by Charlie Hart
What makes it worse is that I was jumping on the bed with North, being ridiculous and just laughing and having real, actual fun, I’d thought there was a spark. A hint, a possibility between us. His hand in my hand and our smiles big enough to break through the dreariest day – but no. Instead of playing any of that out, he left and took the guys with him.
I can’t trust my gut; my instincts are all wrong.
After paying the cab driver, I walk up to the house. As I push the key in the front door lock, I look up, startled by what I see. Five hawks overhead, circling the house. I swallow, never having seen birds of this size. It scares me a little, the power that I know these creatures hold, but I push inside, exhausted from the night.
Mom is in the living room when I enter the house. An old record spins on her player, and there are candles glowing everywhere. She has the curtain pulled back and looks up into the sky.
She can tell something is amiss right away. She can see it on my face. There is no need for a crystal ball to see that I am mortified by what happened. By what didn’t happen.
“Have those hawks been following you?” she asks, her eyes darting back up to the sky.
“What?” I shake my head, annoyed. Okay. She isn’t worried about me, she’s worried about bird migration. “I don’t know, Mom. I’m just going to bed.”
“No, we need to talk about you staying out until all hours of the night,” she says. “We need to talk about this contract you signed.”
“Not tonight. Please.”
But she doesn’t listen; she wraps an arm over my shoulder and pulls me toward the kitchen.
The house has the familiar smell of cinnamon and sage and the kettle is on the stovetop. I see she has a teacup next to an open book on the kitchen table. She looks me over, assessing me the way only a mother can do. “You need a tea reading.”
I snort. “I need something stronger than that.”
That surprises her, and she turns to me, smiling. “Well, what has gotten into you, Lark?”
“Do you have any liquor?” I ask.
Mom purses her lips. “Where’s this going?”
“You’re the witch, you tell me.”
She narrows her eyes but moves to the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of scotch.
“It’s not how magic works, Lark.”
Not wanting to argue, I sit down at the table and watch as she pours me a glass. Then she adds some to her teacup. My lips twitch; Mom rarely drinks.
“So, tell, me, little bird, why did you disobey me?”
“How about we don’t make this about you tonight. Maybe it can be about me. Celebrating my accomplishment.”
“You know how much I hate it when you perform, Lark. When you were younger, I allowed it because I never imagined it would become this.” She presses a hand to her mouth, as if holding back a sob. “Now look at you, your face will be on billboards.”
I feel like a prisoner. And while I love her so much, she is making me miserable. “What are you trying to hide me from?”
She refuses to answer, and so I begin to drink. The scotch is warm and burns my throat and instantly acts like a truth serum. I set the glass down and tell it like it is; no use hiding from her.
“I’m done with your rules Mom. With your nightly rituals, casting protective spells over me and the house. With you treating me like a bird in a cage. I have a gift; a talent. I can move on that stage and make people believe in the impossible. Can’t you just be happy for me?”
Mom doesn’t say anything. She just sits there watching me, as if something is on her mind. But she isn’t the sort of person you can force a conversation with. She gives you information on a need-to-know basis. Not just with me but with the clients that come to our house for tarot readings too.
I finish the scotch and reach for the bottle. My mom’s eyes are trained on my hand and I half expect her to stop me. But she doesn’t, and I pour a shot, drinking it fast.
“You know they gave me a cast already? Five men.” I exhale. “The crazy thing is, they can do the act better than me. They don’t just soar for a moment, Mom. You watch them.” I swallow, shaking my head. “You watch them and it’s like they are truly flying.”
“Are they?”
I purse my lips, confused.
“Of course not. They’re human.”
“Yet you can.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I need you to be careful. You can’t trust them, Lark.”
“Why? Are they out to get me too? Just like everyone else I’ve ever met? Don’t go to public school, Lark, you can’t be out of my sight. Don’t make friends Lark, you never know people’s intentions. Don’t have a boyfriend Lark, he’s only going to trap you. But you know what? Tonight, I kissed one of the cast mates, and guess what? I’m not his prisoner. “
“You kissed him? And you signed the contract. And you stayed out late. You broke our rules, Lark.”
I shake my head. “Not our rules. Your rules. I told you, I’m through with them. You’re just a crazy witch.”
Her eyes don’t harden like I expect them to, though. Her face softens as she looks at me. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Is that what happened to you? Did you get hurt and that’s why you made all these rules?”
Mom shakes her head. “I was hurt, but not in the way you might think.”
I look at her–this woman I have confided in, been so close to my entire life–and suddenly it feels like there might be a whole side of her I never knew about.
Tears prick my eyes and I don’t know why, but then she’s up again, looking out the kitchen window. “The hawks are still there, watching, Lark.”
“I don’t know why that is relevant.”
Our eyes meet, and I silently beg her to tell me more.
Mom leans back, lifting her teacup to her mouth and drawing a long steady breath.
“There are a few things I haven’t told you, Lark.”
“Things like what?”
“Well, for starters... I’m not your mother.”
6
Lark
My years of performing have allowed me to hone restraint. So even though my hands shake and my lip trembles, my words are even. I don’t lose control.
“What do you mean, you’re not my mother?”
Mom looks beyond me, into the past. A place she has never taken me.
Now that she is looking beyond me, I don’t want her to go.
“Never mind,” I say, reaching across the table for her hand. I’m not ready for everything I know about myself to change. “I don’t want to know,” I tell her. “I want things just as they are, right now.”
“It’s time, Lark. I’ve held it back to protect you. I made rules to keep you safe, but you’re all grown up and pretty soon you’ll leave the nest and fly away.”
“Getting a job doesn’t mean I’m leaving you. It’s your rules forcing me out.”
“I know that, Lark. But it does mean I can stop hiding the truth. You’re ready for more than what I’ve given.”
I run a finger over the rim of the glass, my heart tight, scared of what she might tell me.
We look like mother and daughter. Her silver hair matches the idea of what a witch’s should be, and my jet-black hair isn’t too far off. We both have green eyes and small frames. We are one and the same.
Or, so I thought.
“My sister and I found you both in a tiny basket on the doorstep.”
I rest my elbow the table, leaning in, lost in about a hundred ways. “Both?”
“You and what we assumed to be your twin sister. Though, even then, you were opposites. She was fair-haired, and you were raven-black. Her eyes were hard and yours were bright.”
“Sister?” I scoff. “What are you saying?”
“That we found you. And kept you safe, all these years, as your mothers.”
“I have a sister and an aunt and you aren’t my mother?” I pull back my hair, nervously. My heart aches
with fear and tears spill on my cheeks. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Don’t you want to know?”
“But why now? Why... tonight?”
“Because my half-truths are no longer enough for you. And Lark, I don’t want to lose you.”
But I can feel it in my bones, she already has lost me. How can I trust her when she’s kept such a fundamental truth from me?
“Stop being a witch for one night,” I tell her, my voice sharp. There is nothing restrained about me anymore. That girl, the one hiding behind someone else’s rules, she’s gone.
“If I’m not yours, whose am I?”
“Lark, I wish I had the answers. That’s why I’ve never told you. I don’t have the words that will make this better.”
She’s kept so much from me, and from where I’m sitting, it feels as if my entire life has been a lie. And she has no good reason for keeping me in the dark.
“I don’t need it to be better,” I say, my words ice cold. “I just need it to make sense.”
Mom reaches over the table for my hand. But I pull back, wanting out of this kitchen and this web of lies.
“Sense?” she asks, drawing her empty hand back to her lap. “There is no sense when we’re talking about the mysteries of the Universe.”
I purse my lips. For once in my life I’m not willing to make this easier for her.
“Twenty-one years ago, my sister and I went to the woods looking for herbs and when we returned, there you both were, sleeping soundly in a basket on the doorstep.”
I scoff. I’m not one for giving attitude, but right now I want to turn this table upside down.
I bite my bottom lip to stifle the sob rising in my chest.
“Like I said,” she says softly. “You won’t like this.”
I pour another shot of scotch, swirling the tumbler of amber liquid as I collect my thoughts. “And you and your sister, you just kept us? You know that makes you a baby snatcher. You are certifiably insane, you know that, right?”
Mom looks at me as if I’m the one who has lost her marbles. “You weren’t stolen. And there are crazier things than finding a baby in a basket.”
“Like what?”
“Like those five hawks staring at us through the kitchen window.”
I turn in my chair to see where she’s pointing, and sure enough they are right there, watching, perched on the windowsill.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, really taking them in. “They’re massive.”
They see us staring, but don’t move.
I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s all too much. I move from the chair, my feet wobbly from all the booze, and I stand in the doorway, unable to meet my not-mother’s eyes.
My entire life is a lie.
But there is one thing I must ask before I step away. I steel my courage and look up at her.
“I loved my sister, and you loved yours, but we had a falling out, Lark. That’s why …”
“So what, you got in a fight with my aunt and kept me from my flesh and blood? How could you do that to children?” I ask, incredulous. “Is there anything about my life that is real?”
She moves toward me, grabbing my hands, refusing to let go even though I pull away, the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Our eyes are locked, and I don’t want to look away.
“This is real, the love I have for you, Lark. It’s real. I could have told you this before and it wouldn’t have changed a single thing. Regardless of where you come from and where you end up going, our hearts are tightly knit.”
“Not anymore, they aren’t,” I say, pushing away. I don’t have time for her heartfelt confession of love. Not when she has taken so much from me. “I want to know where this sister of mine is. Tell me!”
Her eyes fill with tears, she shakes her head. “She’s gone, Lark.”
“Gone?” I ask, no longer crying. All I feel is anger. “How do you know that but know nothing else? You’re the witch. Look into your crystal ball and figure out where she went.”
“I give tarot readings, Lark. I have feelings about things but my sister was the one with the real power. The real gift.”
“Then how do you know my sister is gone?”
Mom wipes the tears from her cheeks. “It’s not a good story, Lark.”
“Have any of the stories tonight been good? Why do you care now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already have.”
“Lark, this story though...” She looks out the window, her eyes etched with sorrow. “This one has a very sad ending.”
“Mom, I need it. Even if it’s hard to tell. Even if all you have to offer is a sliver, it’s more than what I have right now.”
She bows her head, clasps her hands as if in prayer. “Lark, when you were brought to us, you had a sister. But when you were five...” She lifts her eyes to mine, sorrow written across her face. “The two of you were alone and something terrible happened. According to your aunt, you killed her.”
7
Brecken
Whatever happened last night wasn’t good.
We watched as the kitchen stilled, the words hushed, as mother and daughter stared one another down.
And then we watched Lark stand from the table, looking so damn broken. She left the kitchen with anger coursing through her veins. We could feel her all the way out here.
We flew up one story, perched on the lamppost outside her room, and took turns keeping watch. Of course, we could only feel her, sense her–we couldn’t watch her really. I fucking wanted to get closer.
I wanted to watch as she fell into bed, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, her body curled up under a blanket. I wanted to crawl in with her and hold her tightly, wipe away her tears and whisper a lullaby as she fell to sleep.
In the morning, we divide and conquer. North, Arrow, and Sawyer leave to get ready for rehearsal, while Vaughn and I stay to keep watch, waiting until Lark emerges and then we fly, following her to the Spades Royale. Once inside, Sawyer will meet her in the lobby and Vaughn and I can go to the suite to change.
Now that we have her, we can’t let her out of our sight. It’s the only thing Gaia asked of us. And last night, when Lark left the suite and went down the elevator, we failed in our task for a few minutes.
I won’t let North make another risky decision. He said he didn’t want her to think we were smothering her after we just met, but I remind him that was exactly what Gaia sent us to do. We have to stay close to her at all costs. Even if it means pushing her away.
Once at rehearsal, I can’t stop staring at her. She looks off-kilter, and with her body folded in on herself, I know something’s up. So does Melanie, our choreographer.
“Do you need a break, Lark?” she asks. Melanie is a tall woman in her mid-thirties with a lot of positive energy and tight workout clothes. I’m glad she’s not some intense, uptight instructor.
The five of us and Lark are the only ones here in the rehearsal space. Melanie has the background dancers training off-site. Today she’s running over the basics of the show and reviewing some preliminary aspects she has planned.
“I’m fine, really,” Lark says, nodding for emphasis.
Melanie takes her word for it, and we turn back to the sketches Melanie has laid out for us. There are storyboards on easels, and as a group, we walk to each one as Melanie describes the scene.
The show itself runs for ninety minutes. There is a full orchestra and the overall story is one of a princess who has spent her life locked in a tower and the five men who come to set her free. Once she is freed from the tower, she takes flight, along with the men.
Only then, one of the men, me, turns on the group and locks the bird-girl in a cage.
“Why me?” I ask, my cocky grin is gone. Lark smiles, leaning in, waiting for Melanie’s answer, as intrigued as I am.
Melanie laughs. “Apparently you’re the most convincing villain of the group.”
“Is there something I s
hould know?” Lark asks.
I scoff. “Hardly.”
North can’t help but snort. Dammit, that man can’t let go of anything. I slept with his girlfriend one time, five years ago, and he still considers me his enemy.
I never asked to come here, to be a part of this mission. Gaia chose us.
And I’m glad she did. I needed this: A change–a way to break out. I’m tired of being a player. Just looking at Lark now, her small upturned nose, her narrow shoulders and her slender frame, I want to be a better man, for her.
“What happens after she is locked in the cage?” Sawyer asks, resting an elbow on Lark’s shoulder as if they’ve been friends for years.
Melanie points to the next storyboard. “Then, the hero saves her.” Arrow’s eyes scan the board for clues. Damn, the guy never stops taking everything in.
“And who is the hero?” Lark asks.
Melanie smiles. “The four men work together to save the princess.”
Lark sighs, then twists her lips, staring at the board.
“What, you don’t like the story?” I ask. “You have the starring role. I’m the one who everyone will hate.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s great. It’s just, never mind. It’s really beautiful, and I can’t wait to see it all come together. Some of those stunts are pretty spectacular.”
“Well,” Melanie says. “This cast is pretty spectacular. I was there for the auditions and couldn’t believe my eyes.”
All six of us get quiet as if we all know something. I clench my jaw, looking closer at Lark. What is this woman, and why does Gaia need her safe?
“So, are we ready to get to work?” Melanie asks. “I’m really excited to begin.”
Several hours later, we’re all sweaty and exhausted. Melanie worked us to the bone, and it’s only day one. When she calls it a day, we head over to the break room to get our stuff.
