Chapter 6 #2
“Are you okay?” I ask as he shakes his head and continues rocking back and forth. Tears leak from his eyes, and I’d like to say that Knox has learned his lesson, but I know he’ll start going even harder for Rook now. If there’s anything Knox can’t tolerate, it’s public humiliation.
“Students!” shouts the professor as I share a wary look with Trinity, who lays a hand on my wrist to check that I’m okay. “Silence! Everyone, take your seats! Silence!”
It takes about twenty seconds for the classroom to settle down. During that time, Edward appears and slides into an open seat near the back. He looks tired, his eyes dull with dark shadows underneath. The brief sympathy I almost felt for Knox quickly evaporates.
“Welcome to Amery Academy,” she says, her voice carrying over us via loudspeaker and a small microphone clipped to her collar.
She nudges her glasses higher on her nose, drawing my attention to her cheeks.
Her complexion is a light mahogany, warm as polished wood, though a faint redness suggests she might be just as nervous as we are on our first day.
“I’m Professor McCarthy, and I’m happy to welcome you to your first history class. ”
I hear a few whispered groans, especially from Jackson and Sal. Knox isn’t paying attention. He’s staring at the back of Rook’s head with his hand still massaging his throat, wearing an icy glare.
“We’ll start with the basics,” Professor McCarthy is saying now. She picks up a remote and presses a button to dim the lights around us. Another press of a button and a screen illuminates at the front.
“The Warming Age ended in 2587 after a hundred years of war, where the last remaining world superpowers battled over water, land, and food, leading to their eventual downfall and near extinction.
Today, we understand that water is our most precious and valuable asset.
That we must contain the spread of our population before it overwhelms our resources.
“Never forget, the earth was once littered with the ruins of empires that believed they were eternal; thus, we don’t take anything for granted. Thanks to Society and the order we keep, ours will be the nation that endures.”
She clicks through a series of slides on the screen, detailing the fall of the Warming Age and the years between, when the world was plagued with howling winds and fire.
How a group of survivors found one another on the shores of New Manhattan and, by using the remnants of the old world, began to form the last bastion of human civilization.
“Can anyone tell me where General Sol comes from?” McCarthy asks.
A hand shoots up. It’s the cog girl I remember from yesterday.
“She was a Hollow,” she says. “A scavenger.”
McCarthy gives her a pleased smile. “Very good . . . ?”
“Domino,” she says as several people in the classroom snicker. “Domino Parsons.” A snort of laughter sets off more malicious giggles as her expression crumples. “Most people call me Dom,” she adds quietly as McCarthy claps her hands and calls for silence.
I stare at Domino, wishing I could do something, but anything I say will only make things worse. She glances back, and my eye catches hers, only she doesn’t smile this time. She turns away and whispers to the girl she’s sitting with.
Professor McCarthy is speaking again as she delves further into the story of General Sol, who’s always been the most interesting of the three Shield members in my opinion.
The chancellors both grew up as Society—Marks in House Aria and Orsen in House Asale—eventually earning their positions as voted by the scions and other high-ranking members of Society.
But the general has a much more colorful past.
“General Sol left New Manhattan when she was just sixteen and wandered the Wastes for almost ten years,” Professor McCarthy says with obvious admiration.
“While the land beyond our borders is extremely dangerous due to the storms and the lack of protection, she survived thanks to the immunity she developed.”
I scan the room, searching for a hint that those words affect anyone else. Is someone also like me, hiding in plain sight?
“Upon her return, she created a reliable method for capturing galvanic energy using herself as the conduit. While we had ways to siphon electricity before then, none were as consistent or effective. Thus, New Manhattan began to truly flourish.
“Those years also marked the era of the first Spark Keepers to evolve inside New Manhattan. Of course, we all know how dangerous it is to commune with the storms,” McCarthy goes on.
“Very few have the mental capacity to withstand the madness that drives the infected into acts of depravity sooner or later. In the decade after General Sol’s return, the infected were responsible for more deaths than even the war with the Solitudes. ”
Now my gaze falls on Rook and the back of his head. He sits completely still, like he’s either sleeping or absorbing every word. I swear he flinches ever so slightly as McCarthy glances his way.
“Because of that,” she continues, “the existence of any infected Keeper must now be reported to the Extinguishers. The ability will often manifest between eight and twelve years of age, though it can reveal itself in much younger children. Parents are responsible for delivering them to New Manhattan’s Tempestade, where their mental soundness is put through rigorous tests to determine if they have the capacity to withstand the madness.
“Unfortunately, few ever make it beyond the first round of checks, and for everyone’s safety, they must be . . . dealt with.”
Her head drops, and she clasps her hands as if taking a moment to honor these lost children.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
I was seven when my nanny and I were at the park and a surprise storm caught us.
I was on the swings when she started screaming at me to get off so we could seek cover in one of the nearby shelters. I didn’t hear her at first because I was staring up at the swirling clouds as that feeling began to take hold. I didn’t understand it. All I knew was that something had changed.
Finally, I hopped off the swing and ran across the open space toward her. She was shouting, reaching for me, when I was struck and then engulfed inside a plasma arc. I stumbled and tripped, landing on my stomach.
I remember her wild, frantic screams.
But . . . I wasn’t dead.
I looked up at her, and it took a moment to realize I hadn’t been blitzed. Our eyes met, and an even greater horror spread over her face.
“Poet,” she gasped. “Get over here.”
I didn’t need any more coaxing. I shoved myself up and ran toward her. She held out her hands and shouted, “Stop!”
I didn’t understand until she gestured wildly in my direction. I glanced down to see those purple sparks dancing all over me. When I looked back up, she slowly shook her head.
“You can’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
My attention returns to Professor McCarthy, still talking about the general.
Of course I never told anyone, and before my nanny left, I’m positive she didn’t, either. I don’t know why she didn’t turn me in, but I’m grateful for it every day.
“While General Sol was lost in the Wastes for so many years, she learned two things. First, how to resist the infection through techniques she developed that she has tried to pass on to others without success.
“And that civilization beyond New Manhattan is extinct. The only things left out there are sprawling miles of dead earth, abandoned cities, and the Solitudes who wander it.”
As the professor keeps talking, a door opens at the base of the stairs. A group of men and women wearing black with masquerade-style masks enters on smooth steps.
The professor stops talking and drops her arms. A pinch of annoyance flashes across her face, but she nods and steps back, deferring to the student Society leaders.
I understand this is about to become someone’s first initiation.
The eight figures walk to the middle of the room and stand in a line. I resist the urge to duck and hide. That’s more likely to draw their attention than anything, and this moment is inevitable.
They all stand with their hands behind their backs, their shadowed gazes slowly assessing us. I wonder what they’re thinking. How do they decide who goes first?
Then they break apart, each one claiming a pledge.
They seem more like victims.
One grabs Edward and hauls him up. He searches the room for Trinity, and she stretches a hand toward him. “Be careful!” she shouts.
Another reaches for Domino, and I hold my breath as she’s yanked by the arm and taken back through the same doors they came from.
The other six pledges include two members from Aria, one from Tera, one from Asale, and two from Fiama, who I vaguely recognize.
A moment later, one of the masked men returns. He stops in front of Rook, who peers up at him while leaning back in his seat, the picture of cool composure. A latent image of him pledging to Fiama flashes in my thoughts, and I shake it away. There’s almost no chance he’ll make it past initiation.
The masked man jerks his chin, and slowly, Rook stands up and spreads his hands as if to say, Okay, so you got me.
Then the masked man turns and stomps off. Rook waits a second before inhaling a long breath and begins to follow. I watch intently as he glances back, and our eyes catch, my heart tripping over itself.
His gaze narrows before he looks away.
Rook disappears, and I exhale the shaky breath lodged in my chest.
I look over at Trinity, her face pale with worry. “You think he’ll make it?” she asks.
I hope not, I think to myself.
It takes me a moment to realize she means Edward, not Rook.
“Of course,” I assure her.
I stare at the door as it closes, and a part of me wonders if we’ll ever see either of them again.