Part 11 (1/2)

”Yes, you do.”

The words taunt me. I narrow my eyes and lift my hand, carefully pointing my finger in the direction of the text. What does this say? I think.

Nothing happens and I purse my lips.

”Find the source of your magic, Lark. It's there, you just have to tap it.”

I open my mind and like a tsunami, sadness overwhelms me. Someone nearby is crying, and like a starved child, I gobble up the feeling, churning it in my soul. My body hums with magic.

This time, when I swish my hand, the text rearranges itself on the wall.

Charles Channing and w.a.n.g Fong formed an alliance to cut the Northern Society from diplomatic channels.

”Why?” I ask aloud. More text appears.

Officially, to preserve the meager resources left after the Long Winter. Unofficially, to force the problematic witches of the North to other societies where they could be better monitored. The answer covers the wall in a delicate script.

Oliver slides off the desk and touches the wall where the words appear. ”So, you just ask a question, and if there's an answer, you'll be able to find it.”

”But first I have to know what to ask.” I sigh. There's so much I don't know.

My office is a jumbled mess of old-fas.h.i.+oned books, weird metal objects, and obsolete technology that Oliver has had me retrieve. A room full of old, useless things.

Things.

”I know that look.” There's a playfulness to Oliver's voice and he grins. ”What are you thinking?”

”Is it possible to retrieve living things? Like animals or flowers?” Or people, I think.

”No.”

I must look disappointed because Oliver adds, ”Be happy it isn't. Can you imagine if Malin could summon you whenever she wanted? You'd be in the shower and-pop-you're suddenly in her office, naked, dripping water?” He laughs.

”Uhhh...yeah. I think I'll pa.s.s.” I shudder. ”Does it just not work? Has anyone tried?”

”It doesn't work and I'm not sure why.” He stands and stretches. ”Are you tired? We've been at this for awhile.”

”Not even close. I could do this all day long.” My lips turn into a wide smile. The more I tap into my magic, the more alive I feel.

”Well, I'm done.” Oliver makes a half-wave motion and the book and the words disappear. ”I promised Fio a trip to the symphony tonight.”

”Fio?” I ask.

”My mate, Fiona.”

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Oliver is mated. After all, he works for the State. But for some reason, I have a hard time imagining him having a life outside of being a guard.

”Perhaps I can meet Fiona some time,” I say, politely.

Oliver rubs the faint stubble on his chin, as if what I've said amuses him. ”I'm sure Fio would be honored to meet you.”

A tight smile stretches across my face. I keep forgetting I'm no longer Lark Greene, student. I'm now a States woman. And an extremely powerful one, at least among the Dark witches. Once I was simply fodder for the gossip feeds Kyra loves, now, people are honored to meet me.

I question their judgment.

”You should go. Before Fiona begins to worry about you,” I say while trying to force my voice to sound upbeat. ”I don't want her to think I overwork you.”

”I'll see you tomorrow,” Oliver says. ”Tell Annalise I'll ping her tonight, will you?”

”Sure.”

Oliver dips his head, steps forward and disappears. A wave of jealousy washes over me. I should be going home to Beck. To our home where I can listen to him tell me about his non-exciting day as a junior diplomat. We'd have tea and maybe watch the wallscreen. We'd be normal like Oliver and Fio.

Instead, I'm sitting alone in my office, waiting for my bodyguards to escort home, where, if I'm lucky, Kyra, Maz, and Ryker will come by to keep me company. Otherwise, I'll sit alone in my bedroom all night, bored.

Random objects Oliver had me retrieve are scattered all over the room. I guess I should put them away, but he never taught me how to send things back.

I check my wristlet. Twenty minutes until Dawson and Kyra come to escort me home.

To still my nerves, I touch the bare skin where my necklace used to lie. And then a plan begins to take shape.

With my palm turned upward, I stretch my hand forward and clear my brain of all thoughts except one: my necklace. Once, at Summer Hill, Beck helped me locate it after Eamon ripped it from my neck and tossed it into the clutter of a battle-torn room. He told me I found it on my own and Oliver has insisted that he's not a.s.sisting me in retrieval either.

There's only one way to find out.

My necklace, I think as I envision the way it feels against my skin.

Magic ripples in the air around me, and a warm area rolls over my palm. When I look down at my hand, a long chain dangles from my fingertip. I yank my fist up until the soaring bird is eye-level. Mud is crusted into the crevices, but other than that, it appears undamaged.

As I polish it with a handkerchief, my heart whirls in excitement and I grin. But only for a moment. There's no way I can walk around with my necklace on. Mother will take it and hide it somewhere beyond my reach.

Still, it feels comforting balled into my fist. Almost, but not quite as good, as holding Beck's hand. A peace, that wasn't present earlier, runs like suns.h.i.+ne through my veins.

Clenching the necklace, I sit behind the desk and admire my day's work.

All these hidden things, half forgotten in the archives. I wonder...

Oliver said he doesn't know much about Mother's early years. Plus, Henry said she was different as a child. That he loved her dearly and she was kind. But something changed as she grew older.

Curiosity gets you in trouble, Lark. But I can't stop the new idea that's now taken hold of me.

Once again, I hold my hand open, palm upturned the way Oliver demonstrated. ”Malin Greene, photos, ages twelve to seventeen.”

The tablet lying on the table beeps and I pick it up. Mother's name flashes across the top of the page and I scroll through the standard school pictures until near the bottom. My mouth drops open.

Staring back at me, with their arms draped over each other's shoulders and sunlight casting a hazy, lemonade-like glow across their faces, is a picture of a young Henry, my mother, and...Bethina?