I stare again at the dark blue sky.
Inhale deeply.
“Trust me.” I squeeze Turk’s hand. “Just follow me, okay?”
“What?” he says. “Aria, what are you—”
Making sure the cooler is still securely tucked under my arm, I take a running start straight for the railing of the bridge.
“Aria, no!” my brother screams.
I jump.
The breath is sucked out of me as I tumble toward the dirty canals hundreds of stories below.
To my death.
It’s funny how your mind empties when you’re about to die.
Gone is all my anger toward Hunter, my disappointment that our relationship didn’t work out. All I’m left with are slivers of memories: falling in love, stolen kisses, the time he made a dachshund appear in the sky and wag its tail. Laughter.
Gone is my hatred for my parents. I don’t think about being a prisoner in my own home, unwillingly depleted of my memories to serve their political cause. I think of being a little girl, holding my father’s hand. I remember when I was sick as a child and my mother would watch over me, dabbing my forehead with a wet cloth and waiting for my fever to go down.
I think of Kyle when he was younger and sweeter, and of the friends I am lucky enough to have, like Kiki and Bennie and now Ryah and Jarek, and maybe even Landon and Shannon. I think of Davida, who I miss seeing each morning and each night, who protected and took care of me unconditionally until she drew her last breath.
And Turk. I see him differently now: the tattooed boy with the silver motorcycle turned out to be quite wonderful.
The silver motorcycle …
There it is. A flash of chrome, a familiar wheel. Was I right?
The wind wraps itself around me as I fall into black nothingness, sucking the air out of my lungs as I drop farther and farther toward the Depths—
Until a flash of green pierces the air like lightning.
Rays of mystic energy shoot out underneath me, stretching across the sky like pulled taffy. I count ten of the long green beams of light and suddenly I’m no longer falling but lying flat across the rays as they support me, buoying me in midair, the cooler with the heart firmly in my grip.
Saved.
The green energy pulses, and I glance to the side.
There’s Ryah, a look of intense concentration on her face. Her arms are extended, mystic rays shooting from her fingertips, keeping me afloat. Each one is as thick as my wrist, and double my height in length.
She shifts one of her hands, turning her fingers slightly inward, and five of the rays sweep underneath the others, weaving together like threads on a loom until I am floating on a secure net of light.
“Got her,” Ryah says triumphantly.
But who is she talking to?
Ryah looks like she’s hanging from an invisible string bobbing in midair. I squint and see bits of silver against the black-blue sky. It’s hard to see through the wisps of smog scattered across the night like cotton candy, but then I see another pair of eyes.
“Ryah? How are you—”
“Be quiet, Aria,” whispers a masculine voice. “Or you’ll give us away.”
Jarek.
Jarek is riding Turk’s motorcycle.
He’s hovering in the sky, halfway between the Aeries and the Depths, camouflaging himself to blend into the dark night. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I can make out his arms gripping the handlebars, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused. Ryah is seated beside him in a chrome sidecar I’ve never seen before.
Dozens of voices are screaming from the bridge above, and I watch as a figure hurls itself toward us. They must be wondering where the mystic energy is coming from.
“I don’t know much longer I can hold this,” says the almost-invisible Jarek. “I’ve never camouflaged anything this big.”
“Let’s hope this is Turk,” Ryah says, staring up at the figure, who is growing larger by the second. “Otherwise, we’ve got a very unwelcome visitor.”
And then there’s Turk, bouncing onto the grid of light beside me.
He’s staring at me with wild eyes. “How did you know they were here? That Ryah would catch you?”
I reach out and touch his arm. “I took a chance.”
Turk smiles. He still looks weak from the quicksilver, but at least he’s alive.
We’re both alive.
“Come on, guys,” Ryah says. “Before those soldiers jump down here as well.”
She raises her arms in the air as if she’s holding a large serving platter. The rays of energy beneath us flatten out and begin to incline.
All of a sudden, I can feel myself falling forward; the energy rays are angled so that we can slide down them, onto the bike. Turk plops into the sidecar with Ryah, and I slip behind Jarek, grabbing his sides for support.
“Here,” I say, reaching around him and placing the cooler between his thighs. “Don’t lose that. It’s important.”
“Gotcha.” Jarek grunts, then twists back one of the handlebars. The bike roars forward, blasting green fuel out of its exhaust pipe and into the sky.
Ryah curls her fingertips into her hands and the green rays disappear. “You guys are heavy,” she says.
Just then, a soldier falls past us. He must have jumped off the bridge after Turk. His arms and legs flail as he realizes the web of light we fell onto has disappeared.
His screams echo into the night.
Turk reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“Me too,” I say. “I’m glad we both are.”
“Where’d you guys rush off to?” Shannon says the moment we burst through the door to the hideout. She’s in black training gear, and she shoots me a fierce glare. “Hunter blocked the exits for a reason, Aria. You weren’t supposed to leave. You’re lucky we were able to break the loop, that we—”
“Stop!” I say. Turk is leaning on my shoulder, and I’m helping him walk. Jarek is behind us with the cooler. “We have bigger concerns right now. If you want to help us, then great. Otherwise, go away, Shannon.”
She’s about to tell me off when Ryah says, “Seriously, Shannon. Just chill for a minute. Or twenty.”
Shannon turns her attention to Turk. As she realizes how injured he is, she looks aghast. “Turk?” She rushes to his side. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” he manages.
Landon comes rushing down the stairs. His dark, delicate features are full of concern. “Turk, you look terrible!” he says, fanning himself with one hand. “I mean, like … really bad.”
“Thanks,” Turk says.
“Are you okay?” Landon says.
“I’ll survive,” Turk says, groaning.
Together, Shannon and I drag Turk into the sitting room and gently deposit him on one of the leather sofas. He relaxes into the cushions and takes a few labored breaths. The olive color has mostly come back to his skin, and the gashes across his face are beginning to smooth over into new skin. I remember how quickly Turk recovered when Elissa Genevieve shot him—surely he can come back from this as good as new.
“Where’s Jarek?” Landon asks. “Is he all right?”
“He’s parking Turk’s bike,” Ryah says, jittery with nervous energy.
“Sit back,” Shannon says to Turk. She tucks her fiery hair behind her ears, then extends one of her hands to Turk’s face. Her fingertips begin to glow, and she runs her index finger along Turk’s remaining wounds.
Turk sucks in a long gulp of air as the strength seems to return to his body. His eyes light with their familiar glitter, his lips moisten, and the cuts on his arms where I sliced him open heal completely.
“There,” Shannon says. She leans forward and gives Turk a gentle kiss on his forehead. I look away. Where’s Jarek with the cooler?
“Let me get you some water. You need to rest.” Shannon motions for Landon and Ryah to follow her into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Turk.
“Are yo
u all right?” I ask, taking a seat next to him on the couch.
“Yeah.” Turk stares at me. “Are you?”
I nod. “What Kyle did to you was—”
“Don’t.” He presses a finger to my lips; the energy from his touch makes my mouth tingle. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”
“But it does matter,” I say. “I’m the reason you were hurt. I went looking for Davida’s heart—”
“And you found it,” Turk says. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much that will mean to her family. How much it means to all of us.” Turk runs his hand along my cheek. “Hunter was wrong to lock you in here. I’m sorry that I went along with it.”
“That’s okay. I understand.”
“I was so worried that something was going to happen to you,” Turk says softly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you were hurt.”
“Me? When they were torturing you, I thought I was going to die.”
Turk gulps, glancing down at my wrists. The silver cuffs are still there, the metal links that joined them together dangling off each one. “Here.” He sits up and holds out his hand. “Let me.”
“You’re still too weak,” I say. “I’ll ask Ryah or Shannon to—”
“I’m fine,” Turk says. He gives me a half smile. “Really. Now hold out your arms.”
I do as he says, stretching my hands out in front of me. Turk curls his hand into a fist, sticking out his index finger. There’s a soft hum as his finger turns green—a bright, electric color. He touches the tip of it to the lock on the right cuff.
It snaps open.
Then the left.
The handcuffs clunk to the floor. I stare at the bloody red indentations that they’ve left on my skin, which suddenly throb with pain. Turk presses his finger to my right wrist, drawing the tip of it along my wound.
I feel a rush of heat fill my body, and my arm begins to tingle, as though something is stirring just beneath my skin.
“Is that better?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper. I lean my head back and Turk heals my other wrist, the angry red marks disappearing beneath his gentle touch.
When he’s done, he leans forward to kiss the inside of my wrist. His lips are soft, barely there at all, like the wings of a butterfly.
I crane my neck to stare into his eyes. He lifts his lips from my wrist to my neck, kissing up to my chin, approaching my lips.…
The sound of the front door slamming shut breaks us apart. I push away, toward the far end of the couch.
Ryah rushes into the sitting room, her blue hair even more on end than usual. “Um, guys?” she says.
Turk lets out a cough. “Yes?”
Ryah’s left eye is twitching nervously. “Something’s wrong,” she says.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I went outside to see if Jarek wanted anything to eat,” she says. “He was parking the motorcycle.” She pauses. “But he’s gone.”
Turk lets go of my arm. “What do you mean, gone?”
“The bike isn’t there,” Ryah says.
Just as she says this, Shannon and Landon enter the room. “The bike’s gone?” Landon repeats.
“And Jarek with it,” says Ryah.
Landon looks stunned. “Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know,” Ryah says.
“It’s not like he has any other friends,” Landon mutters.
I do a quick scan around the room, then turn to Turk. “The cooler. Jarek was the last one to have it.”
“What cooler?” Shannon asks.
Turk’s cheeks flush. He rushes into the foyer and opens the front door of the hideout, searching for any sign of Jarek.
But there is none.
“The cooler with Davida’s heart,” Turk says, turning back to the four of us.
Ryah lets out a gasp. “That’s what was in the cooler?”
I nod. A queasy feeling fills my stomach. “And now it’s missing.”
“Where do you think Jarek went?” Ryah asks.
She perches on the edge of the ottoman, and Landon drapes himself over the arm of the sofa. “This is so shady of him,” he says with a sigh. He looks tired, and I can’t blame him. It’s been a long day for everyone—and it’s about to get even longer.
“Let’s not jump to any harsh conclusions,” Ryah says. But the shakiness of her voice gives her away. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for this.”
“For what?” I say. “Running off with Turk’s bike and Davida’s heart?”
“You don’t know that he did that.” Ryah runs a hand through her hair. “Maybe he just … you know. Went to run an errand.”
“Yeah.” Landon guffaws. “I’m sure that’s it. I bet Jarek was all like, ‘Gee, I know everyone is waiting for me inside, but I, like, really need a smoothie, so I’ll just go do that and come right back.’ Get real, Ryah.” Landon sits up and keys something into his TouchMe, presses Send with his thumb. “I just messaged him. Let’s see if he responds.”
Turk is pacing the room, head down. “And what if he doesn’t?” I say. “I think we need to head out of here. Start a search party. Maybe we should—”
“Maybe you should shut your trap, Aria Rose,” Shannon says. She crouches down and shoves her face right in mine. “Your dumb ideas are what’s gotten us into trouble in the first place.”
“Me?” I say.
“You,” Shannon says. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You think you’re better than everyone else. That you don’t have to play by the rules. Well, let me tell you something—rules were made for people like you. What were you thinking, escaping, when Hunter wanted you to stay here?”
“It wasn’t fair—”
“All you ever think about is yourself.” Shannon’s face is pulled into a tight knot of frustration. “What if Ryah or someone else had been hurt trying to rescue you? What then? Turk almost died.”
“But I didn’t.” Turk steps between us, pushing us apart. “So let’s move on.”
I try to calm down, but I can’t. Just looking at Shannon makes me see red. Why is she always so obnoxious to me?
“What’s the point of imagining terrible things that didn’t happen?” I say. “If my brother, or a mystic like Elissa Genevieve—or both—had gotten their hands on Davida’s heart, the consequences would be … tragic.”
“I don’t even want to think about it,” Ryah chimes in.
“Stop accusing me when your friend Jarek turns out to be a sneaky thief!” I say to Shannon. “He’s the one with the heart. He betrayed us.”
Shannon clenches her jaw; I know she wants to tell me off, but she’s worried I’m right.
“It must be a mistake,” Ryah says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Jarek would never.”
“We need to find him,” I say. “Quickly.”
“Aria’s right,” Landon says. He claps his hands together, then rolls up the sleeves of his purple T-shirt. “As much as it pains me to say it, Jarek is a rat.”
A rat. Landon’s words echo in my ears. Does Jarek have something to do with the mystic trace that was put on me? Is he somehow working with Kyle? Why else would he run off with the heart?
“But the timing is shitty,” Landon says. He glances down at his TouchMe, then back at the group. “It’s practically two a.m. First of all, I’m exhausted. Not to mention that the peace summit is at noon … which is basically today, in ten hours. Aren’t we going to help Hunter prepare? And shouldn’t we call him now to tell him about Jarek?”
“No,” I say.
Everyone turns to me and stares.
“Hunter has a different agenda,” I say. “He’s going to ambush my brother and Thomas and set off a bomb that will wipe out every nonmystic in the vicinity.”
Turk shakes his head. “No way, Aria. Are you nuts?”
“It’s true,” I say. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he told me.”
Landon and Ryah look astounded. “What … how …,” Ryah whispers.
E
ven Shannon looks like she’s seen a ghost. Could it be that Hunter really didn’t fill her in on his plan? Or is she only pretending to be surprised?
“But we can’t let that happen,” I say. “Nobody hates Kyle more than I do.” I get a flash of him instructing his solider to inject Turk with quicksilver. “But he’s agreed to meet with Hunter, and so has Thomas. If Hunter goes ahead with his plan and we betray Thomas and Kyle, we’ll be no better than my family. The only thing people in Manhattan will ever associate mystics with is death.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then Shannon says, “Us? Since when are you one of us?”
“Since she abandoned her family to support our cause,” Turk says, frowning. “Shame on you for questioning her, Shannon.” He glances at Landon and Ryah. “Are you with us?”
Landon lets out a low whistle. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but … yes, Aria. We can’t give the people of this city any reason to doubt our motives. We want peace. No more destruction.” He puts his hand over his heart. “No more death.”
“I agree,” Ryah says. Her lower lip is trembling, but I’m glad she’s on board.
Which leaves Shannon.
“Well?” says Turk.
Ryah and Landon focus their stares on Shannon.
So does Turk.
So do I.
We stand like this for what feels like a long time. Waiting.
Until Shannon finally throws up her hands and says, “Fine. Just so long as nobody gets hurt.”
Ryah beams and rushes over to hug Shannon. “I knew you’d come around.”
Shannon rolls her eyes at me over Ryah’s shoulder. “Just for the record, though, I still think you’re a bitch.”
“Whatever,” I say.
“But how are we going to stop Hunter?” Ryah asks. “Everyone in Manhattan thinks the two of you are, you know, on the same page. All those clips they’ve been broadcasting around the city—whatever Hunter does, people will think you did it, too.”
The video clips.
I think of all of the JumboTron TVs, how they played the edited footage that Hunter put together of me from our video chat sessions, of me shaving my head. All that had such a great effect on the morale down here.
What if I could use that to my advantage? Instead of letting someone else create a message from me, what if I created one myself?