52
Once I’ve collected myself, I head to the Fog’s headquarters. We need their help, but what if they believe the lies about Rook? I’d like to think they’re better than that, but I’m not sure I can trust anything.
Domino insists on joining me, and I tell her to leave her devices behind. I think she’s worried about my mental state, and honestly, she’s right to be concerned. I’m definitely not feeling like myself.
We approach Amery’s main doors to find numerous Patrols questioning students as they come and go. I hesitate. Maybe we should have used the secret tunnel entrance. But they’ve already spotted us, and an officer with hard eyes and a mean face waves us over.
“Where are you two headed?” he asks.
“Just doing a bit of shopping,” Domino says brightly.
“Yeah? Where?”
“The central market,” I say, adopting a ditzy voice that I hope is really annoying.
“They have the best tea cakes there. Ooh, have you ever tried the chocolate pastries from Sandra’s Sugar Shack?
Those are really good, too, but I think that the best are the little cookies from The Pink Lavender. What do you think?”
The Patrol opens his mouth, but before he can say a word, I’m already speaking.
“Oh! What about their macarons and palmiers? I almost died when I first tasted one . . .” I continue chattering away, while the officer turns practically cross-eyed.
“Enough!” he says. “Get out of here. Curfew is at five. Don’t be late.”
Then he waves us through, and we scurry past, trying to hold in our laughter.
We break into a fast walk, checking behind us as we wind a few blocks through the city toward the central market, just in case. Once we’re reasonably sure that no one is following or cares that we’ve left, we head north, making our way to the factory district.
“Put your hood up,” I tell Domino.
We reach the Fog’s headquarters, and I knock on the door, hoping someone will answer. I peer up at the cameras and then look around, worried there might be eyes on us.
“Are they here?” Domino asks.
“They have to be.”
I knock again, and then the door pops open to reveal Brooklyn, wide-eyed and covered in sweat. “Fuck!” she declares. “What are you doing here? You scared us half to death.”
“Sorry. Why?”
She shakes her head and then gestures for us to enter. “This is literally the worst time,” she answers, which really doesn’t tell me anything. She doesn’t elaborate as she heads back up the stairs, taking them two at a time until we reach the eighth floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask as we enter the living room.
I come to a stop at the sight of an unfamiliar man tied to a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by Henry, Ada, and several other members of the Fog.
I’d estimate him to be in his late sixties, with wavy black hair streaked with silver, sharp features, and bronzed skin.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Henry glances over at Brooklyn, then to me, his expression suggesting he’s wondering what on earth I’m doing here.
“Meet Dr. Mowry,” he says.
“You found him?”
“Edward has been tracking him,” Henry says, gesturing to the far wall, where Edward sits in front of a bank of computer monitors. He’s wearing a headset with a microphone and is busy clicking away. “We ambushed him less than an hour ago, and we were about to start questioning him.”
“And you didn’t think I’d want to know about this?” I ask.
“Poet, this is a delicate situation,” Ada says. “Besides, it all happened very quickly.”
“You wouldn’t know about any of this without us,” I say, my voice rising. “I have a right to be here. And what about Rook? Have you—”
“Poet,” Henry interrupts, his tone patient. “We’re sorry. You’re right. We’re simply doing the best we can.”
“Fine, then I’m staying for the interrogation.”
“We don’t—” Ada starts.
“It wasn’t a question,” I say. She hesitates, and I fold my arms, spreading my stance, before she sighs and shakes her head.
“Very well, but your friend has to leave.”
“Of course,” Domino says before checking in with me. “Will you be okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “As long as I’m included in any major decisions.”
I offer Dr. Eze a pointed look, and she presses her lips together but doesn’t say anything. Domino and a few other people leave the room. The rest of us turn to face the doctor. He doesn’t look scared, exactly, but it’s clear he’s nervous.
“Is that necessary?” I ask, gesturing to his restraints.
“Until we understand his intentions,” Ada says before addressing our prisoner. “You are Dr. Mowry?”
His gaze shifts across the room, pausing on each person, including Edward, who’s spun around in his chair and is sitting back with his feet planted wide and his hands folded over his stomach. Mowry says nothing, his chin lifting, though I detect the slightest wobble in his features.
“The same doctor who worked with General Sol on the cure so many years ago?” Ada prods.
A wash of emotions passes over Mowry’s face.
Pain. Hurt. Perhaps the memories of what he lost.
“I’m not answering anything,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady. “You accosted me in my home and expect me to cooperate? Who are you? What do you want from me?”
Henry and Ada share a look. “We want to know what you’re doing in New Manhattan,” she says. “We understand you were friends with General Sol a long time ago.”
“Who told you that?”
“She did,” I say.
His attention pings to me. “And you are?”
“Poet Graves,” I say. “She came to me—”
Mowry’s demeanor shifts as he assesses me, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “And told you she was looking for a cure?” he interrupts, his head tilting as he lingers on my ponytail before he looks away. Does he know what I am?
“Yes,” I say.
He blows out a long sigh. “If you already know about the cure, then maybe you can be the ones to help me.”
Henry frowns. “Why do you need help?” he asks.
Mowry’s shoulders sink as he twists in his chair, adjusting to his restraints.
When he doesn’t answer, Ada asks again, “What are you doing in New Manhattan?”
Her words are softer this time, almost as if she’s afraid of the answer.
“I was . . . kidnapped,” Mowry says after a moment. “For lack of a better term.”
We all share looks around the room.
“Please tell us what happened,” Henry says. “We do want to help you.”
“Who is we?” Mowry asks. “What is this place?”
Henry and Ada confer wordlessly with each other, and then Henry offers up a few scant details about the Fog and their mission to help Keepers and find a cure.
He explains what we know regarding Sol and the research she stole.
It’s an olive branch. A hand of trust. Mowry can’t be expected to share what he knows without something in return.
Once Henry finishes, Mowry seems to consider everything he’s just heard. I can’t tell if they’ve convinced him of anything.
“You get people out of the city?” he asks, hope lifting in his expression. “Can you get me out?”
“Tell us what you know, and we’ll do what we can,” Henry says.
“I want to go home.”
“You have our word that we’ll try,” Ada says.
Desperation flashes in Mowry’s eyes. What happened to him? What did they do?
Another heavy sigh as he shakes his head.
“Very well. I suppose I have nothing left to lose at this point.” A pause, and then he says, “When Nyxia betrayed me all those years ago, she ruined everything. Decades of research gone. So much equipment destroyed. Everything taken. I had broken her trust. She was angry. I understood why, but I never thought she’d be capable of such destruction.
Despite New Manhattan’s issues, she couldn’t let go of the idea of returning and making a better life for herself.
She wanted the approval of a world that had told her she was worth nothing.
For a woman who wanted to be . . . significant, it was a hard pill to swallow.
“Once she’d taken all our research, we lost our support.
The governments of the eastern Neo-Cities believed a cure was a futile endeavor and refused to waste any more of their limited resources on it.
We argued, telling them how close we were, but all they saw was our failure.
For a long time, I tried to continue, but without funding, it was like searching for a single seed inside a vast canyon.
I grew despondent. Tired. I turned to the bottle to soothe myself.
I was in terrible shape in every conceivable way.
“Then, many years ago, a man arrived under the cover of night. He appeared in my home, sitting at my kitchen table, just as casual as can be. He told me he was from New Manhattan and that they were working on a cure, but they’d encountered several roadblocks, bringing their work to a standstill.
They knew my history and wanted me to continue the research I’d begun.
They’d give me anything I asked for. All the resources I’d need.
State-of-the-art equipment. The most brilliant scientists. ”
Mowry shifts in his seat, and I want to tell the others to untie him.
“At first, I refused. The idea of starting my research again brought up too many painful memories. I also couldn’t bear the thought of facing Nyxia.
I’d betrayed her, but she’d betrayed me, too.
The mysterious visitor, who turned out to be Chancellor Marks, assured me she had no idea what was happening and that I’d never have to see her. ”
His head drops, and he inhales several times before he looks back up.
“So I agreed. Marks snuck me into the city and set me up with a place to live and then showed me the lab. But what he failed to tell me is that I would never be leaving New Manhattan again. He threatened my daughter and her family. My grandchildren. Told me he’d hurt them all if I ever revealed what I was up to.
“The assistance he promised never came. I was expected to figure out everything on my own. My life became my work. My entire existence. It took some time to sort through what had already been done, and I was not at all surprised to discover some of my old notes from decades earlier. It was then I learned that they’d taken everything from Nyxia when she returned, and maybe a small part of me felt vindicated by that.
“At first, it was slow going. I had to piece together so much information. For years, I’ve worked around the clock, doing what they asked of me.”
“Is it only Marks?” Ada asks, leaning in. I can tell she’s absorbing every word.
“No. Orsen knows everything, too.”
As Dr. Mowry speaks, I’m having trouble taking it all in.
This is what’s been going on? How could the chancellors be so cruel?
“I know my days are numbered,” Dr. Mowry continues. “Once they’re finished with me, I will be disposed of. Do you see why I must get out of here before it’s too late?”
“And?” Henry asks, brushing his question aside. “Is there a cure?”
Dr. Mowry swallows thickly. “In essence, yes,” he answers, and that information falls over the room with the weight of a thousand questions and possibilities.
“I’ve been provided with numerous test subjects.
Some people don’t respond, even with multiple doses, but the cure’s efficacy appears to be about fifty percent.
Early tests indicate that brain patterns return to normal after a few weeks of regular doses.
My task now has been to find a way to increase the performance of the drug, but it’s difficult when I have no help. ”
We all fall silent, sitting with the implications of everything he’s just revealed. There’s a cure. And it works for at least half the population.
This would change everything.
I think about the cost of it all. How many lives have been ruined? How many people have died? How many people might have been saved had General Sol never destroyed the initial research?
“So you really are a prisoner,” Ada says, though I sense some skepticism in her voice. “We had no idea.”
Dr. Mowry tries to shrug, but his bound hands make the movement difficult.
“Untie him,” I whisper. “You have to untie him.”
Someone jumps up to loosen his restraints, but Ada holds out a hand.
“Not so fast,” she says before addressing the doctor. “Can you get us the information about your research?”
“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head. “Those computers are locked with timed passcodes, only accessible with someone from The Shield present.”
“Edward?” Henry asks. “Is that something you handle?”
“I’d have to do some digging,” he answers with a shrug.
“You must get me out of here,” Dr. Mowry says, his body trembling. “If they discover what I’ve told you, I’m dead. Please.”
I glance around the room, but no one appears moved by his words.
“Are we getting him out?” I ask, tentative.
“Not until we get our hands on that research,” Henry says.
“What!” Mowry says. “But I told you what I know! You said you’d help me leave!”
Henry turns to him. “We said we’d do our best, but first we need that information.”
Mowry starts struggling in a futile effort to free himself. Sweat has broken out on his forehead, and his eyes roll with panic.
“Help him!” I say. “He’s freaking out.”
“He’ll be fine,” Henry says. “We won’t hurt him, and it will take time to get him out regardless. Until then, he’ll be safe here.”
“They’ll find me!” he shouts. “They will!”
“Then you need to work with us,” Ada says. “Help Edward access the research. The sooner we get our hands on it, the sooner we can get you to safety.”
“What will you do with it?” he asks. “They’ll kill you if you tell anyone.”
She nods and lays a soft hand on Dr. Mowry’s shoulder. I hate the way they’re treating this poor man, but I also understand it.
We need him if we have any hope of getting our hands on that cure.
“You just let us worry about that.”