Free Nightingale by Dawn Rae Miller

the edge of his shirtsleeve catches my attention and I jump back as he yanks at his sleeve.
                  Once I would have screamed for security. I would have let fear overwhelm me. I would have hated him. Now, all I see is a poor man, forced to live on the fringe of society all so that we witches can perpetuate a charade.
    I glance at my friends but they’re too busy ogling the barely dressed performer gyrating on the stage to notice the man and me.
                  When I look at him again, our eyes lock and I can’t turn away. His skin is leathery brown, but he can’t be much older than me. Maybe twenty-two, at the most.  His cheeks have a gaunt, underfed look and his chapped lips are parted in surprise, as if he recognizes me. He looks like a Sensitive: mangy, dirty, wild.
    And I look like Lark Greene. The privileged daughter of the woman who branded him Sensitive.
    I am everything he should hate.

 
    9
     
     
    The man doesn’t break eye contact with me. His lips pucker and he raises an eyebrow. The noise in the club can’t drown out the ten haunting notes as they pass his lips.
    The Alouette .
    The song of the Splinter group.
    The man’s lips twitch into a taunting smile. 
    Adrenaline rushes through my body, heightening my senses. Everywhere I look, flashes of red wristlets glow in the darkened room.
    How could we—no, how could my friends be so stupid as to come here? They had to have known the clientele of the club. I should have known better.
    Magic burns in my heart, begging to be released. It presses against my chest and I rock back on my feet.
    I can’t lash out here.
    I can’t—
    A ball of fire explodes near the stage. For a second, the crowd stands in stunned silence, but not me. My entire body trembles as another wave of magic builds inside me.
    “Kyra,” I scream. All three of my friends pivot toward me. Ryker, who is closest to me, throws his arms around my body, shielding me.
    “Are you okay?” he says.
    Kyra shoves between us. “Did you do that?”
    I nod. “I don’t know. There was a man. A Sensitive. He whistled the Alouette . And…and I couldn’t stop it.”
    The crowd has now gone into panic mode, pushing and shoving their way toward the exits. Black, acrid smoke fills the area around the stage.
    “We have to get out of here.” Kyra scans the crowd. “Ryker, stay right next to Lark. Do not leave her side. Do you understand?”
    Ryker nods. “Should we transport?”
    “No. We can’t risk it. Even in this mess. Let’s just get her outside.”
    We push our way through the maze of flailing body parts toward the exit. The closer we get to the doors, the thicker the crowd grows. There’s one door and at least two hundred people fighting to get out. I’m bumped and jostled from every direction, and shoved deeper into the core of the mob. But Ryker never lets go of me. His fingers dig into my arm and yank me back toward him.
    When we’re within feet of the exit, he throws out his arm, knocking a woman backward and flings me forward.
    The frigid night air stings my face and my ears ring. Everything sounds distant. I’m pushed off to the side, out of the way, and I lean against the wall. Filth and grime cover the hem of my dress and sweat dampens my underarms.
    Kyra rushes toward me while Maz and Ryker stand a few feet away. All three of them have the same terrified look. “Are you okay?” Kyra asks.
    I smooth the front of my dress. “I’m fine. I was frightened and I couldn’t stop myself.”
    Firemen rush toward the building carrying packs of retardant on their backs. A few of them hack at the exit, trying to make the escape route bigger.
    “Malin is going to kill me.” Kyra sags against Maz. “Of all the stupid things, Lark. Couldn’t you have at least tried not to set the stage on fire?”
    “This isn’t my fault! You know I can’t control myself.”
    “Not your fault? You suggested sneaking out. You wanted to come here.” Kyra’s eyes