#lark bee

The air in Aurora Skies is refreshing. It’s cold, of course—near freezing—but the smell of precipitation is preferential to that of pollution and people.

Inside the Bee home, Dominic reclines on their bed, the letter in hand. It’s one of the only items he brought back from Bridgeport. He reads it almost daily, though he has not shared it with Lark. Sometimes she peers over his shoulder in an attempt to catch the words. He doesn’t stop her. But he doesn’t share.

“Everyone should be here soon,” she says.

Dominic nods. The doorbell rings. Carefully, he folds the paper. His exactness allows Lark a glimpse of the final lines, the only lines she’s ever managed to read from the letter:

Despite my many failures as a father, you’ve grown into a man of unparalleled courage and conviction. My deepest apologies, and my unending love.

It ends with a scribble, which she can only assume is Bastian’s signature. She can guess how he failed Dominic, but the litany detailed in the letter will forever remain a mystery.

Dominic rises from the bed, and she follows him. They invite their guests inside, and the night goes on without incident.

The night moves quickly. An ambulance arrives, though Lark doesn’t know who called it. Sadie, most likely. It doesn’t matter.

She shuffles out of the back of the ambulance and into the hospital, where she is separated from Bjorn and Dominic despite her protests. “Emergency,” reads the sign over the door they’re taken through. She’s taken to a different room, an ugly room of white and seafoam. And in that ugly room her arm is patched up, and she’s questioned by a doctor. He asks Raven to leave, but the teen refuses. With a sigh, he begins a litany of invasive questions. “Do you feel safe in your home, Miss Bee?” He asks. She wishes she still had her magic.

Throughout the night, Raven doesn’t leave her side. But it’s hours before she’s released.

“You made—I’m—“ Artemis looks at her hands. “I’m—“

“Mortal,” Raven finishes. And with a thrust of the dagger, Lark punctuates Artemis’s epiphany. The blade drives into her back and through her heart. Lark jiggles the dagger, shoving it in up to the hilt. And when she draws it out, Artemis slides to the floor, motionless.

She isn’t alone as she works. Nearby, Dominic and Lark giggle and chatter. Just a few months earlier, Dominic processed his father’s death with heavy drinking and ill-fated tabletop role-playing. Lark seems to be processing it with excessive flirtation. A particularly energetic kiss draws complaints from their adopted daughter. “You guys are disgusting,” Raven moans. “And I’m never going to finish my algebra if you keep it up.” “There are plenty of other rooms in the house,” Lark giggles. “Dad,” Raven cries. “Tell her to stop!” “You heard your mother,” he smirks.

Raven glowers and shuts her notebook. “Fine. But when I flunk out of school, remember this moment."

The room is bright, much brighter than Lark expected. But she’s here, back in Bridgeport. She looks at her hands. No claws, though the wound from Artemis’ dagger remains obstinately on her arm. She glances to her left. Raven sits, sobbing.

“Raven?”

“Someone call an ambulance,” Nikolas calls out. Lark shakes his head. What’s he doing here? He shouldn’t be here. But even more dismaying is Bjorn’s limp body, dangling from his father’s arms. Nearby, Sadie kneels by Dominic’s body, her face twisted with concern.

Dominic bites his lip, swallowing back the urge to articulate every parent’s worst fear: if she’s not already dead. “The castle Sadie mentioned is the most obvious place to look first,” he finally says, “it should be north, if I remember my notes correctly.”

“Perfect, let’s head north then,” Lark says brightly. “Which way is north?

“Let’s start by finding the village, and possibly some transportation. We shouldn’t strain Bjorn with too much walking.”

“It looks like there’s a path that way,” Bjorn gestures to a slight depression in the foliage.

“Right, you took tracking,” Dominic says.

“Lead the way,” Lark adds.

Bjorn takes a step, but crumples. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, “it still hurts. Maker, it hurts.”

Between the weight of his armor and general fatigue, it’s a strain, but Dominic and Lark manage to carry Bjorn out of the clearing and down the path, guided by his tracking skills. Gradually, the trees become sparser and the ground becomes firmer until they find signs of civilization: a sizeable farm on the edge of the forest, simultaneously quaint and impressive by the dour and archaic standards of their current universe. Oil lamps hang randomly around the walls, and a battered and decaying sign by the front door sways in the breeze. Lark can barely make out the image on it: a faded painting, it seems, of a lantern.

Tragedy follows close on the heels of celebration. A day after the twins’ birthday, Lark receives a phone call from her mother. Her father, Quentin Parker, has died. Peacefully, in his sleep, but still gone forever and without a goodbye. Lark is the first of her siblings to arrive at her mother’s house. She finds her mother in the hallway, wearily staring at the front door. “Mom?” Lark rushes to her mother, grabbing her by the shoulders. “They just took him,” Luna says. “They’ll let me know when the body’s ready.” The words are matter of fact, and they punch Lark in the gut. “You can’t stay here.” Luna shakes her head. “They have this phone number. They’ll call me here.” “I’ll set the landline to forward to my cellphone,” Lark says.

“I said no,” Luna snaps. “Maker, you always had a hard time following directions, didn’t you?”

Lark takes a moment before Fauna ages up to appreciate that she’s officially done with bottles and diapers.

The ginger grows up with only slightly more grace than her sister.