Part 18 (1/2)

The air is balmy, almost spring-like. Another reminder that my birthday is rapidly approaching and with it, whatever my fate will be.

After the second block, we pick up a following of three newscaster cameras. Someone must be monitoring the City's street cameras and tipped of the gossip feeds.

”I could get rid of them if you'd like, Miss Lark,” Dawson says. ”No one would be able to tell.”

As tempting as the offer is, I can't allow him to use magic in public. At least not for something as silly as gossip feed cameras. ”Thanks, Dawson, but it's fine. Besides, if my taking a walk is in any way scandalous, I'm doing something wrong.”

We climb the short hill to Was.h.i.+ngton Street and are treated to the lovely view of the City in spring. Shortly after Caitlin came to power, the City planted thousands of cherry trees to replace the ones that had died, and every year since, they bloom in a riot of pink and white.

”Can you help me pick a few of these?” I ask my guards and point up to the blossoms over my head. ”Enough for a bouquet, please?”

Oliver reaches over his head, cuts away several small branches with the pocketknife he keeps with him at all times, and hands them to me. I bury my face in the blossoms and inhale deeply. Eloise will love them.

As we cross through a small park, children swarm around us, some playing chasing games, others throwing b.a.l.l.s. So many of my afternoons were spent in parks like this. My housemates and I played while Bethina visited with the other houseparents.

A little girl with auburn hair sprints past me. She stops and twirls around, before collapsing on the ground in a giggling heap.

How innocent she is. And full of life.

I can't help but wonder if she's a Dark witch? Is she-and are all the children like her-who Mother is protecting by keeping the real Sensitives hidden?

Only a few healers loiter near the hospital entrance when we arrive. Their heads jerk up like well-trained pets as I glide past them. Not one asks me to stop or where I'm headed.

We take the mover to the third floor. The light fixtures I destroyed the other day have been replaced and a sliver of remorse creeps into my mind. As much as I don't want to admit it, Mother was right. I was throwing a tantrum.

Eloise's door is slightly ajar. There's no need for Dawson to scan it since I know what I'll find.

”How is she?” I clutch the small bouquet of blossoms in my hand and peer inside. My guards stand behind me.

”The same,” Henry says, barely lifting his head.

From leafing through Mother's reports, I know Henry hasn't left Eloise's side. He also hasn't showered or changed out of his ruined clothes, and an air of damage clings to him. Sitting in this room all day long isn't helping.

I step into the frigid room. ”Wait outside, please,” I say to Dawson and Oliver. Neither protests which means they find Henry unthreatening. Or Mother told them to let me visit as I want. Either way, I'm thankful for the privacy.

Eloise's copper hair spills over the edge of the pillow and hangs off the side of the bed. My eyes focus on the white bandage swaddling her torso, hiding the deep, angry gash across her chest. The healer was able to stabilize Eloise, but she hasn't woken up since arriving. I refuse to ask how long she can stay like this because I don't want to know. I am, however, thankful Mother is providing everything she can to keep Eloise comfortable.

A plate of cold, uneaten food sits on the side table. ”Henry,” I say, picking it up. ”You need to eat.”

He sighs. ”I'm afraid I don't have much of an appet.i.te right now.”

”Then at least let me pour you some tea?” I touch the teapot sitting near his food. It's ice cold. I fold my hands around it and direct my magic at the pot. To my delight, the water begins to boil. I pour two cups. ”It's chrysanthemum,” I say holding out one to Henry.

”Thank you.” He takes it from me and I place a few small sandwiches on a plate for him. After I set it on the side table, I walk over and pull back the curtains, letting the late afternoon sunlight filter in. The room immediately feels less like a death watch.

I settle into the chair opposite Henry and wait. I want to bombard him with questions, but he seems too fragile right now.

”Why don't you go to Mother's tonight? Get some rest. I'll stay with Eloise.”

Henry runs his tongue over his teeth. ”Malin may have forgiven my transgressions, but trust me, she doesn't want me sleeping under her roof. It wouldn't look good. Besides, I want to stay close. In case Eloise needs me.”

”Have you been working for Mother for a long time?” It's a guess, but one I think is true.

Henry rubs at his elbow and hangs his head. ”Only a few months.”

Well, that explains why Mother wouldn't let me mention Henry when I first arrived from Summer Hill. She didn't want anyone to know Henry was there. ”Why are you doing it?”

”I owe her. For what I did to your father.” His olive eyes meet mine. ”And because I think we can fix this feud if we can get both sides to work together.”

”You really think that's possible? With Eamon running around and my mother determined to remain in power at all costs?”

”Yes.”

”I wish I had your optimism.” I take a long sip of my tea and study my uncle as he fidgets with the b.u.t.tons on his s.h.i.+rt and keeps his eyes fixed on Eloise. The way he observes her, with such tenderness, causes my breath to hitch.

Perhaps it's unwise for him to care about her. After all, Eloise went on dates with other witches at Summer Hill and laughed when I mentioned Henry. Is this what being allowed to choose your own mate is? Unrequited feelings?

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.”

d.a.m.n 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 a.s.sume 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.”