“I loved it.” The roof deck is mostly barren. I see a few misters to cool the air and panels of smoked glass to protect the patio area. Some garden furniture is set up for those who can withstand the heat, and there’s a tiny glass solarium near the far end, where my mother grows her own roses.
“Well then,” Hunter says. For a moment he looks deep in thought. I like how the nighttime shadows further define his face and sculpt his jaw; how the blue of his shirt brings out the blue of his eyes, which blaze with excitement; how his nose and lips and teeth all work together in perfect harmony.
Then his arms are suddenly around me, pulling me to his chest. Even over the material of my nightgown, his touch makes my skin tingle. Being with Thomas feels nothing like this—whatever this is.
Then I remember the gorgeous letters Thomas wrote me, and I’m racked with guilt.
“Why did you come here?” I glance down, and there it is: Hunter’s tattoo. A starburst. Outlined in black ink. The way it’s shaded makes the center look like a glowing ball with thin shards bursting outward.
I pull away slightly so I can peer into his eyes. “You were on my balcony the night of my engagement party, weren’t you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Are you spying on me?”
“Spying has such a dirty connotation,” Hunter says, running one of his hands up my back. “How about keeping watch?”
We’re so close I can feel the beating of his heart. The way I feel with his arms around me—so safe, so secure—is like nothing I’ve ever known.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your mom—who she is? Is that why you were keeping watch over me? To monitor the competition?”
“No. Maybe.” Hunter averts his eyes. “I thought you wouldn’t talk to me if you knew.”
“Your mother stands against everything my parents believe in,” I say. “But I’m not my parents.”
“Aria,” Hunter whispers into my ear.
“Yes?”
“Just kiss me.”
We press our lips together gently, and it’s like I am alive, on fire, like I can do anything in the world. I know this is because he’s a mystic, but there’s something more than that. Something welcoming and familiar, something safe and sexy and irresistible about the way his lips feel, his tongue brushing lightly against mine. Our passion is like what’s described in my love letters: it’s like coming home, finally, when I never even knew I’d been away.
He loosens the ribbon in my hair, lets it fall to the ground, and runs his fingers through my hair, still damp from my shower. Something about him is so familiar … it could be our first kiss or our hundredth. It’s all too much, and I pull away to catch my breath.
“Wow,” Hunter says, inhaling deeply. “Just … wow.”
I step toward the edge of the roof, looking at the drop below. There are a trillion butterflies in my stomach. I steady myself and notice the balcony to my bedroom. “Question,” I say to Hunter. “How did you get onto my balcony in the first place? There’s no entrance from the Aeries.”
“There’s a loophole,” Hunter says. His voice is soft but steady, as though he’s worried all this talk of magic and energy and loopholes will scare me half to death—which it sort of has. “From where I live to where you live—to your balcony.”
“What’s a loophole?”
Hunter makes a face. “It’s like … a shortcut. You know how your TouchMe screen has easy access to programs you use a lot? This is like that, but for traveling from one place to another. Places you couldn’t normally go without … trouble.”
“Is that how you got to the balcony during my engagement party?”
He winces at the word engagement but nods.
“Can anyone use this … this loophole?”
“No,” Hunter says, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s guarded by a mystic shield. No one knows about it but me. And Turk.”
I am about to ask him why there would be a loophole from where he lives to my balcony when Davida appears on the roof. She is standing by the solarium when she spots me, and makes a beeline right to where I’m standing.
“Aria,” she says, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your parents just got home from a party that ran late. They’re asking after you.”
“Oh,” I say, not knowing how to respond. I thought they were asleep in bed. I watch as Davida locks eyes with Hunter—a definite change comes over her, some confusing mix of emotions on her face.
They know each other.
Hunter again extends his hand—the familiar green light appears, and he knits together a platform, moving his hands in tight, fast circular motions. The glow of the rays makes Davida look green and sickly.
Hunter leaps onto the platform and it swings downward, moving from the roof back to my balcony. Once there, he raises one arm, and a bright green circle forms, the size of a person’s body. It comes out of nowhere, from invisible folds in the sky.
This must be the loophole.
Hunter gives me a brief intense look with desperate eyes. I am about to say something, anything—to call out for him not to leave—when he leaps into the circle. With a pop it contracts into a dot and vanishes.
• XIV •
“Do you think I should wear this necklace?” Kiki asks the next day, holding out a delicate strand of freshwater pearls. “Or this one?” The necklace draped over her other hand features a Burmese ruby surrounded by pink and white diamonds.
“Whichever,” I say. “I like them both.”
“Well, they’re yours, so that makes sense.” Kiki gives a quick little laugh and then chooses the pearls. “Aren’t you excited?”
Excited? Not really. I feel too guilty to be excited.
I’m engaged to Thomas and yet I let another boy kiss me. And I kissed him back. The worst part? He’s not even a regular boy—he’s a rebel mystic! If Davida tells anyone, I will surely be dead. I can’t even imagine what my father would do, or what it would mean for the election. I betrayed my family, and I betrayed Thomas, and worst of all … it felt amazing. I wasn’t worrying about my memories or politics or what anyone expected me to do.
“I’m sort of excited,” I say. Bennie’s party is tonight; I almost wish I hadn’t agreed to go. The last thing I want right now is to hang out with a bunch of Aeries kids.
And Thomas.
“Oh, you’re just nervous because there will be photographers there,” Kiki says. “Don’t worry—if you’re feeling camera shy, just send ’em my way. What are best friends for?”
Kiki does a twirl in the middle of my bedroom. Her dress is tight at the waist and flares at the bottom, and it sparkles from all the sequins and crystals sewn onto the bodice. “I wanted to wear something that has a real wow factor,” she says. “Which is why I went with yellow. When I walk into the party it’ll be like, Bam! Here I am.”
I laugh. “You always have to make a wild entrance. Remember my birthday party two years ago—”
“When I dressed up like a baby?” Kiki shrieks. “People nearly died. Or should have. No one else could have pulled off a high-fashion diaper.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I motion for her to do the clasp of my dress. Tonight I’ve chosen to wear a lavender halter dress with a thin bow that ties around the waist and a long, pleated skirt.
“Hey, Aria, what’s this?” Kiki asks.
She’s holding up the locket I thought I’d hidden at the bottom of my jewelry box.
“Careful!” I grab it out of her hand. I stare at the silver heart, then make a fist around it. “It’s, um … my grandmother’s.”
“Ooh,” Kiki coos. “Why don’t you wear it? It’s pretty. What’s inside?”
“Nothing. And I’m not wearing it.” I hate lying to Kiki more than I already have, but I can’t imagine telling her I found it mysteriously but have no idea how to open it.
Kiki wags her eyebrows. “Can I borrow it, then? It’s so mag.”
I can’t let her wear it—what if she
senses something magical? I’d never be able to explain myself. “You know, I am going to wear it.” I fix the clasp around my neck and tuck the heart inside my dress.
“All right,” Kiki says, fixing her mascara in the mirror. “Whatever.”
There’s a knock on my door. I press the wall panel and the door slides open. Outside, Davida is standing with her hands on her hips. We haven’t spoken all day, and I wonder what she thinks of me. “I wanted to make sure you’re aware of the time, Aria.”
I glance at the clock. The party technically started ten minutes ago.
“That’s fine, Davida,” Kiki says, waving her hand. “We’ll arrive fashionably late. It’s what all the celebrities do.”
“Kiki,” Davida says with a slight curtsey.
“Okay,” I say, trying to avoid any awkwardness. “We’ll be ready in a minute.”
Davida nods, then walks away, down the hall.
“God, but that girl is frigid and strange.” Kiki takes a compact from her purse and blots her forehead. “I know you like her and all, but she has about as much personality as a mannequin. And mannequins aren’t alive.”
“All right, that’s enough,” I say, shooing Kiki out of my room. “You’ve never liked her, not even when we were younger.”
Kiki harrumphs. “For good reason.”
“And what reason is that?”
“She acts above her station. She’s too familiar with you, thinks she’s your friend—”
“She is my friend.”
Kiki looks shocked. “No, Aria. She’s not. She’s your servant.” Her voice is steady and sure. “And you should understand the difference.”
She exits my room. I think about what she just said, then grab my clutch, shut the lights, and let the door close behind me.
We step out of the light-rail, and I’m immediately blinded by photographers’ flashes.
“Aria! This way!”
“Over here, Ms. Rose!”
“Who are you wearing?”
“Where’s Thomas?”
The sounds of cameras clicking and people screaming my name are overwhelming. Thankfully, Kiki is next to me, drinking it all in. “Charmed!” Kiki says, and “Enchantée!” She grabs my hand and leads me to the red carpet—it begins on the bridge adjacent to the rail station and continues all the way into Bennie’s apartment building.
“This is a lot of red carpet,” Kiki observes. “There are probably whole countries going uncarpeted just so our feet don’t have to touch the floor.”
“Bennie really outdid herself,” I say. “I thought this was going to be a … small event.”
“Small is for Depthshods,” Kiki says, pausing to pull me close and pose for a photographer. “Go big or go big—really, there’s no other choice. That’s what I say.”
I suppose I should have known that this party would be a huge deal. This is the first major event in eighty years that all the young Manhattan elite are attending together. Everyone will be here, regardless of allegiance—Foster or Rose, kids from both sides of the island. The plummet party at the American pales in comparison.
“Come on,” I say, shoving through a crowd of paparazzi.
“Aria, show me that smile!” one of them hollers. “You’re gorgeous!”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Kiki hollers back. “Some people are so rude,” she says to me. “I’m ready to go inside now.”
We strut straight toward the bouncers and head inside, where Thomas told me to meet him.
Bennie’s apartment is decorated outrageously, as if it were a nightclub. Long strands of tiny lights hang from the ceiling, stretching across the entire first floor in different colors—red, blue, green, and white—and casting their glow on the white walls.
Kiki and I pass through the foyer and into the living room, which is packed with kids—girls in fancy dresses, boys in dark suits and skinny ties, some dressed down slightly in blazers with eye-catching graphic T-shirts underneath.
“Wow,” Kiki says. The ornate curtains are pulled back and draped with crystals, showing off views of the city. Overhead, the expensive chandelier has been removed, a glittering disco ball installed in its place. As it moves, the light hits the crystals and reflects in a hundred different directions.
Servers dressed in funky outfits—red and black jumpsuits with random circles of material missing, exposing their skin underneath—hold out trays of drinks and finger food. Even though the air-conditioning is on full blast, I begin to feel flushed. The music seems to come from everywhere. The bass makes the floor thump as though it has its own heartbeat, so loudly I can feel it in my bones.
I recognize a few of the boys from Layton Academy, the allboys prep school where Kyle went. There are a lot of kids I don’t recognize, though—Foster supporters or university students I haven’t met.
“Aria!” A few girls from Florence Academy rush over and give me kisses on the cheek, and I say hello but don’t stick around to talk. Thomas said he was coming with a few of his friends from school. Where are they?
“Come on,” Kiki says. She grabs two drinks from one of the servers and hands me one. I take a whiff and wrinkle my nose.
Kiki doesn’t seem fazed by how much alcohol is in her glass. She takes a big gulp. “Let’s see who else is here.”
Bennie’s living area opens up into a rectangular dining room, where the DJ has set up. The table is covered with so much stereo equipment you can barely see it; the wall with all of her family’s portraits is nearly masked by speakers.
“Rock on,” Kiki says to the DJ as we pass.
The farther into the apartment we go, the more it begins to smell like sweat and booze. There are so many kids, it’s nearly impossible to walk. “Come on, people!” Kiki says, swatting someone’s back with her hand and pulling me deeper into the crowd. I feel completely sandwiched in, people pressing against me on either side, laughing and singing along to the music.
The staircase to the second floor is a few feet ahead. There’s a large bouncer guarding it—hopefully, that means it’s less packed upstairs.
Past the stairs, I see Kyle, holding a drink in his hand and talking to his friend Danny. They look like they’re having a serious discussion.
“Where’s Bennie?” Kiki yells over the music.
“I dunno,” I say, wondering why she’s not with Kyle. “Where’s Thomas?”
Slowly, we move away from the thick of the dance floor. I take out my phone and send Thomas a text:
Where are you?
“That’s the problem,” Kiki says. She points to a cluster of boys who are jamming the hall. They’re not trying to get anywhere, just standing in a circle, drinking and laughing. Two of them are tossing one of Bennie’s mom’s Egyptian vases back and forth.
“Hey, come on!” Kiki is loud, but her voice mixes with the heavy music and seems to diffuse into thin air. I use my free hand to plug one of my ears—they’re already ringing.
“Can you guys move?” I call out. A few girls standing next to me try to push forward, but there’s nowhere to go. “Guys! Move!”
“The lady said move your asses!” Kiki screams, sloshing her drink on them.
Either the shower of gin or the sound of her voice does the trick. The sea of people begins to part. Kids on either side of me speed past the stairs and into Bennie’s den and some of the back guest rooms. People from the den trying to get to the dance floor pass us, too.
Kiki and I head toward the stairs. I can’t help but notice that the group of boys don’t look well. They’re sweaty and slack-jawed, and their skin is ashen, almost green. They’re so feverish they almost look like they’re glowing. One of them leans into the vase he’s been tossing and pukes.
“Does anything seem weird to you?”
“Weird? No. Sad?” Kiki stares into the bottom of her plastic cup. “Absolutely. I can’t believe I wasted my drink on those fools. I need another. Want one?”
I shake my head. “I’m good, thanks. I’m gonna go upstairs.”
“Okay then.” Kiki glances back toward the dance floor. “I’ll meet you in Bennie’s room. Assuming I can get another drink before I’m, oh, I don’t know … sixty-five?” She flips her hair and heads off.
At the foot of the staircase, I give my name to the bouncer—he checks me off his list and lets me up. At the top is a hallway full of doors. Bennie’s room is the last one on the left, but the first door is open a crack, and I hear voices. I peek in and see a bunch of kids sitting around in a circle.
Then someone notices me. “Who’s there?”
A girl with purple hair and freaky red contact lenses yanks the door wide. “Hey,” she says coolly. She’s dressed all in black—even black sneakers.
I give a tiny wave. “Hi. Is Bennie here?”
“Stacy, who is it?” a boy’s voice calls out.
Stacy steps aside, and most everyone in the circle gapes at me.
“Aria Rose,” says the boy, who I now see has blond hair parted on the side and bright green eyes. “Come on in!” he says. “What’s up?”
The group is small. I don’t recognize any of them and wonder why they would be on Bennie’s VIP list. They’re a strange mix of preppy and alternative. The boy who knows my name is wearing a pink shirt with a popped collar and a pair of tight slacks. But Stacy is dressed sort of goth, and a few other kids have several piercings and tattoos. These kids have the same sickly look as the boys downstairs, I realize. What is it with everyone?
“I’m just looking for Bennie,” I say. “Do you know where she is?”
The boy takes a swig from a metal flask. “Nah,” he says, grimacing as he swallows. “Haven’t seen her. I’m Frank.” He makes room for me on the rug. “Take a seat.” A white-haired boy next to him is smoking a cigarette; he shoots me a bored stare and moves over, as well.
“We know how you love to party,” another guy says, this one with so many piercings in his face that he clicks and rattles when he talks.
Party? What is he talking about?
The kids laugh. Someone’s aMuseMe is playing a psychedelic rock song I don’t recognize. A bunch of electric-green pills are clumped together on the floor in the middle of the circle, beside a tiny mirror with a pile of fine white powder resting on it.
Mystic City Page 15