Larkstorm

by Dawn Rae Miller

  “I know!” she says suddenly. “Beck told me you can manipulate weather. Let’s give that a try.”

  She stands on her toes and reaches both hands over her head. With measured steps, she turns in a silent slow dance. Her face is blank and her blue-gray eyes fix on a spot in the distance. Eloise’s tiny body vibrates and blurs in front of me.

  “And voila.” She makes a grand flourish in my direction. “What do you think? Wanna try?”

  I look around and try to figure out what she did. The sun looks the same, perhaps a bit higher, but still bright in the sky. I feel no wind and see no snow.

  “Ummm, Eloise? What did you do?”

  She laughs, a soft trilling sound, and points beyond the house. In the distance I see not one rainbow but two, interlinked and forming an ‘m’ shape.

  “That is no small feat on a sunny day like today.”

  Rainbows. This much-too-pretty witch wants me to create a rainbow? What a waste of time. I laugh out loud at the absurdity.

  “That’s great and all. But apparently I can cause earthquakes, storms, blizzards—powerful, destructive stuff. I don’t see how playing with rainbows is going to help me.”

  To my surprise, she’s nonplussed. “Oh, it’s completely relevant, Lark. Really. You just need to be able to feel where your power comes from. Once you can do that, you’ll be able to better control it. That’s what we’ve all been trying to teach you.”

  I’m not sure how moving around by thought or inventing rainbows or any of the other lessons I’ve been subjected to achieve this. But what do I know?

  “Isn’t that dangerous?” I frown. “Beck told me Dark witches draw power from fear and anger.”

  “Each of us have a different way of accessing our power. For me, it’s something happy, like dancing.” She pirouettes. “Do you know what yours is?”

  “I think the main problem is I wasn’t aware of what I was doing when I used my powers.”

  She crosses her arms. “Maybe you should think about what was happening. Maybe that will give you a clue.”

  The desire to be a good student surfaces. If I can figure out how to control this power, than maybe I can keep Beck safe. With a deep breath, I channel my concentration.

  I was trying to get to Beck.

  My heart whirls.

  I was angry that they were keeping him from me.

  A sharp pulse stabs me.

  I have to stay away from him.

  There’s an intense pull, deep inside me, and then it’s gone. My heart slows to normal and I fall forward, landing on my hands and knees. My breath exits my lungs in one giant whoosh—I didn’t realize I had been holding it.

  “Interesting.” Eloise crouches next to me. She offers me her hand and helps me up. “What were you thinking about?”

  I smooth my dress and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Beck. Or rather, how angry I am about Beck being kept from me.”

  She tilts her head and looks up toward the sky. “Were you concerned or worried about him?”

  “I guess so, why?”

  Her eyes wander over toward the East Lawn. Even from this distance, I can see Beck playing a chasing game with his younger sister, Bea. Her blond braids move in opposite directions as she dodges past him.

  My pulse races and I start walking through the shorter meadow grass toward him—not caring about the promise I made to the Channings.

  A loose group of witches surrounds him and he says something, which apparently is funny, because they all start laughing. Beck grabs Bea and tickles her. Her shrieks and laughs drown out all other noises.

  Well, isn’t that nice? He’s off having fun and I’m stuck getting my nose broken and being treated like a dangerous criminal.

  I’m halfway across the lawn when something invisible yanks me back. I struggle against it, pushing back, but its grip tightens until I double over and gasp for breath.

  Eloise jogs to my side and helps me up. “You okay?”

  I don’t answer. My eyes narrow into slits. A girl stands next to Beck, her glossy, golden hair blows in the light breeze.

  “Who’s that?” I don’t disguise my jealousy.

  “Oh, her. That’s Quinn. She’s an amazing singer.” Eloise twists her hair into a loose bun.

  “Really?” A small, hot mass lodges itself in my heart. This girl, Quinn the great singer, is standing too close to Beck. I clench my fists. Quinn laughs and reaches out to touch him. When her hand brushes his back, she jumps back as if shocked. Unaware, Beck continues playing with Bea.

  Eloise squeals in delight. “You did that, didn’t you?”

  I shrug.

  “Oh, yes you did!” She puts her hand up, waiting for a high-five.

  I ignore Eloise and try calming myself by rubbing my pendant. The hatred toward Quinn lingers, so I turn my back on the scene across the lawn and ball my fists against my thighs. You’re stronger than this, Lark. You don’t need to give into these emotions.

  Shame floods my conscience. “You think that’s a good thing? What kind of teacher are you? I hurt that girl!”

  Eloise draws her eyebrows together and tiny wrinkles appear between her eyes. “Okay, so what would you say if I told you I invented Quinn? That only we could see her?”

  “You what?” I look back at Beck and his group. Quinn stands in the same place, not moving. No one pays her any attention, even though she’s now in the middle of some sort of raucous ball game. My mouth hangs open. I somehow affected Eloise’s power. Even though I’m encased and supposedly not able to hurt people, I did. Or maybe my power only works on imaginary people? Huh.

  “Why would you do that?” I ask.

  “I needed to see how you worked.” She arranges herself in the grass, legs tucked to her side. Eloise pats the ground next to her. “Come sit with me.”

  I hesitate, unsure if I should trust her. She did just manipulate me into hurting someone—even if that person was a figment of our imaginations.

  “Did Beck give you that?” At the mention of his name, I look back toward the spot where he’d been playing with Bea. They’ve moved off further toward the village and I watch them disappear into the tents.

  “What?”

  She motions to her chest. My necklace. Again with the necklace. “Why is everyone so interested in it?”

  “It’s his token. It means he likes you.” She pats the ground again and waits for me.

  I must look confused because Eloise laughs. “He likes you and when you walk around with it on, everyone knows what it means—he’s devoted to you.” She raises her eyebrows in a conspiratorial way. “It’s driving his parents, and some of the others, crazy.”

  “Well, in that case, I’m never going to take it off.”

  Eloise giggles. “Now that’s the spirit.”

  Her kindness toward me is strange and I almost feel like a normal girl again. Almost. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “You’re not afraid of me?”

  There’s no way to take it back, but Eloise doesn’t seem to find the question strange. “Of course not. You’ve got a lot of spark.”

  “You mean that in a good way, right? Not like I’m going to start a fire or something.”

  “Oh, absolutely!” Eloise pats the ground again and I sit next to her. A little flutter works its way around my stomach. I have a friend, finally.

  Eloise lies back in the grass and looks up at the sky, or rather, the dome. “I wouldn’t worry about Beck. He’s devoted to you. In fact, he gave us a few problems during the encasing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She holds a dandelion puff to her lips and blows, scattering the white fibers across her prone torso. “That night on the lawn, when they encased you, it took every Light witch around to perform the spell.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.” Eloise chuckles and props up on her elbows, a glint in her eye. “Beck kept blocking us. It took a while for us to understand what was happening—we all thought it was you—but once we did, we wer
e able to encase you fairly quickly.”

  Well, well, well. Eloise is a source of information. Maybe my new friend isn’t a bad teacher after all.

  “Why would he do that? And how?” He must already be very strong to overcome a Gathering of so many witches.

  “The why isn’t hard. He’s very protective of you, if you haven’t noticed. In fact, I’ve never seen two people more hell-bent on looking out for one another. Even if it means…” She shrugs and lets me fill in the rest. What I hear is: Beck isn’t afraid of me. He doesn’t hate me. Relieved, I sigh.

  Eloise picks up a blade of grass and presses it between her fingers. When she opens her hand, it’s transformed into a small, white flower. She lets it drop to the ground.

  “How is a different thing all together. None of us could figure it out and he wasn’t talking. Bethina finally put the pieces in place. Looks like you guys have some weird thing going on.” She falls back into the grass.

  “And that would be…”

  Eloise rolls onto her stomach. Her skirt barely covers her as she swings her legs back in forth in the air. “There’s a part of his lightness embedded in you. That’s how he can calm you so easily.”

  Oh.” Warmth spreads through me. That sounds nice—I carry a piece of Beck around with me all the time. I like that. It doesn’t seem like a curse at all.

  The happiness doesn’t last long, maybe three seconds, before the full meaning sinks in. “Oh! So that means…”

  “You got it—he’s got a bit of your darkness wedged in him. Why do you think everyone’s panicked? If he can influence you, what can you do to him?”

  My spine stiffens. “Nothing! I wouldn’t!”

  “Maybe not now. But later. When will you be eighteen anyway?”

  “October seventh.”

  “Then that’s the big day. So far, Beck seems to be the stronger of you. He’s masked you for a long time and he’s good at it. But you’re getting stronger. Bethina doesn’t think Beck’s permanently stuck in you, anyway. She thinks you’re going to rip it out or something when you mature. Honestly, no one knows. ”

  She drops another white flower to the ground and a butterfly flits to it. Eloise gently lifts the butterfly and blows on it. It turns into a small, red apple. She tosses it to me and I catch it. I hope she isn’t expecting me to eat the used-to-be-a-butterfly.

  “Eloise, what if I don’t tear it out? What will happen?” I set the apple next to my leg.

  “That’s where we run into problems. The best I understand, it’s like Caitlyn and Charles, except you two aren’t twins.” She grabs the apple and takes a bite out of it, oblivious to the shocked look on my face.

  “Twins?” I process the word, remembering what Bethina told me, and blanch. “They were siblings—Beck and I are related?”

  Her eyes light up in surprise. “You mean you don’t know? What do they teach you at your fancy school?”

  “Apparently not accurate history.” My mind’s spinning. “Are you sure they were twins? Brother and sister?” The story Bethina told me my first day at Summer Hill was missing an important part.

  “Positive. I didn’t fail school, you know.” Eloise acts insulted. “You’re distantly related, five generations back or something. I’m not sure it even counts as being related.”

  Caitlyn and Charles were brother and sister. The Dark and the Light. But they were best friends, so what happened? Why do the two sides of our family hate each other?

  “Anyway,” Eloise continues. “The Gathering is convinced your magic will destroy Beck if you’re near him, even without the curse.”

  I’m not sure why it matters—the Channings and Greenes are cursed to fight to the death. What’s a little shared magic?

  I start to ask, but Eloise interrupts me. “If you’re permanently lodged inside him, you’ll either kill him or turn him Dark, too. You won’t even have to fight.” She shudders.

  “You’ll destroy him just like Caitlyn did to Charles.”

  23

  I run across the lawn, my head down. There are no tears—only a fog of confusion. I’m not paying attention, but my feet find the porch stairs and the front door slams behind me.

  If I don’t kill Beck because of the curse, then my stupid darkness will do it for me. No matter what I do. No matter how much magic I learn. I can’t fix this.

  What kind of monster am I?

  I scream, calling out Bethina and Mrs. Channing’s names. I need someone to explain this to me.

  The hard surfaces of the entryway amplify my shouts and they echo around me.

  Eloise is here. She paces back and forth, distraught, talking to me. “Lark, I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

  “You thought I knew? What? That I can’t be fixed?” I point to myself. “Why do you think I’m doing all this?” My hands sweep around my head, as if to scoop up the room. “Because learning how to control myself was supposed to keep Beck safe!”

  Eloise cowers to the doorway but doesn’t leave me. My hands vibrate and I clench them into balls as I storm into the library hoping to find someone—Mr. and Mrs. Channing or Bethina—to explain everything to me. Not just bits and pieces, but the entire mess.

  The room’s empty. “Damn it. Where are they?”

  “Lark?” Eloise says gently.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Is there anything I can do for you? I want to help.” From the way she looks at me, I believe her.

  My mind spins. “Who cursed us? Why?”

  “Caitlyn.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. None of this makes sense. Caitlyn cursed her brother?

  Eloise crosses the room and stops before a wall of books. She runs her hand down a row, plucks an oversized, leather-bound one from the shelf and says, “Why don’t we start here?”

  She holds the book out so that it faces me and I read the title The History of Witchcraft:The Salem Witch Trials Through the Founding of the Five Great Societies. I take it and place it on the desk. The outside feels brittle and delicate, and prone to disintegrating at any moment. In my life, I’ve never touched an antique book—most of my reading and research is done with my wristlet or regular book. I’m not exactly sure how to operate this relic.

  “Charles Channing,” I say to the pile of paper. “I want to know how he died.”

  Eloise raises her eyebrows and opens to the back. “This is the index. You look up terms here and it will tell you the page number. It doesn’t speak to you and you can’t speak to it.”

  She places her finger on Charles’ name. Page 178. I pace next to the desk as Eloise flips the pages to the right one.

  “Here,” she says.

  I stop pacing and run my hand down the delicate paper.

  Charles Channing and his twin sister Caitlyn founded the Western society. While Caitlyn is generally credited as the first leader of the State, it was Charles who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to secure the Western Society’s borders and acted as Caitlyn’s most trusted advisor.

  Charles died at age 31. His health failed rapidly during the last years of his life. What role, if any, his twin sister Caitlyn played is unknown. But the circumstances of his death are eerily similar to those of Miles Channing, his father, who was bound to the last Dark witch of the Greene family, Lucy. Many suspect, over the course of their lives, Caitlyn and Charles drew repeatedly on each other’s powers, resulting in Caitlyn’s darkness slowly leaching all light from Charles and resulting in his death.

  See Caitlyn Greene, page 236

  Thirty-one. That would give me thirteen years to figure this out. More careful page turning until I get to Caitlyn’s page. I gloss over the beginning information until my eyes land on:

  At Charles’s urging, Caitlyn assumed her mother’s maiden name, Greene, as a symbol of unity between the Light and Dark witches. This allowed the Channing twins to pass themselves off as close friends to the non-witch population rather than siblings—a necessity for both to be elected to the newly formed Society council
without raising suspicion amongst humans as to why one family remained virtually unharmed by the Long Winter. Subsequently, all Caitlyn’s female descendants have retained the last name Greene, even after binding.

  Huh. I’d never given it much thought before. I’d assumed we kept the name Greene so that people would know we were descended from a Founder.

  I skim to the middle.

  Witches, plagued by the genetic inability to produce more than two offspring, or mate successfully with humans, saw our numbers diminish after the Long Winter. To prevent our extinction, Caitlyn implemented the mating system which she presented to humans as a way to curb overpopulation and preserve limited natural resources. In actuality, Caitlyn’s purpose was to ensure the survival of the witch population by creating strong magic lines and limiting human breeding.

  Witches can only produce two children? That’s why the State has child limits? I read the words again and my stomach drops as I begin to understand. If the endless parade of the State-identified Sensitives on the wall screen are merely humans, and they’re forbidden from reproducing, then the State—or rather, the Dark witches who control State—are actively decreasing the number of humans.

  It’s a slow, generations-long genocide. And my mother oversees it. I gasp and throw my hand over my mouth. No wonder the Light witches hate her—she probably wants to do the same to them.

  “What is it?” Eloise asks. She stands at my side reading along with me.