Mystic City

by Theo Lawrence

  My parents have turned off my door lock, so I must work quickly. From one of my drawers, I take a jeweled letter opener and use it on one of the garments—the sweater. Carefully, I cut through the stitches and watch as the notes fall to the floor like playing cards.

  Once they’re all out, I wad up the clothes, take them back to Davida’s room, and stuff them in the first open sack. Then I go back to my room, close the door, gather the notes together, and begin to read. The first one I grab is dated over a year ago.

  There are no safe places to record my thoughts. My TouchMe is compromised and monitored; my email is read by Mr. R’s crew. Maybe the old ways are best—they’re too full of themselves to look for old-fashioned evidence of who I am—ink and paper, words written in heart’s blood.

  I can’t say what they suspect and what they don’t. My eyes and ears are open, alert for any information I can relay back to the team—anything we can use to help stop this travesty.

  Seems I’ve come across a diary of sorts—notes Davida thought would stay hidden if her room was searched. I place the cards on my bedspread. I sift through the piles; there are notes here that date back over six years, from when Davida first came to live with us. I search out the more recent ones, then continue reading:

  5/14

  Snuck home today. How good to see everyone. I wanted to stay, but they tell me I’m more important where I am, that I must be patient … but how long do I have to wait?

  6/24

  Today was a dry day. Aria isn’t feeling well; her head is still hurting from the operation. I don’t know exactly what they’ve told her—only the lie that she overdosed on Stic. I wonder if she’ll believe what she’s been told. She’s too smart to be fooled by such simple lies. I pray that she recovers.

  So Davida knew that my parents lied to me about the overdose—and she didn’t tell me?

  The next note was written the night of my engagement party:

  6/28

  Garland Foster will be a candidate in the upcoming election. Aria is to marry Thomas Foster, who will then move to the West Side of Manhattan and live under the Rose family’s watch. The news is epic, and so unexpected. I have sent word to the others, who must prepare immediately.

  6/29

  My heart hurts today. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen my family. Sometimes the hours pass like days up here, and the days pass like years. When can I go home for good? When will I see him again?

  7/8

  Sometimes I think she knows me better than I know myself. It’s so hard to keep my true feelings hidden. Especially when I want to be honest with her … only I can’t. Not yet. But when I saw them together, I nearly cried out in pain. I felt as though the air around me was a noose, suffocating me, choking the very life out of me. It’s not fair.

  7/9

  Last night I dreamed about my own wedding, the white dress I’ll surely wear, the vows I’ll read, which I wrote over a year ago.… It’s hard to believe I’ve been engaged for nearly as long as I’ve been alive, but the day is getting closer.… I’ll be eighteen in just a few months, and then I’ll be going home. To him.

  The more I read, the more I begin to form a picture of who Davida really is. She was placed in my household as a child with the intention of getting into my parents’ good graces and eventually, when she was old enough, reporting back to the rebels with information that would help them overthrow the Roses. The orphanage? A lie. No woman named Shelly taught her to conceal her powers. The gloves were supplied by her family, the story about her scars concocted by her parents. All the times she’s gone missing recently, she was traveling into the Depths, to the rebels. Not only that: she’s been betrothed to a rebel mystic practically since birth.

  7/10

  Today I baked a cinnamon coffee cake with Magdalena. She asked to see my scars, but I refused—

  I continue flipping through the papers. Davida’s notes seem to run the gamut from entries about my family and me, to her general musings on life, to politics. Then I stop on this one:

  7/15

  Sometimes I fear he doesn’t love me as I love him. I can still remember the way we played together when we were children. But it’s been so long. So very long that I’ve been hidden away up here … Can he even recall my face?

  Tonight I saw him. But his heart belongs to another. My soul, I fear, has been irreparably shattered. I can never tell her the truth. It is not her fault but his. And mine, I suppose, for believing in fairytale endings.

  How could Davida never have told me any of this? How could I not have known, never have suspected? I’ve lived under the same roof as the girl for practically my entire life.

  I feel betrayed. By Davida and by my parents, who’ve manipulated me to no end.

  When I get to the most recent note, I feel my heart stop.

  I’ll do my best to forget him. To focus on the task at hand.… I’ve heard whispers about retaliation against Violet.… I’ve sent warning already, but hope I’m not too late.

  The name of my betrothed will no longer pass my lips. He is not mine to have; he loves another.

  This is the last time I will write it—now let me rid myself of him forever:

  Hunter Brooks

  • XXIV •

  Dr. May flashes me a scary look. “Honestly, Aria, I’m just trying to help you.”

  The room is as white as I remember, and it smells like a combination of fresh lemons and antiseptic. His old assistant, Patricia, is nowhere to be seen.

  “I don’t believe you,” I say, cocking my head toward the metal tray full of needles. “This isn’t exactly a music hall.”

  I was told we were leaving the apartment to hear the orchestra for the wedding ceremony perform. I thought it was odd, as my father was with us, and this seemed like something he’d leave up to my mother. As soon as we got into the light-rail, I knew where I was really being taken: Dr. May’s office.

  I don’t have all the answers yet, but here’s the only thing that makes sense: Dr. May is involved in altering my memories. Before, I thought he was trying to bring them back, but now I know he’s responsible for removing them. He’ll erase my memories of Hunter and replace them with fake feelings for Thomas. Probably at my parents’ request.

  Hunter. Davida. Even though I’m about to be operated on, all I can think about is the fact that they were … well, what were they? Davida was in love with him—that much I gathered from her writings—but I have no idea how Hunter felt. And it’s not like I can ask him.

  Dr. May grabs for my arm. I throw myself toward the end of the table.

  All he does is laugh. “You’re fighting the inevitable,” he says, nodding toward the door that my parents are waiting behind. Dr. May rolls up the sleeves of his white lab coat, then picks up a fresh syringe. “You can either agree to the operation now, or we can sedate you and then operate.”

  Dr. May reaches for me again. This time, I raise one of my legs and kick him in the stomach. “Oof!” he grunts, doubling over. He staggers to the wall and hits a red button.

  An assistant enters. “Get me a sedative,” Dr. May tells the young woman. “Now.”

  The woman is turning to comply when Patrick Benedict walks into the room. I recoil—he’s just about the last person I want to see here.

  “Perhaps I can be of some help,” Benedict says to Dr. May. They shake hands; of course they’re friends.

  “She’s impossible, this one,” Dr. May says, pointing to me with the needle. “I would’ve used a sedative from the start, but it interferes with the procedure. I suppose it’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

  “Why don’t you give me a few moments alone with her?” Benedict suggests. “Aria and I have always had a certain understanding.”

  Dr. May gives Benedict a firm nod, then strides out the door, motioning for his assistant to follow. I watch as he pulls my parents into a tight huddle in the hallway.

  The door zips closed.

  “Alone at last,” I say in jest. Benedict has
never liked me—his being here is a terrible sign.

  He ignores my comment, keeping his eyes on my parents and Dr. May through the window. He waits a few seconds, then roughly grips my shoulders.

  “Ow!” I say.

  “Shhh!” He lowers his lips to my ear, and whispers urgently. “We only have a minute, so listen carefully, Aria. I am going to give you a pill that you must swallow immediately. Then allow them to submit you to the machine. The memory alteration procedure will be a failure; however, when you emerge from the machine, you must pretend it was a success. You will be asked a series of questions. Watch for me before you answer. If I blink once, answer in the affirmative. If I blink twice, answer negatively. Do you understand?”

  He pulls away and slips a tiny white pill into my hand. I curl my fingers around it and stare at him. I’m incredibly confused.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “There’s no time for explanations,” Benedict says, peering sideways at the laboratory door. “You must trust me, Aria. For Hunter’s sake.”

  Hunter.

  The door slides back open, and Dr. May waltzes back in. Me, trust Benedict? He’s practically an ogre, always rude to me. And on top of that, he’s devoted to my father. Why on earth should I trust him?

  But Hunter’s name rings in my ear. Davida is missing. There is no one else who wants to help me. I glance down at my fist, the tiny pill hidden inside. At this point, what do I have to lose? I bring it to my mouth, faking a cough.

  I swallow the pill just in time.

  “Well?” Dr. May asks quizzically, standing before me with the needle.

  I breathe deeply. “I’m ready.”

  When I emerge from the machine, I feel about the same, only hazier. The inside of my arm is sore from the series of injections Dr. May administered, but other than that, I remain me. I gulp down a glass of water.

  “How are you feeling?” my mother asks. Her arm is linked with my father’s, and they both look concerned, but I know it’s for the wrong reasons: they don’t care how I’m feeling, they just want to know whether the operation was successful.

  Benedict stands a few feet behind my parents with his arms crossed. He gives me a slight nod. I should respond positively. “I feel … fine.”

  “Aria, do you know why you’re here?” my father asks. His dark eyebrows are raised, his forehead creased with lines.

  Benedict blinks twice. “No,” I say.

  Dad offers Benedict a quick smile—the kind I’d miss if I weren’t watching for it.

  But I am.

  “Aria,” Dr. May says, stepping toward me, “you had another Stic relapse. Your mother found you convulsing on your bedroom floor, and—well, you almost didn’t make it.”

  My gut reaction is to laugh, but instead I bite my tongue. From the corner of my eye I see Benedict’s entire body tense, like a live wire. Suddenly, I realize this is one of the most important moments of my life. I need to convince Dr. May and my parents that the operation was successful. There’s no way Benedict will be able to protect me again. If I’m not persuasive, I might actually lose my memories—this time, for good.

  But what exactly am I supposed to remember this time around? How can I tell what they tried to erase?

  I take a shuddery breath. “I—I—I did?”

  My mother nods solemnly. “Perhaps you were nervous about the wedding? I don’t know why … you love Thomas so much, and Thomas loves you.…”

  She trails off and stares at me, barely blinking. I know she and my father are waiting to see if I object. I don’t need to look at Benedict to know how to respond.

  “I do love Thomas,” I say, keeping my voice steady. My mother grasps my father’s hand; they radiate relief. “I’m not nervous about the wedding. I … don’t remember what happened.” I take another breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, Aria, to determine the extent of your memory loss.” Dr. May picks up a portable TouchMe and keys something into the pad.

  “Actually,” my father says, “why doesn’t Benedict ask the questions.” The tone of Dad’s voice makes it clear this is not a question; it’s a demand. He must think that Benedict will be tougher on me. “No offense, Salvador.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Dr. May says, a bit flustered. “I’ll record her answers.”

  Benedict straightens his tie and steps forward, stopping a few inches from the examination table I’m seated on. The air-conditioning is on full blast, and my skin is covered in goose pimples. I draw the hospital gown tighter around my waist.

  “What is your full name?” Benedict asks.

  “Aria Marie Rose,” I reply.

  “When were you born?”

  “October fourteenth.”

  “Who are your parents?”

  I point to my father and mother. “John and Melinda Rose.”

  “What is your fiancé’s name?”

  “Thomas Foster,” I answer.

  Benedict glances at my father, then back at me. He widens his eyes just a bit, and I can tell this is when the important questions are about to begin.

  “Do you know a boy named Hunter Brooks?” Benedict asks. He gives two deliberate blinks.

  “No,” I respond. My mother breathes an audible sigh of relief.

  “Do you know where Davida, your servant, has disappeared to?” Again, he blinks twice.

  “No,” I say. “I didn’t even know she was gone.” Dr. May grins, and I know I am doing well.

  “Are you in love with Thomas Foster?” One blink from Benedict.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Do you have any concerns about your upcoming wedding?” Two blinks.

  “No,” I say, and then grin big. “I just hope I look good in my dress.”

  Benedict turns to my parents, who beckon—he steps away and speaks with them in hushed tones. Dr. May joins them for a moment, and I am left with my own thoughts:

  My parents tried to wash Hunter Brooks from my mind. They failed.

  They want me to believe I am in love with Thomas and marry him. I’m not.

  And Benedict wanted to put a stop to this procedure. He is my father’s right-hand man, his biggest supporter. What could his betrayal possibly mean?

  Dr. May clears his throat. “Aria, you’re going to be fine. Your parents want you to see a therapist, someone I’ll recommend, so that we can get to the root of your Stic addiction.” He pauses. “I’m worried that if you continue using this drug, your memory won’t be the only thing at risk—your life will be, too.”

  “I want to get better,” I say, trying to sound sincere. On the outside, my parents look the same—my mother and father, the only family I have besides Kyle. But I know what they truly are: Liars. Murderers. In my mind’s eye I see Hunter’s knees buckle and his body tumble overboard, see him disappear into the murky water. I feel a pain deep in my chest.

  He is gone. I’m still here.

  The best way to honor his memory is to put a stop to whatever plan my parents have set in motion. “I’ll do whatever I have to do,” I say, “to make things right.”

  My idiot parents beam at me.

  A few hours later and I am home.

  Dr. May gave me a slew of painkillers, but unlike the first few times I had the procedure, this time I feel perfectly fine. It must have something to do with whatever inhibitor Benedict gave me.

  Kiki calls, and we chat for a few minutes until dinnertime. I pull the locket out of my clutch and turn it over in my hands. Thankfully, my parents hadn’t suspected it was anything other than normal and didn’t throw it away. Hunter said he didn’t know how to open it—and if he didn’t, who will? The only person I can think of is Lyrica, but there’s no way I’ll be able to escape to the Depths to see her. Not now.

  I place the locket around my neck and tuck it under my blouse. It’s risky, but I want to feel close to Hunter. This is the only thing I have that he touched. I glance at the clock; it’s important for everyone to think I�
��m normal, so it’s off to dinner I go.

  Downstairs, the whole Foster clan is seated at our dining room table, along with the whole parade of evil stuffed shirts: Mayor Greenlorn, Police Chief Bayer, Governor Boch. Stiggson, Klartino, and a gaggle of bodyguards, all in their black suits, hover quietly in the next room, attempting to blend in with the intricate pattern of the wallpaper.

  I take a seat next to Thomas, who looks blandly dashing in a light blue button-down shirt, open at the neck, his hair parted at the side and combed back.

  “How are you?” he asks, kissing me. He puts on a good show, that’s for sure. If I blacked out all of the lies, the deception, the cheating … I suppose I could convince myself that he actually loved me.

  Unfortunately, I know who he is. He might not be responsible for anything that’s happened to me, but he’s certainly happy enough to go along with it.

  All eyes are on me, though, so I chirp, “Great!” making sure to rest my hand on the table to show off the new engagement ring, which sparkles even brighter than the chandelier above the table.

  Across the table is Benedict, who is wearing the same clothes from this afternoon. I catch his eye but he looks away.

  We are served the soup first, a light summer bisque. I push around tiny globs of corn with my spoon. I can’t imagine eating—my stomach is churning with nervous energy. I keep wondering how I’m going to be able to steal a moment alone with Benedict. Why did he help me? Does he know Elissa is a double agent, working secretly for the rebels? Are they working together? I want to ask him, but I promised Elissa I wouldn’t blow her cover.

  “Aria?” I hear Erica Foster say as though she’s repeating herself.

  I give a quick smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right, dear. I was just telling your mother how beautiful the engagement ring looks.”

  “Oh yes,” I say, staring down at the big hunk of diamonds resting on my finger. The silver band feels tight, as if it’s squeezing the very life out of me. “It’s quite something.”