Between my welcoming committee and the people from the other night on the lawn, I thought there were at least a hundred people here, but the room is empty.
“Where’s everyone?” I ask.
“There’s a makeshift kitchen out back.” He hesitates and his eyes dart toward the kitchen door. I can tell he’s not telling me everything.
“And?”
“Well, we didn’t know what to expect. My parents and Bethina wanted to be prepared, so they called a Gathering.” He says the word like it has meaning to me and glances at me. I can tell he’s trying to gauge my reaction. “You floored everyone showing up by yourself with that storm in tow. Quite impressive, really.”
“So I did do that? Caused the storm?” I follow his eyes back toward the kitchen. There’s something out there he’s nervous about me knowing. I keep talking, drawing his attention back to me. Whatever it is can wait until I get a few answers. “Why was it punishing me though? Shouldn’t it attack my enemies or something?”
“Punishing you? What do you mean?” He lifts my hand and places a kiss on my wrist, which sends my heart into a chaotic flutter. “Breakfast awaits.”
He leads me into the kitchen. There are no appliances—at least nothing that I can identify as an appliance—just counters, cabinets and two plates piled high with food. Bethina must have prepared them for us.
I’ve recovered enough to resume my train of thought. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was intentionally trying to fluster me. “The storm. Every time I…” I trail off. The question is on my lips, but how to form it so I won’t sound crazy? “Every time I thought I was getting close to you, it pummeled me. I don’t think that storm wanted me to get here. Are you sure it wasn’t Annalise?”
Beck hands me a plate and then takes his. Bethina’s specialties fill mine, along with a large serving of fruit. Strange delicacies I’ve never seen before cover Beck’s plate. “Annalise can’t do that. We’re positive it was all you.”
He tosses a plump blueberry into the air and catches it between his teeth. It’s an impressive move—but one I’ve seen him do a hundred times.
“So your parents called a…a Gathering?”
We’re back in the dining room now, and he balances his plate on one hand while pulling out a chair for me with the other. It looks expensive, old and frail. And we’ve never been allowed to sit on them before. Last thing I need to do is break one of Beck’s dad’s prized chairs. But to my surprise, it feels solid beneath me when I fall into it.
“Yeah, it’s a group of Light witches, the leaders from each of the Five Societies and their delegates. But also my parents’ security detail, family members, and tutors for Bea—and you and me now, I guess.” Beck takes the chair next to mine and immediately bites into a weird white blob-looking thing.
“Bea’s here?” I ask. Like us, Beck’s younger sister should be at school, with her housemates.
“Bea’s always been here. Light witches don’t go to State schools. My parents just pretended she went away for our sake.”
I gape at him. So they’ve been lying to us, too. Is there anyone I can trust?
“You should try this.” He tears off a piece of the nasty looking food and places it near my fruit. “It’s delicious.”
I poke at the doughy white surface. It yields beneath my finger. “What is it?”
“A delicacy from before the Long Winter. It’s called a pork bun.”
I blanch. “Pig? You want me to eat pig?”
“It’s good. Try it.”
I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. “We don’t eat meat, Beck. It’s barbaric and taxes the ecosystem.”
“Lark, people have eaten meat for thousands of years.”
“I can’t. It’s gross.” I nudge the disgusting thing to the edge of my plate and dig into a serving of Bethina’s pepper and corn fritta on the opposite side. I notice he hasn’t taken another bite of the ‘delicious’ white blob and is instead inhaling pancakes.
“You don’t like it either!” I accuse.
In defiance, he shoves another piece of the pork bun, which oozes blood-like red sauce, into his mouth and chews carefully.
“I’m getting used to it.” He swallows hard and takes a long sip of water. When I raise my eyebrows, he says, “Fine. It’s disgusting. But it’s what Light witches eat, and I’ve got to eat it.”
“Well, I’m not going to.”
Beck forces down another piece of pork bun and I roll my eyes at him. “What were you saying about security?” I ask, hoping to get him back on track.
“The State isn’t my parents’ biggest fan.” It’s a simple statement. Like saying ‘I breathe air.’ Just a matter of fact. “They only pretend to work for it.”
“So my mother–”
“Hates us.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. We’re mated. You’ve visited her home. She let you go after the attacks. She could have placed you in jail.” My words tumble out fast and run incoherently into one another. “Bethina said my father was…” I struggle with the next words. “A Light witch. Mother can’t hate Light witches if she was bound to one.”
Beck massages his knuckles and stares past me. Avoids my gaze, is probably more accurate. “That’s kind of her thing—hating people.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hoped Bethina would explain all this.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dark witches draw their power from fear and anger. They’re destroyers. We Light witches are creators, thriving on calm and happiness.”
“The storm—as I became more upset, it grew in intensity. But how? How did I do it?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You just did.”
I play with the fruit on my plate. “What happened at school? I know Annalise and Callum turned you in, but why?”
“To separate us. After their visit, I suspected what was happening. When Mr. Proctor stopped me after I…” He blushes and casts his eyes down. “Kissed you, he said I needed to go immediately to the head’s office, but wouldn’t tell me why. I thought they were going to hold me, so they could take you.”
“Take me?”
Beck pushes his food around with his fork and stabs a weird tube of meat. “Annalise wasn’t lying when she said that group was looking for you. I thought maybe your mother sent for you, as a protective measure. I guess Annalise realized I would try to stop them if they attempted to separate us.”
“I wouldn’t have gone.”
“You think I went willingly?” His lip curls upward. “Anyway, they put me in an empty room and a little while later Kyra, Maz, Ryker and two younger students were brought in. They pretended I wasn’t there.” He clenches his jaw. “Ryker wouldn’t even look at me.
“It wasn’t too much longer before Annalise showed up, without Callum, and left with everyone but me. She didn’t speak to me.” He pushes his hand through his hair and it falls into messy disarray. “Then my parents arrived, and brought me to Summer Hill.”
“Was Kyra okay? Did they hurt her?”
Beck rolls his shoulders back as if shaking off something unpleasant. “Kyra was fine. She actually seemed excited—dare I say happy—to see Annalise.”
The thought of my best friend hanging out with Annalise makes my skin crawl.
“And Maz? He was at the house before I left. And on the train.”
“Annalise probably sent him back to get you.” Beck exhales loudly. “Maz is a Dark witch. I’ve known for a while, but he and I, well—it never seemed to matter before.” Disappointment seeps into his voice.
“He told me to run. He wanted me to find you.”
Beck scrunches up his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yeah. He asked me why I didn’t want to call my mom and all. But he was helping me. At least, I think he was.”
This causes Beck to break into a wide grin. “He’s a good guy, even if he is Dark.”
“What about Kyra? Ryker? Are they Dark too?”
“All the other students w
ere. I was the only Light witch student at school.” His voice drops and I can tell from the way he holds his shoulders he’s agitated.
A hole rips through my gut and my head threatens to explode. “So it’s okay for Maz and Ryker to be Dark, but not Kyra. What about me? Is it okay for me to be Dark?” I’m shouting, angry with the way he’s talking about my best friend.
“I don’t know. I’ve always thought of them—Kyra included—as my friends. But now…” He rubs my back, like he always does when I get upset, and my anger melts away.
Still, all those times at school when the two of them were at each other’s throats for seemingly no reason. And how it just started, suddenly, one day after Kyra returned from her brother’s binding. It all makes sense now. They both knew who the other was.
Once again, no one thought to tell me. Not even Beck, who, from what he just told me, was all alone. One against many.
I wait for him to laugh and tell me it’s all a big joke. That he was bored and decided to leave school for a while. Something. Anything would be better than the words coming out of his mouth.
But he doesn’t.
The grapes on my plate are no match for the prongs of my fork. I stab one, metal scrapes the stone plate and Beck cringes. But oddly, other than wanting to spear fruit, I feel relaxed. Happy even.
It’s so odd, like the way I want to feel is hidden just under the surface of my skin, but I simply can’t access it. I imagine a sign flashing over my head—Anger: denied.
“Why do I feel so happy and calm?”
His eyes light up. “You mean other than because of me?”
I elbow him in the ribs and he lists, feigning injury.
“Well, Miss Greene, you are a Dark witch surrounded by nearly a thousand Light witches.” He stares at the kitchen door again and I realize the witches he’s talking about are probably out there somewhere. “Plus, you’re not mature yet. You’re strong, but not strong enough to overcome all of us. And...” He sits straight, imitating a State Man. “If we want you happy and calm, you shall be.”
I’m going to get stronger? What does that mean? I bite back my questions—fearful of the answers.
“Why didn’t I act out before?”
“The best anyone can figure, I somehow block you. Mask your dark powers.” He closes his eyes.
“But how? Shouldn’t we be equally strong? We’re the exact same age and—”
“We should be, but for some reason, I’m stronger than you right now. I am, or will be, the most powerful Light witch. And you, my dear Birdie, will be the most powerful Dark witch.”
His olive green eyes probe deep into mine, searching my soul, pealing back whatever Darkness there is in me. Exposing me.
I’ve never felt so bare. Or so wicked.
My mind processes his words, but all I can think about are his lips, his eyes, his strong hands. Him.
“Do you know why?” Beck asks just when it seems that neither of us are ever going to speak again. That we’re going to suffocate in the weird airless space between us.
I untangle my traitorous tongue. “I don’t know anything.”
“Because you’re the direct female descendant of Caitlyn Greene and I’m the direct male descendant of Charles Channing. The power in our families grows stronger each generation.”
Beck tilts his head, like I saw him do with Callum and Annalise in the Headmaster’s office.
“Why do you do that?” I ask as he traces his fingers along the back of my hand. My heartbeat slows and I focus on his face.
He raises an eyebrow.
I clarify. “Tilt your head.”
“Hmmm. Didn’t know I did.” His hair bounces as he bobs his head from side to side. “I guess it helps me pick up on the ‘sound’ you’re giving off. I can tell how you feel.” He studies the table.
Realization courses through me.
“Oh.” Heat flares across my face. “How long have you been able to…?” I can’t finish my thought.
“Since I was ten.” He mumbles and scuffs his toe back and forth across the floor.
“Ten! You’ve been able to ‘hear’ how I feel for seven years?” All those times my heart raced when he smiled at me or took my hand or made me laugh. Or worse, when I wanted nothing but to be alone—far away from him.
But another issue presses more importantly in my mind. “You knew about your abilities and never thought to tell me?”
“Don’t be mad, Lark. I couldn’t.”
I yank my hand away. “Couldn’t or didn’t want to?”
Beck’s silent. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, and I can tell he’s struggling with an answer.
“Both. I wasn’t allowed to tell you, but I also understood telling you was a bad idea.”
I close my eyes. The skin on my lip gives way under my teeth and bleeds. “You knew. All this time, you knew. And you lied to me.”
My heart shatters into a thousand pieces. The tears won’t stop now. He lied to me. The one person I always trusted.
His hand is on my arm, pulling me out of my chair and close to him. I protest by pushing against his chest. Beck loosens his grip and I step back—away from him.
“Do you really believe you would’ve dealt with this well at age ten? You’re barely dealing with it now.”
“I think I’m dealing with it fine.” I cross my arms and try to blink my tears away. I know I have to be stronger than this, but my heart disagrees. Its broken shards stab me.
“No, you’re not. You did major damage to the house after Bethina told you.” He tugs on my arm. His other hand goes toward my hair and his fingers play with a loose strand. I stiffen but don’t resist. “Don’t kid yourself, Birdie. Anyone would be shocked to find out they’re not only a witch, but a powerful Dark one at that.”
A small tremor shakes my body. Tears rim my eyes and I blink quickly to hold them back. With all my strength, I break from him. The dining chair nearest Beck topples over. Then the next. Chair after chair smashes to the ground and splinters into pieces. Beck inches closer. Tiny steps from one side of the table to the other. He steps over the destroyed chairs, trying to reach me, but I run toward the kitchen. Before he can stop me, I tear open the door and immerse myself in the stifling heat of late morning.
Behind me, Beck calls, “Lark, don’t. Please, don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Stay away from me.” The shards smash around the empty container of my heart and the air presses on me heavily, until my lungs empty and I gasp. “You lied to me. By not telling me, you lied to me.”
I charge down the stairs, unsure where I’m going. All I know is I need to be alone, away from Beck, so I can process everything I’ve learned.
Two steps across the lawn and I jerk my head up.
A group of people—witches, whatever—stands directly in front of me, blocking my path. Beyond them, a blur of brightly colored tents stretch as far as I can see. Rows and rows. Hundreds of them. And everywhere, witches watch me.
I’m trapped between the not-so-friendly looking group before me and Beck behind me. There aren’t many options
Deciding on the lesser of two evils, I turn toward Beck and he inches closer to me. Like he’s afraid of me. Tiny, deliberate steps. The way he holds out his hands reminds me of someone approaching a wild animal.
He reaches out and strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand.
When I look up, I’m surprised by the dampness on his cheeks.
“Lark, I’m sorry.”
“Keep her under control, Beck.” I recognize the cruel voice. Eamon. How dare he? First he stalks me in the field, then he laughs at me when I’m falling apart. And now? Now he’s telling Beck to control me?
I begin to whirl toward Eamon, but Beck grabs me and pulls me to his chest. His arms wrap tightly around me. Without thinking, I fold under his touch. It’s always been like this with us. I can be a raving, crazed wreck and one touch, one look, from Beck and it’s all forgotten.
My heart fumbl
es and my anger slows to a simmer. With each touch, I regain control of my emotions. His hand is on my jaw: I forgive him because I trust him. His fingers running across my shoulder: I forgive him because he didn’t ask for this any more than I did. His hand moving down my arm: I forgive him because he’s Beck.
From the way his chest heaves, I know my outburst frightened him.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
He bends and pushes his forehead against mine. Staring at each other this way, with our freckles aligned, always makes me feel calm. His warm breath washes over me.
“I’m sorry, too.” He touches my nose with his finger. “I promise to not keep things from you ever again.”
Wanting to feel closer to him, I press my ear against his chest and listen to the hum of his pulse. It beats strong and steady, and I force my breathing to mimic it.
“Are you listening to me, boy?” Eamon demands. I don’t like the way he’s talking to Beck and turn to face him.
Beck grabs my shoulder. “Easy, Lark. Let me handle this.”
He strides across the grass, leaving me standing by myself. It’s too hot. The sun beats on me, threatening to turn my pale skin red. I hate this weather but I hate the hundreds, if not thousands, of eyes trained on me more. They stare at me like I’m some sort of circus act.
If only I could disappear.
Beck stands before the others with his legs spread wide, like he’s someone to reckon with. There are only nine witches with Eamon, and not one of them, aside from their leader, looks prepared to challenge Beck.
Larkstorm Page 14
