Nightingale (17 page)

I sigh. It can’t be worse than being paired with someone your whole life and then finding out you can’t be with them after all.

“Henry?”

His olive eyes stay trained on Eloise. “Yes?”

Surely he isn’t so mad with worry that he can’t answer a few simple questions. I drum my finger against the side of my teacup. “What’s Northwoods?”

That catches his attention. His body becomes rigid and he swings his head toward me.  “Why do you ask?”

I’m acutely aware of my wristlet and the ears listening on the other end. I tap the green piece of smart metal. “Mother mentioned it.”

“No. I’m sure she didn’t.”

Damn it.

“Care to try again?” he says.

Heat rushes into my cheeks and I stare at the ground. “I found a picture of you, Bethina, and Mother as children. Northwoods was written in the inscription.”

“I see.” He takes a sip of his tea. “And where did you find it? In one of Malin’s journals?”

I shake my head. “No. I summoned it from the archive.”

Henry chuckles. “Clever. What did Malin tell you? I assume you asked.”

I nod. “Only that she and Bethina were once close.”

He rolls his tongue over the front of his teeth and sets his cup down. “Northwoods was our family estate outside Vancouver.”

I wrinkle my forehead. In all the years I spent having history drilled into me, I’ve never heard of Northwoods. And certainly not in conjunction with my family. “What happened to it?”

“Malin blew it up.”

My mouth drops open. “Why?”

Henry opens his mouth, but snaps it shut again. He struggles, trying to spit the words out. It reminds me of when Beck couldn’t talk to me at Summer Hill.

I gasp. “Are you tongue tied?”

“Yes.” Fantastic. Mother is preventing Henry from telling me her secrets. No wonder she’s okay with me being here.

Henry runs his hand through his hair. “If you want to know about Malin, stop looking in the archives. She’s deleted everything, or at least she tried to, long ago. Find her journals.”

I scrunch up my face and toss my hands in the air. “But if she’s destroyed everything, how will I find those?”

“She kept them the old way, on paper. Malin once told me the possibility of having her inner thoughts broadcast terrified her. I bet she still keeps them like that.”

Another wild chase. At least it will give me something to obsess about other than Beck and my upcoming birthday.

“Is there anything else?” Henry asks.

“Where do you think he is?” I don’t need to say Beck’s name because I know Henry will understand.

Henry shrugs. “I have no idea. But I’m sure Malin will find him. Her people are the best.”

“So I hear.” I slide forward in my chair and rest my hands on Eloise’s cold, lifeless arm. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman whose laugh infected everyone. Not too long ago, I marveled as she spun the energy of the moon around her.

Now, there’s no sign of that vibrancy. She looks dead already.

“Be well, Eloise. Be well.” The prayer tumbles from my lips and disappears into the air. Unheard.

I shouldn’t be surprised when she doesn’t stir. No matter how strong I am, I am Dark. And Dark witches aren’t healers
.

18

Growing up, my housemates and I always ate dinner at precisely six in the evening. Bethina would line up plates of food in the middle of the two tables, and we’d serve ourselves as much or as little as we wanted. We would laugh and trade stories about our days, and make plans for the rest of the evening.

It was relaxed and happy and everything a dinner should be.

But this…dinner with my family…it’s hell.

Mother sits at the head of the table with Callum and me on one side, and Annalise and Ryker across from us. There is no laughing. No smiles or secret plans. Staff places each course before us in unison and clears our empty plates while Mother guides our discussion.

“Did you have a nice visit with Henry?” Mother asks. “Talk about anything
interesting
?”

Thanks to my wristlet, she must know about the journal conversations. Not that it will deter me. Since arriving home, I’ve made a list of every place Mother could hide books of old paper. If she’s been keeping them since childhood, they must take up considerable space. The need to find the journals and read Mother’s secrets consumes me.

“There’s no improvement in Eloise’s condition. And Henry seemed...” I fish for the right word. “Tight-lipped.”

My brother snorts and mutters something under his breath.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mother says. She turns her gaze to Callum. “What are you working on these days?”

“The same as usual, Mother. Nothing of importance.”

Annalise frowns into her beet soup and swirls the spoon through the deep red liquid.

“What?” Callum snaps. “Did I say something to upset you?”

“No.” Annalise keeps stirring her soup.

Callum’s pinched face is full of hatred. “Look what you make me put up with, Mother. A bitch of a wife who can’t even hold a proper dinner conversation.”

The only sound is the clank of Annalise’s spoon against the china. She keeps her head down, and her jaw clenches. Before coming home, I believed my brother and sister-in-law were deeply committed to one another, but now I know better. In public, they act happy, but when the cameras aren’t watching, Annalise rarely speaks to Callum, and when she does, he scowls and swears at her.

It almost makes me feel bad for her.

But not quite.

“Do you not like beet soup?” I ask Ryker. He’s barely touched his dinner. I’m trying to be pleasant, but in the back of my head, I see him run toward Eamon. I see him motion me back. But above all, I remember he’s a State assassin trained to kill Light witches, humans, and the Splinter group.

And Beck. He will kill Beck if given the chance.

“I’m not feeling well.” He folds his napkin and places it next to his bowl. “I’m sorry, Malin. I’d like to be excused if you don’t mind.”

The corners of Mother’s eyes crinkle and she looks genuinely concerned. “Shall I call a healer?”

Ryker shakes his head. “No. A good night’s sleep is probably all I need.”

“By all means, go. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Because it’s bad manners to transport while people are eating, Ryker walks out of the room. When he’s gone, Callum turns on Mother.

“You said I would be working closer with you this year, but it hasn’t happened. And yet you have Lark doing what, exactly? Learning about the uprisings? Teaching her to step into your shoes?”

“Callum!” Annalise drops her spoon on the white tablecloth and blood red soup splatters everywhere. “Mind your manners.”

“Stay out of this, you conniving bitch.”

Annalise lifts out of her seat, but Mother holds up her hands and Annalise wilts back into her chair. She keeps her sky blue eyes cast down.

“Perhaps if you showed the same abilities Lark does, you wouldn’t be stuck doing menial tasks,” Mother says.

My brother slams his fist on the table and beet soup sloshes over the edge of his bowl. Between his and Annalise’s actions, the table looks like a murder scene. “You can’t compare my magic to hers.”

“I can and I have. Your sister is a Dark witch who has the unusual ability to channel Light energy. I’ve asked you time and again to work with Henry, to help with that particular problem. Yet you refuse as if it were beneath you.”

“It
is
beneath me and you know it.”

“Should I leave?” I ask.

“No, Love, stay. Callum doesn’t know his place.”

Callum’s nostrils flair. “You only want me to help Henry because it will put me in the Midlands, away from you, so you won’t have to be reminded of what a disappointment I am.”

My brother’s nightmare sounds a lot like my dream. Funny how that works.

I slouch in my seat and catch Annalise’s eye. She looks just as pained as I feel. Without asking permission, she pushes back from the table. “Lark, let’s go for a walk.”

“That’s right,
Lisi
, run away like you always do,” my brother roars. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Oliver for me.”

Annalise keeps her shoulders thrown back and nods to me. When Mother doesn’t object, I leap from the table.

Once Annalise and I are in the hallway, she asks, “Would you like to go Kyra’s?”

I study my sister-in-law’s face. She looks tired. And sad. “Is everything okay?”

She smiles, a pathetic sort of twisting of her lips. “I’m okay. Callum is just being Callum.” I don’t believe her, but if she doesn’t want to tell me, I won’t push. “Should I ping Kyra and tell her we’re coming?”

“No,” I say. “Let’s surprise her. Should we alert Dawson? Or Oliver?”

“Not Oliver,” she says quickly, glancing back toward the dining room where Mother and Callum are locked in a heated exchange. “I mean neither. There’s no need. We’ll be fine.”

Our coats appear in her hands and I take mine from her. “Do you know the yellow house at the end of the street where the extra staff lives?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Land there, behind the garden gate.”

She blinks out. I don’t blame her for wanting to get out of here, but to leave without me…she must be upset.

I land exactly where she told me. And, to my delight, I do not land too close to Annalise. Excitement tingles in my blood as we step out onto the end of the block.

An offshore wind sends gray fog rushing around us and blots out the far end of the street. From where I stand, San Francisco looks faded behind a veil of mist.

Annalise scans the street before us with her wristlet while I keep my eyes on the corner cameras. My housemates used
to
play a game of dodging the cameras. But now, I understand their importance. It’s just one way to see if the Splinter group is moving throughout the City.

In the few minutes since we’ve left Mother’s, Annalise has slipped back into work mode. Calm, determined, strong. It’s unnerving, in a way.

A dark shadow in the middle of the block catches my attention. “Who’s that?” I ask.

Annalise’s head jerks up from her wristlet. The figure pauses, as if watching us. Annalise moves in front of me, like a human shield, and presses on her wristlet, searching for data. She clicks her tongue in frustration and with three fingers raised, waves her hand in a semi-circle. “A witch, but I’m not pulling up a name.”

“Should we leave?” My heart dances in manic excitement while my head tells me this isn’t a safe situation.

“Do you know how to cast a shielding spell?” Annalise asks.

“No.” My eyes are trained on the strange figure. So far, he—or she—hasn’t moved closer to us.

“Imagine you’re inside a bubble. One that magic can’t penetrate.” She takes my hand. “Here.”

Her magic pulses into my blood. It feels like a live thing, like small bugs, creeping through my body. I want to bat at my arms and legs to slap them away.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” I say.

“That’s my magic. Now cast it off.”

I close my eyes and envision a large dome, similar to the one over Summer Hill. When I open my eyes, there’s nothing to be seen, but I can feel the hum of magic surrounding us.

“Do you think it’s Eamon?” I ask.

Annalise laughs. “If it were, we wouldn’t be standing here playing with magic. It’s probably just some old witch out for a walk.”

The figure turns the corner and disappears.

“See?” she says. The invisible shield crumples around us. “Just someone out enjoying a walk.”

We turn right on Spruce and left at the end of the block. Kyra’s house sits five houses in. It’s a grand home with old-fashioned brickwork and high-arching windows. Once again, I’m struck by how much Mother has given Kyra and how my friend accepts it with no reservations.

Annalise and I stand side-by-side on the narrow front porch. My finger hovers over the ringer.

“Is something wrong?” Annalise asks.

I shake my head. “No. Just admiring how extravagant Kyra’s house is.” I press the ringer and the door swings open.

An older, dark-haired man stands before me. He visibly startles when he recognizes me, but quickly covers by making a deep bow.

“Miss Lark,” he says, his smooth voice wrapping itself around my brain and filling my core with warmth. “This is a surprise.”

He steps aside and holds the door wide so we can enter the foyer. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tom Morris. I’m the new house manager for Maz and Kyra Matsu.”

It’s strange, the way he keeps his head turned to the side as he speaks. As if he doesn’t want us to get a good look at him.

Something about him
feels
familiar. I can’t explain it, but it’s like we’ve meet before. Which is impossible because I don’t associate with middle-aged household help.

“Are Kyra and Maz home?” My blood hums in excitement.

The man doesn’t make any other sort of eye contact with me. In fact, he avoids my gaze. “Miss Kyra is in the parlor, and Maz is in the library with Ryker.”

Once I get over the surprise that Ryker is here and not at home,
lying
sick in bed, I zero in on how informal Tom is when discussing the boys.

“Not Mr. Maz?” I chastise. My heart bangs against my ribs. If it doesn’t settle down soon, I’m going to die of a heart attack.

“He’s requested I refer to him by first name alone.” The house manager holds out his arm for my coat that I’ve shrugged off. Tom continues to avoid my gaze as he takes my jacket from me. Annalise hands him hers and scans the interior of the room. She seems unaware of Tom’s odd behavior.

I narrow my eyes and allow magic to enter my body and flow through my blood.
Look at me.
Annalise immediately turns her attention to me, but Tom’s head doesn’t move. I step over to where Annalise stands so that I’m directly in Tom’s line of vision.
Look at me
, I repeat again.

This time his eyes meet mine. Deep brown and completely unfamiliar. Yet I feel like I could drown a million times in them. My necklace radiates heat, and I stick my hand in my pocket to hold it closer to me. When I touch it, small vibrations race through my body.

“Lark?” Annalise asks. “Is something wrong?”

My tongue smarts beneath my teeth as I try to get a handle on my erratic feelings. “Have we met before?” I ask Tom.

My guard is now on alert. She inches closer to me and assumes a defensive position.

Tom keeps his head upright and appears undisturbed by my security. “We have not.”

The desire to touch him overwhelms me, but before I can reach out, he spins on his heel and disappears through the double doors across the room.

“What was that?” Annalise demands.

“I don’t know. I thought perhaps I knew him from somewhere.” Now that Tom’s gone, my heartbeat slows.

“From Summer Hill?” my guard asks. She’s scrolling through her wristlet, no doubt searching for information on Tom Morris, this strange man Maz and Kyra hired without telling any of us.

“I don’t think so.”

“You find Kyra. I’m going to talk with Maz and Ryker.” Annalise’s body is tense, which makes me believe she’s not done with Tom Morris.

Unsure where to go, I press my wristlet. “Locate Kyra.”

“Down the hallway, to your left,” my wristlet recites.

The hallway is long and narrow, like in most old homes in the City. When I’m out of Annalise’s sight, I lean against the wall and try to catch my breath. What is wrong with me? Why is this ordinary-looking old man making me feel like this?

“Lark!” I lift my head. Kyra runs down the hallway and launches herself at me. I stagger a little under her onslaught. She leans away from me and looks me over head-to-toe. “Are you okay? Annalise’s report frightened me. Explosions, attacks. Eamon. Beck.”

The last word strikes my heart with the weight of a thousand steel hammers. “Believe it or not, I made it through without a scratch. Henry and Eloise weren’t so lucky.”

“Oh.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Maz and I heard the explosion, but he refused to let me come help. Not that I can blame him. It’s not exactly a romantic binding night activity.”