Toxic Heart (23 page)

Hunter winces. It’s a low blow, I know. My father is a terrible man, fueled by greed, not by love. But in a way, it’s true. My father only wants one thing—power—and he does whatever he can to get it. Hunter is the same, even though he wants justice for his people, revenge for his mother. He doesn’t see the damage he’s doing along the way.

Hunter snarls at me. “How can you say that? After everything
we’ve been through. I
love
you, Aria. More than anything in the world.”

“But things are different now, Hunter.” I shake my head. “I wish they weren’t, but they are. You’re different.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter asks. “How am I different?”

“We barely speak,” I say, “and when we do it’s always about the revolution. And that’s beside the fact that you used our video chats as ads without telling me, and you’ve been keeping me in this hideout like some sort of prisoner.”

Hunter stares at me as though we’re speaking different languages. He seems confused, hurt. “I’ve been trying to make sure you’re safe,” he says. “And I’ve already apologized about the videos. But the mystic cause is my priority right now, Aria. I thought you understood that.”

I let go of the banister. “I want
us
to be your priority.”

Hunter starts to respond, but I hold up my hand. “I gave up my life for you,” I say, “my entire world … and now we don’t even see each other. I could be by your side, helping you—but you don’t include me in anything. I don’t even know the names of the people you keep around you. Every move you make is secret.”

Upstairs, I hear someone stir. I wouldn’t be surprised if our voices have woken people up, but I don’t care. Hunter and I have been like two ships passing in the night—we’re finally speaking about what’s important. We need to finish this conversation.

“I have to pick up where my mom left off,” Hunter says. The lamplight casts a radiant glow on his face, making him look almost angelic. The light stubble that shades his cheeks, the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint scar just above his left eyebrow—even his slightly
crooked nose. His features are so familiar I can see them when I close my eyes.

But now it’s like he’s a stranger. I love him so much. Why is he pushing me away?

“It’s my duty,” he continues. “It’s what my grandfather did, and my mother … she
died
for me.” Hunter curls his hands into fists. “How can you not understand this, Aria? How can you be so selfish?”

His words hit me like blows. “I
do
understand,” I say, “or at least, I try to understand. I’ve been through—”

“What do you know about what I’m going through?” Hunter asks angrily. “You’re a pretty, rich girl from the Aeries. What hardships have you ever experienced?” He points a finger at me. “Has one of your parents died? No.
Both
of mine are dead—so don’t talk to me about what you gave up.”

His words are searing. “How can you say that to me? I’m your girlfriend,” I tell him. “I can help you if you’d just let me in, break down those walls you’ve put up—”

“I’ve had enough.” Hunter holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m tired. And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“We’re not finished.” I reach out to grab his arm but he shrugs me off.

“Don’t,” he says softly. He stares at me, hurt. Suddenly, he seems so fragile that I’m scared he might break.

“You can’t do this on your own,” I say. “You need help.”

“Oh?” he says. “I do? Help from who?”

“From me,” I say. Why is my voice soft? It feels like I can barely speak. “From everyone.”

He snickers. “Everyone including your brother and Thomas Foster? Is that why you want me to meet with them—so they can help me? I’m some kind of pity case?”

“No,” I say, “of course you’re not. But you
should
meet with Kyle and Thomas, to figure out a plan for the city—”

“Oh, screw the damn peace summit, Aria!” Hunter snaps. “You want me to include you in my plans? Fine. Here you go: the only reason I agreed to that in the first place is because I’m going to surprise your brother and kill him.”

What?

Hunter blinks, staring at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Tell me that isn’t true,” I say.

“It is true,” Hunter says, lowering his voice slightly. A vein in his forehead is standing out, ready to pop. “My men have developed a bomb that’s going to wipe out every human within a quarter-mile radius. It’s something we’ve been working on since the start of the war. I wasn’t sure we were going to use it, but … this is the perfect occasion.” His voice sounds harsh, cruel. “Don’t you think?”

I’m stunned into silence.

He shrugs. “Unfortunately, only mystics will be immune to its effects, and not the poor who also side with our cause, but that’s the price we’ll have to pay.”

“Who else knows about this?” I ask. “Shannon? Turk?”

He shakes his head. “No. I couldn’t risk them trying to stop me. Only a handful of my inner circle knows, the ones who were devoted to my mother. We’ve tried to do things the right way,” Hunter says. His features are suddenly distorted with rage, his
cheeks flushed. “With
elections
. Being nice and proper and all that … 
crap
. And where has it gotten us?”

“But, Hunter,” I say, “a bomb isn’t the answer. You’re basically re-creating the Conflagration, and that’s what led to the mystics being drained in the first place. I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. What are you trying to prove?”

His lips tighten into a thin red line. “That we’re strong. That we’re not to be messed with. That you can’t just kill us, or drain us, or do whatever you want to us because you have a certain last name and live in the Aeries.” Hunter sucks in a deep breath. “The people up there will see what we are capable of,” he says. “And we will come out victorious.”

“No,” I say softly. “You’ll come out a
murderer
. I love you, Hunter, but … I can’t believe you think this is a good idea.”

“It’s not matter of good or bad anymore, Aria,” Hunter says. His eyes have grown cold, icy. “Or even right and wrong. We have to do what we must to survive.”

I shake my head. “I can’t be a part of this.”

Hunter’s body tenses. “I’m not asking you to.”

He moves to the side, and I see a bouquet of freshly plucked red roses resting on a wooden end table. “Here,” he says. He picks up the bouquet and throws it at my feet. “These are for you. Don’t even think about leaving this place until I come and get you.”

He pushes past me, out the front door. “Hunter!” I call, following him. “Don’t walk away from me!”

Hunter is down the flight of steps when he stops for a moment. There’s a second when I think he’s going to spin around and rush
into my arms and tell me he was kidding, there is no bomb; we’ll apologize to each other and promise that starting now, we act like a true couple. We’ll figure things out together. He’ll kiss me, and everything terrible will wash away, and we’ll be left with a relationship that is fresh and new and wonderful.

But Hunter doesn’t turn around. He picks up speed, and all I can see is his back as he walks away, into the force field, where he disappears from sight.

I stare at the flowers, numb. A few weeks ago I would have cried if Hunter had spoken to me that way.

But now I don’t feel like crying.

I just feel angry.

The next morning I am red-eyed and exhausted.

If Hunter follows through with this plan, innocent people are going to die. How can I stop him? It was so easy for him to walk out on me. And just as easy for me to lie to him. He doesn’t trust me—he certainly isn’t going to take my advice on something this monumental.

I’m alone in the room—Ryah’s and Shannon’s beds are already made. I shower, then dry off and slip on a pair of Ryah’s gray training pants, a freshly laundered cherry-colored V-neck shirt that hangs off my shoulders, and the sneakers I wore yesterday. With the silver locket securely around my neck, I slip my TouchMe into my pocket and make sure that the bag with Davida’s reliquary, the goggles, and the wig is still hidden under my bed. The next time I leave the town house alone, the wig will be the perfect disguise.

Downstairs, I pour myself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal.
I pass through the kitchen and into the dining area, where my friends are eating breakfast. They’re seated at the table closest to the wall, near the door to the deck.

“I just wish I were stronger,” Ryah is saying, taking a bite of omelet. She’s already spiked her hair, which seems extra blue this morning. She’s wearing a white T-shirt and tight lavender shorts. She turns to Jarek. “You lifted, like, almost two hundred pounds downstairs in the training room. I can barely lift a twelve-pounder without getting sore.” She pokes her bicep, frowning at it. “Get bigger!”

I look over at Turk, whose shirt is soaked with sweat, his brow sweaty and red. Apparently, there was a training session this morning that I wasn’t invited to.

“I wouldn’t say
two hundred
,” Landon corrects her. He blows on his coffee, trying to cool it. “That’s what I’d call an exaggeration. No offense, Jarek.”

Jarek says something in response, but his mouth is full and I can’t understand him. Sitting next to Landon, he looks like a giant—Jarek is wearing a black wifebeater that shows off his arms, each one practically as big as Landon’s head.

“What did he say?” I ask Turk, sliding next to him on the bench.

“Aria!” Ryah says, looking happy to see me. “You’re up! You looked like you needed your rest, so we let you sleep in.”

“Thanks, I guess,” I say.

Turk doesn’t even look at me. He keeps his eyes fixed on his plate, and I wonder if he’s upset about yesterday, about our almost-kiss.

“I said”—Jarek repeats loudly—“that I could lift
a thousand
pounds and I still wouldn’t have an ounce of your power.” He frowns at Ryah. “So I wouldn’t go around being jealous of me.”

“Jarek,” Ryah says gently. “You’re not being fair to yourself. Your powers are—”

“Weak,” he says. “I can’t do what you do. I’m no help to anyone.” He stands up abruptly—the bench he’s sitting on screeches across the floor, and he rushes out of the dining room.

“Poor guy,” Ryah says softly.

“And he definitely can’t lift a thousand pounds,” Landon says, rolling his eyes and playing with the collar of his yellow polo shirt. “He is de
-lu
-sional.”

“He needs to grow up,” Shannon says.

Like me, Shannon doesn’t seem like much of a morning person: her head is bent over her coffee, long strands of red hair covering her face, and there are some scrambled eggs on her plate that she doesn’t seem to be eating. Her black training gear peeks out from underneath a zipped-up white hoodie.

“He’s just upset,” Ryah says. “Let him be.”

Shannon doesn’t reply, and Ryah turns her attention to me. “You don’t look so hot, Aria.”

“I didn’t get much sleep.”

Landon coughs. “Neither did I. With all the fighting going on downstairs last night.” He shakes a fork at me. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to keep it down? Or do they just let you scream however loudly you want to in the Aeries?”

“I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed that he heard us all the way up
on the fourth floor. I wonder what he heard—surely nothing about Hunter’s plan to bomb the peace summit, or he would’ve mentioned it by now. Landon is not one to mince words.

“No, you’re not,” Shannon says to me.

“Of course I am.”

“Girls,” Turk interjects, then takes a gulp of orange juice. “Chill.” He turns to Landon. “Landon, stop being mean.”

Landon’s jaw drops. “I’m
not
being mean. I just don’t need my beauty rest disturbed by a lovers’ scream-fest.” He pushes away his plate. “Jeez. Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” Ryah and Turk respond simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”
Because Hunter doesn’t even want to speak to me
.

Ryah waves her hand. “Don’t worry, Aria. Everyone is on edge about the peace summit. Wondering what’s going to happen.”

There’s silence at the table. It seems as if I’m the only one who knows Hunter is planning to detonate a bomb.

“I for one hope there will be
some
kind of resolution,” Ryah says. “This war can’t go on forever.”

“Can’t it?” Shannon jumps up from the table. “Nothing is going to get resolved at some stupid peace summit. The only way to win a war is to
fight
. With weapons.”

She leaves the room, but her words linger.

Even after the others return to their breakfast, I wonder, do I tell Turk—or anyone—what Hunter is planning? I’m not sure. Do I warn Kyle and Thomas and risk betraying Hunter?

Kyle and Thomas have both said they would sooner see me dead
than fighting with the rebels. But that doesn’t mean that
not
telling them is the right thing to do. If I keep the bomb a secret, they’ll be walking into their own deaths and a second Conflagration. But if I warn them, I’ll be betraying the rebel cause and the summit I helped orchestrate.

It’s a lose-lose situation.

Landon excuses himself, saying he’s heading upstairs to shower. Ryah grabs the remaining plates and utensils to bring to the kitchen. “Shannon and I are going back down to train,” she says. “Holler if you need anything.” Then she heads out of the dining area, leaving me alone with Turk.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs.

“Are
you
okay?” I ask.

He shrugs again. “Sure.” Then he winks at me. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Did you overhear any of our fight last night?”

Turk shakes his head. “I’m a pretty deep sleeper. When I’m out, I’m out. I’m guessing it was intense?”

“You could say that,” I say. “He left angry, and, well … I feel bad about the whole thing.”

Turk raises an eyebrow. “Want help in taking your mind off it?”

“No,” I say. “I just want to get out of here.”

“And go where?” Turk asks. “You don’t like to stay in one place very long, do you?”

“No,” I say. “I suppose I don’t. The thing is … Davida’s heart.”