Larkstorm

by Dawn Rae Miller

  He must really be something, if this group of adults is willing to do what he says.

  Eamon lets out victorious laugh. A long, taunting sound aimed at me.

  It takes every ounce of self-control I have to not storm across the narrow strip of grass separating myself from the group of witches. Beck said to let him handle this, and even though my body wants a confrontation, I think he’s right.

  I close my eyes and try my best to ignore Eamon.

  It’s not so easy.

  “Get her under control,” he says. “Or we’ll have to do it for you.”

  I fling my eyes open and launch myself across the grass. “Get me under control?” I shriek. “I’m not the one going around threatening people.”

  Instinctively, I throw my hand up over my head, fingers splayed wide. Someone in the crowd screams and Beck lunges for me. He shoves me behind his back and assumes same protective stance he used with Callum and Annalise at school.

  Only this time, it’s the two of us against ten, if you don’t count the hundreds of witches watching us. An uncomfortable build-up of energy nibbles at me.

  Eamon flashes a menacing smile at us. “She won’t last long.”

  With a jerk of his head, he and his entire group disappear.

  19

  A lone weeping willow sits on the far edge of the lawn, away from all the tents and prying eyes. It’s the perfect hiding place.

  Beck holds the long, green branches aside for me. It’s cooler in here—more to my liking. Once he releases the branches, it’s like we’re in our own private world.

  “What was that?” I demand as we arrange ourselves, me against the trunk and Beck stretched out with his head in my lap.

  He sighs heavily. “You can’t go around threatening people, Lark. It’s not going to help your case.”

  “Threatening people? When did I threaten anyone?” I can’t believe he’s accusing me. Didn’t he hear the hostility in Eamon’s voice?

  He runs his hand through his hair. “You have no idea, do you?” He stares up at me, his face upside down. “When you threw up your hand, it seemed like you were going to unleash a spell or something.”

  “I don’t know how to do magic.”

  “You may not know how to, but you do it. I’ve seen it.” Beck reaches up and presses his finger against my lips when I begin to protest. “The storm, you did that, remember? You have no idea what you’re doing—that’s the problem.”

  My hands go to his hair and I twirl the waves around my fingers. Blood races through my body but not in the angry way. More like a warm, comforting sunshine pulsing through my veins. Just being here, with him, is all I need to feel right.

  Beck grins, feeling my contentment.

  I playfully slap the side of his head but at the same time experiment sending him another feeling—happiness. His grin widens.

  “You’re happy. Or at least happier,” he says, obviously pleased with himself.

  “As happy as I can be considering I’m a Dark witch and everyone seems to hate me.”

  He tugs on a loose strand of my hair. I bend my neck so my eyes line up with his full lips.

  “I could never hate you. No matter what,” he says just loud enough for me to hear.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I lean back against the tree, and Beck puts his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. We sit like for awhile, listening to the world around us: the wind blowing through the weeping willow branches; a bird chirping high in the branches above; somewhere out on the vast lawn, a group of children sing the song Eamon whistled my first day at Summer Hill. I remember Ms. Jensen, the music teacher, making us sing when we were little. Alouette, I think it’s called.

  It’s life as usual, except not. Because everything has changed. I’m not Lark, the beloved descendant of a Founder, anymore. I’m Lark, the evil, Dark witch everyone here seems to despise. Except Beck.

  What does it mean, anyway? To be Dark? Does it mean I’m going to be some sinister monster running around doing evil? “What do we do now?”

  “You learn to control your powers. After that storm and your performance this morning, we have some work to do.”

  Powers. I have powers. My hands cover my face and I count. One. Two. Three. Four.

  A tug on my hand breaks my concentration. Five. Six. Seven. Beck rubs it softly, his finger tracing along the back. Warmth spreads up my arm and fans out across my body. I relax.

  Eight. Nine.

  “You can’t change who you are, Lark.”

  Ten. A deep breath.

  “What happened to the Sensitives at school?” I ask. “How did you…” I don’t want to say kill: Beck doesn’t hurt people. “Stop them from attacking us?”

  Beck tilts his head and closes his eyes. His muscular chest strains the thin fabric of his t-shirt when he inhales. “I didn’t do that. You did.”

  I don’t want to hear this. I was supposed to join the State in two months. I was supposed to have a comfortable life—with Beck.

  “You put your hand out in front of me and then light radiated from it.” He pauses. “A blinding white light. You killed all of them.”

  I slump back against the tree, the world tilting around me. I killed them. A numbing thought surfaces—if Beck hadn’t stopped me just now, with Eamon, what would I have done to that group of witches?

  “Why am I evil?” My voice hitches and cracks.

  “You’re not evil.” He tries to pull my hand down toward him, but I tense and he stops. “I wouldn’t be here if you were.”

  “But I will be, right?” I killed people, a lot of people, and he doesn’t think that’s evil? An uncomfortable heat floods my body, burning me from the inside. My pulse thunders in my ears.

  Beck fidgets with his shirt before answering. “I can’t change what happened, but at least believe me when I say you’re not evil—only Dark. You can’t help what you are, just like I can’t.”

  “At least you’re Light.” A frightening thought flashes through my mind and I clench my teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” Beck asks, alarmed.

  “What if I hurt you? Or Bethina?”

  The muscles in Beck’s neck stiffen. “You don’t know how to control yourself. But we’re going to teach you. It’s going to be…okay.” The way he says it, I’m not convinced he believes it.

  “Nothing can change how I feel about you.” He traces swirls across the back of my hand and then looks away. “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

  Deep inside me, something shifts, telling me what I’ve always known. The bond between us is more than just being mated. Beck is, without a doubt, my other half.

  But I don’t know what to believe. All my life I’ve been told Sensitives want to destroy the human race and hurt me. But now I’m supposedly one of them. And not only that, I’m Dark—a destroyer who thrives on anger and fear. But I’m not evil? And yet I killed people? Nothing makes sense.

  Beck sits up and leans closer to me. Our faces are inches apart. His lips near mine. All I’d have to do is move forward, just a little, and they’d meet.

  Without warning, he stands and walks to the edge of the shade, where the drooping branches touch the ground. He keeps his back toward me, but I can tell he’s upset. My arms long to hold him, comfort him. I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but I can’t. My body won’t obey me.

  Something he said earlier wiggles back into my brain. “You’re stronger than me, right? And the Light witches somehow counteract whatever I have going on? Maybe I don’t have to be Dark. We could live where there are a lot of Light witches and I can stay like this forever. I could be normal.”

  “It’s not that easy, Lark.” He turns toward me, face serious and eyes troubled. “You are Dark. You need to accept that.”

  I stand up, smooth the front of my dress, and walk toward him. The heat from beyond the shade of the tree creeps through our green fortress. When I slip my hand into Beck’s, his fingers
squeeze mine rapidly—a hand hug, just like when we were younger.

  I grasp on tighter. “We’re not children anymore and we’re here, together. In just a few weeks, we’ll be bound. Bethina told me it’s common in my family—Light and Dark witches binding. And your ancestors did it too—right? Charles’s parents?”

  “I can’t imagine my life without you, Lark.”

  He steps back and holds me at arms’ length. Even from this distance, I feel his heart pounding. My breath comes fast and shallow. Please, please let him kiss me now.

  His next words come out in hoarse whisper. “We’re cursed. On our birthday, you will slowly drain me of my light, feeding off of it and swallowing me in darkness. Payment for my being stronger than you for eighteen years.”

  With tears in his eyes, he says, “We can’t be permanently bound, Birdie, because being around you will kill me.”

  20

  Time stands still as Beck’s words slide around in my brain, looking for a place to grab hold. They find a landing place and hurl their full weight at me.

  “No,” I whisper. “I won’t…I—I couldn’t.” The taste of blood stings my tongue—my lip’s bleeding. I’ve been biting on it, trying to keep the screams inside. “Who told you that?”

  Beck touches my lip with his finger and flicks away the blood. “Bethina, my parents, all these others.” He pulls apart the branches again, exposing the tent town on the other side. “They’ve done nothing but work on this for years. Trying to find a way to end the curse.”

  “They’re lying,” I insist. “Why would anyone curse us?”

  “I don’t know.” His face contorts and for a moment, I think he’s choking. Beck gasps. “I wish it weren’t true.”

  “But you’re here. With me. What’s wrong with you?” It makes no sense, Beck wanting to be with me, knowing what he does.

  “My whole life has been you. Always you. The first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night.”

  He stops. Conflict eats away at his beautiful face.

  “Until recently—until today—you’ve never shown any real interest in the binding, or for that matter, in me, beyond being my best friend.” He stares past me now. “No one expects you to actually care for me.”

  Maz was right. Beck thinks I pushed him away, not out of a sense of responsibility, but because I didn’t want to be with him.

  “You can sense my feelings. Don’t you know the answer to that?”

  The air around us is still—the breeze gone.

  “It’s never been completely clear.” Beck pushes his shaking hands through his hair. “But you do, don’t you?”

  Do I? My chest seizes. The burning feeling pulses deep in my heart and tries to force its way out. A soft hum fills my ears and makes it hard for me to think. I want to tell Beck how being away from him is unbearable. How all I could think about is getting back to him. I want to tell him that I need him like I need air.

  But my body won’t let me. It’s like someone, or something, is interfering with my free will. So I say, “I’ve risked everything to find you—my career, my future. To be with you. Isn’t that enough?”

  It’s not. Beck’s face falls and he wraps his arms around his torso like he’s trying to hold himself together.

  “Okay, then. I guess maybe you should go change. Bethina put your clothes upstairs in the room—the one we’ve always shared.” He parts the branches and walks out onto the lawn—away from me and away from the house.

  My brain screams at me to run after him, but I’m glued to this spot, unable to move. Beck’s figure grows smaller and smaller before finally disappearing into the trees along the far side of the grass. Once he’s out of sight, feeling returns to my limbs.

  How is it he can feel every other thought coursing through my being, but not the most important one?

  The sunlight is even brighter now and casts a harsh glow across the lawn. It must be near lunchtime.

  With nothing else to do, I drag myself from the cool shade of the tree and toward the old-fashioned house.

  Heads turn as I pass and a few people actually cross the lawn to avoid getting too close to me. No one says hello or smiles. I’m alone, a black hole surrounded by light, and no one, except for Beck and maybe Bethina, wants me here.

  My heart yearns for Kyra. If she were with me, she’d find the whole thing amusing—laughing about how we need to learn to control our boys through magic. Or promising to unleash all sorts of terror on whoever treated us poorly. She’d probably have the entire place on high alert. Whatever she did, it definitely wouldn’t be boring.

  But she’s not here, because she’s Dark and Beck’s enemy. Like I should be.

  But why? Why do we have to hate each other?

  My fingers trail along the wooden railing of the porch, feeling the prick of splinters as my skin catches. I close my eyes, my lungs heaving, and drop my chin to my chest.

  How do you hate someone you’ve spent your whole life laughing with?

  A breath, then another. Slowly, I feel the sadness ebb from my body and anger rushes to fill the holes it left behind.

  Why didn’t anyone tell me? Were they hoping I’d wake up fixed one day?

  My rage swells as I fling open the side door leading to the kitchen and march into the dining room. The chairs still litter the floor.

  What am I going to do? If Beck’s parents see this, they’ll never forgive me. What if they make me leave? What if they force Beck and I apart?

  Then again, maybe that’s not such a bad idea, considering how I’m going to kill their son if he’s around me.

  A groan, like the sound of a tree settling in the soil, followed by a louder cracking noise. I swing my head toward the window to see if the weeping willow fell over. But then a sharp snap draws my attention back to the dining room.

  The table lies in two pieces.

  I stare at them, my brain whirling, trying to understand what happened. Like on the train, my hands vibrate.

  Oh my God. I did this.

  For a moment, I entertain the idea of trying to fix the damaged furniture, but it’s destroyed beyond repair. And if I don’t even know how I break the furniture, how the hell can I repair it?

  I sprint up the squeaky stairs to the second floor. Our room is halfway down on the right, its door cracked slightly.

  Once safe inside, I slam the door behind me and dodge the two large travel trunks lying in the middle of the floor, before collapsing on the bed.

  Is this what magic is? Breaking things and causing weather anomalies? Scaring people and living life in the shadows? Killing?

  Memories of Maz and I on the train flood my brain. We were talking and something he said upset me. My hands started to shake and then everything shattered. But it makes no sense. Why would I hurt myself? It’s the same with the storm, why would I do that?

  I roll onto my stomach and kick my sandals to the floor. If my mother knows where I am, and she truly sent Annalise and Callum after me, how long before she has the State all over Summer Hill? What will happen if she publically accuses Beck’s parents of kidnapping me? It would be a great reason to expose them as Sensitives—especially if she hates them as Beck claims.

  Which raises the question—why am I still here? The Channings know about the threat I pose to Beck, and Eamon clearly doesn’t like me. So why haven’t I been tossed right back into the snow?

  With a sigh, I rub my face into my pillow. Our birthday. All my life, I’ve loved that day. But now it hangs over my head like a time bomb, tick tick ticking away the weeks until I—what? Kill Beck?

  But it’s my life, so I must be able to control some aspect of it, right?

  Except, Beck said the adults have been working on it for years and they still don’t have a solution. The seriousness of the situation crushes me—it’s completely unfair. I didn’t ask for any of this and I don’t want it. My fists strike the hard headboard until pain radiates along my arm.

  And that’s when it hits me. />
  Something seems off.

  I stare at the bed. It’s a normal bed with a blue and white bird-motif on the coverlet. Just a normal twin-sized bed, but there’s only one.

  Only one.

  This is just my room. Beck is sleeping elsewhere. A solid knot anchors in my stomach. Did he have his things moved? Or were they never here?

  From below, Bethina’s rhythmic voice calls my name. “Lark? I need you to come down here.”

  I don’t feel like seeing anyone. But habits are hard to break, and all my life, I’ve been obedient. “Coming!”

  I kick the offending bed. It doesn’t make me feel any better. Showering can wait, but I need something clean to wear. I feel gross. Inside the trunk closest me, I find a white sundress with a purple sash and throw it on. A quick peek in the mirror to smooth my hair, and I’m ready.

  The stairs moan under my weight like the sad soundtrack of my mood—each creak underscoring my increasingly sullen and confused state.

  Bethina waits for me at the bottom. The normal light in her eye, vanquished. Like seeing me pains her.

  “The Channings want to speak with you.”

  I glance at the parlor room doors. From the other side, I hear hushed voices and the clinking of ice cubes. Bethina motions for me to follow her into the front room, and I do.

  If the hallway is like a photo gallery, this place is like a mausoleum. The walls are covered in life-sized paintings of people I assume are long dead based on their fashions. It’s creepy, like they’re all staring down at me and disapprove of what they see.

  “Sit down, Lark,” Mrs. Channing says, pointing to a weird square chair opposite of her.