Phoenix

by Dawn Rae Miller

  A camera floats closer to me, trying to pick up the exchange, no doubt, and I immediately shut down.

  "If you don't mind, Minister," Kyra says, "Lark needs to get to her seat. The first course is being delivered."

  Sun-Wei nods. "Of course. Enjoy your evening, Miss Lark." His added formality makes me shiver.

  As he turns to leave, the first course is delivered to our box, a lovely mixed green salad with strawberries, almonds, and pomegranate dressing. My hunger makes me want to devour it, but I'm conscious of the cameras watching my every move.

  "This is sooo good," Kyra exclaims. "I can't wait to see what's next."

  I nod absent-mindedly. What I wouldn't give to have Beck here with me. At least I'd have someone to talk to. When I told him of my plans for the night, he looked disappointed. He didn't say anything except to tell me to have fun, but I could tell he'd rather I stay in - and I almost did. Until Eloise insisted I go. She thought it would be good for people to see me out.

  So far, even with Sun-Wei approaching me, being out hasn't been too terrible. If I had to battle the throngs of people I had imagined, I'm not sure I would have lasted.

  The lights flash on and off, signaling the start of the show. A hush falls over the crowd as a petite woman takes the stage. She wears an elaborately beaded gown and holds an old-fashioned microphone in one hand.

  "Thank you for coming tonight," she says in a baby doll voice. "I hope you enjoy the performance."

  She exits stage left, just as the main course is served. I stare down at the onion tartlet for a long moment. It looks delicious, but a thought strikes me.

  "Excuse me?" I say to the server, breaking the promise of silence.

  "Yes, madam?"

  "Where did the food for tonight's dinner come from?"

  The server gives me a strange look, like I've lost my mind. "The Agricultural Centers. We received a fresh shipment today."

  "I see."

  A camera whirls overhead, zooming in on my plate of food.

  "Kyra," I whisper behind my hand. "What feed is that camera attached to?"

  She eyes it for a second. "Gossip One, I think."

  "Look it up."

  Kyra fiddles with her wristlet. "Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no."

  My heart sinks. "Tell me."

  "Head of State, Lark Greene feasts," Kyra's voice shakes. "This isn't good. You look like a greedy glutton."

  I slink around the table and take my coat from the hook hanging on the corner. "I'm going home. This was a bad idea."

  "But the show--"

  "Will be fabo, I'm sure, but I can't be seen eating like this. The Splinter group will hold it against me." I place my napkin on the table and slip on my faux fur coat. "I'd rather be home with Beck, anyway."

  Hushed voices surround us, and I look up to see all eyes on me, not the stage.

  Wonderful. I can't pretend I have to use the bathroom because I'm clutching my coat.

  Kyra looks around the room and sighs. "Fine, but I'm telling you, this is a bad idea. You shouldn't leave."

  "Should I stay and gorge myself while the people outside of San Francisco starve?" I whisper.

  She stares at me blankly.

  "Kyra?"

  "I don't know. I just don't know, Lark, okay?" she snaps.

  Both she and Maz grab their coats and follow me to the exit. I don't worry about paying the check because I know they just send it to my office tomorrow.

  We leave the Opera, and because of the chilly night air, scurry to the secure transporting zone.

  "Oh no," Kyra says again. I'm beginning to think she needs a new catch phrase.

  "What is it?"

  "Now they're saying you think you're better than everyone else."

  I stare at her in disbelief. "Why?"

  "Because we left the show. The performers are upset."

  I close my eyes and shake my head. When I open them, I say, "For all they know there could have been a State emergency."

  Kyra shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you."

  I can't win. No matter what I do, it's wrong. "Well, I don't know either. Why do I have to have all the answers?" My voice is louder than normal.

  "Because," Kyra says, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. "You are the Head of State. You're supposed to make the right decision all the time. It's what people expect of you."

  An empty hollowness fills me up. I'm always supposed to be right. I am the State, and the State doesn't make mistakes.

  And yet, I make them time and again.

  Maybe taking control of the State wasn't such a good idea after all.

  #

  "How'd it go?" Beck asks. He's sitting in a plush chair reading a tablet. His hair is damp, and he smells like soap. I inhale deeply before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  "I think I caused an international incident."

  He sits up, and concern creeps into the lines around his eyes. "What happened?"

  "Well first, there was so much food, Beck. Tons of it. All fresh. I asked where it came from, and the server said the Ag Centers, but we both know that can't be. We're struggling to meet production demands."

  "So what happened?" he asks, holding my hand. His warmth flows into me, and my heartbeat steadies a little.

  "The gossip feeds said I was a greedy glutton, so we left."

  He cocks his head and gives me a quizzical look. "What happened next?"

  "I was accused of being snobbish for leaving the show."

  Beck exhales loudly. "So much for fixing your image problem. You're going to have to do the press conference for sure now."

  "I know."

  I study Beck's easy demeanor, and it's impossible to believe this is the same person Henry accused of being erratic earlier in the day.

  "Come a little closer," he says, and I curl in his lap. Beck runs his hand over the sheer back of my gown. "It's going to be okay. Right now, they're just testing you out. Remember all the things they'd write about Malin?"

  I nod. Mother's every move was analyzed. Her hair and clothes studied; her smile or lack there of, a blessing or an insult; her attendance, approval.

  I don't know if I can live like that.

  Beck wraps his arms around me tightly. "So have you decided?"

  "Decided what?"

  He chuckles. "Are you Team Beck or Team Ryker?"

  I push on his chest and laugh. "Not you too. Please tell me you haven't been reading that garbage."

  "It's fascinating."

  "No, it's not." I shift so that my knees are on his thighs, and I'm looking down at him. "There is only one Team, and that's Team You and Me."

  He reaches up to me and pulls my face down toward his. "I like that." He kisses me softly.

  I'm messing up everywhere else in my life, but Beck and I are okay.

  We're going to be okay.

  I hope.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "I'm not convinced this is a good idea," Henry says, looking up from a tablet covered in gossip feeds. "It's one thing to give the people a good look at you before the Ball and for them to see you are fit to govern - especially after last night - but the Beck and Ryker issue..."

  I reach for my Uncle's hand. "If you coach me correctly, I'll do fine. There is nothing to worry about. Besides, wasn't this your idea?"

  My uncle slowly nods his head. "Things have changed."

  Annalise stands with her hands on her hips. "The rumors are rampant, Henry. This is the best place to do it. We all know." She presses her lips together. "We can control the story if Lark plays along."

  A small camera Annalise secured buzzes overhead – practice for the real event.

  "Lark, it's important you remain calm. No outbursts. I specifically picked this newscaster for his softball questions." Annalise takes a deep breath. "Which means he'll only ask what we tell him to."

  "So, no Team Beck or Team Ryker questions?" I laugh at the ludicrousness.

  "This isn't funny, Lark." Annalise's eyes tear through me, and I
shudder. As much as I've come to like my sister-in-law, she still frightens me at times. Plus, I can't forget Henry's theory she may be involved with the Splinter group.

  "I know. I'm sorry." I lean back in my chair. My over-sized home office suddenly feels too small with Henry and Annalise in it with me.

  "You'll have to address the Beck issue if you want to have him as your escort to the Ball," Henry says

  I play with my necklace. "Which means what?"

  "Which means you'll need to talk about Ryker, too."

  I let out a sigh. I've given exactly two press conferences in my life. My first meeting with newscasters was a disaster. Mother made me tell the world Beck was Sensitive and that I wanted him dead. It was all lies, but carefully crafted ones. The second was to inform the world Beck killed my mother.

  Both times, I marked Beck as a wanted man, and now, I'm supposed to reverse all of that.

  Good luck.

  But I can't let Henry and Annalise see my nervousness. I need them to believe I can do this. I have to be able to do this – or Beck and I won't ever be able to be together.

  "What if the newscaster goes off question?" I ask.

  "You steer him back. It's basic public relations, Lark. Anyone can do it." Annalise admonishes me like a naughty toddler. "The bulk of the questions will be about the attack and your well-being, not Beck and Ryker."

  "But what if he does ask? What should I say?"

  "That Beck has been cleared of all charges due to new evidence," Henry retorts as he paces the room. "Ryker has been sent on assignment. You should also inform the people that Beck is your rightful mate, and unknown to Malin, the two of you were bound at Summer Hill. The trauma you suffered there, prevented you from remembering until very recently."

  "Also mention that the State put him through vigorous testing before releasing him, and he is not a Sensitive," Annalise adds.

  I stare at my hands. "Can't I have a spokesperson?"

  "No, you cannot." Henry snaps. "And don't look nervous, Lark. Leaders don't stare down, and they don't fidget."

  Henry raises his voice louder than I have ever heard him speak, and I recoil. He never raises his voice or acts testy with me.

  "You wanted this job." He pauses and glares at me. "In fact, you forcibly seized the State against the advice of others. Now you have to deal with the ramifications." He slams his tablet down on my desk. "For now, that means getting up on that stage and telling the people of our Society what they need to hear. If you can't do it, you have no business being here."

  Heat flares across my face, and my magic begins nipping at me – starting in my heart and radiating out along my arms and down into my fingertips. Anger. That's what I feel. Anger of being spoken to so harshly. I recognize it and quickly work to calm myself. Without Beck, it's harder than normal, but I breath deeply and think of him. My heart rate slows.

  "You know what?" I say evenly. "I don't think I need either of you to save me. I can do this on my own. Just like I always have."

  I push away from the table. I have to get out of this room, and there is one person who I know can cheer me up right now: Beck.

  Before Annalise can stop me, I step forward and spin into the icy blackness. Transporting has never been one of my favorite activities, but it's great for making quick, dramatic exits.

  "Lark!" Beck's surprised voice fills me with happiness. He leaps up from where he was siting and wraps his arms around me.

  I laugh. "Hiya to you too!"

  "Annalise said you'd be busy all day, and I've been out of my mind waiting for you."

  "I've missed you." We collapse in a heap on the sofa. Remembering my manners, I ask, "How are you feeling? Better?"

  "Stronger. Not as groggy."

  Huh. "Have they been giving you herbs?"

  "Just some stuff to ease my pain. I'm still really sore," he says, touching his face where he was cut.

  My eyes rake over him, to the places where I healed the gashes on his face, and there's no evidence of him ever being injured. He looks as perfect and beautiful as ever.

  "I'm still sore too, but no one has given me anything." I make mental note to ask for some medicine later. "I guess I'm supposed to just deal with it. And this stupid press conference."

  Beck's not listening to my words, because he's too busy kissing my neck. Sparks of electricity rumble across my skin and I sigh. "Shhh," he says. "No more talking about press conferences and--"

  I wiggle away from him. "About the press conference. I'd like you to come. Be there in the wings at the least."

  "Birdie, if you'll be quiet and let me kiss you the way I've been dreaming about all day, I'll go to as many conferences as you need."

  "Will you wear a uniform?" I ask while trailing my finger along his shoulder blade and to the soft spot on his neck. Most senior State officials wear the uniform of their division. Since Beck will be in diplomacy, if everything works out right, he should wear that uniform.

  He sighs. "I can see where your brain is."

  "I'm sorry, it's just I can't turn it off. Annalise and Henry were so mean to me, and all I want is to prove I'm competent."

  I'm lying...a little. I want to be competent, but sometimes I wish there was someone else to make the hard decisions – and do press conferences.

  Beck holds my face between his hands. "Then do it. Show them you're a seasoned pro. Give the best press conference ever."

  "There's one more thing."

  He cocks an eyebrow, "Oh?"

  "I have to tell the Society about us and our binding. I have to make you my legitimate mate."

  "Which means what for Ryker?"

  I inhale deeply. "For now, he's on an assignment. At least that's what we're saying."

  Beck twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. "And me, what's my role?"

  I kiss his nose, chin, and full red lips. He responds by skating his lips over mine, slowly at first. Slowly and torturously. When I moan, he grips the back of my neck and kisses me deeper and harder until I feel like I'm about to disappear into him. My fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck while he runs his hands down my spine to the small of my back. I shudder under his touch.

  When I surface, I say, "You are my rightful mate and co-leader. I'll make sure the people know."

  CHAPTER NINE

  I sit on the edge of my chair, pondering the tatters of the empire I supposedly govern. Light witches and Dark witches. Humans. Food shortages. Wars. A murderous Splinter group.

  Thank you, Mother, for the fine mess you left me.

  Everything around me is beginning to crumble, but I have to convince the people of our – no my – Society I have everything under control. That I am the rightful heir of Caitlyn Green. I can't let them see my weaknesses.

  Before me, James Martinez, a reporter for News Feed 5, leans forward, scrutinizing me. His peppermint breath fans my face. "You appear so healthy for a young woman who just suffered a brutal attack."

  "It was nearly a week ago." The feed isn't rolling yet, but I'm still guarded in my answer. Cold sweat beads along my hairline, and I try to inconspicuously brush it away. The dampness in my armpits is a different matter, and I pray I have no reason to lift my arms. "I was fortunate to have the best healers in the Society work on me."

  "I bet you did." James clears his throat and adjusts the floppy cravat he wears wrapped around his neck. His hair has been slicked backed and curls just above his collar as is fashionable for Statesmen. Next to him, in my plain tunic and low chignon, I feel understated. But this was the look my advisors suggested, so this is what I'm wearing.

  I fidget in my chair, fighting the creepy-crawly feeling working around my stomach.

  "Nervous?" James asks.

  "Yes," I admit. "I'm not very good at these things."

  James laughs. "You sell yourself short, Miss Lark. I watched your last two press conferences, and you did wonderfully."

  I gulp back a nasty taste in my mouth. Annalise promised James would softball
the questions, focusing on my recovery and allowing me to address what we've taken to calling the "Beck Issue" on my own. Namely, how to explain his sudden presence in my life and the overturning of his death sentence. I hope she's right. I don't think I can handle much more than that - especially questions about Ryker.

  "Wait until you're announced, then flash the world your best smile. Are you ready?" James asks, as a small audience of other press members is lead into the room. I count fifteen before stopping.

  "As much as I can be," I say, even though I would rather be locked in a room with Ryker than be here. A camera blinks to life near his left ear, and a bright light beams down on me.

  James laughs. "You, Miss Lark Greene, are an interesting young woman."

  Off in the wings, Beck waits. His nervousness combined with my own is making one not-so-great emotional cocktail. But we both insisted he attend - even if that meant him transporting in at the last minute to avoid notice – because I thought his presence would calm me. Henry, of course, was set against the idea. Maybe he was right?

  "And three, two, one. You're on," says someone from the shadows.

  "Good evening, people of the Western Society." James beams a toothy white smile at the camera. "Tonight I have the privilege of interviewing Miss Lark Greene, Head of State."

  The camera zooms backward before flying closer to my face. I channel my inner-Mother and flash a sweet smile at the camera. I may be young, but years of watching Mother taught me the most important thing is to make the audience love you. And no one loves a scowling, upset looking Lark. Smiling, sweet Lark, however, is a different story.

  "Lark, thank you for joining us this evening," James says in his deep newscaster voice. "I think I speak for all of our Society when I say how relieved we are that you're recovering from your accident."

  I smile warmly despite wanting to vomit. "It was hardly an accident, James. I, along with Beck Channing and my guards, was brutally attacked and left for dead."

  Henry coached me that at this point I should play up my amazing recovery. I intentionally didn't wear a dress for this interview, and I gingerly lift the loose shift I wear as a shirt to expose the angry red scar across my stomach. Unlike Beck's wounds, mine haven't healed as well.