Page 174 of Storm Caller

Mowry heaves out another sigh and nods. “Nyxia became responsible for channeling millions of watts of Spark over decades. Not only was it impossible to gather enough energy on her own, but it was also rapidly affecting her mind. We needed a solution. That’s really why she came to find me all those years ago.

“This is the secret that New Manhattan has tried to hide for so long. Why they cut themselves off from the Tiera Frais, terrified of discovery. They understood how everyone would perceive this, but they also refused to stop.”

“Are they . . . dead?” Navy asks, her face pale in the glow of neon light. I can only imagine how she’s picturing herself floating in one of these hideous tanks.

“No,” Dr. Mowry says. “They’re technically alive, but most are no longer of this world. Only those connected within the last few days can still be woken up.”

“How does it work?” Justin asks.

“We discovered that if Nyxia could dissipate Spark through a host, then not only could she gather and harness more of the energy, but it would also protect her mind. The more we added, the better the outcome.”

“This is . . . horrific,” I whisper. “How could you do this to people?”

“This is why you wanted to leave New Manhattan so desperately?” Henry demands. “You thought you could run from this? Keep it a secret until you’re long gone?”

Dr. Mowry is trembling from head to toe, his lower lip quivering. Maybe he does regret this, but it doesn’t change what he’s done. “I was given no choice. The city would have lost everything. It was the perfect solution for everyone.”

“Everyone but these people,” Justin says.

“Yes,” Dr. Mowry says. “The true reason the Extinguishers were created was to seek out more people to add to the network. A little bit of fearmongering to ensure neighbor turned on neighbor and everyone was more than willing to fall in line.”

I swallow thickly and take a few steps closer to a row of tanks.

“Poet,” my father says, reaching for me, but I shuffle away from his touch.

“Did you know?” I ask. “As a scion, did you know about this?”

He shakes his head. “I . . . didn’t.”

I study his face, trying to decide if he’s telling the truth. Does it matter anymore?

I turn away and slowly begin walking.

“For it to work, we need to find them before the infection sets in,” Dr. Mowry says.

Most of the people I pass appear young—under thirty years of age or so—lending credence to his statement. I want to smash every tank and free them all. I want to scream. I want to throw up.

All my life, I’ve feared discovery. I thought they’d kill me. I thought they’d do tests on me. I thought they’d subject me to all kinds of “rehabilitation,” trying to fix me. But I never imagined this.

“There are so many,” I whisper.

“The more power needed, the more hosts are required,” Mowry says. “When one dies, they’re replaced.”

“Is this why they’re hiding the cure?” Henry asks. “They don’t actually want people to be cured?”

Mowry tips his head. “Yes . . .”

He hesitates, making it obvious there’s something else he wants to add.

“Then why go to the trouble of creating one at all?” Navy this time.

Another flash of contrition passes over Mowry’s face.

Despite the depravity we’ve already witnessed, he still hasn’t finished revealing everything yet.

“The shift into madness produces the greatest energy surge,” he says, gesturing to the closest tank, where a man with a shaved head bobs slowly up and down. “The effect lasts anywhere from a few months to a year while they succumb.”

He stops, leaving us to put the pieces together.