Chapter 3
I exit Fiama Society Tower A behind Trinity and her parents, Chad and Paris Robins. Mr. Robins works for The Shield, dealing in government security, while Mrs. Robins is a Society wife like my mom.
With them are Edward and his mother, Elena Chu. His dad passed away when we were in middle school, and Mrs. Chu and her son live off what he left behind and the generosity of The Shield and Fiama Society. Once Edward graduates from the academy, he’ll be expected to take care of her.
Everyone talks happily as I hike up the collar of my Amery-issued black wool coat, doing my best to forget that I’m the only one who’s here alone. Not very successfully.
The nearest gondola dock sits at the front entrance of our building. It’s a short ride to our destination at the Central Park Tree Farm’s north end. We could have taken the subway, but the tunnels make me claustrophobic. Tight spaces remind me too much of hiding from my father’s anger.
Only a handful of solar-powered vehicles remain in New Manhattan, used for emergency services such as fire trucks and sweepers.
During the Warming Age, they built too many cars, and their exhaust choked the air to the point that it condensed in the sky and wouldn’t clear away.
Eventually, it grew so thick and volatile that it morphed into the storm clouds that now plague our world.
Many of the city’s roads were converted into canals, so that people and supplies move over the water and are powered by humans instead of engines.
Once we learned how to store the unstable energy from plasma storms, Spark became a new form of clean energy that ensures the atmosphere remains free of toxins.
“Still weird to think all of this used to be streets,” Trinity says, as if reading my mind, and leans over the dock’s railing to peer into the deep channel.
“The canals follow the old glacial low points,” Edward says. “It’s why they hold water without constant pumping.”
Edward has always been fascinated by technology and the mechanics of things and how they work. He’s often regaling us with facts about how the city runs. He loves a puzzle.
“That’s . . . actually kind of cool,” Trinity says while I offer him a smile.
Two arched black gondolas pull up to the dock, gliding silently through the clear blue water. The gondolier grips a long pole used to steer the wide-bottomed boat.
These ornate creations are Society’s favored mode of transportation and are modeled after a great city that once existed during the Warming Age.
In fact, when the founders of New Manhattan began reconstructing the city, they drew a lot of inspiration from its decor and fashion for our world.
I’ve always wondered if they wanted to bring something beautiful from the past into a place that had been stripped of so much of it.
We hop into the boats—parents in one, teens in the other. The morning is cool, and the air is relatively still, with only a soft breeze tugging at our hair.
The gondolas slip into motion, gliding through the canals that carve their way between districts. We pass beneath narrow bridges and alongside buildings stacked atop the bones of the old city—glass and steel rising from weathered stone, balconies jutting out where windows once faced the street.
Some levels sit half submerged, their darkened doorways just visible beneath the waterline, while above them, life continues as though nothing was ever lost. The city feels layered here, rebuilt rather than repaired, every stretch of canal a reminder of what New Manhattan chose to keep.
I watch it all slide past, curious how much of the ancient unseen world still lingers down there.
As we draw closer to Amery, the scent of the factories beyond wafts toward us. The manufacturing sector falls under the jurisdiction of House Asale and dominates the island’s northern end, where everything we rely on is made.
We don’t enjoy all the luxuries of the Warming Age, but thanks to Asale’s innovations and technology in the use of recycled, scavenged items, we have medicine, computers, phones, tablets, textiles, furniture, household items, and construction materials.
Other items are harder to come by. Precious minerals, for example.
Leather is also in high demand. The Central Park Tree Farm is carefully managed, and wood is allocated for housing and vital resources.
Thus, paper is precious, and we mostly rely on screens.
Most of our entertainment—-books, music, and movies—has been preserved from hundreds of years ago.
From this distance, Amery Academy looks a bit like a castle and a skyscraper had a baby, with large windows and iron framing, soaring towers and ornate balconies. Apparently, the architect was inspired by a fantasy book he loved from the Warming Age.
The boats drift through the city, passing dozens of people hurrying to work. A few students we recognize wave as a gust of cold blows through my coat. Pulling my collar up, I stare at the tall spires swaying in the wind.
“Wow, it really is ugly,” Trinity says, and Edward and I snort a laugh.
It’s not pretty, that’s for sure, but I think it has a certain tormented-genius charm.
“They say the architect went loopy,” Edward adds. “The storms broke him.”
My mouth presses together as I shiver. Pierre Lourde was a Keeper who used his ability to channel Spark into building the academy, turning piles of sand into glass and melting down steel and iron beams at odd angles to suit his brilliant, if a little unconventional, construction.
But constant exposure to the storms warped his mind, making him danger-ous and wild. They say he killed thirty innocent people on a rampage before they subdued and then executed him on the spot.
This is why my “gift” must remain a secret.
I’m cursed. Tainted. They refer to people like me as “infected.”
Our existence is to be immediately reported to the Extinguishers, lest we become a danger to ourselves or anyone else.
General Sol has undergone intense mental training to guard against it.
She is the exception to the rule and is deemed a necessary risk so she can protect us all from the deadly cloud bursts.
Every day, I wonder if this is the one where I’ll snap. Did Pierre Lourde have any warning? Was it slow and gradual or an instant break? Am I a danger to everyone around me? I’ve thought about turning myself in a hundred times, but I’m a coward.
I don’t feel like I’m losing my mind, but would I be able to tell?
It’s hard to ignore how stretched my thoughts feel after I’m consumed by a blast of Spark. How my mind becomes malleable and porous, my thoughts slipping out, swimming in murky depths.
The sensation never lingers for long, but I know it means I’m dangerous, a risk to everyone around me. And I live with the clawing shame that I could end this by confessing my lies.
“Look,” I say, hoping to change the subject.
Ahead of us stands a wide arch that runs under Amery Academy and serves as the docking point for the small rafts and gondolas that putter along the waterways. Dozens of people are already milling under the soffit.
Our gondolier brings us to a gentle stop, and I scramble out, followed by Trinity and Edward. Their parents join us a moment later.
“Feels good to be here,” Mr. Robins says with a deep breath as he rubs his chest. “Caused a lot of trouble behind these walls. Some of my best years.”
“Daaaad,” Trinity says as he claps her on the shoulder and grins.
Then he addresses me. “You two look after each other, okay? This place can be really lonely and tough sometimes.”
“Of course,” I say as Trinity nods. We’ve always looked out for each other. Nothing will ever change that.
Edward and Trinity exchange a few more parting words, while I scan the courtyard, spotting some familiar faces.
Some unfamiliar ones, as well.
Namely, students from New Manhattan’s other three Houses.
When the original members of The Shield first created the Houses three hundred years ago, they did so to help build a world resistant to the mistakes of the past. By making each member of Society responsible for the success and prosperity of their chosen House’s duties, they’ve ensured we’d never fall prey to the greed and hubris that destroyed civilization in the Warming Age.
Where profit and productivity once defined how people lived, we now enjoy a world where our basic needs are met, and Houses Fiama, Aria, Asale, and Tera can prioritize the greater good.
I spot a few students bearing the anatomical heart crests of House Aria on their jackets. They look over, their eyes narrowing.
Aria is responsible for the health of our population, both mental and physical.
They’re also tasked with ensuring our people’s sustainability, since the aftermath of the Warming Age left us with limited space and resources.
Thus, they must walk the delicate balance between ensuring everyone has enough to live while also ensuring birth rates don’t surpass what the city can reasonably accommodate.
That means Fiama must often work in tandem with Aria, given they’re both responsible for keeping everyone safe in their own ways.
The result is a struggle for power that causes plenty of strife between our Houses.
My father loathes Aria’s scion, Surreal Beaufort, a terrifying woman with a mane of dark hair streaked with white.
Sometimes I think their feud has gone beyond their work and has become personal.
In the far corner, I spot a small group of teens scanning us with uncertain looks. Though they wear the same Amery black and silver, they aren’t quite as polished or enthusiastic. Their hair is free of purple accents, and they all look extremely nervous. Cogs.
Technically, anyone in New Manhattan can attend Amery; however, The Shield only covers tuition for Society kids. But cog families often run profitable businesses and aspire to more.