Toxic Heart

by Theo Lawrence

  The entire group is still, watching her. “Does it work with people?” I ask. “Imagine your mom instead of the brooch—would your energy lead you to her?”

  “Not so much,” Shannon says. “People move around too much, and they’re nearly impossible to track without using a much stronger sort of energy that I don’t possess. Besides”—she shakes out her hand and the ray disappears—“my mother is dead. So tracking her wouldn’t do me much good.”

  Another orphan, I think.

  “Aria, you haven’t asked me what my power is,” Turk says, breaking the silence.

  “Sorry, Turk,” I say. “What’s your power?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Aside from being hot?” he asks through a mouthful of steak. “I have a very good sense of modesty.”

  Landon snorts water out his nose, onto his pants.

  “Gross,” Ryah says.

  “It’s just water.” Landon pats his crotch with a napkin. “Chill.”

  The tension broken, the conversation switches to the rebellion. Everyone catches Shannon up on the gossip, as she’s been out of the loop training me—something she doesn’t hesitate to complain about.

  “Where’s Hunter?” I ask Turk while Ryah is telling some story about the Fosters to Jarek, Landon, and Shannon. “Why isn’t he here?”

  Turk swipes his hand over his Mohawk and fiddles with one of the silver hoops in his ears. “Hunter is off doing VIP shit,” he says. “But he’ll be here tomorrow. Bright and early. Don’t you worry, Aria.”

  “Hunter’s coming tomorrow?” Shannon asks, suddenly alert.

  “Indeed,” Turk says.

  I’m confused. Surely Hunter must know about what happened at the compound. How Turk saved me. Where I am at this exact moment.

  So why isn’t he here?

  I wake up the next morning to the sharp scent of coffee and a whole lot of noise.

  I glance at the clock. Is it really noon? I stretch my arms over my head, looking from side to side—both Shannon’s and Ryah’s beds are perfectly made. They must have been up for hours.

  I slip out of bed and remind myself that this is a new day. The tragedy of Markus and the compound, my cruel interaction with Thomas, my introduction to the rebel hideout—all that is behind me now.

  Today I will see Hunter. And I will find out what exactly what is going on between us.

  I pull back the curtains, thankful for the sun that filters into the bedroom. There’s a commotion downstairs: voices, what sounds like dozens of people. I quickly throw on the jeans from yesterday and a yellow shirt that fits me snugly. I pull back my hair with a tie I find on Ryah’s desk, then open the bedroom door.

  “Halt!” A mystic I don’t recognize is positioned at the top of the staircase. He’s dressed in a skintight black uniform with a wide green eye on the chest.

  “What do you mean, ‘halt’?” I say.

  The mystic broadens his chest. “You’re not allowed to move until Hunter is secure.”

  “I’m his girlfriend,” I say.

  “Doesn’t matter.” The mystic holds out his hand, flexing his fingers as though he’s about to attack. “Stay back.”

  “It should only take a few minutes,” Ryah says, coming out of the bathroom.

  “Oh. You’re stuck up here, too?”

  “Yep,” Ryah says. She’s wearing a pair of tan overalls that have paint splattered all over them—you can barely see the original color underneath the splotches of green and orange. Her hair seems especially blue today, gelled and spiked. “My need to pee apparently coincided with Hunter’s arrival.” She sighs. “Oh well. At least I got to do my hair.”

  “It’s very pointy,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she says sweetly. She turns to the guard. “You know, Adam, you don’t have to be so fierce all the time. Lighten up.”

  He doesn’t move a muscle. “We’re in the middle of a war, Ryah. There’s nothing to be light about.”

  “War, schmore,” Ryah says, reminding me more and more of Kiki every second. “It’s Aria’s first full day here, and she hasn’t seen Hunter in what—three weeks or so?” Ryah turns to me, and I nod. “Three weeks,” she repeats. “So be nice.”

  The guard’s face softens. “Let me see if he’s ready yet.” He spins around and heads down the stairs.

  “You know him?” I say to Ryah.

  She furrows her forehead. “Not intimately, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “No, I wasn’t—”

  “Our parents are friends. He’s harmless. All these kids think they’re hotshots now that they’re in uniform. Anyway, I’m sure Hunter is in the library by now. That’s where they have their meetings.”

  I knew that library looked familiar.

  “Did you sleep well?” Ryah asks, seeming genuinely concerned. “You were out like a light!”

  “Yeah … I was tired.”

  “Understandable.” Ryah claps her hands together. “I know this place isn’t the same as home, but since your home is, well … with your parents, and they’re awful, I hope you’re happy here.” Her smile turns into a frown. “I didn’t mean to say that about your parents. I mean, they are awful, but I didn’t mean—” She bites her bottom lip. “Yeesh. I keep digging the hole deeper and deeper.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, laughing genuinely—the first real laugh I’ve had in I can’t remember how long. “They are pretty bad.”

  “The worst,” Ryah agrees.

  There are footsteps as the guard—Adam—reaches the top of the stairs and waves us forward. “Hunter will see you now.”

  I expect him to be cold as I enter the library alone. Where was he when Thomas almost transformed me into a walking zombie? The Hunter I fell in love with would have been at my side the moment he heard something had happened, would have protected me or died trying.

  Not that I want him to die, of course.

  I shake the thought from my head. That’s selfish. And ridiculous. Still, I’m upset that I’ve been in the Depths and he obviously knows, and he hasn’t come to see me or even sent me a message on my TouchMe. And I’m still pissed about the videos and the posters.

  The library looks different with so many people in it. Smaller.

  Hunter is seated at the head of the conference table, with four large bodyguards behind him, two on either side. Positioned like this, he reminds me of my father, though these bodyguards are nothing like Stiggson and Klartino, my father’s thick-necked, red-faced goons. They’re taller and leaner, and they can’t be older than twenty.

  Hunter still has the same rugged beauty that took my breath away the first time I saw him. The same tousled dirty-blond hair, the same slightly crooked nose, light-blond stubble, and piercing cerulean eyes.

  He’s leaner, that’s for sure; he must weigh ten pounds less than he did a month ago, and he was thin then. But he’s so handsome it’s unbelievable. It’s almost unreal that he’s mine. That he’s in love with me.

  He is still in love with me, right?

  “Aria!” Hunter shoots up from his seat and rushes toward me.

  I suddenly feel awkward, like I’m on display. Everyone is watching our reunion: Hunter’s bodyguards, the inner circle of mystics—men nearly twice his age with mustaches and beards and cropped hair and hardened faces—Shannon, who’s off to the side, glaring at me, and Turk, whose shiny Mohawk is standing at full attention, his colorful tattoos and ripped arms exposed in a sleeveless gray tank.

  I wish this were a private thing.

  Hunter pulls me tightly into his arms. He smells like cinnamon and smoke. “I’m sorry about all this,” he says in a low voice. “Everyone is just being very careful after what happened to my mom.” He leans back slightly and looks into my eyes. “I don’t get much alone time.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I’m so happy to see you.” He kisses me, but before I can even register the taste and feel of his lips on mine, they’re gone. “Are you okay? I heard what happened with Thomas. That
bastard.” He lets go of my arms, looking furious. “I’m going to make sure he never hurts you again. I promise.”

  I want to believe him. Really, I do. But there’s something else, something he’s not telling me.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say.

  Deep creases form along his forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I could have died, Hunter. How can you possibly promise to keep me safe when you don’t even see me? If it weren’t for Turk—”

  “Who do you think sent Turk?” Hunter says. His face colors, and I can tell he’s getting angry. “I want to be with you all the time, Aria. Every second of every day. But I have people counting on me, thousands of them. And until they’re safe, I can’t rest.”

  He steps away from me and addresses the entire room. “Mystics: we must do whatever we can to depose the people in the Aeries from their power so that everyone can be free. This is not news, but it must be repeated—especially in light of Aria’s kidnapping. We will do anything it takes to defeat the Aeries.”

  For some reason, Thomas’s voice rings in my ears: People outside … they’re watching us. If the rebels win … New York will be taken over. We’ll be slaves to other people’s desires.

  “Anything?” I ask.

  Hunter smiles at me, and in spite of my anger, I smile back. “Right,” he says. “We all know that there can be no peace while those in the Aeries exploit the mystics.” The men around Hunter nod, and Hunter sweeps an arm toward them. “Aria, these are the men who were helping my mother run her campaign. They’ve chosen me to be the face of the rebellion because I believe that anything less than equal rights and freedom for mystics is unacceptable.”

  A few of the men make sounds of agreement, and Hunter continues. “There are very specific keys to warfare,” he says to me. “Tactics that we have been employing and will continue to employ until the Aeries has no choice but to submit. Your family and the Fosters and their allies are our opponents, and we will decimate them.” He turns to include the men of his inner circle. “We will wipe out the Aeries completely and rebuild, from the ground up—a new Manhattan.”

  There’s a round of applause from everyone except me. “Hunter, don’t you think you’re being a little … extreme?” I ask.

  He shifts his attention back to me. “Extreme? Your father is extreme, Aria. He has no respect for life, human or mystic. He worships nothing except money and power. He is a weed that is strangling our entire society.”

  “I know my father is a bad man,” I say, “but there are many people in the Aeries who don’t agree with him. Or who agree with him because they don’t know any better. I used to be that way before I met you. Not everyone is so lucky. Shouldn’t they be given the benefit of the doubt?”

  I wait for Hunter to reply. Where is the sensitive, sweet guy who wrote me love letters and signed them as Romeo?

  Instead of answering me, he motions to his men. “There are some plans I have to go over,” he says. “I’ll have to see you later.”

  “I’m not finished, Hunter.” I lead him to a corner of the room. “There’s a lot more we have to talk about.”

  He sighs and rubs his forehead. “Later, Aria—”

  “What’s with the ads?” I blurt out. “The videos. I saw them, Hunter. Thomas played them for me.”

  Hunter grows ten years younger in a second. He looks like a child who was just caught breaking one of his parents’ rules.

  “Why are you using clips of me for your campaign? That stuff is private.”

  “They need something to believe in, Aria,” he says. “So I gave them something. Us.” He takes my hands in his; they feel like a stranger’s. “Together we can convince the people here in the Depths that we can offer something different. Something better.”

  “But you should have told me. You should have asked—”

  “I did what I thought was best,” Hunter says. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” He pauses, studying me. “I have work to do.” He kisses me on the forehead. “We’ll talk more later. I promise.”

  Then he goes back to his men.

  Did Hunter just … dismiss me?

  Shannon walks past me and stops before leaving the room. She stares at my—her—shirt. “I honestly don’t remember telling you that you could borrow my clothes.”

  “What else am I supposed to wear?” I ask. “Besides, don’t you have bigger concerns?”

  Shannon blinks. “Like what?”

  “Like this war,” I say.

  “What do you know about my concerns?” Shannon asks me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Aria: you don’t belong here. You’re not one of us—no matter what Hunter thinks.”

  “So now you don’t even trust Hunter?” I ask.

  “I trust him about most things, but not everything. He’s not perfect.” She looks me up and down, then rolls her eyes. “After all, he’s dating you.”

  Before I can respond, Turk makes a beeline for me and grabs my arm. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go to the kitchen and get you something to eat. Breakfast is the meal of champions and all that.”

  Shannon smirks and tosses back her hair. “I think there’s some leftover humble pie, Aria. I wouldn’t eat too much of it, though. You’re practically popping out of that shirt as it is.” Then she exits the room.

  Stay calm, I tell myself. Don’t go after her and start a fight.

  “Can you get me away from that girl?” I ask Turk. “Fast?”

  He bows. “Aria Rose?” he says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I am at your service.”

  Turk and I are soaring down the Broadway canal on his mystic-powered motorcycle, cruising through the Depths just above the surface of the dimpled water.

  We left the hideout without telling anyone, not even Hunter, where we’re going. Though Hunter’s so preoccupied with his followers and his plans that I doubt he’ll even notice we’re gone.

  “You’re a good driver,” I say. Turk picked his bike up from the woman he left it with yesterday, and I’m surprised by how comfortable I am on it. “Normally, I’d be scared going so fast … but I’m not with you.”

  Turk weaves around gondolas and larger water taxis, which are big and inexpensive enough for dozens of people to use at once. The wind whips the back of my hair, and the wet, salty smell of the canals fills my nostrils. The bike itself hovers a few inches over the water, and we’re going so fast it barely feels like we’re moving.

  “I used to race this thing when I was younger,” Turk says loudly enough that I can hear him over the wind. “I earned a lot of cash that way.”

  “Really? You never mentioned it.”

  “I don’t give away all my secrets at once,” Turk says. “If I’d told you that I was a super-crazy driver and my bike was powered by mystic energy and could actually fly the second you met me, you would have been all, ‘Fly, Turk, fly!’ and I don’t like to take instructions.” We veer off the main canal and head east, farther downtown. “I like to give them.”

  “Okay,” I say, laughing. “Where are you taking me?”

  Turk’s legs grip the bike tightly behind me as we duck under a stone bridge. Water sprays up and soaks the edges of the jeans I borrowed from Shannon. “I figure if we’re gonna come down here, we might as well do some good,” he says.

  “Meaning …”

  “Chill, Aria. You’ll see. Patience is a virtue, you know?”

  “So I hear. You know, you never did say what your power is at dinner last night.”

  “Ah,” Turk says. “That.”

  “Is it a secret?” I ask.

  “No,” he says. “If you must know, I’m a healer.”

  “I thought all mystics could use their powers to heal people.”

  “Some more than others,” Turk says. “And I happen to have that gift. So if you ever get injured—I’m your man.”

  He doesn’t say more than this, which surprises me. I don’t press him, though—instead, while we ride
, I tell Turk about Frieda and what she said about finding Davida’s heart. It’s been on my mind ever since the fire. Were her words merely senile ramblings, or did they have any merit? And did she survive the raid?

  “I’m really not sure,” Turk says, making a few quick turns past a row of dinged-up brownstones. “Though that’s definitely intense.”

  We rush past an area that used to be known as Rockefeller Center, now a blown-out circle of rubble and waste, and find ourselves approaching a square of land that looks like a miniature island. It’s surrounded by thin canals and has dinky metal docks that jut out into the brown water and bob up and down, loose in their cement foundations. Twenty or so pointy white tents are scattered around the area. Just beyond the square is a JumboTron flashing commercial advertisements and images of Hunter and me for all the Depths to view.

  “Madison Square Park,” Turk says, spreading out his arms. His light gray tank contrasts nicely with his dark jeans. His Mohawk hasn’t flattened at all from the ride. I take off my helmet; unfortunately, my hair is practically plastered to my head. I try brushing it back with my fingers, but it ends up sticking out in weird places. I wish I had a hat.

  There’s activity all around us: people rushing between tents and speaking in hurried voices, pushing open the flaps and carrying IV drips, bottles of water, and trays of what look like medical instruments.

  “This is sort of a mass triage center,” Turk says. “A place the poor can go to receive medical attention. Pretty much all the hospitals in the Depths were bombed out by your parents and the Fosters, so these makeshift places are all that’s left.” Turk takes off his sunglasses and stuffs them into one of his pockets. “There are mystics and nonmystics mixed together here. A bipartisan hospital, if you will.

  “Come on.” Turk slings his arm around me and leads me into the middle of the chaos. A woman around my mother’s age spots us almost immediately. “Turk!” Her arms are overflowing with towels and bandages. “I’d give you a hug but my arms are full.”

  “Let me help you with those, Nancy.” Turk skips over to the woman and grabs the bandages from her. “Where are you heading?”