Nightingale (The Sensitives) Part 10

I take a deep breath and my pulse slows. Another breath and it stops racing all together. On the third, the pressure in my chest eases and the sting of magic disappears.

A smile flits across her face before she spins on her heel and glides toward the French double doors that lead to the ballroom "I'll deal with all of you tomorrow," she says over her shoulder. Then she stares at Kyra and I. "You two, bed. Now."

I kneel and wrap Kyra's trembling arm around my neck. No one offers me their help as I drag her toward the stairs, but I don't expect them too. Mother made it clear that I'm to be punished. Only an idiot would get involved.

Once inside my room, Kyra pushes away from me. "What if she doesn't let Maz and I bind? What if I lose everything?" Her garbled words are barely more than sobs.

I turn away from her and study my hands. They still quiver slightly, but, if I'm not mistaken, I exercised control over my power.

More importantly, Mother noticed. And it pleased her.

11.

The waiting is the worst.

My feet leave a worn trail in the plush carpet as I pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. All night, sleep has eluded me, and instead of tossing and turning, I decided to get up and search for a way to fix this mess.

So far, the best I have is to send Miss Tully away. I'll beg Mother for mercy on Kyra and Oliver's behalf. After all, I suggested going to the club. Everything that happened is my fault and I must accept responsibility. She has to forgive Oliver. He's completely innocent in all of this.

However, the problem with this plan is there's nothing to stop the State from arresting Miss Tully again. And it doesn't explain why Kyra didn't notify the other guards.

I curl into the window seat and rest my head on my knees as I watch the moon sink lower in the sky. There has to be a solution. I only hope I can find it soon.

Annalise pokes me in the rib. "You're going to be late."

I blink and stretch. I hadn't meant to fall asleep.

"For what?" I ask, stalling for time. If Mother plans on punis.h.i.+ng me, I'm in no hurry.

My sister-in-law huffs and I prepare myself for what's coming next.

"Everyone is waiting for you."

My ears burn. Is this what Mother has planned? A public reprimand? I suppose it makes sense, considering what I did. But...

If she's going to do that to me, what will she do to Kyra? I press my lips together and try to still my mind. There's no way I'm going to show Annalise I'm scared.

"Stop stalling," Annalise orders. Breakfast sits on the coffee table, but I don't want to eat it. Not with my stomach flip-flopping. Still, I march across the room and make a show of nibbling a piece of fruit and pus.h.i.+ng things around on the plate until Annalise tells me to get dressed. She doesn't mention what happened or give any clue about what my fate may be.

It doesn't make me feel any better.

Dawson meets us in the foyer and my two guards lead me, the condemned, to my fate.

The State building is just as crowded as yesterday with members of the Eastern Society still outnumbering all others. Today, everyone openly gawks at me and I wish I could shrink away and hide. A few people shake their heads as I pa.s.s, and one woman even clucks her tongue. When I hesitate to move into the rotunda toward the stairs, Annalise latches onto my arm and drags me forward.

Halfway across the vast s.p.a.ce, Oliver joins our group and Kyra slinks up behind him. Her curls are pulled tightly away from her face and bags line her eyes. She flinches at the noise around us and appears as if she may faint.

Annalise motions for us to follow her up the sweeping staircase to the second floor toward the State offices. A few steps from the top, my knees threaten to buckle and I grasp the railing to keep from falling.

Oliver offers me his hand. Unlike Kyra and me, he looks well-rested and calm. "Are you unwell?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. Just..." Scared? Terrified? Worried my Mother is going to light me on fire and lock me back in my bedroom? "Tired. I didn't sleep."

Oliver's muscular arm surrounds my waist and I let myself go limp against him. When Annalise glances back at us, she frowns, but doesn't tell him to let go.

"You can lean on me," he says gently, before whispering something to Kyra. She smiles weakly and trudges ahead of us.

How is this man so calm when he knows what Mother is capable of? Does he really believe her to be benevolent?

We continue down a long hallway until Dawson stops before an ordinary wooden door. A knot forms in my stomach and sweat dampens my collar.

Without flourish, he turns the k.n.o.b and steps aside. To my surprise, he says, "Your office."

I ogle the room. A s.h.a.ggy, steel gray carpet covers the floor and someone's arranged wingchairs and a sofa before the fireplace. The desk looks strong and st.u.r.dy against the warm green walls, but not at all masculine.

"This is mine?"

Annalise smiles. "It is. My office is next door. Callum's is a few doors down. And Malin's is in the far wing with the other top officials, but it's only a short distance."

I run my hand over the smooth gla.s.s surface of the desk. This is my punishment? To have an office and come to work every day? Kyra stands in the doorway looking stunned. Obviously, this isn't what she was expecting either.

No one has told me my placement yet, and as much as I want agriculture, if Mother's punishment is to lock me away behind a desk, I can live with that. It's better than the alternatives. "What exactly am I to do?"

Oliver scrolls through his wristlet. "Today, you will learn the real history of our Society. Tomorrow, Dawson will work with you on basic Defense castings. The following day-"

I hold my hands up. "Slow down. I'm doing more school? I finished my a.s.sessment, remember?"

"Malin feels your education is lacking," Annalise answers. I try not to laugh. Of course it's lacking; no one has told me anything about the witch world.

"Great!" I say, a little too enthusiastically. If Mother thought she was punis.h.i.+ng me, she doesn't know a thing about me. There's nothing I love more than school. "Where do we start?"

The Light witches lied. I am not a failure.

Oliver, who I'm beginning to suspect is more than just good-looking muscle, and I have been making our way through the State's archives for the past couple of hours. So far, I've searched through ancient texts detailing the rise of the United States, firsthand accounts of the Long Winter, and even Caitlin's private diaries (those weren't as interesting as I had hoped). All without my tablet or wristlet. Just me reaching out with my mind, retrieving objects.

It's so much better than anything I tried to learn at Summer Hill.

Oliver hands me a plate of food. My mouth waters in antic.i.p.ation and my stomach growls. "I'm starving," I say.

He laughs. "Apparently."

As much as I want to shovel the green beans and rice into my mouth, I refrain. I can't forget protocol now that I'm working in the State offices.

"What do you know of our magic?" Oliver asks between mouthfuls of food.

"Only that Dark witches create out of fear and Light witches create out of hope," I say.

Oliver leans against the edge of my desk. "That's a simplified version." He sets his plate aside and with his fingers, he draws an invisible image in the air and blows into the empty s.p.a.ce. A glowing circle, divided into two halves takes shape between us. "This is magic, Lark. The Light and the Dark. Two halves of a whole."

He slides off the desk and walks toward me. "It's true that Dark magic is enhanced by fear and negative energy while Light magic needs positive energy to thrive. But the fact is, the world needs both."

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm not sure I'm following."

"How about this: Light witches can create and mend, that's why they're healers and farmers. But in order to farm the land, old plants need to die, and storms need to roll through and water the land. Everything that is created must be destroyed so the cycle can repeat.

"It doesn't mean a Dark witch can't farm or learn healing. Humans can after all. But it doesn't come naturally to us and we'd be about as good at it as a human."

"So what are we good at? Causing destruction?"

Oliver nods his head, as if he'd been waiting for this question. "We are better at those types of things, but again, if a Light witch wanted, they could tap that energy. In fact, you've seen that with Eamon." Chills run up my spine at the mention of that name.

"I'm sorry," Oliver says. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Not my favorite person." I shrug. "What were you saying about magic?"

Oliver waves his hand and one side of the circle turns white, the other black. "Magic is simply the ability to use the energy of nature. That's it."

"And we pull the bad energy?"

"Bad is a relative term. Death, fear, destruction are real things that would exist whether we used them to our advantage or not."

"But I create destruction."

He wags a finger at me. "You can do so much more with your magic. Like transport, or locate objects, or turn on the lights in a room." He smiles at me. "Just because your energy is founded in Darkness, doesn't mean you're evil."

"But the more miserable people are, the more magical I seem to be. I need pain and hurt."

"No you don't." He holds his hands out, palm side up. "We can be happy and still draw on the darker aspects of life. It doesn't have to consume us or make us bitter."

I consider his words. "Then why does everyone think I'm going to go crazy on my birthday?"

"You're not. That's what the Light witches want you to believe."

"I am. Even Mother is concerned. It's why she had me in the restraint when I first arrived."

Oliver points at my new wristlet. "Malin wouldn't give you that if she didn't feel you deserved it."

I press my tongue against the back of my teeth. All day, Oliver has been answering my questions in a way no one other than Bethina has. I c.o.c.k my head to the side, debating whether or not to voice my next one.

My guard sits on top of my desk, his long legs braced against the ground. His chin length brown hair curls slightly at the ends. He's handsome in a quirky, intellectual way. There's a sweetness about him, or maybe an innocence, that seems out of place amongst the other Dark witches I know, like Mother and Annalise.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Oliver answers.

"The curse. That has nothing to do with what kind of magic I have, does it?"

He stands up. "You're worried about your birthday, aren't you?"

"I'm worried about what I'm going to become on my birthday." And whether or not I'm going to actually try to kill Beck.

Oliver s.h.i.+fts and avoids my gaze. "Your whole family has been mixed. Look at Malin and Callum. She's Dark, one-hundred percent, despite being mixed. Her attempts at Light magic have been disastrous. And Callum is the same, but opposite. He's a Light witch. Neither of them are crazy. You'll be Dark, but I doubt you'll be crazy."

"Have you met my brother? He is crazy. And slightly evil." The memory of Callum on the train platform, laughing at my fear, is still seared in my head.

Oliver grins. "Callum...yeah...he's not my favorite person, but don't ever repeat that. Annalise would flay me." He winks. "But anyone can be evil. It has nothing to do with being Light or Dark."

"Just like being mixed has nothing to do with the curse?"

Oliver blows out a long breath of air and runs his hand over the back of his head. "It doesn't and I'm not sure how it works. Malin's childhood is a bit of a mystery to me." He collects my empty plate and dumps it in the trash. "To be honest, I a.s.sumed she always hated the Light witches, and that the source of the feud was years and years of a family grudge."

I nod. "Do you hate them?"

My guard fidgets with a strange cylinder I pulled from the archives and left lying on the desk. He keeps his back to me. "My job is to protect you. If that means hurting, or even killing, Light witches, then I'll do it."

"Why?"

He turns around slowly. Conflict clouds his eyes. "It's my job." With a snap of his fingers, Oliver smiles and says, "Now back to work."

Even though he answered my questions, I can tell talking about my family makes Oliver uncomfortable.

He taps an antique book lying on the sofa. "Can you decipher this?"

"What do you think?" I sa.s.s. Earlier in the afternoon, Oliver taught me to center myself and focus my thoughts. While it was frustrating and difficult at first, the rush of energy flooding my system now intoxicates me and I giggle as I snap my fingers. Invisible magic sparks from the tips and the old book flips open without me touching it.

"What do you want me to find?" I ask.

"What secret alliance did Charles make?" Oliver has resumed his perch on the edge of my desk. His shoes lightly tap against the front.

I focus on the book and channel my energy. With a wave of my hand, old-fas.h.i.+oned words appear on the far wall. Before I can stop myself, I clap my hands in satisfaction. Retrieving physical objects by imagining them in my mind and making them appear from thin air is much easier than uncovering abstract ideas and information. But this...this was surprisingly easy.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Oliver chides. "You have no idea what any of it means."

A scowl forms on my face. He's right. It's like reading a code you half-understand.

"Translate it," my guard orders.

My head tilts to the side and I study the words, before turning my gaze toward Oliver. "I don't know how."