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“I loved my sister, and you loved yours, but we had a falling out, Lark. That’s why …”
“So what, you got in a fight with my aunt and kept me from my flesh and blood? How could you do that to children?” I ask, incredulous. “Is there anything about my life that is real?”
She moves toward me, grabbing my hands, refusing to let go even though I pull away, the tears spilling down my cheeks.
Our eyes are locked, and I don’t want to look away.
“This is real, the love I have for you, Lark. It’s real. I could have told you this before and it wouldn’t have changed a single thing. Regardless of where you come from and where you end up going, our hearts are tightly knit.”
“Not anymore, they aren’t,” I say, pushing away. I don’t have time for her heartfelt confession of love. Not when she has taken so much from me. “I want to know where this sister of mine is. Tell me!”
Her eyes fill with tears, she shakes her head. “She’s gone, Lark.”
“Gone?” I ask, no longer crying. All I feel is anger. “How do you know that but know nothing else? You’re the witch. Look into your crystal ball and figure out where she went.”
“I give tarot readings, Lark. I have feelings about things but my sister was the one with the real power. The real gift.”
“Then how do you know my sister is gone?”
Mom wipes the tears from her cheeks. “It’s not a good story, Lark.”
“Have any of the stories tonight been good? Why do you care now?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You already have.”
“Lark, this story though...” She looks out the window, her eyes etched with sorrow. “This one has a very sad ending.”
“Mom, I need it. Even if it’s hard to tell. Even if all you have to offer is a sliver, it’s more than what I have right now.”
She bows her head, clasps her hands as if in prayer. “Lark, when you were brought to us, you had a sister. But when you were five...” She lifts her eyes to mine, sorrow written across her face. “The two of you were alone and something terrible happened. According to your aunt, you killed her.”
7
Brecken
Whatever happened last night wasn’t good.
We watched as the kitchen stilled, the words
hushed, as mother and daughter stared one another down.
And then we watched Lark stand from the table, looking so damn broken. She left the kitchen with anger coursing through her veins. We could feel her all the way out here.
We flew up one story, perched on the lamppost outside her room, and took turns keeping watch. Of course, we could only feel her, sense her–we couldn’t watch her really. I fucking wanted to get closer.
I wanted to watch as she fell into bed, her dark hair spilling across the pillow, her body curled up under a blanket. I wanted to crawl in with her and hold her tightly, wipe away her tears and whisper a lullaby as she fell to sleep.
In the morning, we divide and conquer. North, Arrow, and Sawyer leave to get ready for rehearsal, while Vaughn and I stay to keep watch, waiting until Lark emerges and then we fly, following her to the Spades Royale. Once inside, Sawyer will meet her in the lobby and Vaughn and I can go to the suite to change.
Now that we have her, we can’t let her out of our sight. It’s the only thing Gaia asked of us. And last night, when Lark left the suite and went down the elevator, we failed in our task for a few minutes.
I won’t let North make another risky decision. He said he didn’t want her to think we were smothering her after we just met, but I remind him that was exactly what Gaia sent us to do. We have to stay close to her at all costs. Even if it means pushing her away.
Once at rehearsal, I can’t stop staring at her. She looks off- kilter, and with her body folded in on herself, I know something’s up. So does Melanie, our choreographer.
“Do you need a break, Lark?” she asks. Melanie is a tall woman in her mid-thirties with a lot of positive energy and tight workout clothes. I’m glad she’s not some intense, uptight instructor.
The five of us and Lark are the only ones here in the rehearsal space. Melanie has the background dancers training off-site. Today she’s running over the basics of the show and reviewing some preliminary aspects she has planned.
“I’m fine, really,” Lark says, nodding for emphasis.
Melanie takes her word for it, and we turn back to the sketches Melanie has laid out for us. There are storyboards on easels, and as a group, we walk to each one as Melanie describes the scene.
