Page 193 of Storm Caller

Sol tips her face up. She’s done this so many times.

She understands the storms in a way I’m just coming to know.

The lines of Spark coalesce, arcing together before they spear toward the earth.

Maybe it will hit us both. Maybe it will miss us completely. Though I doubt it.

I call to it over and over.

Find me. Find me.

I don’t know how I know, but I sense it will choose only one of us.

It seems to stutter in the air, blinking out, jumping, and breaking.

Flashing left and right. I’ve never seen it do that.

And then . . . it hits me.

I moan as it sizzles through me, cooking me from the inside out. My vision smears, my mind warps, my knees shake. I cry out as I’m torn up, shredded to dust, and broken down into nothing.

The plasma arc swells, encasing me in light, and then I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. I gather the sparks, picking up as many as I can. Fumbling to bring them together. I wonder what Sol is doing. Was she also hit? I can’t see her. All I can see are the purple reflections of a thousand tiny points of light crowding my line of sight.

If it comes down to a show of strength, I know she’ll win.

She’s had years of practice, and I am nothing.

No more than a second or two has passed, but it feels like I’ve lived lifetimes in this moment, lost somewhere between the sky and the earth and the atoms vibrating in the air.

The plasma arc winks out, and I’m shocked to discover a ball of pure magenta light hovering in my hand.

It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I look up to find Sol storming toward me. She comes to an abrupt halt when she sees what I’m holding, as understanding dawns on us both.

The Spark chose me. Not her.

Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens.

Our gazes meet as a connection passes between us.

In that moment, we become two people burdened with something we never asked for. Bestowed a mantle as heavy as iron to wear.

The savior and her replacement.

If she’d gotten her hands on me, my life would never have been my own.

Just like hers.

I thought marrying Knox was a prison, but becoming the very Spark that powers New Manhattan would have been a life sentence from which I could never have escaped.

Every move. Every thought. Nothing would have been mine.

She watches me, and I lift my hand as she backs away a few steps.

I don’t know if this will kill her.

I think, in the end, maybe she was trying her best.