Phoenix

by Dawn Rae Miller

  "Once, during a fake Sensitive attack, she told me erasing the memories of hundreds of people wasn't high on her list of things to do." I pause, letting my words sink in. I take a deep breath to steady myself before speaking the next words. "I've done it before - to Lena. That's why she's the way she is, not because of the medical tests they did to her."

  "You're the reason Lena is a vegetable?"

  I drop my chin to my chest and blink back tears. "I did that. I scrambled her brain on two different occasions."

  "Why would you do that?" Beck asks, anger creeping into his voice. "She's your friend."

  My face burns. "I know, but she saw us do magic and..."

  "And so you made her crazy?" He snorts and gives a curt shake of his head. "Who are you? The Lark I know wouldn't behave like this."

  I press the palm of my hand over my mouth, suppressing a cry. He's right, but how do I stop? And can I stop even if I wanted to? I'm just one cog in a political machine I don't fully understand.

  "No wonder he wants me dead." My voice trembles.

  "What?"

  "Ryker."

  Beck avoids my wet-eyed gaze.

  "Do you think he hasn't attacked me because he's too busy with Lena?"

  "If anything, it would give him more reason to kill you." Beck's jaw is set firmly, and anger radiates from him.

  When I reach out to stroke Beck's arm, he yanks it away, and I recoil.

  "Beck, please," I beg. "Hear me out. If you were injured like that, I wouldn't leave your side." I rub my hands together, discharging some of the magic building inside me.

  "Where is she being kept?"

  "I'm not telling you."

  "Why?" Desperation seeps into my voice, but I don't care.

  "Because you've done enough damage to that girl and Ryker." Beck blinks his eyes rapidly, and his mouth opens then shuts. "You're going to stop looking for Ryker."

  "What?" I exclaim in disbelief. "Are you trying to influence me?"

  With a slow shake of his head, he says, "No."

  It's a complete lie, and my heart fumbles. Beck is testing out powers on me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  One thing I should have done earlier is visit Lena. My argument with Beck reminded me of this. After the attacks, she was sent off somewhere else to convalesce while the rest of us stayed at my and Kyra's homes. I've given her very little thought beyond what is necessary, but that's about to change.

  Once again, my selfishness wins over selflessness. I'm not just going for a social visit - I want to see if Ryker is hanging around.

  Kyra, acting as my friend not my guard, and I walk through the Presidio with a small group of Landon's men to protect us. Eucalyptus and wet earth fill the air – the scent of spring. Off to our right, the Bay sparkles like a brilliant diamond. It's a beautiful, clear day. Sunny even, but not too warm. Just perfect.

  We reach the barricade separating the school facilities from the City and pause to let the guard scan our wristlets. Once we're cleared, he waves us through. Not so long ago, I believed the wall and guard stations were enough to protect us from outside threats. Now I know the threat was truly lurking within the very walls that should have kept us safe.

  The City hums around us. Out here, work crews of Sensitives clean the streets, and their bright red wristlets are visible to all.

  Guilt nibbles at me. Most of these people are nothing more than the poor or the underprivileged wrongly accused of crimes, and Mother's ploy to shift suspicion from us to others. I wonder where the Sensitives I condemned earlier today have been sent and make a mental note to follow-up on Mark Hasselman, the supposed ring leader of a Sensitive cell, later today.

  Lena's house is only a few blocks away, but it feels like a million miles - the difference between where Kyra and I live and here is stark. The houses are narrow, three-story structures instead of sprawling mansions, and the streets lack trees. That's not to mention the increase of people. The crowded sidewalks force my guard to form a protective bubble around Kyra and me. The throng of people jostles us and propels us forward until we turn left onto Fourth Avenue.

  Unlike our last visit, I ring the doorbell while Kyra stands behind me. We wait a minute, and I ring the bell again just as an older woman with graying brown hair swings the door open.

  "Miss Lark!" Her eyes dart over my shoulder to Kyra and the guards.

  "Good afternoon," I say, extending my hand. The woman immediately grabs and kisses it. It's a gesture I've seen others do to Mother, but have never experienced myself. I shudder and withdraw my hand.

  "We're here to see Lena," Kyra says.

  The woman places one hand over her stomach, and her shoulders roll forward. "I'm afraid she's not up for visitors today. Perhaps tomorrow?"

  "Perhaps today," I say with my hand on the door, pushing it open more. "We came all this way, after all."

  When the woman hesitates as if she fears telling me the truth, I say, "We know of her condition, it's okay."

  "I'm afraid she won't recognize you, ladies. There's little point in visiting." The woman begins to shut the door, as if that could stop me.

  "And yet, I still wish to see my old friend," I say with sweetness dripping from my voice. "You should take us upstairs."

  The woman's eyes cloud up for a moment before clearing. "This way." She opens the door wider, and we step through.

  She leads us up a narrow, steep staircase to the top floor and down a long hallway. In a seat by the window, sits Lena. There's a bright yellow throw over her lap, and she stares out the window. In the sunlight, her blond hair looks almost white. It glows.

  "Hiya, Lena," I say gently, touching her arm. "How are you?"

  She turns her head slowly, as if just now realizing we were there. The color drains from her face, and she begins hitting her head against the back of the chair. "Sensitives. Sensitives. Sensitives. Lark. Kyra. Sensitives."

  "I'm sorry, girls. She doesn't say much else." The woman's voice is chocked with tears.

  "Are you her mother?" I ask.

  "I am." She fixes Lena's blanket with trembling hands. "Thank you for coming by. I know Lena must be glad to see you. After all, my understanding is that you saved her life."

  She's speaking to me.

  My shoulders hunch forward under the weight of what I've done. "No. It's just that Lena was behind us and..." And what, Lark? You messed with her memory before and viciously attacked her, which is why she's like this.

  "Is Timothy home?" I ask. "I'd like to speak to Lena's mate, if possible."

  Lena's mother holds her chin high, and her nostrils flare. "No. He hasn't been home in days."

  "He abandoned her?"

  "I don't know, but I do know he's not interested in caring for her."

  I narrow my eyes. "Has anyone else been here? Like Ryker Newbold?"

  "There was a boy," she answers. "However, I haven't seen him for days either. He left with Beck."

  "What?"

  "The other boy, he left with Beck." She touches her lips as if revealing a secret.

  Kyra lays her hand on my arm. "I think we have everything we need, Lark." She wanders over to Lena and kisses her forehead. For a moment, it looks like she may cry, but like a good guard, Kyra gets her emotions in check. "Let's go."

  We stumble down the steep stairs, my heart racing. "He lied," I hiss under my breath. "He knows where Ryker is. What does that mean?"

  We're outside on the street. Kyra tugs at her ear, telling me to wait until later, when we have more privacy.

  I nod, but inwardly, I seethe.

  #

  I slam the old, wood door to my bedroom. To my surprise, it doesn't splinter or disintegrate. It just slams.

  Score one for keeping my temper in check.

  Kyra eyes me coolly. "Don't let him undo all your hard work. Stay in control."

  She's right. As angry as I am, it's not worth losing control over. Beck lied. Again. He's keeping secrets and sneaking around. With Ryker. Which somehow makes
it all seem even worse.

  Images of the two of them laughing at my stupidity fill my brain. "Did he think I wouldn't find out? Did he think I was so dumb that I could be lied to?"

  Kyra bites her lip. "I think he thought he could get away with it – at least long enough to come up with a plan to tell you."

  My breath is fast and uneven. "Do you think he had anything to do with the abductions?"

  Kyra avoids my eyes and furrows her brow. "No. But he's acting poorly. Maz better not be mixed up in all this. I'll flay him."

  I understand she's saying this for my benefit, but I don't mind. I would too, in her place. She doesn't want me condemning him to a northern work crew again.

  "What should I do?" I ask.

  "Confront him?" she offers. "Tell him you know. Demand he tell you where Ryker is."

  I shake my head. "No. He would just lie. I need to catch him in the act."

  "And how will you do that?"

  "He's bound to make a mistake at some point. He's Beck. He's a terrible liar."

  My manic pacing builds up a charge of magical energy, and I fling it at a nearby chair. It combusts.

  Kyra sighs, and water falls on the burning chair. "That bad, huh?"

  "Worse. You have no idea how hard I'm trying to hold myself together. All I want to do right now is blow up a building. Eamon better hope I don't run into him because this time, there would be no disappearing. I'd expose all of us to the people of San Francisco."

  Outside, dark storm clouds gather, and wind lashes the windows. The once gorgeous blue day vanishes, replaced by a dull gray.

  "You?" Kyra asks.

  "Yes."

  Rain pelts the house, and the rougher the storm becomes, the better I feel. Give no bother that the weather forecast called for clear skies. What I need is a good old-fashioned storm. I unfurl my hand, and strong gusts of wind shake the house.

  "Careful, Lark. San Francisco isn't built to withstand a hurricane."

  I whip my hand around, and the wind slows enough to appease Kyra.

  "I hope he's out in it and gets soaked," I say. "I hope he catches one of those nasty diseases Bethina was always going on about if we didn't bundle up and stay dry."

  Kyra sighs. "Do you want me to stay with you? We could look at the feeds or watch something on the wallscreen."

  "No. I need to collect myself and get ready for when Beck gets home. I don't want him to know what I know."

  "You need to calm down. What can I do?" Kyra asks.

  I kick at the corner of my sofa as I pass it. "Give me space. I need to work off some of this energy." The lights flicker, and with each blackout, the need to explode lessens.

  Kyra studies me closely. "Okay, if you're sure. Gossip feeds always help me when I'm mad at Maz."

  "I'm positive. The gossip feeds would probably upset me more."

  She taps her wristlet, as if checking something. "Yeah, don't read those tonight. It's all about your new hairstyle and clothes. Your hairdresser was right; you're a trendsetter."

  "Wonderful. One more ridiculous thing for me to worry about."

  "Aw, Lark, don't worry about it. Just be you."

  It's a nice thing to say, but I don't know who I am half the time. I can't say that to Kyra though.

  She scoops up her satchel. "If you don't want me, I'm going home."

  "Kyra?"

  She stops mid-step and looks at me. "Yes?"

  "You can't tell Maz. That's an order." I mutter a quick tongue-tying spell.

  "Really, Lark? You don't trust me?" Hurt peppers her words.

  "I know you too well. I need to be careful."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Beyond the press conference, I've given very little thought to the Founders' Ball. It seems like the last thing I should be worrying about.

  I also shouldn't be standing in a store, dress hunting. I should be doing something more important - like finding Ryker or hunting down Eamon.

  And yet, I'm not because I stuck on obsessing about the Founders' Ball and whether I'll able to keep up appearances. Forget the possibility of attacking Beck - which I don't think will happen - I have to pretend, in a public space for hours, not to be upset with him. How am I supposed to do this? Especially given the way he's lying to me.

  A rack of sleek dresses stands before me, and I eye them with disinterest. Kyra, however, is running her hands over all of them, eyeing them like delicious pastries. Annalise sits in the corner. Dark circles ring her eyes, and her complexion is an unusual shade of green.

  "Excuse me for a moment," Annalise says, before hurrying from the room.

  "She's sick," Kyra says. "Has been for days, but she won't admit it. I saw Eloise giving her an elixir earlier today."

  Without taking a breath, she continues. "I want to wear purple. Is that okay with you, Lark?" Since the attacks, Kyra's been put on administrative leave which means she gets to attend the Ball as a guest rather than my guard.

  I glance at her. If she's mad about the tongue-tying spell, she isn't letting on. Maybe I should take some lessons in deception from Kyra.

  "Purple would look great on you." I don't bother to mention that I wouldn't be caught dead in purple because that's what everyone expects of me. "I'm looking more for something with beads, sequins, or lace."

  Since it's just the two of us, I take the opportunity to ask the questions most pressing in my mind.

  "Kyra, does Beck seem different to you?"

  She shimmies a violet dress over her hips. "What do you mean?"

  "Does he seem angrier, less like his mellow self?"

  "Is this about yesterday?" Kyra admires her figure in the wall mirror.

  I nod.

  "Well, now that you ask, he does seem different. More deso, you know?"

  Deso isn't the word I'd use. He's been erratic and a liar. Probably learned behavior from me.

  The shop girl knocks on the door. "Miss Lark, may I enter?"

  "Of course."

  She carries a pale blue gossamer dress.

  "This one is lovely, Miss Lark," the shop girl says, holding it out so the skirt flares away from the bodice. "Notice the intricate beading and soft fringe around the hem line."

  "Oh, Lark," Kyra exclaims. "That's the dress. It has to be."

  "It's the finest in the shop," the shop girl says. "It's also the most expensive."

  I wave my hand. Cost is no factor for me. "What do you wear under it?" I ask.

  The shop girl blushes. "Nothing."

  "You mean, I wear nothing under it at all?"

  "Perhaps a few support garments, if you feel they are needed."

  "Your nipples will show!" Kyra touches my arm before fingering the sheer fabric. "Not to mention your scars."

  I lock eyes with her. "Good. Let them see I'm a fighter. That nothing can stop me." I step out of my day dress and hold my hands over my head while the shop girl dresses me. "I'm battle-hardened now, Kyra. That counts for something."

  Kyra gnaws at her inner lip, a nervous habit I've never noticed before. "Beck is different," she says. "But so are you. You're more...I don't know, calculating?"

  Before I can answer, Annalise ducks back into the room. "Excuse us for a minute?" she says to the shop girl and Kyra.

  The shop girl bows her head and scurries away, leaving me wearing just the sheer sheath, but Kyra lingers.

  "Go, Kyra. I need to speak to Lark privately."

  My friend slinks from the room, clearly upset over being sent out with the help.

  The room is chilly, so I conjure a warming spell.

  "I watched you during the interview." Annalise pauses, as if trying to figure out what to say next. "The questions weren't to your liking until the end."

  I nod while admiring my figure in the mirror. "Do you like this dress?" I shake my hips to make the fringe swing. "It's fun, isn't it? But is it appropriate for the Founder's Ball?"

  "Lark, we need to talk. And not about dresses."

  I turn my head toward her. "Fine. Wh
at do you need?"

  "You didn't like some of the questions." It's a statement, and it sounds accusatory.

  "Well, the Ryker comment surprised me."

  Just saying Ryker's name makes my blood boil.

  I don't tell Annalise that I suspect Beck knows where Ryker is, or is possibly hiding him. Leave that for me to deal with. And deal with it I will.

  "Speaking of which, the public has received the news about Beck, and your claiming him as your mate, very well."

  I smile. It's a smug smile. The kind one uses when they're getting away with things they shouldn't. The faster the public forgets my binding to Ryker, the better. "I did just fine, as Henry would say. His training must have helped."

  "You controlled James, didn't you?"

  My smirk grows. "I thought of what I wanted him to ask, and he asked it. If that's magic, then yes, I controlled him."

  "And you did the same during the morning announcements, didn't you. On the part about the food shortages?"

  My mouth drops open. "Did it not work?"

  "Don't worry, it doesn't work on others who have the power of persuasion – Kyra, me, and a handful of others. That's why Malin was always searching us out. Best to keep us close so we can't set the people straight."

  "Can any Light witches influence?"

  "No. It's a Dark power, just like we can't grow or heal."

  Annalise sits in the tufted chair, and her long, dark ponytail hangs over her shoulder. "I need to tell you something. About Malin." She fidgets as if unsure of herself. How odd. Annalise is never unsure. "At least I think I'm right, but you have to hear what I'm going to say and decide yourself."

  I stop fussing with the exquisite dress and study my sister-in-law. Her voice is so soft, so un-Annalise-like that I can't help but worry.

  "What is it?"

  She exhales. "When I was about eight years old, Malin selected me from all the other little girls in my house for a visit with her. I was so excited and honored, but the thing is, she was testing me - both as a mate for Callum and for my powers. I see that now."

  I stare at my guard. I'm not sure how this has anything to do with Beck and Ryker, the interview, or the Ball.