Mystic City (35 page)

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, hearty 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.”

“Will I be able to use it to come here?”

“You can travel it with me,” Hunter says, “but it can only be activated by mystic energy—you won’t be able to use it on your own.”

“And how do you make this … portal? Is it dangerous?”

Hunter considers this. “A little. But don’t worry. Just watch.”

I step away as Hunter lifts his right arm and stretches out his fingers. At first, nothing happens—all I see is how hard he is concentrating, his lips pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed. But then his hand begins to glow green: electric rays shoot from his fingertips with a soft hum.

The rays look like they’re about to hit the wall. Then they stop. Hunter lets his hand pulse steadily for a moment; then he curls his
fingers and the rays begin to bleed together, shrinking. They’re not long and thin like jousting swords anymore. Now they’re so small they don’t look like rays at all—instead, his hand is like a glowing green ball. Bands of energy start moving around the hand like rings around a planet, faster and faster. All I can hear is a loud whizzing. All I can see is this pulsating magical fist.

The whizzing grows so loud it’s nearly deafening. Then there’s a loud zap as Hunter punches the empty space in front of him. The air reacts as if it were solid, cleaving open into what looks like a miniature black hole, the edges of which are ablaze with green light.

The sounds in the apartment return to normal. I glance back at Hunter. The rays have completely disappeared. Turk’s jaw has gone slack, as though he’s in shock.

“Now,” Hunter says, slightly out of breath. He points to the loophole and grins. “Who’s first?”

I hurt with such an intense pain that I can barely see. There is nothing to focus on save the agony. It feels like I am burning up, ripping apart. All I can see are dots of color that grow brighter as the pain increases. The dots begin to move, weaving in circles of blue and pink and yellow. There is fire and there is heat. Then something cool rushes over me. The dots begin to form a picture. Another memory …

“Aria, there’s something else you should know.” Hunter takes my hands in his; we’re standing in the middle of my bedroom, about to say goodnight.

“What is it?”

He frowns. “I hate to be the one to tell you this. But the Conflagration—the terrorist explosion that killed all those innocent people and sent the mystics underground twenty years ago? That was orchestrated by
your
family. By your father. He bribed a group of mercenary mystics to create a weapon. A defensive weapon, he claimed. But then he turned it against them and detonated it in a public place so no one would ever trust mystics again.”

I always knew my father was a bad guy, but this … “So my entire life—the lives of everyone in this city—has been based on a lie.”

“I’m so sorry, Aria.”

Before I can respond, I hear my father’s voice. “Aria! Open up.” His fists pound savagely on my bedroom door. “I know you’re in there with him. It’s all over, Aria. Open up the door.”

“Hunter,” I say frantically, “you need to go. Now.” I rush over to my windows and open them; immediately, hot wind blows into my room.

Hunter’s lips are trembling. “Come with me.”

“That will only make things worse.” My bedroom door sounds like it’s about to crack. We have seconds, at most. “I’ll be fine.” I kiss him passionately.
“Go.”

Hunter activates the loophole on my balcony at the same time my father breaks through my door. Kyle rushes past, reaching for Hunter as he disappears into the loophole and it seals behind him.

“Where did he go?” My father grabs my shirt, twisting it and lifting me off the ground. I can hear the material start to tear.

“I don’t know.”

“This isn’t a game, Aria. Tell me where.”

“I told you … I don’t know!”

He drops me and my knees hit the floor. A piercing pain shoots up my thighs. The man before me barely resembles my father anymore. His skin is blotchy, his eyes bulging out of their sockets like an angry animal’s.

Then he raises his hand and smacks me—my teeth clamp down and slice open my tongue. Tangy blood fills my mouth.

“Johnny, stop!” my mother cries from the doorway.

“You’re a traitor!” My father stares at me with a look of pure disgust. Something silver glints in his other hand—he’s holding a pistol. “This ends now, Aria.”

“Aria,” Kyle says from the corner, “don’t be an idiot. Tell him where the mystic is hiding.”

“Kill me if you want,” I say. “I won’t be some puppet for you.”

My father unlocks the safety of his gun. Points it directly at my head.

“No, Johnny!” My mother rushes into the room. “Don’t!” She comes up to my father, who pushes her away.

I close my eyes. This is it. I’m about to die.

Then I hear another voice. “Johnny. Wait.” I open my eyes. Benedict is in the room, looking concerned, a syringe in one of his hands. “There’s a better way.”

My father turns to him. “Speak, Patrick.”

“We can flush her memories of this mystic boy and build new memories in their place.” Benedict uncaps the needle. “It’s experimental, but she doesn’t have to die, Johnny.”

My father looks at us all—my brother, my mother, Benedict,
and me—and nods. “All right.” His eyes find me again. “Maybe this time around you’ll be a better daughter.”

“Maybe you’ll be a better father,” I say, spitting blood.

I can tell he wants to hit me again, but he doesn’t. Benedict approaches—I try to back away, but Kyle comes from behind me and grabs my arms, twisting them behind me. “No!” I scream.

“You’re going to sleep now, Aria,” Benedict says.

Slowly, sketches of memories begin to find their places, like birds coming home to roost. Pictures of my parents flash before me; my feelings for Hunter return and take root. The secrets and lies and betrayals. Davida. Thomas. Everything that was cast out of me is returning, only clearer. And it hurts. There is a fine white net of pain covering me, like I’m being stabbed all over, every pore ravaged. But there’s an undeniable comfort in the pain—I own it. It is the price of knowing.

I am in Dr. May’s office. My entire body is immobilized. I am on a table, hands at my sides, about to be slid inside a large machine.

Benedict leans over me. “Aria, can you hear me?”

I try to answer but find I can’t speak.

“Listen closely. Hunter is not gone to you forever. A mystic’s heart is not like a human’s. They take different forms to the naked eye—some are different colors, some are fractal boxes, some seem to be made of glass.”

Benedict disappears for a second, then returns. “The heart is the seat of a mystic’s power, and the localized energy there works its magic on the eye of the beholder—to look within it is to see an
ever-shifting reality, a quicksilver mirror of ourselves. You have to trust that at some point after this, you will gaze inside his heart and see yourself, and that recognition will unlock everything.”

I’m trying to understand what he’s telling me—I’ll find Hunter again, even though they’re wiping out my memories?—but I’m feeling so sleepy.

“Aria, do you trust me?”

I have no energy left. All I can do is nod.

And then I feel whole again, together, my body burning not with pain but with something else—love, maybe.

The love letters, Romeo, the boy in my dreams whose face I’ve never been able to see, is Hunter.

It’s been him all along. Behind everything, Hunter.

And just like that, I am back—back in my room, in this prison cell that I call home, with the boy I love before me, asking me, “Do you love me?”

“I do,” I whisper. “But are you you?”

He takes me in his arms and whispers, “It’s really me. And it’s really you, now, Aria. You’ve come back to me.”

I grab Hunter’s arm for balance, feel his strength beneath my grip, the lithe muscles of his arms. How is he here? I watched him die … didn’t I?

Suddenly, my throat closes up, and my skin begins to itch like I’m having an allergic reaction. The joy at being in Hunter’s arms vanishes, replaced by anger—at my parents, at my brother, at Thomas: everyone who lied to me.

I can’t breathe.

“Aria?” Hunter says, his face frantic. He slips behind me and clasps his hands together just below my breastbone.

Then he yanks his hands hard into my gut.

I cough and the locket goes flying out of my mouth and lands under my armoire with a plink.

My eyes water, and I gasp and fill my lungs with air. Then, without warning, I vomit all over myself.

• XXVIII •

“Everything okay in there?” Stiggson asks, rapping twice on the closed door.

“Yes!” I yelp as Hunter comes back from the bathroom with a wet towel. I use it to wipe the vomit from my mouth and chin while Hunter vigorously scrubs the carpet. “I only need a few more minutes.”

I take a sip of water from a glass on my nightstand. I can’t believe I just threw up. More so, I can’t believe I threw up
in front of Hunter
and that he’s actually cleaning it up right now—which is incredibly sweet but awfully embarrassing.

“Hold on.” I motion for Hunter to stop. He looks at me with his beautiful blue eyes, and he’s so handsome that I want to cry.

“What?” he says.

I let my jaw go slack. “You’re alive!”

He drops the towel, then stands and embraces me. I don’t care that my breath is sour—Hunter is here, taking me in his arms. Nothing else matters.

“I thought you were
dead
.” The words rush out of me; there’s so
much I want to say to him, now that
I remember
, now that I know the truth. “I don’t understand.… I watched you get—I saw you—”

“I know,” Hunter says, kissing my neck just below my ear. “It’s complicated, but I’m here.”

“It’s really you?” I whisper.

“Heart and soul.” I can feel his chest against mine, rising and falling, his warm breath on my cheek.

“How were you able to look like Davida?”

“It’s complicated,” Hunter says. “But basically, that was her doing. I kept the glamour she cast on me so that people would truly think I was dead. But tonight, I couldn’t stand it any longer and came looking for you—and I was caught.”