Toxic Heart

by Theo Lawrence

  “Who’s down there?” I ask.

  “Right now? I’m not sure.” Ryah shrugs. “Mystics sort of come and go as they please around here. But this is where Jarek and Landon and I do our training.”

  I think of my sessions with Shannon back at the compound. How impossible my training was—and that didn’t even involve actual powers.

  “You need to train?” I ask.

  “Of course, silly!” Ryah says, chuckling. “Why wouldn’t we?”

  I’m actually not sure. Turk and Hunter have always seemed so confident with their powers. It never struck me that they had to, well, practice.

  “I’m only sixteen,” Ryah says. “I came into my powers three years ago, so they’re still new. There are some things you can do inherently, but most of it you have to learn.”

  “Who teaches you?” I ask, relieved to have someone who is willing to answer all my questions.

  “Parents. Friends. Registered mystics never get to learn, really, because they’re drained as soon as they hit puberty. I grew up underground, though, so I’ve had a few years of practice. My dad taught me a lot before he died.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” Ryah blinks. “We just met. He was killed in an attack about two years ago. My mom passed soon after him.… She got sick and just never got better. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

  It shocks me that someone who has lost both parents can be so cheerful.

  “We’re all sort of misfits,” Ryah says. “That’s why we’re here. Landon’s parents are still alive, actually. His mom is in a compound outside the city, taking care of his younger sister. His dad is somewhere, but I’m not sure where.”

  “What about Jarek?” I ask.

  “He’s an orphan, too,” Ryah says. “Us kids with dead parents gotta stick together.” She runs her fingers through her blue hair, then takes a step away from me, heading down the hall.

  “To our right is an infirmary.” She points to a large black door. “There’s no nurse or anything, but there are bandages and pretty much anything you’d need if you got hurt.”

  Mystics heal incredibly fast, so I wonder how much this room gets used.

  “Here’s where we eat,” Ryah says. The hallway opens up to a utilitarian dining area with four long tables and benches for dozens of people.

  At the back of the dining room is a staircase. Ryah skips up, and I follow her more slowly. “This floor is the library,” she says, leading me into a room that is simply crammed with books. Physical books are such a rarity that seeing so many of them in one place is a unique experience—even in the Aeries, only the biggest libraries and richest families have collections, and they don’t nearly rival this.

  The shelves are practically bursting. The books look old, some of them falling apart. A tall ladder is attached to a metal rod that runs around the top of the room, allowing access to the books near the ceiling.

  “This is where most of the strategy meetings happen.” Ryah motions to the long wooden conference table, its planks different lengths fitted together neatly with a glossy, varnished top.

  “Those books …,” I say.

  “I know. Old,” she says. “Most of them are from before the Aeries even existed. Crazy, huh?”

  “Wow.” I think back to my video calls with Hunter—he was always in a meeting room that had books. “Is Hunter here?”

  Ryah shakes her head. “No. Sorry.” She leads me out of the library to another staircase. “Girls’ rooms are on the third floor, boys’ are on the fourth.”

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask as we head upstairs.

  “We don’t exactly live here,” Ryah says. “More like … we’re staying here. There are a few concealed rebel hideouts in the city, and people move between them now that the underground has been blown out. This is our home base for the moment, but it could change at any time.”

  We reach the third floor and Ryah leads me into a room with three beds. It’s nice but pretty minimal. “The color is called rose,” she says, referring to the light pink walls. “Do you like it? I painted it myself. Pretty fitting, right?”

  “Right,” I say.

  She smiles broadly. “You know. Because your last name is Rose.”

  “Yes. It is.”

  “Funny,” Ryah says, perching on one of the beds. “I didn’t even know you were going to be living here when I chose this color. And some people don’t believe in fate!” She laughs. “Life. It’s really something, huh?”

  “It sure is,” I say, standing in the middle of the room. There are three of everything: beds, dressers, and desks, each with its own TouchMe. One of the desks has a clear vase with a few weeds sticking out the top, pretending to be more exotic flowers. I’m betting it’s Ryah’s.

  “That one is yours,” Ryah says, pointing to the bed by the window, with a purple comforter and matching pillows. She walks over to one of the desks and picks up a TouchMe. “And this is yours, too. Same number, new gadget.”

  She hands it to me and I scroll through the menus. None of my saved texts have been transferred over, or any of my family or friends’ information. The new TouchMe is a clean slate, a fresh start.

  “Great,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “Turk made sure to enter us all as contacts, so you have our numbers—just in case.” She goes over to the closet and opens it with the press of a touchpad. Then she starts flipping through the clothes. “We’re not the same size, exactly, but you can borrow whatever clothes of mine you want. And Shannon’s.”

  “Shannon is sleeping in here, too?” I ask.

  Ryah nods and points to the bed by the door.

  “Well, I’m not sure that Shannon would like me borrowing any of her clothes,” I say. “We’re not exactly friends.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Ryah says, waving her hand in the air. “Shannon likes to put on a bold front, but really she’s a sweetheart. She’s just tense. Everybody is.”

  We stand in silence for a moment. “The bathroom is down the hall,” Ryah tells me. “And here’s where we keep some emergency funds.” She runs her hands along the wall next to the door. I can see a faint square outline; she grabs a knob that’s painted the same color as the wall and pulls, revealing an alcove full of tiny leather pouches.

  “Coins,” she says.

  I nod. In the Aeries, everything runs on credit, but here in the Depths, you need physical money to pay for things.

  “You probably won’t need them,” Ryah says. “But just in case.” She closes the hidden safe and turns back to me. “We’re going to have dinner in a bit. Why don’t you rest up, put on some fresh clothes, and come down? Really, take anything in the closet you want. We’re family now.”

  She trots out of the bedroom, calling “Later!” over her shoulder.

  Family.

  What a loaded word.

  After a catnap, I pull some underwear from a dresser and a navy-blue tank and pair of slim-fitting jeans from the closet. Then I find a pair of old sneakers that look as if they haven’t been worn recently. I go downstairs to the dining room and slide onto the bench at the table where Turk and Ryah are sitting. It was a pleasure to throw the red dress Thomas made me wear into the garbage, though it feels strange to be wearing borrowed clothing.

  Jarek and Shannon are at the table, too. They seem to be in the middle of a conversation, but once I sit down, they stop talking and avert their eyes.

  The rest of the dining room is empty, except for a group of men older than my father who are huddled together at another table, not paying us any attention. The walls are covered with some of the same mystic charms that were at the compound: beautiful hamsas with intricate beading, and other symbols I don’t recognize, inlaid with colored stones and pieces of ceramic. There’s also a silhouetted image of one of the female figures that were on the walls of the farmhouse, with nearly identical curls down her back: a Sister.

  “Hope you don’t mind that we aren’t goin
g to have a feast,” Turk says. “A bunch of rebels who were pretty good cooks just left, so we’ll have to make do.”

  There are empty plates and utensils in front of us; in the middle of the table is a pitcher of ice water. “That’s fine,” I say. “I’m not picky.”

  “Did you find everything okay?” Ryah asks.

  “Yeah, thanks again for the tour,” I say.

  “No problem,” Ryah says. “My pleasure.”

  “Is that my shirt?” Shannon asks, studying my tank top.

  “Chill out, Shannon,” Ryah says. “Seriously.” She tilts her head and smiles at me. “Aria, I love that shirt on you.”

  Just as I’m about to ask what’s for dinner, Landon rushes into the room balancing a circular platter on one hand. “Dinner is served,” he says, coming around to the table and dropping a slab of raw meat onto everyone’s plate. He saves mine for last and, I notice, gives me the smallest one.

  I glance up at him and smile. “Thank you so much, Landon.”

  “Whatever,” he says. “Bon appétit.” Then he heads back into the kitchen with the empty tray.

  I stare at the raw meat on my plate, remembering Thomas’s barely cooked steak.

  “Is something wrong?” Ryah asks in a concerned voice. “Do you like your meat well done?”

  “I like it more done than this,” I say.

  Turk laughs as Ryah lets out a high-pitched giggle. “Obviously!” She slams the table with her fist.

  “Just cook the meat already,” Shannon snaps.

  “I’ll second that,” Turk says.

  Ryah holds out her hand and I hear the familiar buzz of mystic energy. Thin, delicate green rays shoot out from her fingertips, bathing the table with light; she curls her fingers into a ball and the rays blend together, becoming less intense, changing color from an electric green to something much softer.

  The rays connect with the steak on my plate and I watch it cook right before my eyes, like a barbecue without smoke. A delicious charcoal-blackened-meat aroma fills the room.

  “Poor Ryah,” says Jarek. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak—he has the rich baritone of an opera singer. “She wanted to be powerful and mighty, but all she can do is act as a microwave oven.”

  “Oh, Jarek,” Ryah says. “You know as well as I do that I could light your entire body on fire before you had time to blink.” As she uncurls her fingers, the rays dissipate, and I am left with a perfectly cooked piece of meat. “Not that I would ever do that.”

  “Not to me,” Jarek says as Ryah turns her energy to Shannon’s plate. “But seriously, Aria, you should see this girl go.”

  “It’s true,” Ryah says matter-of-factly. “I’m incredibly powerful.” She flexes her fingers. “There’s danger in these hands.”

  Hunter once told me that a mystic’s power is as individual as his personality. Some powers are incredibly tepid, like being able to heat tea with your fingertip. But Hunter can walk through walls and drop through ceilings. And Davida could take on the appearance of another person—a talent that is extraordinarily rare.

  “What’s your power?” I ask Jarek.

  Before he can answer, Landon comes back into the dining room with a bowl of sautéed greens and a pair of tongs, taking a seat on the other side of Turk. “Well,” he says to Jarek, “aren’t you going to tell her?”

  Shannon has a strange expression on her face, like she wants to say something but she’s holding back.

  “Tell me what?” I ask.

  Before Jarek can show me his power, whatever it is, Landon holds out his right hand and presses his fingertips together: a green ray of mystic energy the size of his wrist shoots out of his hand and strikes the center of my water glass.

  I think it’s going to explode, but it doesn’t.

  The water instantly freezes, leaving the glass intact.

  “I can solidify liquids,” Landon says, puffing out his skinny chest. “And vice versa.” He shoots another ray of energy at the glass, and the water reverts to liquid form. “Including lakes, rivers, rainwater … you name it. But poor Jarek here”—he says in a mocking tone—“can’t do much of anything.”

  “Leave Jarek alone,” Turk says. “Just be quiet and eat, Landon.”

  “Is that true?” I say, turning to Jarek.

  He rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He reaches over and punches Landon’s shoulder. “Landon is just being … Landon.”

  Ryah finishes cooking and takes her seat at the table. “Dig in, everyone!”

  I cut into my meat—it’s perfect. I don’t know whether it’s because of shock or exhaustion or the fact that I haven’t had any food since yesterday, but it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

  “So what is your power, Jarek?” I ask.

  Jarek swallows and pounds his chest, letting out a huge burp.

  “Nice,” Shannon says. “Really nice.”

  “I can … disappear,” Jarek says cryptically.

  I gasp. “You can turn invisible?”

  Landon laughs. “Hardly. Jarek is just really good at camouflage.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s … useful.”

  Turk gives me a sideways grin.

  “Here,” Jarek says. He stands up, and I’m quickly reminded how tall he is—well over six feet. He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes. I wait for something to happen, but nothing does. “See,” he says. “You can’t see me.”

  I look to Ryah for help, but she’s purposely not paying attention. “Actually, I can,” I say.

  Jarek opens his eyes. “That’s just because you know I’m here. But if you didn’t, then I would have blended into the wall.”

  “Oh. Well, I think that’s … impressive,” I say, focusing my attention on my dinner.

  He shakes his head, sitting back down and rounding his shoulders. “No. It’s not,” he says with a hint of despair. “Not compared to what most people can do.”

  “Jarek is excellent at camouflaging himself,” Turk chimes in. “I’ve even seen him blend right into a brick wall. It’s just harder to demonstrate than most powers.”

  “Wars aren’t won by hiding,” Shannon says, putting down her fork. “They’re won by fighting. No offense, Jarek.”

  “I know,” Jarek says. “I agree with you. I wish I could do more, but … I can’t.”

  “Sucks to be you,” Landon mutters under his breath.

  “Be nice,” Ryah says.

  “Hunter once told me about some guy who can hold his breath for hours,” I say. “Michael? Marty? I don’t remember. That sounds pretty cool, though.”

  “Marty Fuller,” Landon says with a hefty sigh. “He’s quite a piece of work.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Landon snaps a finger at me. “Never mind. Whatever. So he can hold his breath for a few hours. This isn’t Atlantis. It’s Manhattan. We don’t need to go swimming.” Landon raises a fist to the ceiling and shakes it. “Damn you, Marty Fuller! I hope you choke on that water and die!”

  “What’s going on?” I whisper to Turk.

  “Landon used to have a thing for Marty,” Turk whispers back. “It didn’t end well.”

  Across the table, Shannon lets out a tiny laugh. It catches me off guard; I’ve never seen Shannon smile or actually be nice to anyone, but surely she must have friends. It’s just me she doesn’t like. Which is a shame, because as Shannon smiles, her entire face glows.

  “Hey.” She looks at me, her smile disappearing. “What are you staring at?”

  “Nothing,” I say, taking another bite. “So what’s your power, Shannon? Having no sense of compassion?”

  At this, Landon lets out a loud “Ohhhh.” He snaps, then adds, “She went there.”

  Shannon fixes her lips into a tight red line and clenches her jaw. “Aside from being an incredible fighter, Aria,” she says, “something you are not, I’m a tracker.”

  “Trackers are very rare,” Ryah chimes in. “Shannon is truly one of a kind
.” She thinks for a moment. “Actually, I had an aunt Nelly who was a tracker. It’s still rare, though.”

  “What does a tracker do?” I ask.

  Shannon brushes a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” I say.

  “Girl fight, girl fight!” Landon says loudly. “Somebody slap somebody!”

  We all stare at him.

  “What?” he says defensively, holding up his hands.

  “Basically, I can hunt down a physical object by visualizing it,” Shannon says. “It has to be something I’ve owned or touched. Something I know inside out.”

  I immediately think of my locket—the silvery heart hanging around my neck on a thin chain. It doesn’t have magic anymore, but at one point it was the capsule where Benedict stored my memories of Hunter—the ones my parents tried to erase—for safekeeping.

  “Give us an example,” Turk suggests.

  Shannon shrugs, but I can tell she’s enjoying being the center of attention. “Let’s say I wanted to find my mother. I would close my eyes and envision this brooch that she used to wear all the time. It was gorgeous: handcrafted, studded with pearls and pink diamonds. So I would focus on an image of that brooch, re-creating it in my mind.” Shannon closes her eyes to demonstrate, and the room goes silent. “And then I would cast out a ray of energy that would function sort of like a homing device.”

  Shannon flicks back her wrist and then shoots her hand forward, almost like she’s casting a fishing rod. There’s a flash as five green rays jet out of her fingertips. They shoot up to the ceiling, and she squeezes her fingers together so that they’re touching. The rays braid together into one thicker ray pulsing with electric energy. Then she turns her hand over so her palm is facing the ceiling. The ray of energy coils like a corkscrew.

  “Whoa,” says Jarek. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

  She twists her hand in the air and the ray begins to shrink, growing brighter but thinner until it’s practically invisible, so thin it could fit through the eye of a needle.

  Shannon opens her eyes. “I would then follow this line of energy, and it would lead me to the brooch.”