Toxic Heart (10 page)

“Chill out, Shannon,” Ryah says. “Seriously.” She tilts her head and smiles at me. “Aria, I
love
that shirt on you.”

Just as I’m about to ask what’s for dinner, Landon rushes into
the room balancing a circular platter on one hand. “Dinner is served,” he says, coming around to the table and dropping a slab of raw meat onto everyone’s plate. He saves mine for last and, I notice, gives me the smallest one.

I glance up at him and smile. “Thank you so much, Landon.”

“Whatever,” he says. “Bon appétit.” Then he heads back into the kitchen with the empty tray.

I stare at the raw meat on my plate, remembering Thomas’s barely cooked steak.

“Is something wrong?” Ryah asks in a concerned voice. “Do you like your meat well done?”

“I like it more done than this,” I say.

Turk laughs as Ryah lets out a high-pitched giggle. “Obviously!” She slams the table with her fist.

“Just cook the meat already,” Shannon snaps.

“I’ll second that,” Turk says.

Ryah holds out her hand and I hear the familiar buzz of mystic energy. Thin, delicate green rays shoot out from her fingertips, bathing the table with light; she curls her fingers into a ball and the rays blend together, becoming less intense, changing color from an electric green to something much softer.

The rays connect with the steak on my plate and I watch it cook right before my eyes, like a barbecue without smoke. A delicious charcoal-blackened-meat aroma fills the room.

“Poor Ryah,” says Jarek. It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak—he has the rich baritone of an opera singer. “She wanted to be powerful and mighty, but all she can do is act as a microwave oven.”

“Oh, Jarek,” Ryah says. “You know as well as I do that I could
light your entire body on fire before you had time to blink.” As she uncurls her fingers, the rays dissipate, and I am left with a perfectly cooked piece of meat. “Not that I would ever do that.”

“Not to me,” Jarek says as Ryah turns her energy to Shannon’s plate. “But seriously, Aria, you should see this girl go.”

“It’s true,” Ryah says matter-of-factly. “I’m incredibly powerful.” She flexes her fingers. “There’s danger in these hands.”

Hunter once told me that a mystic’s power is as individual as his personality. Some powers are incredibly tepid, like being able to heat tea with your fingertip. But Hunter can walk through walls and drop through ceilings. And Davida could take on the appearance of another person—a talent that is extraordinarily rare.

“What’s your power?” I ask Jarek.

Before he can answer, Landon comes back into the dining room with a bowl of sautéed greens and a pair of tongs, taking a seat on the other side of Turk. “Well,” he says to Jarek, “aren’t you going to tell her?”

Shannon has a strange expression on her face, like she wants to say something but she’s holding back.

“Tell me what?” I ask.

Before Jarek can show me his power, whatever it is, Landon holds out his right hand and presses his fingertips together: a green ray of mystic energy the size of his wrist shoots out of his hand and strikes the center of my water glass.

I think it’s going to explode, but it doesn’t.

The water instantly freezes, leaving the glass intact.

“I can solidify liquids,” Landon says, puffing out his skinny chest. “And vice versa.” He shoots another ray of energy at the
glass, and the water reverts to liquid form. “Including lakes, rivers, rainwater … you name it. But poor Jarek here”—he says in a mocking tone—“can’t do much of anything.”

“Leave Jarek alone,” Turk says. “Just be quiet and eat, Landon.”

“Is that true?” I say, turning to Jarek.

He rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He reaches over and punches Landon’s shoulder. “Landon is just being … Landon.”

Ryah finishes cooking and takes her seat at the table. “Dig in, everyone!”

I cut into my meat—it’s perfect. I don’t know whether it’s because of shock or exhaustion or the fact that I haven’t had any food since yesterday, but it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

“So what
is
your power, Jarek?” I ask.

Jarek swallows and pounds his chest, letting out a huge burp.

“Nice,” Shannon says. “Really nice.”

“I can … disappear,” Jarek says cryptically.

I gasp. “You can turn invisible?”

Landon laughs. “Hardly. Jarek is just really good at camouflage.”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s … useful.”

Turk gives me a sideways grin.

“Here,” Jarek says. He stands up, and I’m quickly reminded how tall he is—well over six feet. He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes. I wait for something to happen, but nothing does. “See,” he says. “You can’t see me.”

I look to Ryah for help, but she’s purposely not paying attention. “Actually, I can,” I say.

Jarek opens his eyes. “That’s just because you know I’m here. But if you didn’t, then I would have blended into the wall.”

“Oh. Well, I think that’s … impressive,” I say, focusing my attention on my dinner.

He shakes his head, sitting back down and rounding his shoulders. “No. It’s not,” he says with a hint of despair. “Not compared to what most people can do.”

“Jarek is excellent at camouflaging himself,” Turk chimes in. “I’ve even seen him blend right into a brick wall. It’s just harder to demonstrate than most powers.”

“Wars aren’t won by hiding,” Shannon says, putting down her fork. “They’re won by fighting. No offense, Jarek.”

“I know,” Jarek says. “I agree with you. I wish I could do more, but … I can’t.”

“Sucks to be you,” Landon mutters under his breath.

“Be nice,” Ryah says.

“Hunter once told me about some guy who can hold his breath for hours,” I say. “Michael? Marty? I don’t remember. That sounds pretty cool, though.”

“Marty Fuller,” Landon says with a hefty sigh. “He’s quite a piece of work.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Landon snaps a finger at me. “Never mind. Whatever. So he can hold his breath for a few hours. This isn’t Atlantis. It’s Manhattan. We don’t need to go swimming.” Landon raises a fist to the ceiling and shakes it. “Damn you, Marty Fuller! I hope you choke on that water and die!”

“What’s going on?” I whisper to Turk.

“Landon used to have a thing for Marty,” Turk whispers back. “It didn’t end well.”

Across the table, Shannon lets out a tiny laugh. It catches me off guard; I’ve never seen Shannon smile or actually be nice to anyone, but surely she must have friends. It’s just
me
she doesn’t like. Which is a shame, because as Shannon smiles, her entire face glows.

“Hey.” She looks at me, her smile disappearing. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” I say, taking another bite. “So what’s your power, Shannon? Having no sense of compassion?”

At this, Landon lets out a loud
“Ohhhh.”
He snaps, then adds, “She
went
there.”

Shannon fixes her lips into a tight red line and clenches her jaw. “Aside from being an incredible fighter, Aria,” she says, “something you are
not
, I’m a tracker.”

“Trackers are very rare,” Ryah chimes in. “Shannon is truly one of a kind.” She thinks for a moment. “Actually, I had an aunt Nelly who was a tracker. It’s still rare, though.”

“What does a tracker do?” I ask.

Shannon brushes a few strands of hair out of her eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” I say.

“Girl fight, girl fight!” Landon says loudly. “Somebody slap somebody!”

We all stare at him.

“What?” he says defensively, holding up his hands.

“Basically, I can hunt down a physical object by visualizing it,” Shannon says. “It has to be something I’ve owned or touched. Something I know inside out.”

I immediately think of my locket—the silvery heart hanging around my neck on a thin chain. It doesn’t have magic anymore, but at one point it was the capsule where Benedict stored my memories of Hunter—the ones my parents tried to erase—for safekeeping.

“Give us an example,” Turk suggests.

Shannon shrugs, but I can tell she’s enjoying being the center of attention. “Let’s say I wanted to find my mother. I would close my eyes and envision this brooch that she used to wear all the time. It was gorgeous: handcrafted, studded with pearls and pink diamonds. So I would focus on an image of that brooch, re-creating it in my mind.” Shannon closes her eyes to demonstrate, and the room goes silent. “And then I would cast out a ray of energy that would function sort of like a homing device.”

Shannon flicks back her wrist and then shoots her hand forward, almost like she’s casting a fishing rod. There’s a flash as five green rays jet out of her fingertips. They shoot up to the ceiling, and she squeezes her fingers together so that they’re touching. The rays braid together into one thicker ray pulsing with electric energy. Then she turns her hand over so her palm is facing the ceiling. The ray of energy coils like a corkscrew.

“Whoa,” says Jarek. “I’ve never seen you do that before.”

She twists her hand in the air and the ray begins to shrink, growing brighter but thinner until it’s practically invisible, so thin it could fit through the eye of a needle.

Shannon opens her eyes. “I would then follow this line of energy, and it would lead me to the brooch.”

The entire group is still, watching her. “Does it work with
people?” I ask. “Imagine your mom instead of the brooch—would your energy lead you to her?”

“Not so much,” Shannon says. “People move around too much, and they’re nearly impossible to track without using a much stronger sort of energy that I don’t possess. Besides”—she shakes out her hand and the ray disappears—“my mother is dead. So tracking her wouldn’t do me much good.”

Another orphan
, I think.

“Aria, you haven’t asked
me
what
my
power is,” Turk says, breaking the silence.

“Sorry, Turk,” I say. “What’s your power?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Aside from being hot?” he asks through a mouthful of steak. “I have a very good sense of modesty.”

Landon snorts water out his nose, onto his pants.

“Gross,” Ryah says.

“It’s just water.” Landon pats his crotch with a napkin. “Chill.”

The tension broken, the conversation switches to the rebellion. Everyone catches Shannon up on the gossip, as she’s been out of the loop training me—something she doesn’t hesitate to complain about.

“Where’s Hunter?” I ask Turk while Ryah is telling some story about the Fosters to Jarek, Landon, and Shannon. “Why isn’t he here?”

Turk swipes his hand over his Mohawk and fiddles with one of the silver hoops in his ears. “Hunter is off doing VIP shit,” he says. “But he’ll be here tomorrow. Bright and early. Don’t you worry, Aria.”

“Hunter’s coming tomorrow?” Shannon asks, suddenly alert.

“Indeed,” Turk says.

I’m confused. Surely Hunter must know about what happened at the compound. How Turk saved me. Where I am at this exact moment.

So why isn’t he here?

I wake up the next morning to the sharp scent of coffee and a whole lot of noise.

I glance at the clock. Is it really noon? I stretch my arms over my head, looking from side to side—both Shannon’s and Ryah’s beds are perfectly made. They must have been up for hours.

I slip out of bed and remind myself that this is a new day. The tragedy of Markus and the compound, my cruel interaction with Thomas, my introduction to the rebel hideout—all that is behind me now.

Today I will see Hunter. And I will find out what exactly what is going on between us.

I pull back the curtains, thankful for the sun that filters into the bedroom. There’s a commotion downstairs: voices, what sounds like dozens of people. I quickly throw on the jeans from yesterday and a yellow shirt that fits me snugly. I pull back my hair with a tie I find on Ryah’s desk, then open the bedroom door.

“Halt!” A mystic I don’t recognize is positioned at the top of the staircase. He’s dressed in a skintight black uniform with a wide green eye on the chest.

“What do you mean, ‘halt’?” I say.

The mystic broadens his chest. “You’re not allowed to move until Hunter is secure.”

“I’m his girlfriend,” I say.

“Doesn’t matter.” The mystic holds out his hand, flexing his fingers as though he’s about to attack. “Stay back.”

“It should only take a few minutes,” Ryah says, coming out of the bathroom.

“Oh. You’re stuck up here, too?”

“Yep,” Ryah says. She’s wearing a pair of tan overalls that have paint splattered all over them—you can barely see the original color underneath the splotches of green and orange. Her hair seems especially blue today, gelled and spiked. “My need to pee apparently coincided with Hunter’s arrival.” She sighs. “Oh well. At least I got to do my hair.”

“It’s very pointy,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly. She turns to the guard. “You know, Adam, you don’t have to be so fierce all the time. Lighten up.”

He doesn’t move a muscle. “We’re in the middle of a war, Ryah. There’s nothing to be light about.”

“War, schmore,” Ryah says, reminding me more and more of Kiki every second. “It’s Aria’s first full day here, and she hasn’t seen Hunter in what—three weeks or so?” Ryah turns to me, and I nod.
“Three weeks,”
she repeats. “So be nice.”