Page 144 of Storm Caller

I shake my head as I cling to Teddy. “No. He was with me. There were deaths when we were in the Tiera Frais. It wasn’t him. Besides, General Sol said the madness doesn’t affect us.”

Domino offers me a grim nod. “Okay. Then we have to figure out why they’re lying.”

“They’re trying to scare people,” I say. “Paint him as the villain they already think he is. He’s an easy scapegoat.”

“That makes sense.”

“They’re trying to cover up for someone,” I say, thinking of my dad and his caginess about the murders.

“Who?” Domino asks.

Before I can reply, my phone pings, and I glance at the screen.

unknown: Poet. Don’t worry. I have a plan. Everything will be fine.

I read the message once, twice, three times. Then it disappears.

“Who was it?” Domino asks.

“Sol,” I say, my brow furrowing.

“Okay, so that’s good, right?” Domino says, sitting up. “She’ll protect Rook. She’ll figure this out.”

“Maybe,” I say, chewing on my bottom lip, trying to fit all the jumbled pieces of this picture together.

Dr. Eze told me to be on my guard when it came to Sol.

Last night, I wondered if we’d walked into a trap.

How much of what the general told us was the truth?

Receiving her message should have made me feel better.

Instead, I’m more confused than ever.

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.