My mother removes a tiny blue sticker from her purse, places it on the inside of her wrist, and sighs. I recognize it immediately: a mystic-infused antianxiety drug. She must be incredibly upset.
“She won’t say a word,” my father laments, shaking his head. “What are you hiding, Davida? Where did you disappear to? Eh?” I watch him clench, then unclench his fingers. “Talk, goddammit!”
“I know what’ll make her talk,” Stiggson says, raising his hand to show off the knife. He lays the sharp edge against Davida’s cheek. I watch her tremble when the metal touches her skin. She looks thinner than I remember, haggard. She’s still wearing her all-black uniform, gloves to the elbows.
“Tell us where you went,” Stiggson says, “or get a new scar that no glove will cover up.” Klartino grins in approval.
Davida remains silent. Stiggson presses the knife into her cheek; it pierces the skin, and a thin stream of blood begins to pour down her face, her neck, into her blouse.
I can’t take it any longer. “Stop!”
Stiggson looks up at me, as do my parents.
“You’ll never get her to talk that way,” I say. “I grew up with her. No one knows her as well as I do.” All I need is a few minutes alone with Davida, to figure out what happened to her. “Let me talk to her in private.”
“Absolutely not,” my mother says.
“Please.” I look at my father. “I’m sure I can convince her to open up. But you’ve scared her. Let me just chat with her alone. Ten minutes, tops.” I hide my hands behind my back so my parents won’t see that they’re shaking.
My father is contemplative for a few seconds. “Ten minutes,” he acquiesces. “But no more.”
My mother frowns, but I’ve already moved toward Davida. Klartino unlocks her cuffs; then I drag her down the hall and into my room before Dad has time to change his mind.
“Are you insane?” I ask her once we’re safely behind my bedroom door. I reach for a tissue from my desk and use it to wipe the blood from her face.
Stiggson stands guard outside, and I try to speak as quietly as possible while still getting my point across. “Sit,” I tell her, pointing to the edge of the bed. She does.
“Why did you come back? It’s like you have a death wish, Davida!” I pace back and forth, trying to expend some of my pent-up energy. Davida remains quiet, motionless. “Are you just going to sit there silently?”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” Davida’s voice is lower than usual, huskier. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to have to tell them something.” I cock my head toward the door. “You know my parents—they won’t rest until they know every single place you’ve been since—”
I’m about to say that night when I feel my throat close up. The dark water. The gunshot. The sound he made as he fell …
“Aria?”
I blink and take a few breaths, in and out, steadying myself. “Why did you run away?” I ask her. Davida stares at me with intense pain in her eyes. “When were you going to tell me that you were a spy? That you were … promised to Hunter?”
No answers. Davida merely squeezes her eyes shut to hold back tears.
“We said we would tell each other the truth,” I say, sitting next to her on the bed. The locket thumps against my breastbone. “The whole truth. You didn’t.”
We’re so close that our legs are touching, my bare arm rustling against the cotton sleeve of her uniform. She stinks of the Depths—of fog and smoke and old dirt, of salt and sweat and desperation. Davida leans her head back, exposing the curve of her neck, and takes a ragged breath.
Then I catch her eyes; they seem bluer than I remember. Blue? Aren’t they brown? Have I truly forgotten so much?
But there’s something more: the longer I stare at her, the more I see something beyond the sadness, a layer of yearning, of longing. I look at her, at the pain in her face, and remember what it is to be in love, to have that flutter in my chest, to feel alive, as though every pore in my skin were a portal to my soul.
Slowly, I move my palm from her hand. I slide a finger inside the top of her glove, pulling it down. As soon as my bare skin touches hers, I feel a jolt—the locket seems to leap from around my neck. There is a white-yellow glow emanating from inside my blouse. I dip my free hand inside, pull out the locket, and gasp.
The heart-shaped silver is glowing, as if it were a tiny ball of magic. It pulses steadily, throbbing in the center of my palm. The only time it’s ever glowed before is when Hunter touched it on my roof. Before he was—
“Oh,” Davida says, staring at it in awe. Then she looks up at me, catching my eyes. And then the strangest thing happens: she leans forward, letting her nose graze mine, and kisses me.
Instinctively, I start to pull away, but even though I’m not attracted to Davida, her lips are soft, familiar somehow. Has she ever kissed Hunter? She must have. I think back to my parents ripping him away from me, snuffing out his life. I miss him more than I can bear.
I close my eyes, and imagine that it’s him—Hunter—giving me one final kiss. Pressing one of my hands around to the back of Davida’s neck, I pretend it’s Hunter’s neck, that he’s still here with me. That we still have a chance.
Maybe it’s because my grief is so fresh, my pain so strong, but in my head, he is there; we are together, we are one. His mouth against mine is wet and warm and incredibly soft, like velvet.
The blood rushes to my head, and I suddenly feel sharply dizzy. My heart feels like it has taken wing in my chest, begging me to carry it far, far away from this place.
And then I begin to cry—my chest constricts, and fresh tears mingle with the sweat on my cheeks and lips. What am I doing? I am not with Hunter. He is dead.
Our time together was so fleeting, and yet … Hunter was the real thing: sexy and funny and moody and secretive and strong and tender. So many people never find true love. I used to think that was a tragedy, but maybe the real tragedy is finding it—knowing it exists, knowing that another person can make you weak with a touch, make you laugh with a word. He can look at you and understand who you are. And then having it ripped away.
I pull back and open my eyes. When I do, I nearly faint.
It is Hunter before me.
He looks at me like a frightened deer, eyes wild and bright, his blond hair disheveled, his skin slightly stubbled and as perfect as I remember it.
“Damn you, Davida! You can’t be him!” I remember her talent: she can take on another’s face and body.
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand enough,” I snap. “And soon I’ll understand everything.”
Leaping off the bed, I back up against the windows, yanking the locket from around my neck and holding it in my hands. It is so hot it sizzles, vaporizing the sweat on my skin and sending tiny wisps of steam into the air.
Benedict’s voice echoes in my mind: Tonight, in private, swallow the locket. The memories trapped inside will be released and absorbed into your body. But remember, Aria—once you do this, there’s no going back. You will remember all you have lost.
Now that I’m about to swallow it, the thing looks huge.
I glare again at Davida-as-Hunter, who doesn’t try to stop me. She only nods encouragement.
Here goes, I think, tilting my neck and dropping the locket into my mouth.
• XXVII •
The locket touches my tongue, and I burn. I open my mouth to scream, but all I exhale is steam as the locket seems to come to life on its own and burrows its way down my throat.
And then there is an explosion, and everything around me disappears.
The roar of the Depths fills my ears.
This is so stupid. I place my hand on the POD scanner for the tenth time. But just like the nine times before, nothing happens. I never should have taken this bet with Kiki—that I could last fifteen minutes by myself in the Depths. Now the freaking POD doesn’t work. What if I get stuck down here and my parents find out?
/>
I give up and turn around. “Move it!” someone shouts, rushing past me—a young man with two loaves of stale-looking bread in his arms. What’s the hurry? We’re in the Depths—it’s not like there’s anywhere good to go.
I hear the calls of the gondoliers as I follow one of the canals, hoping it’ll take me to another POD. A heavyset gondolier flashes me a semi-toothless grin. I walk over and ask for directions.
“You don’t need a POD, sweetheart.” Even from where I am on the dock, I can smell the sourness of his breath. “You just need me.”
I lean back. “I’m really just trying to get home.”
“Come home with me,” he says, smirking. “I’ll show you a good time.” Then he grabs my wrist. The boards of the dock creak as he tries to pull me into his boat. No one around me seems to notice—or care.
“Stop!” I yell. “Help!”
His fingers are around me like a clamp, dragging me forward. Then I see a figure whiz in front of me. I hear a loud snap and the pressure around my wrist releases. I fall into a strong pair of arms that pull me back to the sidewalk, toward safety.
The figure, I realize, is a boy. A gorgeous boy. Locks of dirty-blond hair cover his eyes, but even so, I can tell they’re blue. They’re practically hypnotizing.
“Asshole!” the gondolier yells. “You broke my wrist!”
“You’re lucky that’s all I broke,” the boy calls back. “Creep.” He softens his voice. “Are you okay?”
I nod.
“Where are you heading?”
“Home. The POD was broken, I was trying to find a new one.”
He breaks into a grin. “I can help you.”
“You’ve already done enough—”
“I won’t take no for an answer.” He motions ahead. “Ladies first.”
We pass a street with a few tiny storefronts. “You’re very kind,” I say.
“Thanks. It’s not every day you find a beautiful, semi-stranded girl in need of help.” He flexes his biceps jokingly. “Lets me show off my superhero skills.”
I laugh. “Superhero, eh?”
“Something like that. I’m Hunter, by the way.”
“Aria,” I say.
“Yeah, I know—I mean, I recognize you.”
I’m not surprised. Most people in Manhattan recognize my face. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Hunter. Thank you for saving me.”
“No problem. That’s what superheroes do.”
He presses his hand to the small of my back, steering me forward. Despite the intense heat, his touch gives me chills.
“So what are you doing down here?”
I glance at my clothes and frown. “I guess I stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Not in a bad way,” he says. “But … yeah, you sorta do.”
I sigh. “My friend dared me to come down here. It was stupid of me.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Why?”
“Why was it stupid? I was almost abducted by a gondolier, for one. I’m not sure what the point of the dare was. There’s nothing special down here anyway.”
Up ahead, I see a line for a POD. I’m immediately relieved, and begin to walk a little faster.
“Well, you met me.”
“Hmmm?” I say, a bit distracted. “What do you mean?”
“You said there was nothing special down here. And then I said, ‘Well, you met me.’ ” He blushes, then stares at the ground. Is he hitting on me?
Slowly, he looks up, meeting my eyes. The way he studies me makes me tremble—with nervousness, with excitement.
“Maybe I can see you sometime. You know, in the Aeries.”
He is hitting on me!
“Look, Hunter, that’s really sweet, and you’re … really cute, but—”
“Never mind,” he says. A bit of the light in his eyes seems to dull. “I’m just being stupid. I’ve never met anyone so beautiful in my entire life and it went to my head.” He flashes me a grin; his teeth are perfectly white. “Anyway, here’s the POD. Goodbye, Aria.”
Whoa. Was I rude to dismiss him so easily? Who knows what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stepped in with that gondolier. He seems funny, and he didn’t have to walk me all the way here. He didn’t even seem to care who I am. And he called me beautiful. No one has ever called me that before.
“Hunter,” I say—
But then the memory burns away in a wash of fire that seems to ignite the world and me with it—as though every particle in my body is separating. I imagine electricity lighting up my spine like a neon tube, searing away my skin in bursts of color and heat—the angriest reds, the most unbearable blues, yellows hotter than the surface of the sun—and the colors blend together into a white-hot nothingness.
And I realize I am looking up at a sky burned bright white from summer heat.
I am in a boat, leaning back on the seat, and Hunter is rowing, singing a silly song about the Flying Dachshund.
“It’s the Flying Dutchman,” I say. “It’s a boat filled with ghosts.”
“Maybe in the Aeries,” he says, easily steering the boat under some branches, where cool shadow dapples the water. “But here in the Magnificent Block, it’s a flying weiner dog, and he only appears to couples who are truly in love.”
“You’re so corny,” I tell him. Hunter stops rowing. His face is flushed from the heat, his cheeks rosy and warm. He settles the oar on his thighs.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling.
I see his hand shoot out and skim along the water. We’re in one of the smaller, lazier canals that runs through the Great Lawn. I shouldn’t be here—it’s a Saturday, and I told my parents I was seeing Kiki. Instead, I followed instructions in a note he left on my balcony and came to the Depths. It’s our third date. I just hope I wasn’t tracked. If my parents knew I was hanging out down here, they’d ground me. If they knew I was hanging out with an unregistered rebel mystic, they’d ground me for life.
Hunter raises his hand, flicking the water at me. “Hunter, gross!” I yell, wiping the water from my arms.
He just laughs and starts rowing again. “And the doggy with the tail in the skyyyyy!”
“You may be good at a lot of things, but singing isn’t one of them.” I lean back in the boat and stare at the sky. “Hunter—look!” Up ahead, there’s a burst of color shooting from behind a cluster of trees. “Are those fireworks?”
Hunter turns his head and steadies the boat. The sparks—red and purple—fly up with a series of pops and then land a few feet away from us in the water.
I gasp. “I love fireworks.”
“Good,” Hunter says, “because these are just for you.”
As he’s talking, I notice that the ashy remains of the fireworks have begun to glow bright orange, turning the surface of the canal into a sort of canvas. The ashes become more dazzling until I realize they’re in the shape of something … a dachshund?
Hunter starts to laugh hysterically.
“What’s going on?”
“Just watch,” he says. Within seconds, the outline of the dog—its stubby legs, floppy ears, and long back—starts to move.
“Oh wow,” I say. The dachshund leans on its hind legs and jumps, skidding across the water in a loop-de-loop, then another one, all the while wagging its tail. This is more than just fireworks. I look at Hunter, trying to figure out how he’s making this magic happen.
“What—”
Then the dog jumps again and curls into a ball, licking and nibbling at itself. A few seconds later, it trots over to the edge of the canal and lifts its leg to pee.
“Turk!” Hunter cries out. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that!”
I hear a loud chuckling coming from off in the trees—and then a shiny Mohawk appears. “Gotcha!” the other boy, Turk, calls back. He must be one of Hunter’s friends.
“Oh, now I see.” I lean over and swat Hunter’s arm. “You’re a big faker.”
Hunter is still laughing. The rich, hea
rty sound is infectious, and I find myself laughing, too, doubling over and clutching my stomach in pain.
Then his laugh softens. We both catch our breath, and he laces his fingers in mine, pulling me to him. His touch dizzies me, leaves me weak. “Hunter, be careful—the boat—”
“I may be a faker about the dachshund,” he whispers, “but not about my feelings for you.”
He presses his lips to mine, sealing us together. I’m sweaty from the heat and my clothes are practically glued to my skin, but none of that matters as soon as Hunter runs his hands down my back. My body responds to his caress like I’ve been waiting for it—for him—my entire life. All I want is more, more, more.…
“No, no, no,” Turk says. “This is a bad idea.”
“How is it any different from my other bad ideas?” Hunter asks.
The three of us are in the middle of Hunter’s subway car apartment. Turk is pacing, shaking his head like a crazy person. “Because this is illegal.”
Hunter flashes him a look.
“I mean, really illegal. It goes against all our rules, Hunter.” He looks at me. “Aria, I want you guys to be happy—but if Hunter’s caught, even the other rebels won’t take pity on him. He’ll be cast out.” Turk leans one very buff arm against the wall. “And don’t even get me started on your mother—”
“Then don’t get started,” Hunter says. “Turk, you’re here because I trust you. You know how much in love we are.” He slips an arm around my waist. “But if this is too much for you, then leave. I won’t take offense. You’ve already done so much.”
Turk sinks onto the sofa. “Leave? How am I supposed to leave, Hunter? You’re my best friend. I love you both, but this is going too far.”
Hunter shrugs, then goes over and claps Turk on the shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.” Then he turns to me. “Here’s what’ll happen, Aria. I’m going to create a portal between my apartment and your balcony.”
“A portal?”
“Yeah, like … a secret tunnel. Only it’s going to be invisible and magical and—well, the details aren’t important. What’s important is that it’ll allow me to come right to your balcony. No more sneaking around through the Depths or risking getting caught.”
Mystic City Page 26