Nightingale: The Dark Witch Chronicles

By Dawn Rae MIller

Depressed and confused after her rescue from Summer Hill, Lark Greene trusts no one—not even herself. Cut off from Beck, all she wants to do is fade away and forget everything, but her mother has other plans: she wants to teach Lark how to master her Dark magic and pair her off with a new mate.

Lark is desperate to keep herself from going completely Dark, while also keeping Beck safe, so she allows herself to be drawn deeper into the dangerous, yet glamorous, world of the State. But as the Splinter Group launches attacks to wrest governmental control from the Dark witches, Lark finds herself drawing on her Dark magic more and more.

As her magic spirals out of control, no one around Lark is safe.

Certainly not Beck.

And not even Lark herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: FinnStar
• Release date: Dec 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393273639

Dawn Rae MIller

Dawn is a Twitter and fashion addict whose favorite things in life are her family, gorgeous dresses, tea leaf salad, and French macarons. She splits her time between San Francisco, Northern Virginia, and Paris.

Book preview

1

M y name is Lark Greene.

A white light flashes, blinding me. I can’t see beyond the small circle of darkness, but I know they’re out there, pressing in on all sides, listening to everything I say. Blasting my words over the newsfeeds. Mother prepared me for this. She and Annalise worked with me on my statement, reviewing details, having me repeat my answers over and over again until they were burned into my mind.

I tuck my trembling hands beneath my legs and lean forward against the small table I’m seated behind. Mother’s fingers drum against my shoulder, a reminder that I am not alone, and her energy flows through me like a steady fix of soothing medicine. My hands steady a little.

A camera floats over my head like an annoying gnat. It whirls and hums, zooming in close on my face. With closed eyes, I inhale deeply, and open them on the exhale. The light flashes again. I cover my face with my hands, prepared for the pain that’s sure to follow.

Mother crossed the room until she stood next to the side of the bed. She leaned over me, her face mere inches from mine, and her minty breath fanned across my face. I wanted to shrink away, but there was nowhere to go.

How do you feel about Beck Channing?

My heart clenched like a fist at the sound of his name. She’d asked the same question a hundred times since Annalise rescued me from Summer Hill.

I wouldn’t tell her. She couldn’t know I loved him. That I hadn’t forgotten him, the way she wanted me to.

An icy chill raced down my spine and my mouth opened. Words I didn’t mean to say spilled out. Is he okay?

A cruel smile stretched across Mother’s lips. Do you love him?

I should have said ‘no’. I wanted to say ‘no’. I needed to protect Beck.

Yes.

Scorching air blasted over me, and the bed tilted sideways, spilling me onto the floor.

I scrambled to my knees, gasping. Why are you doing this?

Beck Channing is your enemy, Love. He wants to kill you. A small light bounced in Mother’s upturned palm. Without warning it exploded into dozens of glowing fire orbs and hurtled toward my face. Each impact burned more than the last.

Stop! I screamed and curled my arms around my head. Mother, please! Stop!

My body was yanked from the ground until I dangled several feet in the air. My arms flailed, trying to grab something. Anything. But there was nothing to hold on to. I could move, but I couldn’t seem to propel myself forward. Or down.

Beneath me, Mother circled like a wild animal. Oh, Lark, I can’t stop. Notes of sorrow filled her voice. I need to fix you. The Light witches have confused you and I need to help you remember who you really are. You want that don’t you? My help?

My skin burned where her fireballs hit me. If this is how she loves me, what will she do if she hates me? I thought while nodding my head. If I agree, maybe she’ll stop.

She snapped her fingers, and Annalise and two male guards appeared. They stood behind her, staring at me with a mix of curiosity and pity. I didn’t mind the staring—I would too, if I saw a girl dangling in the air—but the pity concerned me. Especially after the fireballs.

Mother beckoned one of the men forward.

Malin? he said, with his head bowed.

Fire, she ordered.

He balked. Surely, Malin, you don’t mean—

Set my daughter on fire, Oliver. He hesitated and Mother screamed, Now.

Oh God. Please, no. Please. I clawed at the air, trying to escape, but it was no use. I didn’t move.

Oliver didn’t look at me when he pointed his finger in my direction. Fear tore through my insides.

The flame ignited the hem of my skirt. I slapped it out, burning myself. Mother, stop, I pleaded. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.

Dawson! Mother screamed. Take care of this.

The other man pushed himself before Oliver and a second flame hit my tights. They melted and oozed down my legs. Stinging, burning pain raced across my skin. My body jerked and writhed, but I gathered the pain, pulled it deep into my core. It combined with the fear and anger already inside me. My fingers twitched and magic exploded from my fingertips.

I fell in a heap on the floor. All around me, angry orange flames climbed the walls, gobbling up the curtains and paintings. They nibbled at the ceiling.

Thick, black smoke choked my lungs and I crawled toward the door, only to be immediately flung back.

Mother wasn’t done with me yet.

Try again, Mother whispers. Everyone is waiting.

My wrist smarts and I touch where my wristlet should be. However, instead of the normal delicate band, a thick, blue restraint encircles my left wrist. To the public, it probably looks like a custom wristlet. But I know better. It, along with the guards, is all that’s keeping my powers in check. Mother explained this to me. The trauma of what happened at Summer Hill tapped into my power more than she had anticipated. Basically, my system became overwhelmed and I exploded.

Six days ago… My voice shakes. I must seem so frail to these people. I try again. Six days ago, my mother’s guards rescued me from Summer Hill, the Channings’ family home, where I was kept hostage.

The crowd murmers and another camera floats into position near my head.

There’s more I’m supposed to say, but the words are lost in the confusion of my mind. I open my parched mouth, then close it. Again. And again. No sound escapes my lips. Annalise appears at my side and hands me a glass of water. I drink deeply, allowing the liquid to soothe my throat.

The silent room waits for me to continue. I shift in my seat and set the glass down. Mother’s slim fingers travel down my arm, never breaking contact, and stop at my elbow. A sense of calmness washes over me, and I don’t fight Mother’s magic.

Lark? Mother says, prompting me. You’re among friends. Everything is okay.

I start reciting again. While I was there, I was subjected to numerous tests and forms of… My chest heaves. The memory of Bethina, lying on the grass as flames crept closer to her body, flashes through my mind. My heart races and I dart my eyes toward the exit, looking for an escape. All I want is to do is run as far as I can. I need to get out of here.

Mother’s grip tightens and her nails dig into my skin.

Torture, I say softly.

Yes, that’s right, Love.

They tortured me. Encased me. Denied me my magic. Killed my housemother.

Mother strokes my arm again. Go on, she whispers.

They tried to kill me.

Who killed Bethina? Mother kept her hands folded on the desktop. We were alone in her office, like we had been all day.

Beck, I answered. Not me. Beck. He killed her. Mother had repeated this to me non-stop.

That’s right. Beck killed Bethina before turning on you. Mother tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Do you love Beck Channing?

Magic probed at my heart, trying to force me to speak the truth I’d hidden deep inside me, but I had to lie. Lying was the only way for this to stop.

No. He wants to kill me. My lips twitched and I pressed them tightly together. I refused to let myself say anything else.

Mother smiled, pleased with the progress we’d made. He came after you. To kill you.

But Kyra and Annalise stopped him and rescued me from Summer Hill, I finished, eager to show that I’d learned.

Mother smiled. That’s right. We saved you, Lark. We saved you from those monsters.

Mother promised if I did this one thing, I wouldn’t have to speak to the newscasters again. Everyone wants to hear what happened in my own words. And the Society needs to see I am safe and there is no threat to our security.

It’s my duty, as a Founder’s descendant, to do this.

It’s true? Beck’s one of them? Did he orchestrate your kidnapping?

I turn my head toward the voice and squint into the blinding lights. My fingers tingle with magic and I curl them into fists.

What did you say?

My guards’ magic hits me from every direction. Waves of ice and fire wash over my skin, licking at the rawest spots of my heart. I press my hand over my chest, struggling to breathe beneath the onslaught.

Is Beck Channing Sensitive? the disembodied voice asks again.

The crowd buzzes with excitement. This is what they’ve been waiting for: my public denouncement of my birth-mate. Kyra says it’s the scandal of the year, and judging by the reaction to the question, I think she’s right.

Mother’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of my arm again. I lift my head and stare into the nearest camera.

Yes. He is. My voice rings out across the corridor. The crowd goes silent, waiting for me to say more.

Magic pushes at my heart, encouraging me to speak the lie Mother has taught me. The one I can now say easily.

I lean forward and rest my hands on the table.

If I never see Beck Channing’s face again, it will be too soon.

Kyra, Annalise, and two male guards surround me as we shove our way through the noisy crowd and toward a large wooden door. The leaner of the male guards, Oliver, pushes it open and Dawson steps through. He motions for me to follow.

The cool, white room feels oddly empty after the claustrophobia of the press conference. Unlike in there, where everything was hidden in shadow, this room is white-on-white-on-white. Like snow.

You did great, Kyra whispers. She drops onto a low couch and tucks her legs beneath her. You sounded scared, and who can blame you? You’ve been through so much.

The door swings open again, allowing the chatter of the room beyond to spill in, and I catch snips of the newscasters’ conversations. Mostly of the Poor girl and Do you think she knew? variety.

Mother, followed by her guards, glides in and joins Annalise and the men on other side of the room. I strain to hear the low hush of their voices, but the words are meaningless. Almost like code.

No one glances in my direction or even acknowledges my presence, and for a fleeting moment, I consider walking out the door, back into the hallway filled with reporters and cameras and questions, and running. I don’t, of course, because being out there is a million times more dangerous than staying here, waiting for whatever it is I’m waiting for.

Or maybe I’m too tired or confused to care.

Or perhaps I’m just dead inside.

As if any of that matters. Mother has made it clear there is nowhere I can run, nowhere I can hide, where she can’t find me. There may not be a physical barrier preventing me from escaping, like at Summer Hill, but she has magic, the eyes of the State, and the threat of the Light witches killing me. I’d be a fool to try to leave.

Out of habit, my fingers flutter to my neck, searching for my necklace, only to find an empty space. I cast my eyes to the floor and my shoulders heave. Somewhere between fleeing Summer Hill and arriving here, I lost it.

Well done, Lark. Well done. Mother beams. Her blond hair is pulled tightly away from her face into two low twists behind each ear. She looks like her normal, in-control self. Not the frightening woman who had me set on fire a few days earlier.

I squeeze my knees to my chest, forcing all the air from my lungs. I’ve learned Mother’s praise is generally followed by something horrible. With glazed eyes, I stare blankly at the snowy white carpet and focus on holding my breath.

Now that that’s finished, I have to return to my office. Mother brushes her hands together. Annalise, see Lark home.

Of course, Malin.

My lip trembles slightly when Mother turns toward me.

Is something wrong, Lark?

Tears roll down my cheeks.

Lark?

I lift my head slowly, until Mother’s eyes lock on mine.

And I scream.

2

For the past two hours, maybe longer , Mother and a team of healers have evaluated my mental state. Apparently, screaming after the press conference was not how I was supposed to behave, and no one seems to understand why I did it. I had shown all signs of making a healthy recovery.

Which means, instead of the relaxing afternoon Mother promised, healers are now firing question after question about the events at Summer Hill at me. Who worked with me? Who prepared my meals? How was I treated?

Unlike earlier sessions, my mind feels sharp and I answer their questions with ease.

Dasha, I say. She’s the one who tried to teach me transportation.

Tried? A female healer with long, pointy fingers sits across from me, typing notes on her tablet.

I wasn't very good at it. I broke my nose. And then Eamon came and fixed it.

The woman’s head pops up. Eamon? As in Eamon DeCanteur?

"I don’t know his last name. He’s tall, good looking. A healer. Or at least that’s what everyone told me. I pick at a piece of lint on my skirt. He’s also vicious. Cruel. And evil."

She writes a few more notes while I massage my aching wrist. The restraint is too tight.

According to your testimony, your primary contacts at Summer Hill were Margo and Patrick Channing; your housemother, Bethina; Dasha Voigt; Eamon DeCanteur; and Beck Channing.

My heart clenches and my mind spins through the chaotic mess of my memories, searching for Beck. I’ve tried reaching out to him in my mind, but there’s only endless static. Why can’t he hear me?

Was there anyone else? the healer says, bringing my attention back to her.

Henry Trevern, I think. My mouth puckers trying to say his name, but no sounds come out. I swallow and try the other name. Eloise. I don’t know her last name.

Surprise flashes across the healers face but she quickly disguises it and makes a note on her tablet. "Tell me about the night you snuck out with—"

To see me, Mother interrupts.

Yes. The woman keeps her head lowered. The night you met Malin in the cabin.

This is how it’s been the whole time. So many questions, but not one mention of Henry.

Beck woke me. Henry my mind screams. He told me to get a sweater and shoes. He said to meet him at the weeping willow. Henry, not Beck. Henry.

And then what happened?

We transported out of Summer Hill, to the other side of the dome. Mother was there with Annalise and Kyra. There was a cottage and a table of food.

So, Beck Channing brought you to Malin. And you had a feast?

I shake my head. When she says it like that, it sounds ridiculous. Mother told me… I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pull the memory up. She said I needed to go back to Summer Hill. That it was the safest place for me.

The healer stops tapping on her tablet. Does any of this make sense to you, Lark? Why would Beck deliver you to Malin? And why on Earth would she send you back?

No. It doesn’t make sense. Except I’m positive it did. Once.

"Does it seem possible that the Light witches manufactured a memory, or perhaps many memories, to confuse you? Were you ever unconscious for periods of time?"

I nod my head slowly. When they encased me.

She sighs knowingly and my heart sinks. Why would they plant memories that make me fear them? Wouldn’t it make things easier if I trusted them? But maybe that’s why I have loving memories of Beck and our life together..

The two things don’t add up.

Across the room, Annalise and my male guards are at Mother’s side, watching me.

Wonderful. I’m on display again. Only this time, everyone gets to see how crazy I am.

Perhaps it’s time for a break? Mother says, addressing the room.

The healer stands and follows the guards out of my bedroom, leaving Mother and me alone.

There’s no need for this now. She bends over me and removes the restraint. I rub my throbbing wrist.

Mother must trust me. Or she’s confident my crazy magic can’t hurt her. Whatever it is, I’m thankful to be free and that everyone is gone. I need time alone to think.

My stomach growls, but I ignore it. I have no appetite and have barely eaten since my arrival. Earlier, I overheard two healers discussing my weight loss and how I’m wasting away. If only it were that easy to disappear.

I’ll have lunch sent up. Something light, perhaps? she asks.

That sounds nice, I say, even though the press conference, tests, and the effects of magic have left me exhausted and I would rather take a nap.

I know this is difficult for you, but it’s for the best. We must discover everything the Light witches did to you. Mother’s magic wraps around me like a cozy sweater. So warm and comforting. Only then can I help you recover.

That’s what worries me: her plans for my recovery. But I don’t let on and simply nod in agreement.

You want that don’t you? To feel better?

According to everyone around me, I was betrayed by the boy I loved. My whole life has been a lie. Every shared confidence, every sweet touch, every memory were just ploys to manipulate me. How am I supposed to ever feel better? Am I supposed to wake up one day and suddenly everything will be okay? Am I supposed to just forget?

I wrap a loose piece of hair around my finger and blink back tears. I want to stop hurting, I say. It’s the truth. I want this never-ending pain, the one the keeps me awake with my mind racing, to just go away. And right now, I don’t care what I have to do to make that happen. I simply want it gone.

A satisfied smile spreads across Mother’s face. Of course you do. And I’ll be right here, helping you. She glances at her wristlet. Now, please go shower while I order your meal.

My shoulders tense as I pass Mother. When the bathroom door clinks shut behind me, my pulse hammers in my ears and my hands tremble. Whatever magical hold she had on me has vanished, leaving only terror behind.

There is no window in this room. No way out except through the door I entered. Most likely, Mother waits on the other side, ready to use her persuasive magic on me as soon as I exit.

I’m trapped. More than I ever was at Summer Hill. And yet, this is supposed to be my freedom.

With a sigh, I dig the tips of my fingers into my brow bone. I need to know if everything with Beck was a lie. But how? Who will help me? Mother ordered no one to speak of him and I don’t think anyone would dare go against her.

Plus, every healer has given the same diagnosis: extreme fatigue, break with reality, mental manipulation, inability to recall simple truths. But how can that be? It can’t be that all my memories have been planted by the Channings to ensure I won’t harm Beck.

But that’s the one thing both sides agree on: Beck and I will meet one day and we will battle to the death. So maybe the Channings did mess with my mind?

I shake my head at the ridiculousness. I know what happened at Summer Hill. I saw it. I lived it.

At least, I think I did.

I wrap my arms across my chest as the water from the shower pounds my shoulders, and close my eyes. My heart thumps erratically and tears spill out of my eyes.

My fingers reach for my necklace, but like earlier, it isn’t there. It’s gone, like everything else I once loved.

Beck, I call out in my mind. Can you hear me?

Nothing but static. No matter how hard I try, I can’t feel Beck. Not his voice, nor his emotions. It’s as if he ceased to exist, leaving a gaping hole in my heart.

I press off the shower and take a towel from the warmer. In the mirror, a haunted girl stares back at me: listless, blood-shot eyes and ghostly-white skin. Is this what the world sees when they look at me? A frail girl? Someone who can’t fend for herself?

There’s a light knock on the door. Lark? Are you okay? Mother asks from the other side. Of course she’s standing out there, she’s afraid to leave me alone.

Just say what she wants to hear. I force a smile to my lips and yank the door open. I’m fine.

Mother lets out a relieved little chortle, but her magic pushes at my heart—a sign she doesn’t fully trust me. I don’t fight her. I want to feel numb right now. I want to forget.

She motions to a serving cart across the room where a silver dome sits, waiting for me.

I hope you like it, Mother says. The lid floats into the air, exposing a salad packed with berries and nuts.

Despite my small appetite, my mouth waters. It looks delicious.

Good. Mother studies me with concern. You’re emaciated. We need to get you back up to full strength.

I adjust the towel around my skeletal frame before sitting down and nibbling several bites of food. But before I can finish, my eyelids droop and I can barely hold my head up. I’d really like to take a nap.

Mother narrows her eyes. Are you unwell?

I shake my head. I think I’m going crazy.

A dramatic sigh escapes Mother’s lips. She walks around the table and draws my head to her torso. Darling, I’m so sorry this is happening to you. I promise, I’ll make the Channings pay for what they did. I will never let them hurt you again.

Her words chip away at the flimsy barricade I’ve erected around my heart. My lip trembles and tears flow down my face.

They encased me. And Eamon…he… My voice shakes at the memory of the Light witches encircling me, chasing me across the lawn. "They were trying to kill me?"

Shhh…Eamon will never harm you. I promise. Mother’s hand strokes my hair lightly before she takes me by the shoulders and peers into my eyes. "Beck Channing tricked you into binding with him. For what reason, I don’t know. But the Light witches will kill you for it."

Horror grows inside me. I remember. The Light witches…no, Eamon’s Splinter group…they weren’t just coming for me. They wanted to hurt Beck too.

They wanted to kill both of us.

Panic builds in my chest as events begin to make sense. I left him. Alone. To face the Splinter group.

I can’t hear him. I can’t feel him.

My breath grows ragged.

Beck could be dead. Because I ran. I left him all alone.

Love? Alarm overrides Mother’s typically calm voice. What’s wrong?

My lips part to tell Mother everything, but my teeth act like a fortress, keeping the words locked inside. I shake my head and focus on speaking, but the more I fight, the tighter my throat becomes. My body convulses and I tumble from my chair.

Mother’s cool hands press against the sides of my face and she peers in my eyes before yelling into her wristlet. I need a healer. Immediately.

Her arms encircle me, and a deep sense of relief rushes through my core as my throat loosens and air rushes to fill my deflated lungs. It’s okay, Love. Everything is okay.

Water, I croak. Mother places a glass into my hand and I gulp mouthfuls.

I’ll find out what spell they did on you, and we’ll undo it. I promise. Her lips graze my forehead.

A healer bursts through the bedroom door and sprints to my side. He holds his hands over me, concentrating.

Eamon did the same thing.

And then he tried to kill me.

The towel falls away as I shrink away from the healer, scurrying backward, crab-like, until I’m cowered into the corner of the room.

You’re among friends, Love. Mother holds out her hand to me, trying to coax me forward. You’re safe.

I close my eyes and focus on drawing air into my too-tight lungs, but instead of calming me, half-forgotten memories skip through my mind, each one searing an image that ensures I’ll never forget: Beck playing lacrosse, Beck with his arm wrapped around Bethina in our kitchen, Bethina waiting for us on the stairs. Our room. The lake. Beck lips tickling mine.

Silent sobs spill out of my body and I ball my fist against my mouth. My hair sticks to my face like spider webs.

Let her be, Malin, the healer says. Her mind is fragile. She can’t take much more stress.

I have to help my daughter. Don’t you see what they’ve done? Mother’s shrill voice pummels my ears. They’re trying to steal the only thing in this world I care about. I won’t let them. Not my daughter.

I rock back and forth, digging my fingernails into my upper arms. The pain and the movement calms me slightly.

Is Beck dead? I cry. Is that why I’m going crazy? Because he’s dead and his magic is no longer balancing mine? Is that why I can’t feel him? Are we no longer bound?

The healer’s mouth drops open in horror and his eyes grow wide. They’re bound? he gasps and jerks his head toward Mother. How could you hide that information, Malin?

Mother’s icy eyes narrow and she curls her fingers, once, twice, three times.

The healer makes a strange gargling noise as his fingers tear at his neck. His eyes bulge from their sockets and his face turns red, then purple.

He drops dead at my feet.

3

My name is Lark Greene and I may have already killed the boy I love.

4

Hours. Maybe days have passed. I don’t know anymore.

I can’t remember.

You understand, don’t you? Why no one can know about you and Beck? Mother stands at the end of my bed. Dark half-circles fill the space under her eyes and fly-away pieces of hair stick out of her normally tidy up-do. Exhaustion has stolen all remnants of the polished Malin Greene I’m used to seeing.

But no matter how troubled Mother appears, I can guarantee I look a