to the party.
It was Hunter. He’s saved me twice in two nights.
I stand for a few moments underneath the JAVA RIVER awning, hoping he’ll return. Then I feel silly for waiting. I’m Aria Rose. I live in the Aeries, and I’m engaged.
Thomas . He’s the one I’m supposed to see tonight, and I haven’t thought of him once since I saw Hunter.
When I realize Hunter’s not returning, I go back inside—my table hasn’t been cleared. Behind the cash register, an old womanwith grayish skin harrumphs at me, her hair knotted into a bird’s nest on top of her head. I sit down to wait for Turk.
Why did Hunter save me in the first place if he didn’t want anything to do with me? Without thinking, I stare into my coffee mug and down the scalding liquid in one gulp. I wince. My throat, and my heart, are on fire.
• V •
With a name like Turk, I’m not sure what to expect. This is what I get:
A boy with copper skin and egg-shaped eyes, hair fashioned into a Mohawk, the sides sheared close to his scalp, the top ablaze with color, morphing from black at the roots to bright platinum near the tips. Silver piercings run through his earlobes and his right eyebrow. His clothes are tight and black, long pants and a sleeveless shirt exposing hills and heaps of muscle. His arms are colored from wrist to armpit with tattoos: fire-breathing dragons and dangerous-looking swords, nearly naked women and strange mythological creatures.
He has the same healthy coloring as Hunter—another rebel. His legs straddle a white motorcycle with chrome wheels and black accents on the seat. I’ve only seen a motorcycle on the Internet and never would have guessed how big they are. He spots me through the window and beckons me outside.
On the street, the hot summer air makes me feel like I’m in a sauna. Turk holds out a sleek silver helmet and cocks his head. “You gonna get on?”
He must be kidding. “Absolutely not.”
“So you’re just gonna hang out here?”
Good point. I have to get back to the Aeries, and I can’t afford a gondola—the rest of my money was hidden in my cloak.
Turk extends the helmet a second time. “You seem like a reasonable girl, Aria. Let me get you home in one piece. I’d say you’re a bit out of your league.”
“How does this thing work?” I ask skeptically, eyeing the cycle. The engine is nearly twice the size of my head, the exhaust pipes polished to a shine. “It looks too big for most of the streets.”
Turk laughs. “Let’s just say this sucker is … enhanced.” He winks. “For your riding pleasure.”
“Okay,” I say, grabbing the helmet and slipping it on. I go to climb on the cycle but there’s only one seat—and he’s on it.
Turk slaps one of his thighs. “Step on up, sweetheart.”
I raise my eyebrows. Turk matches my expression.
I groan. “Don’t do anything funny.”
“Nope,” Turk says, offering me his hand. “Nothing funny about this at all.”
He hoists me up and I settle between his legs. He presses a button and a sleek pair of handlebars extend from a slot in the front of the bike.
Turk leans forward, his arms wrapping around me when he grabs the bars. “Ready?” he asks, lips close to my ear, his breath warm and sweet.
“Sure,” I say.
“Just tell me where to go,” he says.
I whisper my directions as Turk pushes a tiny button and we erupt in flames.
Turk’s bike really is enhanced. Magical, even.
We tip forward on the narrow streets, so drastically I have no idea how gravity is functioning, so fast there’s no time to be sick, veering left, then right, skipping over broken concrete and garbage and shattered bottles, building after building bleeding into each other as we pass.
We whirl and zoom past a fleet of gondolas tied up for the night, sleeping in the black water, their prows knotted to posts along the sidewalks. The cycle is narrow enough to creep over a stone bridge, nimble enough to take hairpin turns in alleyways.
Our only
It was Hunter. He’s saved me twice in two nights.
I stand for a few moments underneath the JAVA RIVER awning, hoping he’ll return. Then I feel silly for waiting. I’m Aria Rose. I live in the Aeries, and I’m engaged.
Thomas . He’s the one I’m supposed to see tonight, and I haven’t thought of him once since I saw Hunter.
When I realize Hunter’s not returning, I go back inside—my table hasn’t been cleared. Behind the cash register, an old womanwith grayish skin harrumphs at me, her hair knotted into a bird’s nest on top of her head. I sit down to wait for Turk.
Why did Hunter save me in the first place if he didn’t want anything to do with me? Without thinking, I stare into my coffee mug and down the scalding liquid in one gulp. I wince. My throat, and my heart, are on fire.
• V •
With a name like Turk, I’m not sure what to expect. This is what I get:
A boy with copper skin and egg-shaped eyes, hair fashioned into a Mohawk, the sides sheared close to his scalp, the top ablaze with color, morphing from black at the roots to bright platinum near the tips. Silver piercings run through his earlobes and his right eyebrow. His clothes are tight and black, long pants and a sleeveless shirt exposing hills and heaps of muscle. His arms are colored from wrist to armpit with tattoos: fire-breathing dragons and dangerous-looking swords, nearly naked women and strange mythological creatures.
He has the same healthy coloring as Hunter—another rebel. His legs straddle a white motorcycle with chrome wheels and black accents on the seat. I’ve only seen a motorcycle on the Internet and never would have guessed how big they are. He spots me through the window and beckons me outside.
On the street, the hot summer air makes me feel like I’m in a sauna. Turk holds out a sleek silver helmet and cocks his head. “You gonna get on?”
He must be kidding. “Absolutely not.”
“So you’re just gonna hang out here?”
Good point. I have to get back to the Aeries, and I can’t afford a gondola—the rest of my money was hidden in my cloak.
Turk extends the helmet a second time. “You seem like a reasonable girl, Aria. Let me get you home in one piece. I’d say you’re a bit out of your league.”
“How does this thing work?” I ask skeptically, eyeing the cycle. The engine is nearly twice the size of my head, the exhaust pipes polished to a shine. “It looks too big for most of the streets.”
Turk laughs. “Let’s just say this sucker is … enhanced.” He winks. “For your riding pleasure.”
“Okay,” I say, grabbing the helmet and slipping it on. I go to climb on the cycle but there’s only one seat—and he’s on it.
Turk slaps one of his thighs. “Step on up, sweetheart.”
I raise my eyebrows. Turk matches my expression.
I groan. “Don’t do anything funny.”
“Nope,” Turk says, offering me his hand. “Nothing funny about this at all.”
He hoists me up and I settle between his legs. He presses a button and a sleek pair of handlebars extend from a slot in the front of the bike.
Turk leans forward, his arms wrapping around me when he grabs the bars. “Ready?” he asks, lips close to my ear, his breath warm and sweet.
“Sure,” I say.
“Just tell me where to go,” he says.
I whisper my directions as Turk pushes a tiny button and we erupt in flames.
Turk’s bike really is enhanced. Magical, even.
We tip forward on the narrow streets, so drastically I have no idea how gravity is functioning, so fast there’s no time to be sick, veering left, then right, skipping over broken concrete and garbage and shattered bottles, building after building bleeding into each other as we pass.
We whirl and zoom past a fleet of gondolas tied up for the night, sleeping in the black water, their prows knotted to posts along the sidewalks. The cycle is narrow enough to creep over a stone bridge, nimble enough to take hairpin turns in alleyways.
Our only
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