Toxic Heart (11 page)

The guard’s face softens. “Let me see if he’s ready yet.” He spins around and heads down the stairs.

“You know him?” I say to Ryah.

She furrows her forehead. “Not intimately, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I wasn’t—”

“Our parents are friends. He’s harmless. All these kids think they’re hotshots now that they’re in uniform. Anyway, I’m sure Hunter is in the library by now. That’s where they have their meetings.”

I
knew
that library looked familiar.

“Did you sleep well?” Ryah asks, seeming genuinely concerned. “You were out like a light!”

“Yeah … I was tired.”

“Understandable.” Ryah claps her hands together. “I know this place isn’t the same as home, but since your home is, well … with your parents, and they’re awful, I hope you’re happy here.” Her smile turns into a frown. “I didn’t mean to say that about your parents. I mean, they
are
awful, but I didn’t mean—” She bites her bottom lip. “Yeesh. I keep digging the hole deeper and deeper.”

“It’s fine,” I say, laughing genuinely—the first real laugh I’ve had in I can’t remember how long. “They are pretty bad.”

“The worst,” Ryah agrees.

There are footsteps as the guard—Adam—reaches the top of the stairs and waves us forward. “Hunter will see you now.”

I expect him to be cold as I enter the library alone. Where was he when Thomas almost transformed me into a walking zombie? The Hunter I fell in love with would have been at my side the moment he heard something had happened, would have protected me or died trying.

Not that I want him to die, of course.

I shake the thought from my head. That’s selfish. And ridiculous. Still, I’m upset that I’ve been in the Depths and he obviously knows, and he hasn’t come to see me or even sent me a message on my TouchMe. And I’m still pissed about the videos and the posters.

The library looks different with so many people in it. Smaller.

Hunter is seated at the head of the conference table, with four large bodyguards behind him, two on either side. Positioned like this, he reminds me of my father, though these bodyguards are nothing like Stiggson and Klartino, my father’s thick-necked, red-faced goons. They’re taller and leaner, and they can’t be older than twenty.

Hunter still has the same rugged beauty that took my breath away the first time I saw him. The same tousled dirty-blond hair, the same slightly crooked nose, light-blond stubble, and piercing cerulean eyes.

He’s leaner, that’s for sure; he must weigh ten pounds less than he did a month ago, and he was thin then. But he’s so handsome it’s unbelievable. It’s almost unreal that he’s mine. That he’s in love with me.

He
is
still in love with me, right?

“Aria!” Hunter shoots up from his seat and rushes toward me.

I suddenly feel awkward, like I’m on display. Everyone is watching our reunion: Hunter’s bodyguards, the inner circle of mystics—men nearly twice his age with mustaches and beards and cropped hair and hardened faces—Shannon, who’s off to the side, glaring at me, and Turk, whose shiny Mohawk is standing at full
attention, his colorful tattoos and ripped arms exposed in a sleeveless gray tank.

I wish this were a private thing.

Hunter pulls me tightly into his arms. He smells like cinnamon and smoke. “I’m sorry about all this,” he says in a low voice. “Everyone is just being very careful after what happened to my mom.” He leans back slightly and looks into my eyes. “I don’t get much alone time.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m so happy to see you.” He kisses me, but before I can even register the taste and feel of his lips on mine, they’re gone. “Are you okay? I heard what happened with Thomas. That bastard.” He lets go of my arms, looking furious. “I’m going to make sure he never hurts you again. I promise.”

I want to believe him. Really, I do. But there’s something else, something he’s not telling me.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I say.

Deep creases form along his forehead. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I could have
died
, Hunter. How can you possibly promise to keep me safe when you don’t even see me? If it weren’t for Turk—”

“Who do you think
sent
Turk?” Hunter says. His face colors, and I can tell he’s getting angry. “I want to be with you all the time, Aria. Every second of every day. But I have people counting on me, thousands of them. And until they’re safe, I can’t rest.”

He steps away from me and addresses the entire room. “Mystics: we must do whatever we can to depose the people in the Aeries
from their power so that everyone can be free. This is not news, but it must be repeated—especially in light of Aria’s kidnapping. We will do anything it takes to defeat the Aeries.”

For some reason, Thomas’s voice rings in my ears:
People outside … they’re watching us. If the rebels win … New York will be taken over. We’ll be slaves to other people’s desires
.

“Anything?” I ask.

Hunter smiles at me, and in spite of my anger, I smile back. “Right,” he says. “We all know that there can be no peace while those in the Aeries exploit the mystics.” The men around Hunter nod, and Hunter sweeps an arm toward them. “Aria, these are the men who were helping my mother run her campaign. They’ve chosen me to be the face of the rebellion because I believe that anything less than equal rights and freedom for mystics is unacceptable.”

A few of the men make sounds of agreement, and Hunter continues. “There are very specific keys to warfare,” he says to me. “Tactics that we have been employing and will continue to employ until the Aeries has no choice but to submit. Your family and the Fosters and their allies are our opponents, and we will decimate them.” He turns to include the men of his inner circle. “We will wipe out the Aeries completely and rebuild, from the ground up—a new Manhattan.”

There’s a round of applause from everyone except me. “Hunter, don’t you think you’re being a little … extreme?” I ask.

He shifts his attention back to me. “Extreme? Your father is extreme, Aria. He has no respect for life, human or mystic. He worships nothing except money and power. He is a weed that is strangling our entire society.”

“I know my father is a bad man,” I say, “but there are many people in the Aeries who don’t agree with him. Or who agree with him because they don’t know any better. I used to be that way before I met you. Not everyone is so lucky. Shouldn’t they be given the benefit of the doubt?”

I wait for Hunter to reply. Where is the sensitive, sweet guy who wrote me love letters and signed them as Romeo?

Instead of answering me, he motions to his men. “There are some plans I have to go over,” he says. “I’ll have to see you later.”

“I’m not finished, Hunter.” I lead him to a corner of the room. “There’s a lot more we have to talk about.”

He sighs and rubs his forehead. “Later, Aria—”

“What’s with the ads?” I blurt out. “The videos. I saw them, Hunter. Thomas played them for me.”

Hunter grows ten years younger in a second. He looks like a child who was just caught breaking one of his parents’ rules.

“Why are you using clips of me for your campaign? That stuff is private.”

“They need something to believe in, Aria,” he says. “So I gave them something.
Us
.” He takes my hands in his; they feel like a stranger’s. “Together we can convince the people here in the Depths that we can offer something different. Something better.”

“But you should have told me. You should have asked—”

“I did what I thought was best,” Hunter says. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” He pauses, studying me. “I have work to do.” He kisses me on the forehead. “We’ll talk more later. I promise.”

Then he goes back to his men.

Did Hunter just … dismiss me?

Shannon walks past me and stops before leaving the room. She stares at my
—her
—shirt. “I honestly don’t remember telling you that you could borrow my clothes.”

“What else am I supposed to wear?” I ask. “Besides, don’t you have bigger concerns?”

Shannon blinks. “Like what?”

“Like this war,” I say.

“What do
you
know about
my
concerns?” Shannon asks me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Aria: you don’t belong here. You’re not one of us—no matter what Hunter thinks.”

“So now you don’t even trust Hunter?” I ask.

“I trust him about most things, but not everything. He’s not
perfect
.” She looks me up and down, then rolls her eyes. “After all, he’s dating you.”

Before I can respond, Turk makes a beeline for me and grabs my arm. “Come on,” he says, “let’s go to the kitchen and get you something to eat. Breakfast is the meal of champions and all that.”

Shannon smirks and tosses back her hair. “I think there’s some leftover humble pie, Aria. I wouldn’t eat too much of it, though. You’re practically popping out of that shirt as it is.” Then she exits the room.

Stay calm
, I tell myself.
Don’t go after her and start a fight
.

“Can you get me away from that girl?” I ask Turk. “Fast?”

He bows. “Aria Rose?” he says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I am at your service.”

Turk and I are soaring down the Broadway canal on his mystic-powered motorcycle, cruising through the Depths just above the surface of the dimpled water.

We left the hideout without telling anyone, not even Hunter, where we’re going. Though Hunter’s so preoccupied with his followers and his plans that I doubt he’ll even notice we’re gone.

“You’re a good driver,” I say. Turk picked his bike up from the woman he left it with yesterday, and I’m surprised by how comfortable I am on it. “Normally, I’d be scared going so fast … but I’m not with you.”

Turk weaves around gondolas and larger water taxis, which are big and inexpensive enough for dozens of people to use at once. The wind whips the back of my hair, and the wet, salty smell of the canals fills my nostrils. The bike itself hovers a few inches over the water, and we’re going so fast it barely feels like we’re moving.

“I used to race this thing when I was younger,” Turk says loudly enough that I can hear him over the wind. “I earned a lot of cash that way.”

“Really? You never mentioned it.”

“I don’t give away all my secrets at once,” Turk says. “If I’d told you that I was a super-crazy driver and my bike was powered by mystic energy and could actually
fly
the second you met me, you would have been all, ‘Fly, Turk, fly!’ and I don’t like to take instructions.” We veer off the main canal and head east, farther downtown. “I like to give them.”

“Okay,” I say, laughing. “Where are you taking me?”

Turk’s legs grip the bike tightly behind me as we duck under a stone bridge. Water sprays up and soaks the edges of the jeans I borrowed from Shannon. “I figure if we’re gonna come down here, we might as well do some good,” he says.

“Meaning …”

“Chill, Aria. You’ll see. Patience is a virtue, you know?”

“So I hear. You know, you never did say what your power is at dinner last night.”

“Ah,” Turk says. “That.”

“Is it a secret?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “If you must know, I’m a healer.”

“I thought all mystics could use their powers to heal people.”

“Some more than others,” Turk says. “And I happen to have that gift. So if you ever get injured—I’m your man.”

He doesn’t say more than this, which surprises me. I don’t press him, though—instead, while we ride, I tell Turk about Frieda and what she said about finding Davida’s heart. It’s been on my mind ever since the fire. Were her words merely senile ramblings, or did they have any merit? And did she survive the raid?

“I’m really not sure,” Turk says, making a few quick turns past a row of dinged-up brownstones. “Though that’s definitely intense.”

We rush past an area that used to be known as Rockefeller Center, now a blown-out circle of rubble and waste, and find ourselves approaching a square of land that looks like a miniature island. It’s surrounded by thin canals and has dinky metal docks that jut out into the brown water and bob up and down, loose in their cement foundations. Twenty or so pointy white tents are scattered around the area. Just beyond the square is a JumboTron flashing commercial advertisements and images of Hunter and me for all the Depths to view.

“Madison Square Park,” Turk says, spreading out his arms. His light gray tank contrasts nicely with his dark jeans. His Mohawk hasn’t flattened at all from the ride. I take off my helmet; unfortunately, my hair is practically plastered to my head. I try brushing it back with my fingers, but it ends up sticking out in weird places. I wish I had a hat.

There’s activity all around us: people rushing between tents and speaking in hurried voices, pushing open the flaps and carrying IV drips, bottles of water, and trays of what look like medical instruments.

“This is sort of a mass triage center,” Turk says. “A place the poor can go to receive medical attention. Pretty much all the hospitals in the Depths were bombed out by your parents and the Fosters, so these makeshift places are all that’s left.” Turk takes off his sunglasses and stuffs them into one of his pockets. “There are mystics and nonmystics mixed together here. A bipartisan hospital, if you will.