“It wasn’t an accident—your father’s death. He died protecting you and your mother. I came with a group of Light witches to confront Malin. She escaped with you, but he didn’t survive. I’m so sorry.”
My brain spins as my eyes rest on the kneeling man before me. He helped kill my father?
I don’t know what to say. The thought of me as a baby, with a mother and father protecting me, seems strange. Mr. Trevern may as well be talking about someone else, someone from a history book who I’ve heard of but have never met.
“Why would you do that?”
Mr. Trevern lifts his face. Our eyes meet. “I will never forgive myself for ruining your family.”
None of what he’s saying makes sense. “She’s your sister. I’m your family.”
“Lark.” He stretches his arms and beckons me toward him. I stand my ground—just out of his reach. “I let people fill my mind with nonsense. I was jealous of Malin—her status, her powers.”
“So you tried to kill her? And me?” My feelings are detached from my words. I’m talking about two different people. Not Mr. Trevern and myself. It’s too surreal.
“Yes. And I’ve regretted it every day since.” His clasps his hands together.
“Why was I with my parents? Didn’t I live at the school, with Bethina and Beck?”
“Malin needed Beck’s magic to keep you safe–”
“How?” I ask impatiently.
Mr. Trevern holds up his finger, telling me to wait. I show my displeasure by crossing my arms and huffing.
“Until she found him, you were safer at home, where she could protect you.” He shakes his head. “His parents, however, hid him as soon as they learned of Malin’s plan to pair him with you.”
“Because I’m going to kill him.”
“You are both a danger to each other.” His eyes bore into me. “After we killed your father–” He pauses and swallows hard. “Malin was desperate to protect you. There are so many among us who let fear control them and who would seek to destroy you, even as a small child. As Caitlyn’s female descendant, you will be very strong. You already are.” The corners of his mouth pull down and a shadow of shame flicks across his face. I motion with my hand, prompting him to go on.
“When Malin found Beck, she convinced Margo to give him to her. All it would take is one word from Malin, and the Dark witches would hunt him. Margo had no choice but to agree. No one thought the two of you would grow close. Your natures are so different.” He runs his hand through his thick hair and looks off at the lake.
“How did that stop witches from attacking me?”
“Malin entwined your magic by placing a piece of your darkness in Beck and his lightness inside you. It acts as a failsafe. As long as you’re children, no one can hurt either of you without the other suffering too. It’s why neither side moves against you. It’s keeping you safe until your birthday.”
Two hearts entwined as one. You will carry a piece of each other for all the rest of your days.
My eyes widen in horror. The language he’s using—entwined, pieces—I’ve heard that before. The words begin to make sense. Eloise didn’t fully explain it to me.
There is no sound. I’m spinning and grasping and struggling against the sickness of it all.
“She bound us?” I whisper.
26
Mr. Trevern hops to his feet and grabs hold of me, his fingers curling around my shoulders. “She did it to protect you. You’re an incredibly powerful Dark witch. Possibly the strongest we’ve ever seen.”
“What does it do?” I shout. “The binding?”
“Unlike humans whose bindings are purely ceremonial, ours aren’t. We witches exchange a piece of magic with our mate, tying us together as long as we both live. And when we die, we return the piece of our loved one to them.”
I push him away. This can’t be happening. I don’t want to hear this.
My feet pound the dirt path, each step taking me further and further away from Mr. Trevern and his revelations. Beck said we can’t be bound, but that’s exactly what my mother did.
“No,” I cry and slam my fists into my thighs as I double over, trying to keep the screams inside. Everything makes sense now—how we can affect each other’s emotions, the insistence we grow up together, Beck talking to me in my head.
Caitlyn and Charles may have been twins, but their Light-Dark parents were bound. They shared a piece of their magic with each other, just like Beck and me. Just like twins would.
That’s why I’m going to kill Beck. Because we’re magically bound.
I’m going to suck out his light just like Caitlyn did to Charles, and their mother did to their father.
“What’s wrong with him?” I shout at the sky. It makes no sense, Beck wanting to be with me, knowing one of us will kill the other. “What’s wrong with his parents? Why are they letting me stay here?”
My questions are met with the low hum of insects and an occasional bird chirp.
I’m a prisoner. They’re not trying to help me. They’re trying to figure out what I can do, so they can stop me. So they can kill me first.
Every part of my body revolts and I don’t know if I’m shaking or crying or laughing at the graveness of it all.
Well, they’re going to have to do a lot more than some silly encasing if they want to keep me here.
The faint rustle of a witch transporting alerts me. I’m not alone after all.
Mr. Trevern watches me from the deep shadows of the tree. “You don’t have to do this alone, Lark. That’s why I’m here. To help you.”
“Can you undo it?” My sobs garble my words.
He approaches me slowly. “We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Of course you do. He’s going to end up dead, either from me or some idiots like the ones that killed my father.”
Mr. Trevern puts his arm around me and waits. When I don’t protest, he pulls me to his chest and I let myself go limp. “It’s not permanent. We hope when you turn eighteen, you’ll reject your mismatched pieces and the failsafe will break.”
I draw in a long, steadying breath. “That’s good, right? I won’t be able to hurt him. I’ll run away and we’ll never be permanently bound.”
Mr. Trevern presses a piece of cloth into my hand. A handkerchief. I dab my eyes and wipe my cheeks.
“It is. But we’re not positive it’s going to be so easy.” He drops his voice. “The most likely scenario, the one everyone including Malin believes, is that on your birthday, you will fight each other to reclaim your respective pieces.”
“Fight as in argue or fight as in battle?” My voice shakes as I ask.
He runs his hand over the stubble on his chin and frowns. “Battle.”
I don’t really want to know more, but I need to be prepared. I brace myself for bad news by digging my fingernails into my palm. “If that doesn’t happen?”
“If Malin is wrong and the binding isn’t temporary, you will retain each other’s pieces. In the past, when the magic from your families mingled, the Dark witch pulled heavily on the Light witch’s power. Eventually, the Light witch died.” Okay. Breathe. You already knew this, Lark.
Mr. Trevern continues. “Another possibility is Beck may become Dark.”
“But he’ll live?”
Mr. Trevern hesitates and knits his brow together as if trying to decide whether or not to answer my question. After a long pause, he says, “The Gathering won’t let him live as a Dark witch, Lark. The two of you would be too powerful. We’d be outnumbered.”
Can this just stop getting worse already?
“I won’t let anyone hurt him.” The tears stop and determination takes over. “And I won’t kill Beck.”
He gives me a weak smile, “I know you don’t want to.”
“Mr. Trevern–” I begin.
“Call me Henry.” Henry? Such a normal name. Strange.
“Okay, Henry,” I say, testing it out. �
��Can I learn to not be evil?”
He takes another handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his face. I never noticed how young he was compared to my other teachers.
“I don’t think you’re evil, Lark, and I don’t think Malin is inherently evil either.”
I run my tongue over my teeth. “I hurt people. When I’m scared or frightened, I hurt people and destroy things. How is that not evil?”
“It upsets you. You show remorse—Malin doesn’t. She never has. There’s light in you. Don’t forget that.”
I stare at my fingernails. They’re caked with dried sand. “Right—Beck’s light.”
Henry stammers, “No. There’s more to it.”
“No, there’s not. Beck’s influence is why you think I can do things my Mother can’t.” I flick a speck of sand off my arm. “We both have Light fathers and Light mates. But Beck is stronger than either of them.”
Henry grimaces. “I’m positive, if you just set your mind to it, you can fight this.”
I give my favorite teacher a dirty look. “I’m evil and you know it.”
“No. You’re wrong.” He set his mouth firmly. “I’ve kept you safe. I’ve done all these things because I know you’re not evil. I believe with everything in me you won’t harm anyone intentionally.” Sadness seeps through his words. “You can fight this.”
He’s wrong. I want to crush Eamon. I want him dead.
And I don’t want to change that. Not at all.
Henry rests his arm on my shoulder and I shrug it off. My mind focuses on the chirping crickets in the field just beyond where we stand in the trees—their buzz grows louder once his words end. All around us, life grows and flourishes in direct conflict to our conversation.
Death. Death and destruction have hounded my life. I understand that now. First my father died from being too near me. And now Beck—Beck will die too if he’s around me. People either want me dead or want me to kill for them.
Henry grasps my hands between his. His eyes study my fingers before he says, “I need you to tell me something. No matter how difficult it is for you to do so. Do you understand?”
The gloomy numbness weighs inside of me. How much worse is this going to get?
“What do you want to know?” My heart fumbles.
“Do you love Beck?” His voice is soft, almost a whisper.
The words slice through me. My heart seizes and then spins, faster and faster. I open my mouth but my teeth act like barbed wire, trapping my words inside.
The struggle must rage on my face because Henry says, “Easy, Lark. You can do this.”
Emotions swell up inside me. Do I love Beck? The question bounces around my brain. “I care about him. He’s my best friend. When he’s not near me, I fall to pieces.” The words tumble out of me. “I want to keep him safe, protect him. I need him to make me laugh. I need him.”
“But do you love him?” Henry grasps my hands harder. A small click and then an opening in my heart.
“Yes,” I sputter. “Yes, I love him.”
The opening closes. It burns and wields itself shut.
Henry releases my hands. Bewildered, I fall back onto the ground exhausted.
The words dance around my mind: I love Beck. How could I not know that? How did I not realize what he’s become to me? Not just a mate and a best friend but the boy I love.
Henry breaks my musing. “As long as you can love, you’ll never be evil. I’m positive of that.”
Sweat runs down the back of my shirt. I’m a mess. And I’m standing at the edge of the forest, admitting to my teacher-slash-uncle that I love Beck.
I’m going to kill the boy I love. And I get no say in the matter and there’s no way out.
Henry touches my shoulder. “No matter what you think, you’re not evil. You’re Dark. There is a difference.”
27
I don’t put much stock in Henry’s words as I head back toward the house and upstairs to my room. Killing the boy I love seems downright evil to me. Even if it’s not what I want.
Agitated voices drift from the library. Instead of searching it out, I head down the picture-lined hallway toward my room, milling over what Henry said before I left: “Don’t be too hard on Beck. Margo cast a tongue-tying spell on him; he can’t tell you everything he wants to.”
Another thing I don’t completely understand, but it sounds similar to my encasing. Why would his mother do that to him?
I pause before a group of photos. The witches all look so happy and unconcerned —not at all like a group of people hunted by Dark witches. I wonder how many of them were cursed to fight my family line to the death. How many did my mother, and her mother, and all my relatives before me kill? I study a photo that has several Channing boys in it. Did any of them fall to my wicked family?
Dread hangs over me like an unwanted companion as I rush through my shower and run back to my room.
I shouldn’t be anywhere near Beck, Henry’s made that painfully clear, but my heart isn’t listening. It sputters and spins, anxious to see the boy I will one day kill.
But it’s not that day yet. And I’m not ready to give up hope.
From a trunk, I select a navy sundress with a tiny purple flower pattern before strapping a pair of low-heeled sandals to my feet.
My hair falls into natural waves. I swipe mascara over my lashes but leave the rest of my face bare. I give myself a once over in the mirror and all but run to the East Lawn.
A miserable day, I think, as I cross the grass. But that doesn’t mean it has to end that way. Plus, if what Henry says is true and I can learn self-control, the biggest threat isn’t me sucking the light from Beck, but me using magic against him. When the failsafe and our binding is broken, I plan on having as much self-control as possible.
Eloise waves to me from a long table and motions for me to join her. It’s crowded with young witches I don’t know. Some of them look familiar—I’ve seen them following Beck around—but most of them are strangers.
I hesitantly walk toward her, doubtful they’ll let me sit with them. Other than Bethina, Henry, and Beck, Eloise is the only person who doesn’t cringe when I come near.
“You look pretty, Lark.” Eloise’s eyes sweep over me and she gives me a thumbs up. “Beck will like that.”
The gangly guy next to Eloise lets out a chuckle. “She could wear Long Winter clothes and he’d still think she looked toasty.”
Heat rushes to my face. He didn’t just say that.
“That’s good! Give yourself a little color before he shows up—you look healthier that way,” Eloise teases. It’s such a Kyra thing to say that for a minute, I almost forget who’s speaking to me.
“I like your dress, Lark,” a girl to my left says, moving over to make room for me. When I don’t sit down, she laughs. “You looked stunned.”
“Where are my manners?” Eloise says. She points first at the girl then the boy. “Lark, this is Julia and Kellan.”
The two witches extend their hands and I stare at them. After weeks of being treated like an outcast, I’m not entirely sure what’s happening. I scan the fifteen or so people sitting at the table. Most of them are caught up in conversation. I’m an afterthought—it’s completely opposite of the witches who watch my lessons and harass me. The ones who whistle Alouette every time I approach.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting their greeting. It feels so good, These witches aren’t shunning me or treating me like I’m a monster. I grin at Eloise and a giddy giggle escapes my lips.
Immediately, all talking not coming from our table ceases.
I swing my head around, to see what happened.
Hundreds of eyes stare at us. I turn to look down at the group of witches sitting with me, and for the most part, they’re trying to pretend everything is normal. Eloise clears her throat.
Oh. It’s me. Everyone is staring at me.
I let my hair fall across my face, a sad attempt to hide from their disapproving eyes, and sit down across from Eloi
se.
“Hey.” She leans across the table and pushes my chin up. “Don’t let them win.” Our eyes lock and a rushing sound roars through my ears, followed by a surge of bravery. “Keep your head up. You deserve to be happy as much as anyone else.”
She’s right. I’m not going to let anyone ruin my semi-good mood. I tuck my hair behind my ear and let my eyes roam around the lawn, looking for Beck. All the other witches have gone back to pretending I don’t exist. Apparently, I can’t laugh, get upset, cry, sneeze or just about anything else, without triggering some weird group stare.
“You may want to hold your head still. You’re gonna give yourself whiplash.”
I smile at her. “Oh, right.” My heart pounds and little knots form in my gut.
Eloise juts her chin in the direction over my shoulder. “There he is.”
Trying to seem as collected as possible, I slowly glance in his direction and my breath immediately locks in my lungs. Beck glides toward us, the wind blowing his blond hair, and the memory of running my fingers through it sends shivers down my spine. Even from this distance, his eyes twinkle. I fix my attention on how his shirt hugs the contours of his muscular frame.
Eloise lets out a low whistle.
“Wow!” she stage whispers. “He’s rather spectacular, isn’t he?”
I can’t tear my eyes away. The closer he gets to me, the faster my heart races. He stops a few feet away from the table, tilts his head, and smiles at me. I study my nails, embarrassed, but at the same time happy he at least knows.
Larkstorm Page 21
