second I broke through the barricade. Maybe I can surprise him.

  She shakes her head. “After you and I talk, you can see Beck. Now go change.”

  I spin around and cross my arms. “No. I want to see him now.”

  Bethina tilts her head slightly and raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t need to say anything for me to know arguing is pointless.

  I yank the pile of clothes from her hands. As upset as I am over the delay in seeing Beck, I don’t want to sit in dripping wet clothes. My skin burns and tingles as it slowly rises back to a normal temperature.

  I hurry to the bathroom and strip. The dry sundress and sandals are a vast improvement over my frozen jeans and soggy boots. After splashing some water on my face, I run my hands through the knots in my hair until I look marginally presentable and then gather my wet items before heading back to the living room.

  “Here.” I throw my dripping wet clothes at Bethina.

  She doesn’t reach for them. Instead she lets them fall to the ground. “I don’t care how mad you are, Lark, you will not disrespect me.” From a side table drawer, she removes a plastic bag and hands it to me. “Pick up that mess. When you’re done, have a seat.” She motions to the couch.

  “First,” I say, “why can’t I see Beck?” Bethina is not going to lecture me.

  “He’s waiting to see how it goes.” She keeps her eyes locked on mine.

  “He doesn’t want to see me?” I ask, trying to understand. Beck’s waiting to see if I still want him? Is he worried I won’t forgive his lies and secrets? I don’t even want to think that. I scoop up the damp garments and shove them into the bag. Then I dangle the bag out by one finger toward Bethina. When she doesn’t take it from me, I toss it onto a chair.

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.” She points at the sofa again. “Sit. Please.”

  I flinch under her unwavering gaze. There’s no way around it. I’m going to have to sit here and listen to her if I want to see Beck. Loose pillows dot the back of the rock hard sofa, and I pick one up and hold it tight across my chest. Bethina takes the chair across from me.

  “Tell me about your journey.”

  “My journey?” I snap. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

  She folds and unfolds her hands in her lap. It’s a gesture I’ve seen her make hundreds of times when dealing with my housemates. But this time, her eyes bore into me and no one else. All the anger, all the bitterness vanishes. It’s as if I’ve been purged of any desire to lash out. My anxiety lingers, but I’m calm. I can’t explain it and that strikes me as odd. One minute I want to storm out of the room to find Beck and the next, I’m content to sit and wait.

  “Tell me what happened,” Bethina orders, this time more forcefully.

  The events after I left our house tumble out of me. I have no control over it—my body is forcing me to tell her everything. When I get to Maz joining me, I stop.

  “Bethina, we have to help him.” My voice rises. “He’s been accused of kidnapping me. I saw it on a wall screen—he and the other students. My mother is trying to protect her image. And now Annalise and Callum have him. We’ve got to do something.”

  Bethina waves for me to stop. “There’s no need to help Maz.”

  “What are you saying? Of course we need to help him. You didn’t see what Annalise can do.” I glare at her. How can she not care? Maz is one of her charges. “He was scared, Bethina.”

  She gives me a strange look, as if I should understand something. I wait, unsure what to say.

  “Maz is Sensitive. Your brother and his wife pose no danger to him.”

  I freeze. “That’s impossible! You didn’t see how scared he was on the platform. And all he wanted…” I break off.

  “Was for you to stop looking for Beck?” Bethina raises her eyebrow.

  “To help me,” I whisper, remembering how he told me to run.

  She shoots me a bewildered look. Apparently, Maz wanting to help me isn’t what she expected.

  I think back to the afternoon in the living room and how Bethina made a point of telling me Beck wasn’t in jail. She would tell me nothing, yet she knew what was going on. She could have saved me from the train, Callum, Annalise, and the freezing, relentless snow. She could have brought me straight here, but she didn’t. Instead she tried to make me sit and listen, just like now.

  Chills run down my spine.

  The only way she’d know is if she were one of them.

  I swallow hard to flush the bile from my throat and nervously play with my necklace. “You’re Sensitive?” I whisper, hoping, praying I’m wrong.

  Bethina’s lips form a small smile. “I prefer the term ‘witch’.”

  16

  A cold sweat covers my brow. I’m alone, in a room, with a Sensitive. Probably in a house full of them. I’m a sitting target with nowhere to run.

  I slump into the couch as if punched. This is not at all what I expected. All these years, I’ve lived surrounded by Sensitives. Completely oblivious. Bethina, Kyra, Ryker, Maz…and Beck. Is there anyone in my life who’s just a normal human, like me?

  “Are you going to kill me?” I ask weakly. I don’t see how there can be any other outcome. Sensitives hate my family. And me.

  “Of course not.” Bethina keeps her face soft and kind. “I love you as if you were my own.”

  My brain whirls. “But Sensitives hate humans. They want us all dead.”

  “Eliminating humans is not our first priority.” Bethina walks toward the library door and shuts it. The hair along my arms stands up. For a moment I wonder if it’s for privacy or an attempt to keep me trapped inside.

  She inches toward me, cautiously, and says, “There are only a few thousand of us left—humans and infighting have dwindled our numbers. We only want to protect our own kind.”

  “So the State’s policies have worked?” I ask smugly.

  Bethina shakes her head and sits next to me on the couch. I flinch but she doesn’t seem to notice. “The State doesn’t actually hunt us, Lark.”

  “Of course they do. I’ve seen the work crews and the news reports. It’s the State’s top priority.” And why Beck was taken, I add silently. The memory of snow pressed into my cheek, waiting for the school alarms to sound, nibbles at my brain. “My wristlet—it warned us of the Sensitives’ presence. It’s how Beck and I knew to hide.”

  She sighs. “No, it didn’t. Wristlets only detect those who have been branded with the red wristlets by the State, and most State-identified Sensitives are nothing more than petty human criminals. They’re called Sensitives so the public believes it’s safe from the ‘Sensitive Threat’.”

  My mouth drops open. Maz
was telling the truth. “But mine chirped. The security worked,” I argue.

  Bethina rolls her shoulders and stretches her neck. “I’m rather positive Annalise had something to do with that.”

  I cringe at the mention of my sister-in-law’s name. She entrapped me and tried to kill me with a brutal storm, but Bethina’s saying she warned me of the Sensitives’ presence. It doesn’t make sense. She’s Sensitive. Callum confirmed it.

  “Why would the State do that?” I ask.

  Bethina holds my hand in hers and traces circles along the back. Calmness seeps through me, starting at my heart and spreading to my fingers and toes. “The Founders needed people to believe in a common enemy. They needed a scapegoat and people already knew about us. History is littered with witch-hunts and burnings. It wasn’t hard for Caitlyn to convince the public.”

  Convince the public of what? Their evilness? “Let me guess. Sensitives didn’t cause the Long Winter?”

  Bethina shakes her head. “Actually, no. That was a man-made event. But we took advantage of it. Don’t get me wrong, Dark witches have caused their fair share of disasters over the years, but creating a catastrophe that destroyed most of our family lines wasn’t their doing.”

  My mind swims, trying to make sense of everything she’s telling me. “How did you take advantage of it?”

  “We keep several of our people in the State as high-ranking officials to ensure we are left alone. Until recently, the Light and Dark witches coexisted somewhat peacefully—with each other and with humans”

  There’s a long silence. A breeze from the open window moves over my body, but despite its warmth, I shiver and hug my knees to my chest.