Mystic City (28 page)

It would be beautiful, if not for her cries of pain. She moans and whimpers around the mouth guard. I cover my ears with my hands, but the sound gets in anyway. It’s the sound of someone being slowly murdered.

Bright washes of color fill the room. The sphere of light begins
to unravel, rays like bright spaghetti coming loose and spooling onto the black discs, from which they are funneled into two massive glass tubes filled with quicksilver.

Stiggson is smiling as though he’s enjoying the view. Benedict’s expression is much harder to read. Terrified, I grab on to Elissa’s arm so that I won’t make a noise.

After what seems like forever, Benedict presses a sequence of buttons and quiets the machine.

The woman goes limp.

Stiggson picks her up, slinging her over his shoulder like she’s a sack of potatoes. He lays her onto a nearby gurney and covers her body with a black cloth, then wheels the table through the far door, out of the room. This must be why I’ve never seen mystics coming and going before—there’s a secret entry to this room I don’t know about.

Benedict glances around, dusts off his hands, and follows. Once he’s gone, we emerge from behind the curtain.

I’m shaking so badly I can barely walk, and I have to remind myself to breathe. “Who do we tell about this? It needs to stop—right now!”

Elissa rests her hand on my shoulder. “There’s no one to tell, Aria. The procedure you just saw? It’s legal, and it happens every day.”

“But it can’t be. It’s horrible!”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

I feel stupid then—of course she knows. She’s been drained. “I’m so sorry, Elissa. For what my family has done to you. To every mystic.”

“It’s not your fault, Aria,” she tells me. “What’s important is what happens next—what we do to right these wrongs.”

“But what can I do?” I ask, my voice trembling, not with fear, but with anger.

“Help us,” Elissa says. “Help our cause. When the time comes, I will give you a message to carry for me. And that time will be soon, Aria. Meanwhile, I’m trusting you. Keep my secret.”

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” I say, looking at the metal chair. “I won’t betray you.”

• XX •

J—

My love, my life. Every second I’m away from you is a second more that I live in the deepest, darkest agony. I only just saw you, but now I’m home, and your phantom kisses still live on my lips, on my cheeks, and in my heart. When will we run away together? Find a place we don’t have to sneak around and lie? We’ve spoken of this before, but I need it now, like air—the moment for us to get out of this damn city is near. I can taste it. I’ll see you in three nights, my love, as we’ve planned. Until then—

R

I place the letter on my bed, next to all the others. I’m rereading them to see if there’s anything—any clues—I’ve missed.

Downstairs, my parents and the Fosters have assembled for a meeting; I excused myself to “go over plans for the wedding.” Thankfully, everyone is distracted—even Thomas—because Garland is practicing his speech for a broadcast he’s giving tomorrow morning.

I ruffle through my clutch, where the ring Thomas gave me
is still buried. It’s gorgeous, that much is undeniable. But could Thomas, who gave it to me, truly be the author of these love letters, the star of my forgotten memories, the owner of my heart?

Not a chance in hell.

There’s a noise at the window. I thrust the ring back into my clutch and hide the letters. Then I rush over to the window and part the curtains.

There on the balcony is Hunter—separated from me by a mere pane of glass.

It’s been nearly a week since I’ve seen him. I open the latch and let him inside, drinking in the sight of him. Why does he affect me so? The strong, sure way his body moves, how his black T-shirt clings to his chest. The slight arch of his eyebrows, the teal-blue of his eyes, the gentle way his mouth curls up when he smiles. I’m alert to every bit of him. Could he have written the letters? No—surely he would have mentioned them to me if he had.

Without any words, he pulls me to him, sliding his arms down my back, wrapping them around my waist. He smells like cinnamon and smoke. I nuzzle my head into his shoulder, lightly kissing the soft skin of his neck.

“I didn’t know if I would ever see you again,” I whisper. “Were you at the rally? You disappeared, and I had no way of contacting you, and—”

“Shhh,” he says. Something about our embrace feels so perfect that I can’t help but wonder if our bodies were made for each other. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

I let myself enjoy the moment for as long as I can. Then, slowly, I pull away. “You’re here
now
,” I say. “But where have you been? I
asked you to meet me, and you send Turk instead, and my brother saw him. Did he tell you that? Then you drop off the face of the earth!”

Hunter raises his hands in surrender. “I give up. I tried to stay away from you, because I thought it was the right thing—the
safe
thing—to do. But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I can’t have you wandering the Depths looking for me. It’s
dangerous
, Aria. More dangerous than you can imagine.”

Even though I heard him, I want him to say it again. “You … think about me?”

He pulls me back into him and kisses my forehead. “Every minute of every day.” He gives my left cheek a kiss. “I know things are complicated”—he kisses my right cheek—“but I think … well, I think that—”

“Not here,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him toward the open window, onto the balcony. “It’s too risky.” I think about the draining and what my parents would do to Hunter if they barged in and caught him. “Take me to the roof.”

Hunter lets go of my hand and closes his eyes. I watch as the rays of light shoot from his fingertips, knitting together the way they did before. He swings back his arm and throws—the ray extends like a lariat, then catches onto my roof. He takes me in his arms.

And we jump.

I cling tightly as we move, feel the hard muscles beneath his shirt. I feel … alive.

On the roof, the hot wind moves around us, and I glance up. The final pink rays of dusk are melting away, blending into night.
Hunter’s heart is beating steadily, pumping blood and mystic energy through his body—energy that could easily kill me.

But Hunter would never hurt me.

Not like my father.

Together we stare out at the plate-glass windows of the chiseled skyscrapers. It feels like we are in our very own world together in the sky. A dreamlike city of towers.

“Why do you do this to me?” I ask finally, breathing in his scent.

He laughs. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, my life, it was all figured out. Sort of, at least.” I pivot so my back is against his chest, his arms snug around me, our eyes fixed on the darkening sky. “And then you came along.”

“And then I came along,” he repeats softly.

“And you changed everything.” I turn to face him. “The way I feel about you—it seems like I’ll die if I don’t see you … and then, when I
do
see you, like I’ll die if you leave. It’s—it’s got to be—well, it feels like—”

“Love?” Hunter asks, his eyes wide. “Could the things you’re feeling be love?”

I gulp and nod at the same time. “I think so,” I say. “I hope so.”

“Me too,” he says. “More than anything in the world.”

Then he leans in and kisses me. Not on my forehead or cheek, but on my lips. A real kiss. A kiss that feels like it can change the world.

His soft lips press against mine, and then they part. I can feel his teeth and his tongue, and then I lose myself in him—how he tastes, how he smells, how he feels. He grabs the hem of my denim
skirt and bunches it in his fists. Almost in response, the locket around my neck begins to pulse, warming my skin. Hunter is everything I have ever wanted, everything I never knew I wanted until I met him. Nothing matters except us, together.

“This is insane,” I whisper into his ear. “I barely know you, but the things I feel … it’s like I’ve been waiting my entire life for you.”

“Ow,” he says, pulling away and rubbing his chest. “What’s that?” He motions to my neck, where the locket must have pinched the skin under his shirt.

“Oh,” I say nervously, “nothing. I mean … it’s a locket.”

I tug the locket from the top of my blouse, holding it out for him to see. Faint golden light seeps from the edges; it pulses in my palm, throbbing as though it’s alive.

He peers at it strangely. “Why haven’t you shown me this before?”

“I don’t know,” I say, admitting that I found it in my clutch. “I wanted to keep it a secret until I knew how to open it.”

“You can’t open it?” Hunter asks, sticking out one of his fingers to touch the locket. It practically hops in my hand and gets warmer than it already is, like an egg about to hatch. I won’t be able to hold it for much longer.

I shake my head. “I tried everything, but I can’t figure out how.” The closer the locket is to Hunter, the more it vibrates. “It’s never done anything like this before, though. Maybe it has something to do with you—with your energy? Look how it responds to your touch.”

I take off the locket and drop it into Hunter’s hand. It blazes like a miniature sun. “Wow. What do you think it does?” I ask.

Hunter takes a deep breath. “Well—”

Before he can continue, he’s interrupted by footsteps and my father’s voice shouting into the night.

“Stop right there!” my father cries out. Hunter turns around, and there he is—Dad, dressed in a navy suit, hair blowing in the wind. Stiggson is right behind him, his gun pointed straight at Hunter. Next to Stiggson is Klartino.

“Step away, Aria,” Stiggson tells me in his gravelly voice, and Klartino gives a sharp nod. Two even larger men are standing behind them, one dressed in white, the other in black, their skin covered in tattoos.

“It’s not you we want,” Klartino says. “It’s the mystic. Give him to us and no one will get hurt.”

I hear another set of footsteps as Patrick Benedict emerges on the roof. He looks upset and genuinely shaken, glancing between my father and me, gasping slightly when he sees Hunter. Kyle follows, running onto the roof with a metal pipe in one of his hands, as though he’s about to strike someone.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, louder than I intended. I step between Hunter and my father’s men. It feels almost natural, like I’ve done it before.

“Aria, step aside,” Hunter whispers into my ear. He stuffs the locket into the back pocket of his jeans. “They want me, not you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I say.

“Everyone is here, Aria,” my father says, evening out his voice.
“The Fosters, Thomas—they’re all downstairs. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

“You think I’m acting like a fool?” Stiggson has his gun aimed at my head. Surely he’ll kill Hunter if I step away. “You don’t know anything,” I say, ignoring the gun and looking right at my father.

“I know more than you think,” he says. “You believe yourself to be in love with this … mystic. This
thing
. But you don’t know the truth about him, Aria. About what he’s capable of.”

“I trust him more than I trust you!” I say.

“Don’t be an idiot, Aria!” Kyle yells. He takes the pipe and snaps it in half with barely any effort—a move that should be impossible for any human, no matter how strong. I think back to Frank at Bennie’s party with the lamp. Kyle must be on Stic. Then I remember the Stic I found on my balcony. Kyle’s been spying on me.

“Aria, it’s too dangerous,” Hunter says. “Let them have me—I can fight them.”

“No,” I say softly. “I can’t risk losing you.”

“What’s it going to be, Aria?” Stiggson says. “I don’t want to shoot you. I’d rather settle this peacefully.” But then I hear him release the gun’s safety with a click.

“Aria, hold on tight,” Hunter whispers. My arms are spread wide, as if I’m a bird in flight, protecting him.

“Yes,” I say.

“Oh, enough of this crap,” my father says, taking the pistol from Stiggson’s hand and aiming it straight at us.

Then he shoots me.

Well, he shoots
at
me. Before he manages to pull the trigger, Hunter has blazed bright and grabbed me, making my skin feel as though it’s been set on fire, and with his arms wrapped completely around me, Hunter and I drop through the roof.

• XXI •

Hunter can walk through walls
.

And drop through ceilings.

This is what I’m thinking as we plunge through the roof of my building.

It’s nothing more than a whoosh, like when I found myself on the other side of the subway entrance down at the Seaport. There’s a tingling sensation and a slight change in air pressure, but it doesn’t
feel
like I’m doing something that should be physically impossible—penetrating a solid layer of metal and plaster and cement.

And yet I am. Magic.

We drop lightly and seem to resolidify in midair.

When my feet touch the floor, I open my eyes: we are standing in the middle of my family’s living room, Hunter clinging to me as if for his life.

My mother is sitting on the love seat, legs crossed, mouth wide open in shock. Erica Foster is perched beside her, and Thomas is standing by the liquor cabinet, drinking what looks like bourbon over ice. Garland is chatting with his wife, his hand on her shoulder; he pauses midsentence, staring at Hunter and me.

“Aria!” My mother spills her martini all over herself. “What in the Aeries?”

Before she can say anything further, my father, Klartino, and Stiggson burst into the room. Benedict follows a few seconds behind them.

“Get him!” my father cries, and one of his goons takes a shot at Hunter.

It only takes a second for Hunter to react and we’re plummeting again, sinking through to the floor beneath our penthouse.

This floor also belongs to my father. “There are men with guns in the next room,” I tell Hunter, motioning across the sparse living room to one of the bedrooms, where I know his bodyguards sometimes sleep.