Page 67 of Storm Caller

“Thank you for joining us,” Chancellor Marks says, sitting forward in his seat. I don’t answer because what choice did I really have? “You’ve been accused of a crime, Poet Graves. You are infected and a danger to everyone around you.”

I nod. “Yes, Chancellor.”

“And today you’re here to prove your innocence?”

“Yes,” I answer, my voice shakier than I would like. The clouds outside tumble, more lights flashing across the sky. This high up, it’s almost like we’re sitting inside the storm, and it’s doing nothing to settle my nerves. More itching climbs over my scalp, and I try desperately not to squirm. With my hands tied up, I can’t scratch my arms regardless. Maybe they did me a favor.

The three members of The Shield share a range of looks I can’t fully interpret before Chancellor Marks turns to me again and offers me an oily smile.

“Then I suppose we should get started.”

22

A door to my left opens, revealing my parents escorted by two Extinguishers. My mom offers me a helpless little wave, and I jerk my bound hands in an approximation of a greeting. My father pins me with a grim look before turning to The Shield, pressing a hand to his chest, and dipping at the waist.

“Protect. Preserve. Prosper,” he mumbles before he joins my mother in a row of chairs lined up against the wall. Then several more people enter. Dean Withers. Some of my professors. A few other people I don’t recognize.

Scion Beaufort arrives next. She doesn’t look at me as she settles into a seat as far away from my parents as possible. I can’t help but remember her threats the day I was sworn in as a member of House Aria. She warned me about stepping out of line, though I doubt she understood just how far I’d fall. She’s probably here to make sure I’m banished from her House for good.

Another Extinguisher comes next. I’ve seen him before, but only at a distance.

Major Jenson Birch is the epitome of the brutal squad he leads. He’s of medium height, with pale skin and a tanklike build. His short neck is choked off with a band of muscle, and his bald head reflects the lights. A lowered brow shields small, dead eyes and a wide nose with a bump, suggesting it’s been broken at least once.

He stops and salutes The Shield while clutching an object in one of his meaty hands. Then he spins on a heel and approaches. It takes all of my willpower not to scurry back.

He scans me up and down and reveals the same blood test monitor they used during our Storm Guard evaluations.

“You know what this is?” he asks. His voice is higher than I expected, given his appearance. Almost cartoonish. In any other instance, it might be funny, but given the way he’s looking at me right now—like he wants to slice me open and dig out secrets from the meat of my organs—it definitely isn’t.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“Turn around. Give me your hand.”

I do as he asks, slowly facing away, while I try to control the trembling in my fingers. I passed the test once, but was that a fluke? General Sol assured me it wouldn’t be a problem, but how far can I trust her word?

The captain grips my wrist, and I grimace. His skin is hot, searing. Unpleasant. Without ceremony, he jabs the device’s tip into my finger, and I gasp. Both from the shock and the bright flash of pain. The room is silent while he draws my blood, and the machine whirs and beeps like it’s a deadly insect hiding between the sheets, waiting until I’m tucked into bed to strike.

When he’s finished, he releases me and steps away. I turn back around to find every eye in the room focused on the machine as it decides my fate. I hold perfectly still, reminding myself to breathe, but it’s of little use. I grow lightheaded, and my stomach cramps.

A moment later, the light flashes . . . green.

The air whooshes out of me along with the collective tension around the room. I glance at my father, who offers me the slightest nod before looking away.

Major Birch turns to The Shield. “She’s clear.”

“Thank you,” Chancellor Marks says as the Extinguishers all take up positions against the wall.

Another door to my right opens, revealing three more people, including two enormous Extinguishers flanking Dr. Eze, who’s wearing a lab coat with her long dark braids gathered at her nape. She looks so tiny compared to these hulking beasts. What do they feed these guys?

Her gaze flicks to me, and a hard pellet relaxes in my chest. She told me I could trust her that day we visited the Tempestade and witnessed the callous demonstration where they killed those Hollows.

The Extinguishers bring her to a stop near the front of the room, planting her before the members of The Shield. A moment later, she’s left alone, standing with her hands behind her back and her shoulders squared.

“Dr. Ada Eze,” Chancellor Marks says. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Of course,” she says. She’s angled slightly away, so I can’t read the expression on her face. “Anything to clear this matter up.”

“You’ve tested the accused and her levels of resistance to Spark?” Marks continues as the doctor nods.