Phoenix (18 page)

Unlike my last visit, no one is hiding in the knee-deep grass, and Bethina doesn't wait on the porch.
 

How innocent I was once.

We form a single line up the stairs, and Beck opens the unlocked front door.
 

"Mom? Dad?" he calls out.

The sound of something clattering at the back of the house sets my guards on alert, but Beck remains calm, so I do too.

At the end of the long hallway, Mrs. Channing comes running out, a smile on her face that promptly disappears when she sees me.

"What is
she
doing here?" Her long finger points at me. "How could you bring her here?"

I hold up my hands. "Margo, I'm here for your help. Not to hurt you or anyone else. We want to broker a peace between the Light and Dark witches."

Mrs. Channing snorts. "Is that
all
you want, Lark?"

"Yes."

She motions toward the front parlor, and we all file in one-by-one. Beck and I squeeze onto the antique love seat while Margo sits across from us. Our guards line the perimeter of the room. A faint pop at the far end by the door signals Mr. Channing's arrival, and my guards all react by immediately turning toward him with their hands in a defensive position.

"What's this?" he asks, eyeing us with suspicion.

"Beck has decided to bring Lark into our home again." Her lips pinch together before continuing. "Apparently, the two of them have the ridiculous notion that a peace can be brokered."

Patrick Channing strides across the room. In the past, he always seemed more of a man of leisure than any sort of figurehead. Today, however, he lacks his typical glass of scotch, and he stares each of us down.

"Really?" he growls.
 

I close my eyes and imagine the Channings relaxing and welcoming us with the same warmth they used to when I was a child.

"Where are my manners?" Margo exclaims. "Would either of you like a drink?"

Beck says, "Just some ice water for me. Lark?"

"Water is fine," I answer.

And like that, Mrs. Channing presents us with a tall pitcher of water and two glasses that she fills with a swish of her hand.
 

"Now," says Mr. Channing settling into an armchair. "Explain to me what this peace would look like."

Beck pats my hand, and I take it as a sign to lay out our vision.

"My first priority as Head of State is to secure enough food for all members of our Society. People are starving, and as long as they are starving, they are susceptible to the Splinter group's lies."

"So what you want isn't to feed the people, but to stop a rogue group of Light witches from overthrowing your regime," Patrick says. "Still, and always protecting Dark witch interests." He turns his attention to Beck. "I'm surprised you're willing to go along with such a transparent power grab."

Beck leans forward, elbows on knees. The vein in his neck bulges. "We want the people to eat," he snarls.

Shivers run down my spine. Beck never speaks like this. But sitting here, next to him, I feel the anger rolling off him. His hands clench in fists.
 

"Mr. and Mrs. Channing," I say, trying to ease the tension. "Both Beck and I would welcome the addition of Light witches to the Council and our advisory board. If there are any names you'd like to put forward, I'd favorably receive them."

Mrs. Channing watches me closely before darting her gaze over my shoulder. "Henry, Eloise, I almost didn't notice you cowering back there. Come join us."

My uncle and friend walk across the room and stand near Beck and me.
 

"Was this your idea, Henry?" Mrs. Channing asks. "Surely, Lark didn't come up with it on her own."

My uncle lays his hand on my shoulder. "Lark isn't the same girl she was when she was here last."

Mrs. Channing narrows her eyes. "That's right, I forgot, she's become a murderous, out-of-control nightmare."

Magic burns inside me, aching for a release. It races along my spine and radiates down my arms and into my fingers. Determined to control myself and not prove Mrs. Channing right, I sit on my hands. My fingers twitch beneath me, but I manage to keep my magic contained.

Beck tenses, and he cracks his knuckles. One at a time, like a fighter preparing for a match.

I grab his hand and begin drawing small circles across the back. Perhaps it will calm him the way it does me.

It doesn't work.
 

Instead, he shakes off my hand.

The flood of magic I once had coursing through me has turned to concern and anxiety.
 

"Beck," I whisper. "Are you okay?"

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes, a deep, angry look. "Perfect."

My magic boils and rolls, but I continue, somehow, to hold it in.

Until Beck stands. He flips over the coffee table, sending the pitcher of water flying across the room and spilling all over the floor.

"Don't you ever speak of Lark like that, do you understand?" he yells at his mother. "Don't you dare."

I grab at his arms and try pulling him back to me, but he breaks free. My magic unfurls like tiny wisps of fog and trails behind the destruction he's caused. The windows rattle, and the teacups crumble.
 

Mr. Channing stares at the two of us for a long moment, as if trying to determine the larger threat. With a flick of his hand and a few words, he pins Beck back down on the sofa. Beneath the magic, Beck bucks and struggles.

"Not in my house," Mr. Channing says. "Not while I'm still the leader of the Light witches." He releases his spell on Beck and turns to me.

"If you want our help, I suggest the two of you take some time apart. Leave Beck with us. We'll straighten him out and convince the Light witches to go back to work at the Ag Centers."

A lump forms in my throat. They want me to trade Beck for food. As much as I know we shouldn't be near each other, I can't let go. But to let my people starve out of selfishness is just...selfish.
 

"Beck," I say. "Maybe he's right. Maybe we need time apart to do our jobs and sort ourselves out."

He shakes his head. "So you don't want me?" Hurt fills his baritone voice. "You would leave me here?"

Before I can answer, he sends a bolt of magic whizzing at me.

"What the hell?" I catch it and return a larger, stronger wave of magic, but Beck deflects it and sends it soaring toward the windows, which explode upon contact.

"Don't you want to play, Birdie?" Beck hisses.

Landon thrusts himself between Beck and me, but I shove him out of the way.

"I don't want to fight. I want to get your parents to agree to help us."

Beck bounces some unknown magic in his hand. Up and down, like a dangerous bomb ball.
 

"What is that?" I ask.

"Do you want to see?"

No. Beck, please, stop this. Let's go home.
 

He ignores my plea and launches the ball into the air. Around us everyone appears frozen.

"What have you done?" I ask as I reach out and shake Ryker's arm. There's no reaction.

Beck grins at me. "Given us time. We need a plan. My parents don't seem interested in helping us, so perhaps we should force them. You can make them."

My stomach flops. "Beck, no. We need them, but forcing them isn't the way. We need to work together."

His nostrils flair, and he sweeps his arms widely. "Do you want them telling us what to do? Haven't you had enough of that already?" He smiles at me but it's not his normal warm grin. No, it's a cold, calculating smirk. "We're in charge now."

"We're in charge for as long as they allow. Don't forget assassination and coup d'etats are de rigeur these days."

Beck grabs my hands. A wild look dances in his eyes. "We can do this. We don't need them. Our magic is stronger than anything they've seen." He points to his parents. "Look how afraid they are of you."

I pace back and forth while playing with the end of my ponytail. "I don't want to rule by fear."

"It's how it has to be. Malin knew that. You should too."

Before he can stop me, I curl my toes and wrap my arms around myself. "Release," I whisper.

The room roars to life. Behind him, guards pin Beck's arms to his side and slap a red, magic-robbing wristlet around his forearm.

"Get him out of here," Landon orders. "Secure Beck in the farthest part of the house."

"Is that a wise decision?" Henry asks from somewhere at the back of the crowd. "They're better off with more distance between them."

"No. You can't keep him from me. We have the Founders' Ball. He's already been announced as my escort. The people will wonder what's happening." My heart whirls, desperate to keep Beck near me. "No one can help him the way I can. No one understands the way I do."

"Let me go," Beck shouts. "I'm not going to hurt her, or anyone."

Eloise pushes her way past everyone, her dark red curls have fallen loose from her ponytail. "Let him go, Lark, just for now. Just until we work everything out."

"Why?" I cry. "Why does no one want us together?"

Henry and the Channings exchange glances.
 

"What?" I demand.

Henry is blunt. "Your Dark magic is consuming Beck, and he has no control over it."
 

There's a scuffle at the end of the hallway, where my guards have Beck, and then they're gone.
 

"It's happening, isn't it? I'm draining him of his Light?" My voice cracks.
 

Henry grasps my hand. "We're not completely sure, but it appears that way."

I wrest my hand away and place my fingertips on my temples. There has to be a way for us to be together and not hurt each other. There has to be.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The moon looks different. Brighter.
 

And there are more stars, too. Millions of them.
 

I tilt my head back until I'm staring into an abyss of inky blackness and steady myself against a crumbling old log. Long fingers of fog swirl around me, sucking me into the vortex.
 

I can't see beyond the tips of my extended arm. Where am I?

Stay calm, Lark. Panicking is what gets you in trouble.
 

With faux-confidence, I walk toward the edge of the darkness, my feet tripping over stray tree roots. From high above, soft light envelops me and grows larger, stretching to take in more of the scenery. A tree appears to my left, another to my right, and a dusty trail extends away from me into the unknown.
 

Warm wind blows across my skin as I walk, and the smell of forest fills my nose. With each step, my surroundings become more familiar, more defined, until I'm standing at the trail's head looking out at a glittering lake.

Summer Hill.

I swing my head side-to-side, looking for a place to hide. How did I get here? And who brought me?
 

A movement down the shoreline catches my attention, and my pulse pounds in my temples. Fifty feet from me, Beck Channing stands facing me. The wind musses his unruly blond curls.

"Lark?" he says, his voice a soft caress to my ears. "What are you doing here?"

My blood speeds up until its frantic rhythm fills my brain and pushes out all other noises. I want to run away, but I can't. But I don't want to attack him either. My feet stay firmly planted, and my hands slightly turned ready for anything he may throw at me.

Beck tilts his head to the right, and I know he's trying to get a read on my emotions.
 

I rock back and forth on my feet, unsure what to do. I could attack him – which is what I'm supposed to do – or I could flee and show myself to be a coward.

I am not a coward.

Beck stares first at the trees, then the trail behind me, as if trying to place where we are. He pivots toward the lake – the one where we had our first real kiss. His confusion seems as real as mine.
 

"Can I come closer?" he asks, taking a small step forward.

"No." Magic floods my fingers like molten lava. Slow, heavy, malleable. Every fiber in my body wants to release it, but I can't. Some part of my mind won't let me.

How can I hate this boy so thoroughly, and yet love him so much? How are the two emotions simultaneously possible?

I may be unsure of how I came to be at Summer Hill, but I remember clearly that Beck stands accused of murdering my mother.
 

But I also remember laughing with him, kissing him, feeling his arms wrapped around me, and telling me that he'd love me forever.

More than anything, I remember the love.
 

Beck runs his hand through his hair – it's a gesture I know well. He's trying to figure out what to do. "I won't hurt you. I promise. I just want to talk to you."

When he takes a step forward, I leap back. I may not want to hurt him – heck, I may even love him - but that doesn't mean I trust him. I hold my hand before me, palm side out. "Stay back."

His face contorts, and he points at my mid-section. "What happened?"

I glance at my torso. A red and brown gash oozes blood.
 

The magic I'd been holding back rushes from me, and the blackness creeps back, blotting out the distant fields first, then the far side of the lake. It sneaks up behind Beck, and he moves closer to me.
 

"What did you do to me?" My legs buckle as more blood spills from my gut. "What did you do?" I sob.
 

"I didn't. I swear. Please let me help you." Angry, bleeding slices appear on his face and chest as he speaks. He wobbles, but steps forward again. "I can help you," he gasps. Blood pours down his cheeks, and a fresh blot stains the front of his shirt. His skin, already washed out by the moonlight, pales.