Larkstorm

by Dawn Rae Miller

  I shake my head. If she doesn’t know, I’m not going to say anything. I don’t need her to hate me too. “Nothing. It’s just surprising.”

  I run my finger along the paper. Its dry surface scratches my skin. At the end of the section I read:

  Shortly after Charles’s passing, Caitlyn, devastated, withdrew from society. Amid speculation put forward by the Channing branch of the family that she was responsible for her brother’s death, Caitlyn grew increasingly unstable. The result was her curse on the two sides of the Channing-Greene family—she wanted her accusers to suffer as she did.

  See Channing Family, page 54

  Caitlyn cursed us? Fury builds in my chest. First she tries to save the witch population by keeping humans in check and then she curses her own family to kill each other? How could she be so selfish and shortsighted? Didn’t she care about ruining her descendants’ lives?

  I flip back and study Charles’s picture, taken not too long after the founding of the State. He grins back at me, his eyes hinting at mischievousness. He was so full of life and yet, just a few years later, he was dead.

  I rub my hand over my forehead. Maybe this is all a mistake—Beck and I aren’t twins, after all.

  But Miles and Lucy, my great-great-whatever grandparents, weren’t either, and he still ended up dead.

  A swell rolls under my feet and knocks me forward into the desk. I hear Eloise shriek, and then she’s down on the ground beside me.

  “Did you do that?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.” And I don’t. I haven’t any idea of what I can do.

  The walls vibrate and the sconce nearest us crashes to the floor along with pieces of plaster.

  From outside, an ear-piercing wail blares through the air. It reminds me of the earthquake sirens at school.

  “What is that?” I yell over the noise.

  Eloise’s eyes widen. Confusion, then fear, and finally understanding moves across her face. She jumps to her feet. “Lark, c’mon. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

  She pulls me out of the room and down the hallway. The air around us crawls along my arms.

  “What’s happening?” I shout over the wail of the sirens.

  “It’s the alarm. We’re under attack.” Eloise shoves me into the parlor. “This is the safest place I can think of.” She doesn’t sound confident and her eyes race across the room to the far window.

  The paintings of Beck’s family have fallen off the wall and lie scattered about. Broken bottles and their spilt insides litter the area around the wet bar. But the scene is nothing compared to that on the lawn.

  Panic and terror mix into a blur of confusion as Light witches spin in circles, like they’re unsure where to cast their spells. They never take their eyes off the dome—even when the air shudders and the ground pitches beneath them.

  But it’s the vibrations of the spells and counter-spells that frighten me the most. They produce a roar unlike anything I’ve heard. It’s like a hundred trains raced through a tunnel, and the air forced out the other end of it was released into our sanctuary.

  Eloise runs to the window, throws it open and sticks her head out. “There,” she yells at me. “That’s the weak spot I patched this morning. If they don’t notice it, we should be okay.” She turns to me. Uncertainty shadows her face as the dome dips and caves.

  “Lark, listen to me.” Eloise paces in front of the window. “They wouldn’t sound the alarm if it wasn’t necessary. The Dark witches are trying to break through the dome.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Is it my Mother?”

  Eloise shrugs and shakes her head. “I don’t know. But she can’t be happy about you being here.” She glances at the chaos outside. “I have to help them. You have to stay here, out of sight. Don’t move.”

  I nod. “Go.”

  Without a glance back, she runs for the door.

  I assume her place at the window. Witches cover the lawn, each one shaking and quivering as their magic tries to hold the bowing dome.

  I should be out there helping. The witches on the lawn are ready to fight. And if Eloise is right and Mother isn’t happy about me being here, then they’re attacking because of me. And what am I doing? Hiding in the house, unable to help. More of a problem than a solution.

  I can’t fight. I can’t help. I’m useless.

  The floor rocks like a boat at sea. My fingers reach for something, anything, to keep my balance.

  Rough hands grab me and slam my back into the wall. The window shatters and sprays glass around me. I choke, unable to draw air into my lungs.

  “Look what I found. A Dark witch on the loose.” Eamon’s face is inches from mine. His hot breath fans across my face. “I bet you want to be out there, helping them destroy us.” Two strong hands circle my wrists and yank them over my head, pinning me against the wall and his hipbone digs into my side as he presses against me.

  I turn my head from him. If I could move my leg, I’d knee him in the groin.

  Eamon’s lips graze my ear. “I don’t care what Bethina and Beck say, Alouette. You’re evil. Just like the rest of them.”

  “Stop calling me that,” I order. My voice is strong and confident. I am not afraid of Eamon—or his threats. Not this time. “My name is Lark.”

  His mouth is millimeters from mine and I can feel the movement of his lips as he sings: Alouette, gentille Alouette. Alouette je te plumerai. Je te plumerai la tete.

  On the last word, he steps back and slams me into the wall again. My head whips forward and lands with a dull thud against the wall. Stars dance in my eyes.

  “What do you think, little Lark? Shall I pluck your head? Or le cou?” His fingers trail down my neck and linger in the hollow, just above the pendant of my necklace. “Or perhaps le dos?” He wraps an arm around me and jams his hand against my back.

  How dare he touch me? I’ve done nothing. Energy tingles along my arms, rushing toward my heart.

  “Get your hands off me.” I cough. Pain shoots through my ribs and I wince.

  “What? You gonna hurt me?” Eamon sneers. “You can’t. I’ve seen you in training.” His hands grip my shoulders harder. Sharp fingernails dig through my thin shirt—I’m sure he’s drawn blood.

  He rips at my necklace. The links dig into my neck and the friction burns my skin. When it breaks, Eamon tosses it across the room. “You enjoy flaunting your power over him, don’t you?”

  A piercing stab in my temple. Then another, more intense. My body won’t move. It’s immune to my commands. Waves of energy build and begin pulsating, but they can’t escape.

  “See? You can’t do anything. Not even help those monsters out there. Do you really think we’d let that happen? That we’d let them have a weapon of destruction like you?”

  My body shudders. The energy pounds behind my eyes. It wants out but is trapped. My vision is gone.

  “Stop. Please.” My words should be lost to the din around us, but I know he hears.

  “I should kill you. It would solve everything.” His large hand reaches behind my head and pulls me close to him. The motion makes me dizzy in my blind state. “What do you say, should we end this? Save everyone?” His words are little more than snarls.

  I bite my lip. The metallic taste of blood works across my tongue. No. I’m not going to let Eamon hurt me. I pull my breath in sharp and focus on this piece of nothing in front of me. This animal who’s attacked me.

  I spit my words at him. “Take your hands off me.”

  And then he’s gone. I’m free.

  The house has stopped pitching. Everything is eerily quiet. Too quiet.

  The sound I hear next isn’t what I expect.

  “I won’t let anyone hurt her. Do you understand?”

  Beck.

  The stabbing in my temple eases. My sight is clouded, but I can see them. In front of me, Beck towers over Eamon.

  “Of course you won’t. You’re no better than she is, are you?”

  Beck’s fist
strikes Eamon’s jaw and he stumbles backward. But Eamon only laughs. “That’s right, Beck, show me how angry you are. Show me how pissed you can be. Because that’s her, you know. She’s controlling you.”

  Beck lunges for him and lands a punch square in his gut.

  A twinge of delight ripples through me. Eamon deserves this.

  Beck grabs Eamon by the shoulders and throws him across the destroyed room. His body smashes into a toppled bookcase.

  A laugh threatens to leave my lips, but I swallow it. Beck’s head swivels toward me. His eyes flash a warning. A small, disapproving move of his head. It’s all I need to pull myself away from the emotion. Beck can feel my pleasure—he knows I want him to hurt Eamon. And it’s wrong.

  Sprawled on the broken bookcase, Eamon doesn’t stop. “Next thing you know, you’ll be trying to convince all of us how it’s in our best interest to accept their demands.” He pulls himself up and squares off with Beck.

  Beck charges and the two fall into the glass shards. They roll over each other, jockeying for the top position. Beck’s arms, face and neck bleed from deep cuts.

  “Beck,” I cry. “Stop. This is what he wants. You have to stop.” Beck has Eamon pinned beneath him. “Don’t do this.”

  Horror and regret fill my body. Beck ignores me and drives his fist into Eamon’s face over and over again. A sickening crack fills the air.

  I’ve never seen Beck like this. Out of control. Furious. I know Eamon’s right—Beck’s acting on my emotions and I need to stop him.

  A bright red stain spreads across Beck’s shirt. I lay my hand on it. “Beck, think. He isn’t worth it.”

  His body relaxes beneath my hand. A deep breath, and then he shoves Eamon down hard before standing up. His strong, bleeding arms reach for me and I fold into him.

  A burning runs down my spine. It’s not the same as the painful energy. It’s relief. The pain at my temple is gone.

  Behind me, Eamon stands. I refuse to face him.

  “I see how it is. You’d rather protect an evil bitch than fight to save the rest of us from them.” He points out the window at the shuddering dome. “She’s the enemy, Beck. The sooner you realize it, the better.”

  I hold my hand to Beck’s chest. “No, don’t,” I say when he tenses at Eamon’s words. “Let him go.”

  Eamon slides behind me and out the door as a large crack shakes the house. I tumble forward into Beck arms.

  Cool, calming air rushes back into my lungs. I tilt my head back and pull in another breath. “Please tell me that didn’t just happen. You didn’t pummel Eamon because you know I wanted it.”

  Beck’s eyes search my face. “Listen to me. Don’t tell anyone, do you understand? You can’t tell anyone what you suspect.”

  “Suspect? I saw you, Beck. You don’t act like that.”

  He runs his hand over the back of my head until he finds the tender, swollen spot. “Are you okay?”

  “Me? I’m not the one who’s cut and bleeding. What were you thinking?” I shake my head at him.

  He kisses my forehead. “That’s the problem. I wasn’t.”

  24

  “I guess we can’t see the healer for these?” Beck flips his forearms over. Deep gashes ooze blood. The smaller cuts form a network of red lines across his arms and hands.

  The sirens are silent and the ground still. The battle must be over.

  “Bend down.” I lift his shirt over his head as gently as I can and examine his back. A large piece of glass is stuck in his skin. Over the years, I’ve watched Bethina administer medical care to my housemates. Even though I know it’s best to leave the glass in for now, I ask, “Do you want me to pull it out? I don’t have anything to stop the bleeding.”

  “Then let’s leave it. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as my hand. I think I broke a finger.”

  I touch his hand. Beck winces and yanks it away. “You broke more than your finger.”

  “Probably.”

  I rip his shirt in half and then half again. Beck raises an eyebrow at me. “Bandages. Not big enough for your back, but should work on your arms.”

  He nods.

  With a piece of the shirt, I dab at a cut on his arm. “Why didn’t you just use magic? Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

  “I’m not a bully, Lark.” He sees my confusion. “It was fairer this way.”

  “But he could have used magic on you. He could have really hurt you.” Latent worry creeps into my voice.

  Beck shrugs. “He tried.”

  He doesn’t need to say anything else. I understand. Eamon tried to use magic, but Beck blocked him. He’s stronger than I realized. Which means, underneath this encasing, my dark power may be too.

  When I finish bandaging him, Beck places both hands on my shoulders. “You’re missing something.”

  I scan the room, and then run my eyes over Beck’s bare chest. Even in his cut and bleeding state, he looks amazing. Lean, muscular and a little too amused by my admiration of his physique.

  I give him a playful shove on the only non-injured part of his body—his chest.

  “What?”

  He traces his finger along my collarbone. A heavy blend of chills and sparks follow in their wake.

  Beck’s eyes brighten when I sigh.

  “Your necklace.”

  “Eamon broke it.” My hand cups his as it runs down my arm. “He threw it somewhere.”

  The room is a disaster. The possibility of finding it without cleaning up first is slim.

  “We can find it later. Let’s go see if anyone needs help,” I say.

  “How ‘bout now?” He holds his hands in front of him, palms up. “We’ll find it with magic.”

  Even though he’s covered in makeshift bandages and probably has broken bones, Beck’s standing in front of me, smiling and asking me to find a silly necklace. How can I refuse?

  Easily. My lips press tight. “Beck, I can’t do magic. Eloise, Dasha—they’ve tried. It doesn’t work.”

  Undeterred, he grabs my hand between his. “You haven’t tried with me.”

  I start to shake my head but he stops me. “Put your hands on mine. I want you to close your eyes and envision your necklace back where it belongs.”

  This is futile, but if he needs to see it himself…I close my eyes and picture the little patina bird hanging around my neck. I imagine the weight of it and the coolness on my skin.

  Beck’s laugh causes me to throw my eyes open.

  I knew it wouldn’t work. Plus I probably looked ridiculous, the way I scrunched up my face in concentration. “Don’t laugh at me. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  He points to my chest. “Doesn’t look that way.”

  I lift my fingers to my neck and find the soaring bird. It hangs there, just as it has since the day Beck gave it to me. The weight, the coolness—I hadn’t imagined it.

  It was magic.

  “I did that? By myself?”

  “I only gave you the freedom and space to do it.” He runs his hand over my hair. “It was all you.”

  “I did it.” My fingers run over the raised markings on the wings, like they have so many times before.

  “You did.” He kisses the top of my head flooding me with a sweet comfort.

  “But the encasing?”

  “The encasing is still in place. I don’t know how to break it. But I figured out a long time ago—when we were kids—how to combine our magic. And our magic together…well, it’s very powerful.” He lowers his voice. “I don’t think they can stop us—and that’s why both sides are scared.”

  I gasp. “You think they’re lying? About the curse?”

  He ruffles his hair. “No. The curse is real. But your mom doesn’t seem to want us to fight anymore than my parents do. I thought it was an ingrained family tradition. Shouldn’t they be encouraging us to hate each other?”

  I’d hoped he had a reason, but the answer is simple. “They’re trying to protect us. In their own way, I guess. Your parents dri
lled that into me the other day. Keeping us apart makes the most sense.”

  “But they placed me in a school full of Dark witches to be with you,” he says. “And you’re here.”

  I wrinkle my forehead. “That, I don’t understand.”

  Beck pushes a stray hair off my face. “Until we know more, promise you won’t tell anyone—not Bethina or Eloise—about what we can do with our magic.”

  I purse my lips. Something feels wrong, but I can’t quite figure it out. But if I can trust anyone, it’s Beck. “I promise.”

  He steps away from me and surveys the room. “If it’s this bad in here, it’s going to be worse outside.” Books, shattered glass and overturned furniture litter the floor.

  “Did my mother do this?”

  “Yes.” Beck swallows hard . “Well, her people did. Malin doesn’t do the dirty work.” He takes my hand and draws soft circles on the back, and I allow myself to relax. “I could hear them calling your name.”

  My stomach drops. They wanted me. Just like Eamon said. “If it would keep her from attacking—keep everyone safe—maybe I should go to her.”

  Beck shakes his head. “Please don’t say that. The thought of living without you…”

  I squeeze his hand. “You and Bethina are more my family than my mother and Callum. I’d rather spend the rest of forever hidden away here, with you, than be with them. But if being here puts you in danger, than I need to consider my options—sooner rather than later.”

  He frowns. The back of my hand tingles when he presses his lips to it. He pauses, then says abruptly, “Should we see if anyone needs our help?”