Unlike at the triage center, though, there’s a tall glass cabinet half the length of the wall that is full of bottled mystic energy: small vials glowing with green extracted energy that pulses and swirls, protected by thin layers of quicksilver.
Quicksilver, or mercury, is the only material that can contain mystic power. Elissa Genevieve told me this back in my father’s office, when she and I hid in the draining room and watched a mystic’s energy be stolen from her. I can still remember the piercing, painful sound of the mystic’s cries as the life was torn from her body.
“Here,” Hunter says. He points to a tall oval contraption fashioned out of glistening black metal.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“A scanner,” Turk replies. He presses his thumb to a touchpad built into the metal. There’s a whirring noise as the machine comes to life and a slight hiss as an invisible lock is opened. The machine springs open like a clamshell. It’s hollow, lined with soft-looking white padding.
“Step inside,” Hunter says to me. He sits down at a narrow white desk and cues up a TouchMe. “If there is a tracker on you, this thing will detect it.”
I shake my head, thinking of the coffinlike contraption back at Dr. May’s office and the awful noise it used to make—bang, bang, bang.
“I really don’t want to,” I say. My lips begin to tremble; I touch my fingers to my mouth, trying to make the trembling stop, but I can’t. “Please don’t make me.”
“Hey,” Turk says. He places one hand on my lower back and a zip of mystic energy shoots up my spine—which only makes me more upset. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me. Okay?”
I take a deep breath. Of course Turk and Hunter won’t let anything happen to me. “Okay,” I say.
Hunter smiles. “Don’t worry, Aria. It’ll be over in a minute.”
I nod, then step inside the machine as it closes around me.
Everything smells like lemon. Clean. Fresh. I close my eyes, try to think of happy things: the first time Hunter kissed me—the sweet taste of his tongue on my lips, the soft feel of his hair beneath my fingertips, the coiled muscles of his shoulders, the firmness of his chest.… We haven’t kissed like that in so long.
Then I think of the sound of his laugh—the throaty scratch of his voice as he whispers in my ear. The stirring in my body every time we touch. The strong rays of energy that jet from his fingertips, shooting out green blazes that ignite the sky; the way his arms wrapped around me as we plummeted through the roof of my parents’ apartment building. His magic. His power. His love for me—what he would do, has done to protect me. To save me.
There is no banging in this machine. There are no scary thoughts. There’s just a soft, low hum as sensors scan me from the top of my bald head to the tips of my bare toes and I overflow with memories of Hunter, the boy I love.
The first thing I see when I step out of the machine is Turk.
Frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Hunter glances up from the TouchMe. “You’re clean,” he says. “No tracker.”
“But … how did Kyle find me at the triage center, then? And Thomas back at the compound?”
Hunter sighs. “I have no idea. But I’m going to find out.”
“Meanwhile,” Turk says, “we have to assume this means there’s a traitor after all. And it’s up to us to figure out who he or she is.” He glances at Hunter, then at me. It’s shocking to see Turk so serious, with no jokes or witty remarks. “Nobody speak a word of this to anyone. If it gets out that we know someone at the hideout is betraying us, whoever it is might try to cover his tracks.”
“Agreed,” Hunter says.
Suddenly, I feel my eyes begin to flutter, and I realize I’m exhausted. “Guys? I’m going to go upstairs and rest.”
“Of course,” Hunter says, getting up from the desk and putting his arm around me. “I love you.”
In my room, I take off my—no, Shannon’s jeans and shirt and toss them into a pile of clothes next to the bed. Must do laundry, I remind myself. Though I don’t want to admit to anyone here that I have no idea how.
I’m about to crawl into bed and get under the covers when there’s a loud buzzing noise. A TouchMe.
Whipping my head around the room, I quickly realize that it’s my TouchMe, which is on my desk. But who in the Aeries would be calling me?
I grab it and glance at the screen. Restricted. I slide the lock and press Accept with my thumb. “Hello?”
There’s a second of silence. Then I hear someone breathing.
“Who is this?” I ask.
A familiar baritone says, “Well, hello there, little sister. I’ve been dying to hear your voice.”
Kyle.
The call from my older brother is so unexpected that I nearly drop my TouchMe. The last time I saw him in person he snapped a metal pipe in two, as if it were a twig—thanks to the superhuman strength that resulted from his Stic addiction. He also spied on me, turning me in to our parents and nearly getting me and Hunter killed.
Apparently, this endeared him to my father, who is now letting Kyle be a public figure, rallying the people of the Aeries in support of the Roses.
“Why are you calling me?” I ask him.
“Is that any way to greet your older brother?” he says. The familiarity of his voice is unsettling.
“You’re right,” I say. “I should have said, ‘Why are you calling me, you lying traitor druggie?’ I’m going to hang up on you now.”
“Stop playing games, Aria. We both know you’re not going to do that. You’re too curious about what I want.”
True.
When Kyle and I were children, we were nearly inseparable. Even though I’m younger, I was always the strong one; whenever anything went wrong, I protected him. He was so scared of our parents, especially our father. But as we got older, we grew apart. Kyle graduated from high school, went off to see the world for a year, and entered college. The only reason I had anything to do with him recently is because he was dating one of my friends, Bennie. If he’s still scared of my father, he’s never let on.
I haven’t spoken to Bennie and Kiki, my two best friends, in weeks. Bennie is likely back at college, but who knows what Kiki is up to—if she’s even still in Manhattan or if she’s off traveling, like most Aeries kids do before they enter college. And if she were … would she talk to me?
“Hello? Aeries to Aria?” Kyle chuckles.
“What is it, Kyle—why are you calling? It seems like you’ve been keeping yourself pretty busy these days.”
He snorts. “Just biding my time, really,” he says. “Today was fun.”
Biding his time until what, I wonder? “I’d hardly call what you did fun, Kyle. Innocent people lost their lives because of you.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Aria. Innocent people lost their lives because of you. Because you wouldn’t give yourself up.”
He’s making me angry. I walk over to the bedroom door, making sure it’s locked so no one will walk in on this conversation. “That is not true and you know it,” I say.
“Dad will be so happy to know that I’ve gotten in touch with you,” Kyle says, a smirk in his voice. “Actually, he’s the one who asked me to call.”
This surprises me. “He did?”
“Indeed,” Kyle says. “As you can imagine, he wasn’t too thrilled with how today went down. He wants me to reach out. Make amends.”
“Amends for what?” I say. “For almost killing me? For making my life unbearable?”
If my parents truly wanted to see me and apologize, they would reach out to me themselves. I could never convince them to change their minds about this war—but perhaps it’s not too late to connect with Kyle. “Too many people are getting hurt. Surely you don’t want to kill off all of Manhattan. There has to be some agreement everybody can come to.”
“Agreement?” Kyle says, raising his voice. “With those animals? I think not.”
“Kyle.” I want to leap into the TouchMe and strangle him. “We all—I mean, you and Dad and the Fosters and Hunter and the mystics—need to sit down like civilized people and figure out a plan for the city. Innocent people are being hurt, even killed.”
I think about what Thomas told me: how other cities are watching us, waiting to move in. Take over. Kyle must know this, must know how important it is to end this war—before everyone loses.
“And pretty soon,” I add, “the Aeries will begin to truly suffer. There isn’t enough stored mystic energy to run the city forever. You’re going to need help. Or else your supporters are going to start turning on you.… Then what?”
There’s a long silence between us.
Then I hear Kyle clear his throat. “Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll agree to meet with Hunter and discuss some sort of peace deal if you meet me privately first. I’ll even phone Thomas Foster and include him. A peace summit, we can call it. I can’t make any promises, but even Dad doesn’t want a never-ending war. Maybe we can reach a compromise.”
I think about this for a moment. I would have to persuade Hunter to meet with Kyle and Thomas, but that seems doable. Especially since, surprisingly, Kyle seems open to talking—a far cry from his declaration on the JumboTron only hours ago. “Why would I meet you alone?”
“Because I’m your brother,” Kyle says, “and you owe me the chance to try to win you over to our side. Let me convince you why you should come home.”
“You’d be wasting your breath, Kyle,” I say. “I’m never coming home.”
“This attitude is exactly what got you into trouble in the first place,” Kyle says. “You’re looking out for yourself and your boyfriend instead of your own flesh and blood.”
“I’m looking out for what’s right,” I say.
Kyle laughs, a mean, angry sound. “Do you honestly think that’s what Hunter is fighting for—what’s right? These rebels are using you, Aria. Hunter is using you.”
He pauses, and I hear him take a sip of something. “I have things to tell you about Davida.”
Davida. Hearing the name of my old servant, my friend, strikes a chord of sadness in me. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t had time to properly mourn, to appreciate the sacrifice she made for us—giving up her life so that Hunter could live. So that we could be together. Especially since she was in love with Hunter herself, a fact I only learned after her death.
“Can you get away? Tomorrow morning, maybe?”
I don’t want to meet with Kyle. I don’t believe he cares about my well-being—he only cares about winning this war. But Hunter is so one-track-minded these days, he thinks there’s no room for compromise with the people of the Aeries. If I present a peace summit as an idea that came from Kyle, though … maybe Hunter will accept the invitation. Take it seriously.
“Come on, Aria. I don’t have all day.”
“Fine,” I say. “If you call Hunter and Thomas and arrange a peace summit, I’ll meet with you privately beforehand. But I’m not going to let you take me hostage.”
“I just want to have a conversation with my sister without other people listening in,” Kyle says. “I used to be able to do that.”
“You should have thought about that before you ratted me out.”
“You were sneaking around with—” Kyle stops himself. “Never mind, Aria. We’ll talk about all this in person. I’ll call Hunter. After I talk to him, I’ll text you the location and the time for our private rendezvous. Don’t let me down.” His voice cuts off and the TouchMe flashes. The call is over.
“Hello?” I step cautiously into the room.
I haven’t been up to the fourth floor yet, where the guys sleep. The rooms are basically the same as ours, but the beds are made up sloppily, with sheets sticking out past the comforters. Pillows and clothes are scattered across the floor—jeans, dirty socks, and T-shirts crumpled into balls.
Nearly an hour has passed since my conversation with Kyle. Hunter is sitting at one of the desks, leaning back with his feet up on Turk’s bed, while Turk is lying on top of the covers, fully dressed, tossing a tennis ball against the white ceiling.
“Did you sleep well?” Hunter asks. His hair is sticking up in the back. I want to smooth it down, but I’m not sure he’d like that. I put my hands in my pockets instead.
“Not really,” I say. After my chat with Kyle, I couldn’t do anything except lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. But I don’t tell Hunter this.
“Naps are lame anyway,” Turk says. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. “Makes it impossible to sleep at night. So then you’re tired the next day and you take another nap. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“I guess,” I say.
Hunter tilts his head. “Well, while you were resting, I received a very interesting phone call,” he says.
“From who?”
“From whom,” Turk says. “If you’re going to lead this city one day, you need to have proper grammar.”
“Bite me,” I say. “Is that proper grammar?”
Turk chuckles and continues throwing the ball. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch.
I turn my attention back to Hunter. “Anyway. From whom?”
“Your brother,” Hunter says.
“Oh!” I say, feigning surprise. Just then, the tennis ball crashes to the floor.
“Sorry,” Turk says. It’s still bizarre to see him without his Mohawk—just a light layer of fuzz instead. He shifts his hands behind his head, and I see the green tail of the dragon tattoo that wraps around his left bicep, the scales outlined in black and dark blue.
“He wants to meet with me,” Hunter says. “Can you believe that? What nerve. Wants us to have a summit, along with Thomas Foster.” His blue eyes seem full of anger—I thought he would have been more intrigued by the proposition. “He suggested Thursday at noon.”
“This Thursday?” I ask. “Are you going?”
“Yes, this Thursday. Barely enough time to organize any sort of plan …” His voice trails off. Then he looks at me and says, “Do you think I should?”
I’m relieved that he’s asking my opinion. That he still cares what I think. “I do,” I tell him. I’m nervous that I’ll say the wrong thing—I want so badly for him to agree to meet with Kyle. “You’ll be able to sit down and figure out how to end this war. No more fighting. No more innocent lives lost …” My throat is starting to go dry. “Don’t you think?”
“I say screw him,” Turk says.
Shut up, Turk, I think.
Hunter runs his fingers through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. He stands up and starts pacing. “How do I know I can trust him? He’s a Stic junkie. And a liar. And a rat.”
I take a few steps forward, until we’re close enough to touch. Then I reach out my hand and press it to his cheek. I think of the Hunter who saved my life when I nearly fell from my balcony and plummeted into the inky darkness of the Depths.
He’s warmer than I thought he would be. For a moment, even though Turk is in the room, it’s only the two of us: Hunter and me. Like it should be.
“You don’t know that you can trust him. But it’s worth a shot. Isn’t it?”
Based on everything that’s happened, I expect Hunter to give me some resistance. Instead, he seems to soften at my touch. “Okay,” he whispers into my palm, kissing it tenderly.
“Okay? I thought you would take more convincing.”
“What can I say?” Hunter says, wrapping his arms around my waist, his grip strong, demanding. “I’m a sucker for your charms.”
My hand slips from his cheek to his shoulder, and he nuzzles my neck, giving me light butterfly kisses that make me feel frozen and on fire at once.
I try to empty my mind, to think only about Hunter’s kisses, his touches, but I know how much he despises Kyle, how unwilling he is to compromise. So why isn’t he putting up a fight about this summit?
Unless he’s ready for the war to end. Maybe the raid on the triage
center has motivated him to try to compromise with Kyle before more people die.
I push my concern to the back of my mind, shoving it into the deepest, darkest crevice. And then I plant my lips on his; they’re familiar and foreign at the same time—it’s been so long since we’ve been together.
But his entire body is stiff. Uninterested. His hands drop from my sides. I might as well be kissing a statue.
“Hunter?” I whisper. “Are you okay?”
He shakes himself like he’s waking up from a bad dream. “I’m sorry,” he says, staring at me with those beautiful blue eyes. “I have to go.”
“Now?” I ask desperately.
He nods. “People are waiting for me.”
Then he shuffles out the door, downstairs, away.
“Just so you know,” Turk says loudly. I’d forgotten he was even there. I look over at him and he says, “PDA is so not cool. Unless you’re the one doing the PDAing.” Which I was not.
Then he leans over, picks up the dropped tennis ball, and lobs it at the ceiling with surprising force.
Hunter doesn’t join us for dinner. After our conversation, he disappears into the library and emerges later with five or six of his men, each dressed completely in black with the green rebel eye in the center of their chests, their faces unreadable.
“We just got word that there’s been an attack on the East Side in the Depths,” Hunter tells me. “Led by the Fosters. We have to go.”
He takes Shannon, Landon, Jarek, and the older mystics with him. “I’ll make sure we all return in one piece,” he says. “Turk, Ryah—you stay here with Aria.”
“We can all go and help,” I say. “I’m sure—”
“It’s too dangerous,” Hunter says. He gives me a brisk kiss on the forehead; then he’s gone.
Left to our own devices, Turk, Ryah, and I have a simple dinner of pasta with grilled vegetables. Ryah tries to lighten the mood by telling us how she accidentally laundered her red bras with some of Jarek’s white boxers and now all his underwear is pink. “Pink!” she says. “Can you believe it?”