Why has no one come for me? Where are my guards?
I tap my arm where my wristlet should be, forgetting it's missing. Beck's is gone too, replaced with the magic-robbing red wristlet - but that's to be expected since he's a condemned criminal. I lean over him, and whisper the words to release the wristlet. It clatters to the ground.
He may be breathing, but life is slowly flowing away from Beck. My heart, however, vibrates against my chest, like some terrible whirling machine.
Softly, I pull Beck's head into my lap. My own pain means nothing to me right now. All I want is for Beck to live.
With closed eyes, I think of all the things Henry, Eloise, and Oliver taught me. How magic is just the manifestation of energy. How Light witches pull their power from positive things and Dark from negative.
But what's positive here? And after all I've done is there still enough Light in me to do any good?
Against my chest, my necklace vibrates with energy of its own. Instinctively, I take it off and clench it in my palm. It grows warm.
Without knowing why, I place the necklace over Beck's heart and hold him tightly, envisioning his wounds healing and life flowing back into him.
Beneath my hands, he moans.
The gash across his face fades, and the blood stops flowing from his torso.
His hand grasps mine, and I startle. "Lark," he gasps. "What are you doing?"
"Saving you," I manage to say, surprise peppering my words. I should not be able to do this, and yet I am.
He points at my gut, and his olive green eyes stare up at me. "Let me help you."
I shake my head. "I'm fine," I lie. "Do you know who is in the other boxes? We have to get them out before they're cooked alive."
Beck stands on shaky legs. He rests his hand on my head to steady himself. "It's Kyra, Maz, and Ryker."
"What?"
Beck points at the boxes. "When the Splinter group took us from my cell, they were with them." His words are labored.
"With them how?" Not that I want to believe my friends would side with the Splinter group, but I can't be too cautious.
A dark shadow crosses Beck's lovely face, making him look menacing, and I back away from him. Could he really be part of all of this? Could he have been in the box with me pretending to be Mother?
My brain churns at the implications. This is just an elaborate set-up, Beck is trying to trick me, and my friends have abandoned me.
"Don't hurt me," I mumble. "Please," I beg. "Please don't hurt me."
"Birdie, no," Beck says, creeping closer to me. "I wouldn't. I swear. I want to save you."
He touches his cheek in the exact spot I healed minutes earlier. "They were prisoners. Kyra was crying. They all had on red wristlets." He reaches out to me. "Please, trust me."
Trust. He's asking so much. After all that's happened, he wants me to trust him. But how can I when I don't even trust myself?
I shoot a glance at the boxes. We have to do something fast if it is indeed my friends inside.
Magic tingles in my fingertips. I have to trust. If I don't, I could loose three people I love forever.
"Stand back," I order Beck and throw my magic in the direction of the first box. Orange and yellow sparks strike the box, and it shudders to life. "Open," I shout into the shimmering air, and the box explodes.
The limp form of Maz tumbles out.
Again, with the next box, and Kyra appears. She scrambles to her feet, unharmed but definitely shaken. I move the third and final box, but instead of Ryker, as I expect, Lena falls from the sky.
Beck and I exchange confused glances. The three former prisoners stare back at us. I quickly mutter a spell, and Maz and Kyra's red wristlets fall away.
"What happened?" Lena asks as Eamon and a dozen of his followers step out from the ring of trees just behind where the boxes used to be.
"Well done, Alouette. Well done." Eamon sneers, clapping slowly, and his group chortles. "Now that you are free, shall we have a good old fashioned battle? Real magic. Just us," he motions to his followers, "and you."
Someone behind him laughs. "Four witches and a human, Eamon? This will be more than easy."
The crowd titters, and Eamon holds up his hand to silence them. "Let us not forget we're up against Lark and Beck. Don't ever underestimate them, even in their weakened state."
Kyra brushes dirt off her dress. "Excuse me," she shouts. "Don't you ever underestimate me."
She sends off a flurry of destructive offensive magic. Her arms are but a blur as they quiver and shoot magic toward our attackers. Her normally carefree face is full of determination. Wave after wave of potent magic hammers Eamon's group until five men stumble backward before falling to the ground mortally wounded. Although I'm impressed, I have to save my thoughts for later, when we have time to discuss such things.
As I rush to my best friend's side, Maz and Beck scramble to the other end of our short line while Lena stays behind us, cowering and terrified. The four of us form a wall of magic, and I quickly throw up a defensive shield like Annalise taught me.
"Are you all," Lena gasps through her tears. "Are you all Sensitives?'
"Lena," I hiss. "This is not the time."
The shield quakes as magic strikes it, but nothing breaks through. For now, in this moment, we are safe.
"Is it going to hold?" Beck asks. He's facing away from me, at a slight angle, focusing his attention on Eamon's right flank.
"Of course," I say, even though I'm unsure. I haven't the heart to tell my friends that my experience with defensive spells is limited. I can rip roofs off buildings and make things explode, but protecting myself wasn't high on Mother's list of lessons for me. She expected me to be the aggressor.
A thought hits me. What if my shield doesn't hold? I've only done this spell once before, plus I'm dizzy and weak after healing Beck and freeing my friends. "Beck, can you do defensive spells?" I ask.
Magic hammers our protective surface, and sparks of red and blue bounce off. "Like a shield?"
"Yes."
"I can." His words come in huffs and spurts. "But Maz is better."
"Maz," I order. "Put up a secondary shield."
The air before us bends and shimmers.
Then something unusual happens: the two shields merge into one. It glows a light lilac.
"Can you hold this yourself?" I ask Maz.
"Yes."
I hold out my hands toward Kyra.
"Show me that trick," I say. "The first spell you did."
She shakes her head. "I have a better one."
I grasp onto her, the way I did with Mother and Annalise at Kyra's binding ceremony and focus all my energy on the magic flowing from my fearless friend.
The magic wells inside me bubbling like a fizzy drink that's growing in potency. When I can't bare to hold it in anymore, I release it. Sunshine-colored sparks leap from my fingertips, and suddenly, without an indication, Eamon and his followers vanish.
"What did we do?" I ask.
"I don't know," Kyra responds. "It wasn't supposed to look like that."
My shoulders tremble, and the shield falters. I turn to look at my friends – or my enemies, I'm not entirely sure – and collapse.
"Beck," I croak before allowing unconsciousness to take me.
CHAPTER THREE
"Would you like to play a game, little Lark bird?" Callum teased, using the nickname Beck had given me.
Beck and I sat under the tree, each of us eating an apple, and oblivious to the world around us. I never heard Callum sneak up.
"We're busy," Beck said before taking a bite from his apple. It wasn't unusual for Beck to speak for the both of us. At nine years old, I was shy and preferred to remain in his long shadow.
"I wasn't talking to you," my brother retorted. In the week since our arrival, Callum had spent much of each day tormenting Beck and me. We thought we had finally found a place away from him.
"Well, I'm talking to you," Beck sassed.
&nbs
p; I placed my hand on his arm and shook my head. I hated when my brother and birth-mate fought.
"Little Lark bird, let's see how good you are at hiding. I'll count to one hundred, and you hide. If I find you first, Beck is my slave for the rest of the week. If he finds you first, I'll be his."
My gaze darted between the two boys, but it was Beck I looked to for an answer. He nodded slightly.
"Okay," I whispered.
Callum covered his eyes and began counting slowly. Beck swatted me on the arm. "Go, and don't let him find you."
I ran out from among the Cypress trees and through the morning mist toward the coast. Mother's home in Vancouver sat high above the ocean. The late snow had receded just weeks earlier, but the ground remained mushy under foot. Mud covered my shoes, but I kept running.
Unsure where to go, I envisioned where Beck would hide and knew instantly he'd scale down the sides of the steep cliff to the boulders closer to the shoreline.
Loose rocks gave way as I carefully plucked my way down the cliff. One wrong move, and I'd end up sprawled on the boulders below me.
When I finally reached the bottom, Beck's laugh filled my ears.
He sat on a rock, just a few feet from me. "What took you so long?"
I never questioned how he beat me.
#
Sometime in the night, I awake to the smell of burning sage stinging my nose.
My eyes flutter as cool hands press against my cheeks, and Eloise chants words foreign to me.
She kisses my forehead. "Sleep, Lark. Sleep and grow stronger."
"Where's Beck?" I whisper. My throat is dry and scratchy, but I manage to add, "And Kyra, Maz, and Lena?"
Eloise, my only friend from Summer Hill, straightens my blankets. "They're all here. Only Beck was attacked like you, the rest are unharmed." She helps me sit up and adjusts my pillows, making them nice and fluffy. "You need rest."
"What happened?"
Eloise places her finger to her lips and nods toward the window where Henry dozes on a make-shift cot.
"You died."
"What?"
"You died, and Beck brought you back to life. He used the part of him lodged inside you to keep you alive."
The pain starts slowly, like a pinprick, and spreads across my breasts and up to my throat. "He did what?" I mumble.
"He kept you alive. You shouldn't have survived the attack." Eloise brushes loose hair from my forehead.
My hands grab at my chest, near my heart, and touch my necklace. Its normal cool, smoothness has been replaced with a searing, burning heat. I yelp. Air rushes into my lungs, and I grab at the scorching necklace determined to rip it from my neck.
"It's okay, Lark. You're going to be okay," Eloise whispers. "You just need rest."
"Get it off me," I scream, thrashing against the bed. My legs tangle in the sheets, and pain invades every nerve of my body. Throbbing and stabbing, it radiates across my torso, matching the fieriness of the necklace in intensity.
I can't decide which hurts more – the necklace or my torso - and my sobs, which I've been choking back, become louder.
"Just make it stop," I scream.
"Shhh, Lark, calm down. You're going to split your stitches open." Eloise forces me back down against the bed, but I'm stronger, and my flaying sends her stumbling backward. "Henry!" she shouts. "Help me."
I press my hand against my stomach, only to yank it away when nausea overtakes me.
"Get this thing off me," I demand between gasps, yanking at the necklace.
Henry appears next to my bed and, using just his hands, restrains me.
The pain doesn't stop. In fact, my necklace burns stronger, seeping deeper into my core. I don't know how to make it stop.
Eloise reaches around me and untangles the necklace from my hair before slipping it off my neck. The pain doesn't end. It turns inward, toward my heart.
I'm being consumed from the inside out from pain.
"Lark, listen to me. You've been seriously injured." Henry's holding my face between his hands, trying to get me to focus on him, but I can't. I squish my eyes shut, trying to block out the never-ending pain. "You were attacked in the garden, and then held captive. Don't you remember?"
"I remember lying on the ground," I pant, trying to breathe through mind-numbing agony that is attacking my body. "But not how I got there."
The pain slows slightly, and my breathing normalizes.
"Did someone hex my necklace?" I ask.
"Someone viciously attacked you." Eloise says. She inspects my necklace, touching it gingerly at first before balling it in her fist. "There's no magic other than Beck's token here." She drops it on the nightstand.
I wrack my brain trying to remember what happened to me, but all I come up with is walking in the garden. And Beck's red scarf. His laugh.
Love.
I remember feeling love.
And pain. So much pain.
My fingers hover over the deep gash on my torso.
The Splinter group attacked me. And somehow Mother..."Henry," I gasp. "Mother was there, she was talking to me, telling me what to do."
Henry and Eloise exchange glances. "That's impossible, Lark. Malin is dead. All reports indicate as much, even without her body."
"So I was hallucinating?"
"Most likely from the pain," Henry says.
"Could someone have masked and pretended to be her?" The burning in my torso ebbs enough for me to focus, and a chill creeps over my body.
Eyebrow raise. "You suspect Beck?" Henry asks.
I shake my head. "No, but is it possible to impersonate the dead?"
Henry strokes his chin. "I've never heard of it happening. I know I personally can't do it."
"So a hallucination," I state and relax back into the welcomed warmth of my pillows. Cold sweat runs between my breasts.
"Why did no one come to my aid? Surely there was time before I was taken for someone to respond. Where was Dawson?"
Eloise's lips press into two thin lines. "Your guard is missing. Only Annalise rushed to the garden, but you had already disappeared. Without your wristlet, we couldn't find you anywhere on the grid." She opens the curtains, letting daylight spill in.
Her words are a punch to my already torn gut. "Missing? But not harmed. He could be captured, correct? Like I was."
"Or complicit."
My burning heart whirls.
Lark? Beck's voice echoes through my brain, and I startle. Bits and pieces of what's happened skip through my mind. The angry red slashes across Beck's face. The ravenous darkness. Lark, I need you.
"Is everything okay?" Eloise asks. "Should we get more pain medication? I can call the healer."
Henry peers into my eyes. "What is it?"
"Beck is looking for me." I roll onto my side and excruciating pain tears through me, but it doesn't stop me from plucking the necklace from the night table. I ball it into my hand, savoring the white-hot pain it distributes.
Something tells me that this isn't my pain I'm feeling, but Beck's.
Eloise lays her hand on my clammy forehead. "He's resting. Let him be."
"No," I say, panic creeping into my voice. "Something's wrong."
"Beck is under constant surveillance. I'm sure he's fine." Eloise tucks the covers around me. "What you need is more rest."
No, what I need is to get up. Beck is calling to me. He needs me. I push myself more upright. The blankets slip down around my waist. My pain means nothing to me.
Beck, I say in my head. I'm coming.
"Lark," Henry says, as if he too can read my mind. "Don't do this. You're too weak. I'll send someone to check on Beck."
With great effort, I swing my legs off the edge of the bed and slide to the floor. I won't get far walking, but I'm not sure I'm strong enough to transport either.
I close my eyes and focus on Beck's presence. I lean on my bed as I inch closer to the door. I have to get to him.
"Do you need help?" Henry says over the shuff
ling of my feet.
I can't turn, and my midsection is stiff from the healer's work. "Is he nearby?"
Henry crosses the room and scoops me up in his arms. "The next room over."
My head rests on my uncle's shoulder. "Dim," he says as we enter the hallway, and the light grows softer.
"Open." Beck's bedroom door swings open. Once my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see the vague outline of Beck's body under the heavy blankets.
"Is he going to be okay?" I ask.
Henry sets me down in a chair next to Beck's bed. "He gave more of himself than he should have to keep you alive. He's worn out."
I study Beck's sleeping face. The darkness disguises any signs of fatigue or illness. All I can see is his strong jaw, his riot of wavy hair, and his goodness. "Didn't I save him?" I ask, trying to piece what happened together.
"He, in return, nearly killed himself trying to keep you alive." Henry lays his hand on my shoulder.
The curse. One way or another, the infernal curse is determined to come true. If I don't kill Beck, he'll kill me. Or maybe we'll end up both dead.
Why can't I have a normal relationship like everyone else I know?
"Leave us." I say, and Henry doesn't question me.
When he's gone, I rise slowly. Breathing hurts. Thinking hurts. Moving definitely hurts. But I need to do this.
Carefully, so as not to twist my torso, I lie next to Beck, in the crook of his arm, where I belong.
After learning at Summer Hill that I was a Dark witch – more specifically that I was going to be the most powerful Dark witch ever - I've never given much thought to how much Beck and I are mixed up in each other. I rationally understood that we share bits of our magic locked in our hearts, but I don't think I fully got it.
He used that magic to keep me alive - the part of him locked inside me. I must have done the same without realizing it.
But even before magic played a role in my world, our lives were intertwined. Predetermined by a protection charm our mothers placed on us to keep us safe from others until our eighteenth birthday. Still, it goes deeper than that. So often, it's difficult to tell where I stop and Beck begins.
Phoenix Page 2
