Mystic City (36 page)

I glance back at my bedroom door, where Stiggson’s shadow is waiting. “Explain to me what I saw. When you were shot.”

We sit back down on the bed, and Hunter takes one of my hands, interlacing his fingers with mine. Davida’s uniform is tight on him now that he’s in his regular body.

“That night,” Hunter says, carefully choosing his words, “when your father’s cronies got hold of me, they put quicksilver cuffs around me. It’s what they use to immobilize mystics. I couldn’t move. Then they threw a bag over my head and tossed me into the hold of the police boat.”

I wince. “I remember that.”

“There were three men in the boat with me, and they were all up top.” Hunter bites his bottom lip. “I only know this because Davida pulled the bag off my head and told me so. She’d stowed away.”

I think back—Davida
was
there that night. But then she’d disappeared. “But why was she there?”

He takes a deep breath. “You know Davida’s talent?”

“She can take on someone else’s appearance,” I say, thinking of the day when Davida took on my face, and I stared at a mirror image of myself.

“That kind of power—to take on another person’s form—is incredibly rare. Only one in a hundred thousand or so has that talent.”

And then I remember what I learned from her secret journal: she and Hunter were betrothed. They’d been promised to marry since birth. “Oh no,” I whisper, suddenly realizing.

“I couldn’t move,” Hunter says, a desperate edge to his voice. “I’d been stunned. I couldn’t even speak. I could only watch as Davida sliced off my cuffs, stole my face, and took my form. Then she gave me hers. She rolled me behind some crates where no one would see me, and …”

“She took your place,” I finish for him. I place my free hand on his cheek—he’s hot, burning up.

“I didn’t have a choice, Aria. I had to lie there and listen as they dragged her up top, made her stand in the stern, and then … shot her.”

Hunter sobs quietly, and I wipe his tears away with my thumb. “Shhh. It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is!” Hunter says in a harsh whisper. “If I hadn’t taken you to the Depths, if I hadn’t—”

“You can’t think like that,” I say. “She sacrificed herself for
you. The least you can do is make sure her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.”

He says nothing for a moment, just stares at me before nodding. The hurt in his eyes nearly breaks my heart. It’s clear that he felt deeply for her. “Right. The next morning, once the boat had been docked and the stun worn off, I snuck back underground. Alone.”

Suddenly, I hear her voice in my ear:
Do you love him? Then I will protect you both … for as long as I can
.

Davida didn’t sacrifice herself only for Hunter. She sacrificed herself for me. For both of us, and for what we mean together. My father is right about one thing: a marriage between feuding families can be powerful. Instead of the Roses and the Fosters coming together, what would a union between a Rose and a
Brooks
do for Manhattan?

Hunter’s cheeks are glistening with tears. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, then uses his hand to brush back his hair. I want to enjoy this moment with him, but it’s nearly impossible. People are waiting for me outside my door. Expecting to see Davida.

“Did you love her?” I’m not sure why I need to know, but I do.

Hunter nods. “Yes.”

“Oh.” I feel my pulse quicken. That wasn’t the answer I expected.

“As a friend,” he clarifies. “I was supposed to marry her, but that was before I met you. I’m in love with
you
, Aria. Davida knew that.” For the first time tonight, Hunter smiles. “I loved you the first time I saw you. I loved you even more the first time I kissed you that day in the Block.”

“You’re the one I want to be with, Hunter,” I say, trying to
convey all the things I feel. “And I love you, too.” I can’t help but relish in this one moment of happiness amid so much sadness.

“Davida loved you, Aria,” Hunter says, gripping my shoulders. He stares right into my eyes, as if he can see directly inside me. “That’s why she did what she did.”

I feel tears well up. “Even though there was so much I didn’t know about her. I … I loved her, too. And you”—I rest my palm against his cheek—“this whole time you’ve known our history and you never said anything?”

He nods, silent.

“The letters … Romeo and Juliet … they were from you?”

Another nod.

“That night, when you saved me from those boys and took me to Java River—how did you just sit back and let me think we’d never met?” I ask. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“That we’d had a secret affair and were madly in love, and your parents erased me from your memory?” The way Hunter says this makes me realize that I never would have believed him if he’d told me. I would’ve thought he was nuts. “I knew you’d lost your memory,” he says. “Davida told me. So I didn’t expect you would recognize me. Not saying anything was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I knew it was right.” He takes my hands, pulls me close. “And now you remember. We have each other, and that’s all that matters.”

There’s a noise like something falling, and Hunter leaps up and rushes over to the windows. He peeks out the curtains. “We will be together, Aria, but not right now.”

“What?” I say, standing. “What do you mean?” I point to my window. “Let’s use the loophole, get out of here—”

“It’s too dangerous,” he says, taking a few steps toward me. “We should wait until things have calmed down, until after the election—”

“They’ve moved up the wedding, Hunter,” I say. “It’s in five days.”

“They
what
?” Hunter says, louder than he intended to. Someone pounds on the door; then there’s the clink of something metallic.

“Aria! Open up
now
!”

“They’re looking for ways to get underground,” I say, “to kill the rebels.”

“They’ll never manage,” Hunter says with a surprising amount of confidence. “So don’t worry about that.”

“They’re planning something awful,” I say, shuddering. “We have to go underground. Warn the rebels, and your mother, and figure out some way for us to get the truth out to the rest of the city. We owe it to ourselves … and to the people of Manhattan.”

Relief flashes in Hunter’s eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

“The loophole,” I say, but Hunter shakes his head. “It’s been disabled,” he says. “Turk sealed it off when he thought I was dead. We’ll have to enter somewhere else.”

“The Seaport entrance?”

“It’s being monitored.” Hunter scratches his chin. “There’s an entrance on Forty-Second Street, on the West Side.”

“Perfect.”

It’s only when I stop to breathe that I realize my bedroom door is open: Stiggson, my brother, my parents, and the Fosters are in the doorway, their mouths wide open.

And behind them are five burly men with guns pointed directly at my head.

• XXIX •

“You again?”

The disbelief in my father’s voice is undeniable. He’s not even yelling, which is how I know he’s really mad, though his cheeks have lost some of their earlier redness. His thick eyebrows are drawn together over his eyes, which are muddied with confusion. A light sheen of sweat covers his forehead.

Dad whips out his pistol. “How many times do I have to kill you?”

Hunter stands still in the middle of the room, hands at his sides. There’s an eerie silence; then he shrugs and says, “Nine? Guess I’m more like a cat than I’d like to admit.”

No one laughs. The bodyguards simultaneously step forward. Behind them, George and Erica Foster are standing with queer expressions on their faces, while my mother looks as if she’s got something caught in her throat. Benedict and Kyle are there, too—Kyle with his arms crossed, Benedict trying to signal something to me that I can’t understand—and behind them, I see a glimpse of Garland and Thomas in the hallway.

The gang’s all here.

“Where’s Davida?” my mother asks. She points a finger at Hunter. “Did you murder her, mystic?”

“Of course I didn’t,” he says. “
I’m
not violent.”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that,” Dad says, the barrel of his gun still trained on Hunter. “In fact, don’t speak at all. How dare you show up in my home, after what you’ve done to my family—”

“How about what
you’ve
done to me?” Hunter says. He throws his arms up. “Just let me and Aria go and we’ll leave you alone forever.”

“I don’t negotiate with mystics,” my father says, snarling.

Hunter glances back toward the balcony, as though he might rush and jump off.

“Don’t,” I whisper to him. “It’s too risky.”

“Enough!” my father shouts. “This has gone on long enough. You cover your tracks well, I’ll give you that. We searched the entire city for you and never found you the first time. I was sure we finally had you that night in the Depths. I have no idea how you managed to come back from the dead, mystic, but once and for all, it will end. Here.” He unlocks the safety of his gun. “Now.”

I throw myself in front of Hunter. “No,” I say, spreading my arms. Now that I know Hunter is alive, now that I’ve finally recovered the memories that were stripped from me, I’ll do anything to protect him. I can’t lose him again.

“Aria, this time I
will
shoot you if you don’t move.”

“Then shoot me.”

I feel Hunter’s breath on the back of my neck. “Aria, don’t do this,” he says. “Step away. Please. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I lock eyes with my father. “I love Hunter. I will always love Hunter.”

Dad’s finger tugs at the trigger of his pistol. “Then I hope you die happy, Aria.”

“Johnny, wait.” It’s Benedict. His eyes look watery, and he fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves as he pushes past George Foster. At the side of the room, next to my bed, Klartino shifts the aim of his gun from Hunter toward Benedict. “You can’t kill them. Especially not Hunter.”

Dad scoffs, tilting his head so that a lock of black hair falls over his forehead. “Of course I can.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

“Perhaps
you
don’t understand, Patrick.” Dad’s eyes blaze with rage. “This happened the last time: you stepping in, trying to help.
We can replace her memories
,” he says in a mocking imitation of Benedict’s voice, “only look how that worked out. This boy doesn’t get another chance. He dies now.”

“The mystic is your key to the underground,” Benedict blurts out. This seems to pique everyone’s interest.

“What do you mean, Patrick?” George Foster asks.

“He’s a rebel. Never been drained. His power will unlock the seals on the hidden entrances. Once he opens them for us, we’ll be able to flood the underground. Take them by surprise.”

My father seems to consider this information, as does the rest of the group. I know Benedict is trying to buy Hunter and me some time—but I also know that what he’s saying is true. Hunter
can
unlock the seals. But if he does, all the rebels are at risk. I don’t want that responsibility on my shoulders.

“Just deal with us,” I say to my father, but my words are lost on him. The possibility of snuffing out the rebels once and for all is too tempting for him to ignore.

“The mystic has to be alive, though,” Benedict says. “Otherwise, he won’t be able to open any of the entrances.”

George Foster breaks away from his wife and whispers something into Dad’s ear. I glance at Hunter, who has a worried look on his face.
I love you
, he mouths to me.

I love you, too
, I mouth back.

George Foster pulls away, and Dad motions to Stiggson. “Fine. Cuff the boy.” Then he speaks directly to Hunter. “You’ll lead us to one of the mystic entrances and allow us to go through. If we find out that you’ve warned your people of our arrival, Aria will die. If you do as we say … she’ll remain unharmed.”

Hunter nods, as though he’s actually considering this ridiculous plan. He can’t be, though—can he? “And what happens to me?”

“You’ll die, of course. But I promise to make your end as painless as possible.”

“No!” I shout. “This is unacceptable, this is—”

“Aria,” Hunter says, “there’s no point in fighting. It’s the best way—the only way.”

“You can’t honestly believe that,” I say to him, as though we’re the only ones in the room. We’ve just gotten each other back; I’m not going to lose him again.

I stare into his eyes and the lovely blue of them washes over me like a wave, soothing my nerves. I think back to the night of my engagement party.
I always thought true love would sear me
. Well, here
I am—on fire, ablaze with love: my chest feels like it’s been broken open, my heart about to be ripped out and crushed.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening.

“Cuff him,” my father repeats.

Stiggson marches forward, his steps heavy and methodical, the quicksilver cuffs in one hand. Hunter flips his wrists over, submitting. Stiggson looks at him funny—just as he’s about to unlock the cuffs, he changes his mind and punches Hunter right in the stomach.

“Stop!” I shout.

Hunter doesn’t make a noise. Then Klartino rushes up, takes out his pistol, and smashes it against Hunter’s cheek.

“Please, stop!”

Still Hunter is silent. His nose explodes with red, red blood, which drips over his mouth and down his chin, soaking his shirt.

Stiggson moves behind Hunter and yanks back his arms. There’s a sickening sound as they pop out of their sockets. Hunter’s face remains stoic. He doesn’t want to show my father that he’s winning.

A flash of silver, then Stiggson clamps the cuffs around Hunter’s wrists. Hunter flinches when the metal touches his skin, the first time he’s acknowledged any pain. I wonder if it burns.

I start to object again, but my father silences me with a look. Stiggson pushes Hunter in front of him, forcing him out of my room. They move slowly, as if they’re in a funeral procession. Hunter glances over his shoulder at me—I connect with him for a moment.
I will come for you
, I think as hard as I can, hoping he can somehow understand me.