Toxic Heart (5 page)

I step into the shower. It’s so unlike the stall back at the mystic compound it’s almost funny. So Aeries: sleek black marble with white flecks, shined spotless. No showerhead is visible; there’s a
button that I press with my elbow, and immediately I’m doused with warm water. I let it rush over my face and down my back, soothing my swollen skin and washing away the blood, until my body no longer aches.

What happened back there? I thought we were safe, that no one would be able to find us—that’s what Hunter said. Clearly he was wrong. Who’s after me—my parents? Kyle? I clench my hands and pound the wall. It doesn’t make me feel any better. Poor, sweet Markus is dead, and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been at the compound, they never would have gotten raided. Nobody would have died.

I lean back against the shower door. I feel useless and scared and responsible. I close my eyes and wish that everything would stop, go back to normal. But what’s normal anymore?

The guards return and uncuff me so I can towel off.

I’m uncomfortable being naked in front of them; I didn’t even like when Davida saw me naked after a shower, and she was my servant. My friend. These women are strangers. George Foster’s soldiers. Enemies.

As I pick up the red dress that was left on the bed for me, I realize it’s not as plain as I thought. The color is electric, a stop-in-your-tracks kind of red.
Look but don’t touch
. The material is fine silk, though there’s not much of it; sleeveless and backless, with deep cleavage and a halter tie that goes around my neck. There is no bra. A fine black beaded fringe rustles above my knees as I turn around and catch a glimpse of myself in the standing mirror.

This is a party dress—something I would have worn to an
event with my parents or on a date with Thomas before the war. Definitely a dress for an Aeries girl. But it’s a frightening ensemble for a prisoner.

“Come on,” Helen says. “Let’s go.”

My two new best friends usher me through the main room. My hair is still wet, heavy on the back of my neck, and I shiver from the cold.

The candles on the table have been lit, and there is a man sitting at the far end, his head down. He’s dressed in a white linen suit and a white dress shirt with a navy tie. His brown hair is hanging down, covering his face.

Tasha pulls out a chair for me and I sit down. “If you try to run away, I will shoot you,” she says. I don’t doubt her sincerity.

I lean back to study the man in front of me. He raises his head and I can’t help myself. I gasp.

Thomas Foster.

Light from the candles plays across the table and flickers over his face. It strikes the bottom of his chin, then fans upward, accenting the hollows of his cheeks and giving his familiar brown eyes a spooky glint.

My stomach does a flip. He’s supposed to be dead.

On his plate is a hunk of meat so rare it might as well be raw. He cuts into the steak and blood pours from it, filling the air with a sticky-sweet smell. He takes a bite and tilts up his head.

My ex-fiancé swallows. Winks at me. “Hello, Aria.”

I can’t seem to form a coherent sentence. “But you—I saw you … you were—”

“Dead?” The look in his eyes shifts. “No. Though you did shoot me.” He pats his chest, just under his heart. “Fortunately, you’re not much of a shot.”

My mind races back to the battle the night of the underground raid, when Thomas was about to kill Hunter and I shot him. Left him for dead. How many nights since then have I lost sleep, thinking I murdered him? And now here he is. Very much alive.

“I know.” Thomas takes a sip of red wine. “You’re speechless at the sight of me. Most women are.” He pauses. “Though you never seemed to think so.”

“Cut it out, Thomas,” I say. “You never liked me. You cheated on me with Gretchen Monasty and lied about how we met. You’re no better than my parents. A child was
killed
tonight because of what you’ve done. And countless others, I’m sure.”

Thomas chuckles. “It’s a pity I can’t say I’ve missed the sound of your voice, Aria. Or anything about you, really.”

His gaze focuses on my cleavage. I feel vulnerable, exposed. I want to strangle him.

“What we had could have worked, you know,” Thomas says. “But you had to go and ruin it with that … 
mongrel
.”

My stomach churns. I know he’s referring to Hunter. “We didn’t
have
anything,” I say. “My parents wiped my memory clean and tried to trick me into believing I was in love with you. And it didn’t work. Our whole relationship was based on a lie.”

I let my words sink in and wait for a reaction. Thomas never loved me—that much I know. Our engagement was a scheme. He was a player in the alliance between my parents and the Fosters:

Get rid of Hunter.

Unite our families.

Make sure Garland wins the mayoral election against Violet Brooks.

Unfortunately, the only thing they succeeded at was murdering Violet. The traitor Elissa Genevieve did that, the mystic who works for my father and took advantage of me to gain access to the rebels’ underground hideout.

“Look, Aria. What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?” Thomas wipes his mouth with his napkin. He looks exactly the same as he did when we first met, on the night of our engagement party. Despite his recuperation from a serious bullet wound, he’s well built and still picture-perfect handsome—smooth cheeks, a multimillion-dollar smile.

He’d be a great catch if he weren’t such a jerk.

“I’m not sorry,” he continues.

“How did you find me?” I ask. “Hunter told me—I thought I was—”

“Safe?” His eyes seem to glimmer. “We tracked you.”

“How?”

“God, you’re daft,” Thomas snarls. “With a tracker.”

“But how—”

“I have bigger concerns than you figuring out how I found you, Aria.”

“Oh?” I say. “And what are those?”

He stabs a finger at me. “Your family has turned against mine. Again. And vice versa. Now that Garland is dead, it’s every man for himself.”

This doesn’t surprise me. It was nearly impossible to believe
that my father, crime lord of the West Side, would have wanted to unite with George Foster, his East Side equivalent, in the first place. The families have been enemies for generations.

Now that Thomas’s older brother, Garland, is gone, and marrying me off to Thomas didn’t work out … both Dad and George Foster must figure they’re better off alone.

“This isn’t a game, Aria,” Thomas says sternly. “Do you have any idea what this boyfriend of yours is actually doing?”

“Fighting for equality,” I say. “For what’s right. Which is more than I can say for you.”

Thomas gives me a wolfish smile. “And what do you think I’m doing?”

I shrug, once again acutely aware of how much of my skin he can see in this dress. “Probably selling Stic on the black market. Just like your father does. And mine.”

Thomas laughs at me, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt. His cheeks are flushed from the wine. “Wrong. The mystics are
rebelling
. Which means they’re no longer being drained. Which means no more mystic energy to make into Stic and sell.”

“I know that,” I say. “But surely you have some hidden supply.”

“Why?” He leans back and quirks an eyebrow. “Want some?”

“Of course not. You’re disgusting.”

Thomas licks his lips, which are stained a dark purple. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“We’re in a war, Thomas,” I say, growing more and more exasperated. “Your brother died. People are out there right now fighting for equality—”

“Screw equality.” Thomas throws his napkin on the table and pushes back his chair. “This city is an absolute mess. Manhattan has never seen a problem like this before. We’ve always been a city-state that the rest of the country looks up to. Our parents might not like each other, but we’re mostly equal in power and wealth. More importantly, we’ve always taken care of our business on the inside.”

He steps toward me; I can smell the wine on his breath. “ ‘Don’t show weakness, Tommy.’ That’s what my father always taught me. Because once somebody sees a weak spot, they know exactly where to attack.”

“Who are you talking about, Thomas? The mystics?”

He shakes his head. “People outside … they’re watching us. Word has started to spread about the rebellion. We’ve tried to limit press access, but there have been leaks.”

I don’t understand. “So?”

“So,”
Thomas says, “Los Angeles, Chicago … pretty soon they’re going to offer us their ‘help,’ which really means they’re going to move in their own troops and take over.”

“Why would they do that?” I ask.

“Imagine how it would look to the rest of the world if the rebels win. Mystics everywhere will start demanding all sorts of crazy rights. There will be more wars. No one wants that to happen, so New York will be vanquished by foreigners and the entire city will be wiped clean, everything hushed up. And then we’ll all be slaves.”

Thomas moves over to one of the blacked-out windows and gazes out as though he can see Manhattan. “The Aeries must win this war. If we don’t, it will mean the worst for all of us—mystics,
humans, Aeries, Depths.…
Everyone
will suffer.” He turns to me, suddenly looking exhausted. “Can’t you see what you’ve done?”

I avert my eyes, not wanting to feel sympathy for him. Truthfully, I haven’t thought about how outsiders might be watching our city, waiting to pounce on us, to infiltrate. To conquer.

Still, who cares what the rest of the world is thinking? Don’t mystics deserve the same chances for health and happiness as anyone else?

That is what Hunter is fighting for. What I am fighting for.

Thomas is the cruel one. He sent troops to kidnap me, troops who murdered innocent women and children. Children like Markus.

“You’re being selfish, Thomas,” I say. “This is bigger than just us. It’s bigger than Manhattan. Let me go.
Please
. If you ever cared about me at all—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Thomas says scornfully. “I never cared about you, ever. I used you to get what I wanted, Aria, and because of your stupid mystic boyfriend I never even got that.” He approaches me and grabs my shoulders. “You disgust me. You’re tainted goods, Aria Rose. And don’t act like you’re above doing whatever it takes to get what you want. You’re just as conniving as I am.”

I’m aghast. “I am nothing like you.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows. “No? Then what’s with all the video propaganda?”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Are you drunk?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumb, Aria. It’s not flattering. Besides, you’re not that smart to begin with.” Thomas walks over to one
wall and presses a nearly invisible touchpad. A large square of gray cement retracts into the ceiling, revealing a TouchMe screen that must be two or three feet high and just as wide.

Thomas keys in a password and the screen comes to life. “Search Aria Rose,” he instructs the TouchMe.

“Searching,” the automated voice replies.

A queue of over a dozen videos appears instantly. Thomas selects the first one. It’s me, back in my room at the compound, mere hours ago, before the fire, saying something.

I hate what my parents have done to the mystics and the poor people of Manhattan. I would do anything to defeat them
.

Thomas clicks on another video. I recognize the shirt I’m wearing. That was almost a week ago.

My parents want to exploit everyone in Manhattan. To side with them is to deny yourself basic rights. Join the rebels
.

Thomas pauses the video. His eyebrows pinch together as he watches my expression. “Should I keep going?”

My mouth is suddenly dry. Hunter has been recording our chat sessions, editing them down to short clips. I remember the times he asked me to tell him how much I hated my parents, how I supported the rebels. A sour taste fills my mouth, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Since the mystics are already with us, I can only assume the videos are being broadcast across the Depths as a way to rally the nonmystic poor in our favor.

Hunter has been using me. I can’t believe it.

I keep my features blank. I don’t want Thomas to see the surprise on my face. The guards are still lined up against the far wall
of the room, watching us. I wonder what they think of me. Dumb little rich girl.

“Don’t pretend that isn’t you, Aria,” he says.

“I won’t.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, wishing I weren’t wearing an expensive red party dress, especially one with a plunging neckline and no back.

“How about one more?” Thomas scrolls through the screen until he finds a video that looks like it was posted almost two weeks ago—one of my first nights at the compound. I look upset.
I hate my family
, I hear myself say.
Don’t trust anyone in the Aeries!

“Those are quite some professions of hatred for your family,” Thomas says. He presses a button and the TouchMe disappears into the wall. “And mine.”

“Well,” I find myself saying, “you all did terrible things.”

He cocks his head. “Did we? Here’s the thing, Aria: as naive as you are, people in Manhattan seem to like you. They relate to you. Not only in the Depths, but in the Aeries as well. Somehow, I came out as a bad guy in all this—”

“Gee, I wonder why,” I say.

Thomas grabs my shoulders again. He’s about an inch from my face, the tip of his nose practically touching mine. His breath smells of Cabernet. “Don’t,” he says, “interrupt me.”

Then he kisses me.

I slap him across the cheek. He pulls away and rubs his jaw. I wait for him to order his guards to move in on me, but he doesn’t. He just laughs.

“You always were feisty, Aria. I like that. Even though you sicken me.”

“So why am I here? Why do you care about any of these videos?” I stare down at the shimmering skirt of my dress. It feels impossible to be taken seriously when I’m dressed this way. If I get out of here alive, I will never wear a dress again. “Let me go.”

“Tell me where Hunter is,” Thomas says.

“I don’t know. He hasn’t told me.” I cross my arms. “And even if he had, I wouldn’t tell you.”