Larkstorm (15 page)

Once again, no one thought to tell me. Not even Beck, who, from what he just told me, was all alone. One against many.

I wait for him to laugh and tell me it’s all a big joke. That he was bored and decided to leave school for a while. Something. Anything would be better than the words coming out of his mouth.

But he doesn’t.

The grapes on my plate are no match for the prongs of my fork. I stab one, metal scrapes the stone plate and Beck cringes. But oddly, other than wanting to spear fruit, I feel relaxed. Happy even.

It’s so odd, like the way I want to feel is hidden just under the surface of my skin, but I simply can’t access it. I imagine a sign flashing over my head
—
Anger: denied.

“Why do I feel so happy and calm?”

His eyes light up. “You mean other than because of me?”

I elbow him in the ribs and he lists, feigning injury.

“Well, Miss Greene, you are a Dark witch surrounded by nearly a thousand Light witches.”
 
He stares at the kitchen door again and I realize the witches he’s talking about are probably out there somewhere. “Plus, you’re not mature yet. You’re strong, but not strong enough to overcome all of us. And
..
.” He sits straight, imitating a State Man. “If we want you happy and calm, you shall be.”

I’m going to get stronger? What does that mean? I bite back my questions
—
fearful of the answers.

“Why didn’t I act out before?”

“The best anyone can figure, I somehow block you. Mask your dark powers.” He closes his eyes.

“But how? Shouldn’t we be equally strong? We’re the exact same age and
—
”

“We should be, but for some reason, I’m stronger than you right now. I am, or will be, the most powerful Light witch. And you, my dear Birdie, will be the most powerful Dark witch.”

His olive green eyes probe deep into mine, searching my soul, pealing back whatever Darkness there is in me. Exposing me.

I’ve never felt so bare. Or so wicked.

My mind processes his words, but all I can think about are his lips, his eyes, his strong hands. Him.

“Do you know why?” Beck asks just when it seems that neither of us are ever going to speak again. That we’re going to suffocate in the weird airless space between us.

I untangle my traitorous tongue. “I don’t know anything.”

“Because you’re the direct female descendant of Caitlyn Greene and I’m the direct male descendant of Charles Channing. The power in our families grows stronger each generation.”

Beck tilts his head, like I saw him do with Callum and Annalise in the Headmaster’s office.

“Why do you do that?” I ask as he traces his fingers along the back of my hand. My heartbeat slows and I focus on his face.

He raises an eyebrow.

I clarify. “Tilt your head.”

“Hmmm. Didn’t know I did.” His hair bounces as he bobs his head from side to side. “I guess it helps me pick up on the ‘sound’ you’re giving off. I can tell how you feel.” He studies the table.

Realization courses through me.

“Oh.” Heat flares across my face. “How long have you been able to…?” I can’t finish my thought.

“Since I was ten.” He mumbles and scuffs his toe back and forth across the floor.

“Ten! You’ve been able to ‘hear’ how I feel for
seven years
?” All those times my heart raced when he smiled at me or took my hand or made me laugh. Or worse, when I wanted nothing but to be alone
—
far away from him.

But another issue presses more importantly in my mind. “You knew about your abilities and never thought to tell me?”

“Don’t be mad, Lark. I couldn’t.”

I yank my hand away. “Couldn’t or didn’t want to?”

Beck’s silent. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, and I can tell he’s struggling with an answer.

“Both. I wasn’t allowed to tell you, but I also understood telling you was a bad idea.”

I close my eyes. The skin on my lip gives way under my teeth and bleeds. “You knew. All this time, you knew. And you lied to me.”

My heart shatters into a thousand pieces. The tears won’t stop now. He lied to me. The one person I always trusted.

His hand is on my arm, pulling me out of my chair and close to him. I protest by pushing against his chest. Beck loosens his grip and I step back
—
away from him.

“Do you really believe you would’ve dealt with this well at age ten? You’re barely dealing with it now.”

“I think I’m dealing with it fine.” I cross my arms and try to blink my tears away. I know I have to be stronger than this, but my heart disagrees. Its broken shards stab me.

“No, you’re not. You did major damage to the house after Bethina told you.” He tugs on my arm. His other hand goes toward my hair and his fingers play with a loose strand. I stiffen but don’t resist. “Don’t kid yourself, Birdie. Anyone would be shocked to find out they’re not only a witch, but a powerful Dark one at that.”

A small tremor shakes my body. Tears rim my eyes and I blink quickly to hold them back. With all my strength, I break from him. The dining chair nearest Beck topples over. Then the next. Chair after chair smashes to the ground and splinters into pieces. Beck inches closer. Tiny steps from one side of the table to the other. He steps over the destroyed chairs, trying to reach me, but I run toward the kitchen. Before he can stop me, I tear open the door and immerse myself in the stifling heat of late morning.

Behind me, Beck calls, “Lark, don’t. Please, don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Stay away from me.” The shards smash around the empty container of my heart and the air presses on me heavily, until my lungs empty and I gasp. “You lied to me. By not telling me, you lied to me.”

I charge down the stairs, unsure where I’m going. All I know is I need to be alone, away from Beck, so I can process everything I’ve learned.

Two steps across the lawn and I jerk my head up.

A group of people
—
witches, whatever
—
stands directly in front of me, blocking my path. Beyond them, a blur of brightly colored tents stretch as far as I can see. Rows and rows. Hundreds of them. And everywhere, witches watch me.

I’m trapped between the not-so-friendly looking group before me and Beck behind me. There aren’t many options

Deciding on the lesser of two evils, I turn toward Beck and he inches closer to me. Like he’s afraid of me. Tiny, deliberate steps. The way he holds out his hands reminds me of someone approaching a wild animal.

He reaches out and strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand.

When I look up, I’m surprised by the dampness on his cheeks.

“Lark, I’m sorry.”

“Keep her under control, Beck.” I recognize the cruel voice. Eamon. How dare he? First he stalks me in the field, then he laughs at me when I’m falling apart. And now? Now he’s telling Beck to
control
me?

I begin to whirl toward Eamon, but Beck grabs me and pulls me to his chest. His arms wrap tightly around me. Without thinking, I fold under his touch. It’s always been like this with us. I can be a raving, crazed wreck and one touch, one look, from Beck and it’s all forgotten.

My heart fumbles and my anger slows to a simmer. With each touch, I regain control of my emotions. His hand
is
on my jaw: I forgive him because I trust him. His fingers running across my shoulder: I forgive him because he didn’t ask for this any more than I did. His hand moving down my arm: I forgive him because he’s Beck.

From the way his chest heaves, I know my outburst frightened him.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He bends and pushes his forehead against mine. Staring at each other this way, with our freckles aligned, always makes me feel calm. His warm breath washes over me.

“I’m sorry, too.” He touches my nose with his finger. “I promise to not keep things from you ever again.”

Wanting to feel closer to him, I press my ear against his chest and listen to the hum of his pulse. It beats strong and steady, and I force my breathing to mimic it.

“Are you listening to me, boy?” Eamon demands. I don’t like the way he’s talking to Beck and turn to face him.

Beck grabs my shoulder. “Easy, Lark. Let me handle this.”

He strides across the grass, leaving me standing by myself. It’s too hot. The sun beats on me, threatening to turn my pale skin red. I hate this weather but I hate the hundreds, if not thousands, of eyes trained on me more. They stare at me like I’m some sort of circus act.

If only I could disappear.

Beck stands before the others with his legs spread wide, like he’s someone to reckon with. There are only nine witches with Eamon, and not one of them, aside from their leader, looks prepared to challenge Beck.

He must really be something, if this group of adults is willing to do what he says.

Eamon lets out victorious laugh. A long, taunting sound aimed at me.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have to not storm across the narrow strip of grass separating myself from the group of witches. Beck said to let him handle this, and even though my body wants a confrontation, I think he’s right.

I close my eyes and try my best to ignore Eamon.

It’s not so easy.

“Get her under control,” he says. “Or we’ll have to do it for you.”

I fling my eyes open and launch myself across the grass. “Get me under control?” I shriek. “I’m not the one going around threatening people.”

Instinctively, I throw my hand up over my head, fingers splayed wide. Someone in the crowd screams and Beck lunges for me. He shoves me behind his back and assumes same protective stance he used with Callum and Annalise at school.

Only this time, it’s the two of us against ten, if you don’t count the hundreds of witches watching us. An uncomfortable build-up of energy nibbles at me.

Eamon flashes a menacing smile at us. “She won’t last long.”

With a jerk of his head, he and his entire group disappear.

19

A lone weeping willow sits on the far edge of the lawn, away from all the tents and prying eyes. It’s the perfect hiding place.

Beck holds the long, green branches aside for me. It’s cooler in here
—
more to my liking. Once he releases the branches, it’s like we’re in our own private world.

“What was that?” I demand as we arrange ourselves, me against the trunk and Beck stretched out with his head in my lap.

He sighs heavily. “You can’t go around threatening people, Lark. It’s not going to help your case.”

“Threatening people? When did I threaten anyone?” I can’t believe he’s accusing me. Didn’t he hear the hostility in Eamon’s voice?

He runs his hand through his hair. “You have no idea, do you?” He stares up at me, his face upside down. “When you threw up your hand, it seemed like you were going to unleash a spell or something.”

“I don’t know how to do magic.”

“You may not know how to, but you do it. I’ve seen it.” Beck reaches up and presses his finger against my lips when I begin to protest. “The storm, you did that, remember? You have no idea what you’re doing
—
that’s the problem.”

My hands go to his hair and I twirl the waves around my fingers. Blood races through my body but not in the angry way. More like a warm, comforting sunshine pulsing through my veins. Just being here, with him, is all I need to feel right.

Beck grins, feeling my contentment.

I playfully slap the side of his head but at the same time experiment sending him another feeling
—
happiness. His grin widens.

“You’re happy. Or at least happier,” he says, obviously pleased with himself.

“As happy as I can be considering I’m a Dark witch and everyone seems to hate me.”

He tugs on a loose strand of my hair. I bend my neck so my eyes line up with his full lips.

“I could never hate you. No matter what,” he says just loud enough for me to hear.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I lean back against the tree, and Beck puts his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. We sit like for awhile, listening to the world around us: the wind blowing through the weeping willow branches; a bird chirping high in the branches above; somewhere out on the vast lawn, a group of children sing the song Eamon whistled my first day at Summer Hill. I remember Ms. Jensen, the music teacher, making us sing when we were little.
Alouette
, I think it’s called.

It’s life as usual, except not. Because everything has changed. I’m not Lark, the beloved descendant of a Founder, anymore. I’m Lark, the evil, Dark witch everyone here seems to despise. Except Beck.

What does it mean, anyway? To be Dark? Does it mean I’m going to be some sinister monster running around doing evil? “What do we do now?”

“You learn to control your powers. After that storm and your performance this morning, we have some work to do.”

Powers. I have powers. My hands cover my face and I count. One. Two. Three. Four.

A tug on my hand breaks my concentration. Five. Six. Seven. Beck rubs it softly, his finger tracing along the back. Warmth spreads up my arm and fans out across my body. I relax.

Eight. Nine.

“You can’t change who you are, Lark.”

Ten. A deep breath.

“What happened to the Sensitives at school?” I ask. “How did you…” I don’t want to say kill: Beck doesn’t hurt people. “Stop them from attacking us?”

Beck tilts his head and closes his eyes. His muscular chest strains the thin fabric of his t-shirt when he inhales. “I didn’t do that. You did.”

I don’t want to hear this. I was supposed to join the State in two months. I was supposed to have a comfortable life
—
with Beck.

“You put your hand out in front of me and then light radiated from it.” He pauses. “A blinding white light. You killed all of them.”

I slump back against the tree, the world tilting around me. I killed them. A numbing thought surfaces
—
if Beck hadn’t stopped me just now, with Eamon, what would I have done to that group of witches?

“Why am I evil?” My voice hitches and cracks.

“You’re not evil.” He tries to pull my hand down toward him, but I tense and he stops. “I wouldn’t be here if you were.”

“But I will be, right?” I killed people, a lot of people, and he doesn’t think that’s evil? An uncomfortable heat floods my body, burning me from the inside. My pulse thunders in my ears.

Beck fidgets with his shirt before answering. “I can’t change what happened, but at least believe me when I say you’re not evil
—
only Dark. You can’t help what you are, just like I can’t.”

“At least you’re Light.” A frightening thought flashes through my mind and I clench my teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Beck asks, alarmed.

“What if I hurt
you
? Or Bethina?”

The muscles in Beck’s neck stiffen. “You don’t know how to control yourself. But we’re going to teach you. It’s going to be…okay.” The way he says it, I’m not convinced he believes it.

“Nothing can change how I feel about you.” He traces swirls across the back of my hand and then looks away. “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?”

Deep inside me, something shifts, telling me what I’ve always known. The bond between us is more than just being mated. Beck is, without a doubt, my other half.

But I don’t know what to believe. All my life I’ve been told Sensitives want to destroy the human race and hurt me. But now I’m supposedly one of them. And not only that, I’m Dark
—
a destroyer who thrives on anger and fear. But I’m not evil? And yet I killed people? Nothing makes sense.

Beck sits up and leans closer to me. Our faces are inches apart. His lips near mine. All I’d have to do is move forward, just a little, and they’d meet.

Without warning, he stands and walks to the edge of the shade, where the drooping branches touch the ground. He keeps his back toward me, but I can tell he’s upset. My arms long to hold him, comfort him. I want to tell him it’s going to be okay, but I can’t. My body won’t obey me.

Something he said earlier wiggles back into my brain. “You’re stronger than me, right? And the Light witches somehow counteract whatever I have going on? Maybe I don’t have to be Dark. We could live where there are a lot of Light witches and I can stay like this forever. I could be normal.”

“It’s not that easy, Lark.” He turns toward me, face serious and eyes troubled. “You
are
Dark. You need to accept that.”
 
 
 

I stand up, smooth the front of my dress, and walk toward him. The heat from beyond the shade of the tree creeps through our green fortress. When I slip my hand into Beck’s, his fingers squeeze mine rapidly
—
a hand hug, just like when we were younger.

I grasp on tighter. “We’re not children anymore and we’re here, together. In just a few weeks, we’ll be bound. Bethina told me it’s common in my family
—
Light and Dark witches binding. And your ancestors did it too
—
right? Charles’s parents?”

“I can’t imagine my life without you, Lark.”

He steps back and holds me at arms’ length. Even from this distance, I feel his heart pounding. My breath comes fast and shallow. Please, please let him kiss me now.

His next words come out in hoarse whisper. “We’re cursed. On our birthday, you will slowly drain me of my light, feeding off of it and swallowing me in darkness. Payment for my being stronger than you for eighteen years.”

With tears in his eyes, he says, “We can’t be permanently bound, Birdie, because being around you will kill me.”