Page 9 of Stormbreaker

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 danger­ous 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.