Lark falls asleep in my arms, the six of us in the two king-sized beds in one of the suite’s bedrooms.

Her eyes close, the most beautiful smile on her lips. Serenity.

I run my fingers through her hair, the lights are off and everyone is passed out. The sheets are ruined and we’re all naked–having given Lark everything within us.

Just when I think she’s asleep, she reaches for my hand, gripping it tight, soft cries escaping her lips.

I try to wake her from the nightmare, but it doesn’t work. So instead, I pull her close to my chest, wrap my arms around her in an effort to still her shaking body.

Her fingers dig into my skin, and our bodies are so close, I feel her every breath, and then, it’s as if I can see her every thought.

I’m transported, with her, to a different time and place. We’re outside in the summer but ash is in the air, floating around the scene.

She clings to me as we watch a memory float over us.

“Don’t lie, you reckless child–what did you do?” a woman screams, shaking the shoulders of a little girl with raven black hair.

Lark.

Another women rushes into the yard as dark rain clouds cover the sky, rain pelting down on them, the sky cracking with lightning. “What happened, Tabitha?” Her face is stricken with fear, reaching for Lark, pulling her close.

Tabitha looks to the sky, broken, her heart bare, as rain falls over her face. She closes her eyes, replaying the memory. “Lark screamed for help when I was down in the cellar. I rushed up to the yard and saw Tennyson lifeless in the grass. I ran to her, but she wasn’t breathing, she was dead. Your daughter killed her, Deanna. She killed her own sister.”

“There must be more to the story,” Deanna says, the earth around them soaked with water as the rain falls in buckets, but it does nothing to wash away the pain. “Lark, what happened?”

Lark stands silent, in shock, tears in her big black eyes, her smocked dress sticking to her tiny frame.

Tabitha keeps speaking. “And then as I was holding my dead daughter’s body, someone … something … took her. Tennyson is gone. All at the hands of Lark.” The woman sobs, her daughter gone.

“Don’t speak that way of my girl.” The woman called Deanna lifts Lark from the ground, holding her in her arms. “They’re just children.”

“But my child is gone. She was dead on the ground, and then … something took her.”

“What do you mean, took her?” Deanna asks.

“A gust of wind swept through the sky and swept her away to the clouds.”

“You speak of a magic I’ve never seen, sister.”

Tabitha’s eyes go hard. “I pray to never see your demon child again.”

“Don’t say that,” Deanna sobs. “We’re family. Sisters.”

“Leave New Orleans,” Tabitha hisses. “Never return. I can’t bear to see your evil girl again.”

“What if you have it wrong?” Deanna asks. “What if Tennyson …”

“Don’t you dare speak ill of the dead. I can’t even go to authorities and report her dead, missing–anything. These children were a curse the moment they were delivered.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You are a fool to think anything different. We don’t know where they come from; we just know they have a deep power inside of them. We believed we were here to protect them, but we were wrong.”

Deanna meets her sister’s eyes, heaviness between them as they say goodbye. And then she turns, she leaves, carrying her daughter.

Lark looks over her mother’s shoulder, at her aunt who falls to the floor, lost without her daughter. Lark opens her palm, clutching a ring. Then she folds her hand into a fist and a single tear falls down her cheek.

Lark wakes with a start, her fisted hands pounding on my chest.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay, I’ve got you, little bird,” I tell her, holding her close.

She opens her hand, and I think we both believe she’ll find a ring hidden in her palm.

But it’s empty.

And all Lark can manage to do is cry.