Infinity Son

by Adam Silvera

  It doesn’t seem possible anyone could know me well when I’m a stranger to myself.

  “You really aren’t going to Los Angeles tomorrow?”

  “No. I’m staying by your side to see this through.”

  “You’ll be disappointed if I turn my back on the Spell Walkers and Nova, right?”

  Brighton lets out a deep sigh. “I obviously wish we could’ve had powers together. The Reys of Light—Firelight. But I’ll be your sidekick and keep you alive while we figure out this cure.”

  I start crying as we fist-bump and whistle, because there’s one light that this storm of a day hasn’t managed to blow out. “You’re not my sidekick. You’re my brother.”

  Fifteen

  Infinity Son’s Brother

  BRIGHTON

  No one believed me. I knew we weren’t going to be screwed with some normal life. I called it.

  I had that blood-and-bones feeling Emil is always making fun of, but I was right, we’re supposed to be part of this epic fight. Right now, Emil is the only soldier the Spell Walkers are interested in, but I’ll prove to them that I can be a weapon too.

  End of the day, everyone knows it should’ve been me—the powers, the past lives. All of it. I’m built for the Spell Walker life, and Emil isn’t. I’m not knocking him. He would also tell anyone that I would pull off gleamcraft better than he ever will.

  I’ll prove it when the Crowned Dreamer finally turns me into a celestial.

  In the meantime, I really hope we get to stay, but that’s riding on Emil’s decision. But going to Los Angeles for college seems so small now. There’s a country of celestials to save. We can’t turn our backs on them.

  I’m not waiting around for Emil and Prudencia to wake up, so I get off my air mattress to walk around Nova and get my mind off the family bombshell. Last night, when Emil and I came down from the roof, we returned to our room and told Ma we needed space because we weren’t ready to talk yet. I don’t think today is the day either, if I’m being honest.

  Outside our room is a group of kids who bounce in glee before running off. Word’s out we’re here. In other classrooms and offices, people are waking up, folding away their cots and sleeping bags. I pass a computer lab where a child is crying into a woman’s arms, and I want to know their story. In a Spanish class, there’s a group of girls reading books, and one is hovering several feet in the air, positioned as if she’s lying on the floor. Levitation is obviously a common ability among celestials, but I’m still usually impressed, no different than watching someone bench-press hundreds of pounds without powerhouse strength.

  The gym is busy with celestials playing basketball with their powers. A girl dribbles the basketball with no hands. I’m guessing she’s telekinetic, but maybe it’s something else, like an affinity with rubber or air that’s allowing her to control the ball as she bounces it between the legs of her opponent and tries passing it to her partner, only for another girl to appear out of nowhere, intercept the basketball, and disappear as quickly as she came. The teleporter makes her way through the court, several feet at a time, and no one stops her from reaching the hoop and dunking.

  These celestials make gleamcraft look like it’s all fun and games. I don’t know what they went through so that they found themselves under Spell Walker protection, but whatever it is, I’d use it as fuel to get out on the streets and create a better world. If my brother has to fight, so should they.

  The teleporter spots me. “He’s here!”

  The way she disappears and reappears repeatedly reminds me of a video game lagging. Everyone else on the court and bleachers surrounds me too, with wide eyes, talking over each other.

  “I can’t believe you fought a specter!”

  “You should help us train!”

  “I can conjure water. We should be partners!”

  “You’re so brave! What was going through your mind?”

  Before I can speak, one boy’s eyes narrow. “He doesn’t have powers. He’s just the brother.” He walks away.

  “Oh,” the water conjurer says, but he’s nice enough to stay put.

  These celestials should recognize me for who I am because I’m not just the brother, I was also out on the front lines fighting specters, and I did it without powers. That was beyond brave. It was one thing for my own subscribers not to hang out with me at Whisper Fields, but being mistaken for Emil is a roller coaster I hope I never have to ride again. People know and love me—check any of my accounts, which I built from the ground up.

  “Do you know where I can find Wesley?” I ask.

  “Probably the professors’ lounge,” the telekinetic girl says.

  The idea that Wesley, who’s one year older than me, would be in a professors’ lounge is hilarious, but I go downstairs and check it out anyway. There are blankets thrown across the couches, but no one underneath. No idea who sleeps in here. I go down the hall, following music, and enter the room to find Wesley poorly playing the flute on a cot, Eva writing in a journal on a piano bench, and Atlas sitting by an outlet while his phone is charging.

  Wesley lowers the flute when he sees me. “I swear we’re working.”

  “Every revolution needs a soundtrack,” Eva says.

  “Every hero needs a break from their warring girlfriends,” Atlas adds.

  Eva raises a water bottle like it’s a glass of champagne. “Maybe if Iris and Maribelle hit each other around, they’ll finally stop fighting.”

  “You’re the worst pacifist,” Wesley says, and I have to agree. There was nothing peaceful about the way Eva pointed that wand at us. “If I still gambled, my money is on Iris,” he adds.

  “No comment,” Atlas says.

  “You’re betting on Iris too?” Wesley pushes, but he doesn’t say anything. “Brighton, grab a seat.”

  I already feel like the Spell Walkers are treating me like a friend. I belong here. “Where are Maribelle and Iris? I was walking around and didn’t see them.”

  “Maribelle is holed up in our room, trying to track down that mystery celestial,” Atlas says.

  Eva lets out a deep sigh as she closes her journal, and I feel bad for disturbing the peace. “Iris is sacrificing another morning of cuddles to coach some celestial who isn’t ever going to find themselves doing fieldwork with the rest of the team.”

  “So you don’t go out and fight because you’re a pacifist?”

  Eva claws at her dark hair and plucks strands from her scalp. “Every time Iris leaves is the worst moment of my life. She thinks she’s so indestructible, and one day someone is going to prove her wrong. But she doesn’t want me out in the field because my power makes me too valuable. If I end up in the wrong hands, my healing could be used on some serious monstrosities. She would rather die than live knowing I’m being tortured every time I heal.”

  “Why would someone torture you if you’re healing them?”

  Everyone is quiet, and it’s awkward, and I’m the only one who doesn’t know why.

  Eva twists and pulls her hair before sitting on her hands to stop herself. “The only way I can heal someone’s wounds is by first absorbing their pain. I recover faster than they do, but I still suffer like I might break beyond repair. Imagine what would happen if Blood Casters or alchemists or enforcers got hold of me. I could spend the rest of my life healing criminals and officers who hate our kind.”

  I never would’ve thought healing could be so nightmarish. That means yesterday, when we heard screams in the hallway, they weren’t coming from Iris, but Eva as she endured Stanton’s basilisk acid. I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want to press Eva any more than I already have, so I turn to Wesley to change the subject. “Thanks for giving my mother your room last night.”

  “Don’t sweat it. It got a little cold, but I might keep camping out here so I can be the first one out the door next time someone betrays us,” Wesley says with a forced laugh to lighten the mood.

  “Wouldn’t you be the first one out anyway with your swift-sp
eed?” I ask.

  “That’s the joke,” Atlas says. “Or what Wesley considers a joke.”

  I force a laugh too. “Aren’t we going to have to relocate anyway when school starts up next week?”

  “Dude, Nova didn’t receive any government funding. They were forced to shut down,” Wesley says, and someone needs to shut me up at this point because nothing I say is good. I haven’t felt this idiotic since the first few exams I took after Dad passed. “Same thing happened in my freshman year. I got moved to some basic public school and dropped out when I realized the teachers didn’t give a ghost’s cry about my powers.”

  “Do you guys do lessons here?”

  “We do some coaching,” Eva says with more energy than before. “But we’re not teachers.”

  “What’s everyone’s role?” I ask. “I’m ready to help any way I can.”

  The Spell Walkers have divided up duties. Iris gets the least sleep as the commander for all missions and recruiter for the team. Wesley is the direct correspondent with other rescue groups across the country to coordinate celestials seeking shelter elsewhere. Atlas manages requests for side gigs to bring in money. Eva is the resident healer, which apparently isn’t just physical but also mental; she runs therapy groups for struggling celestials and has one this morning. Maribelle is supposed to be training newbies for combat, but she’s been occupying herself with clearing her parents’ names.

  “I can help with fixing your image,” I say. This is my calling. I was made for this. Blood and bones. “All eyes are on Emil, right? Let’s keep the focus on him. I’ll record his journey as a new Spell Walker and give the world his history and updates. They’ll see that everything we do and represent is heroic. We’ll prove everyone wrong.”

  “It’s a good idea, but also an impossible task,” Atlas says. “Plus, some people are happy living in the past. But if we stop the Blood Casters, we can win back a lot of trust that way. One fight at a time. You got to let Emil know we’re not expecting him to save the world all on his own.”

  “Maribelle needs to hear this too, man,” Wesley says.

  “She went too hard on him,” Atlas agrees. “Brighton, if Emil helps us take down the Blood Casters, we’ll stop the prime source of violence that’s painting anyone with powers as villains.”

  “We want your brother’s help,” Eva says. “But we understand what we’re asking of him.”

  “I’ll talk to him. Emil isn’t going to want to hide for the rest of his life.”

  I’ve been given my first mission from the Spell Walkers—purpose. I will do what it takes to protect my brother, and that means encouraging him to join this fight instead of waiting around for someone to track him down and kill him. Emil will know how to defend himself if the Spell Walkers coach him through his powers. Ideas are furiously spinning around my head.

  “What time is the group therapy session?”

  “Forty minutes,” Eva says.

  “We’ll be there.”

  I head back to our room.

  Prudencia is in the hallway outside our door. She’s on the phone with her head hung low and one arm across her chest like she’s hugging herself.

  “You better not throw away my stuff!” Prudencia is shaking. “Do you hear yourself? No one is threatening you. I’m taking care of a friend who needs me. No one is coming for you! I—” She looks at the phone and sinks against the locker. “She hung up. Why isn’t it easier to be happy that I don’t live with her anymore? It’s not like I ever thought I would keep in touch with her once I moved out.”

  “She was the only family you had left after your parents died.”

  Prudencia stares at our door. “I don’t know what Emil is feeling right now, but he was lucky to have grown up with a family that loved him so fiercely that he never suspected he was adopted. Is it horrible that I wish the same thing for myself instead of ending up with my aunt?”

  “You deserved better,” I say. “We’ll take care of you.”

  “It’s not about me. We should be more worried about Emil. He’s awake.”

  We knock before entering, but still find Emil fully under the sheet. If it wasn’t for his phone screen shining through, I wouldn’t know if he was awake or not, because that’s how he sleeps and that’s how he hides from whatever is bothering him.

  “Bro. You want to get up?”

  “I’m trying to find info on how to break the cycle,” he says.

  “Maribelle can get you Bautista and Sera’s notes on a potential cure,” I say.

  “Only if I fight for them first. No. I got to figure out my own way to end infinity.”

  “Let’s check the library,” I say. When he doesn’t budge, I pull the sheet off him. “Come on. You’re not going to escape this misery unless we do something about it.”

  It takes a minute to get Emil out of bed, but in no time, I’m picking out a new shirt for him, shoving him into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and leading him to therapy. We’re walking side by side, saying nothing, like we’ve spent our entire lives talking and finally run out of things to say. The library is an absolute mess. I’m guessing there’s no librarian in here to stop everyone from completely disrespecting the books. It’s an elementary school library, so who knows how many texts they’re carrying that might actually spark an idea for how to free Emil from this cycle that Keon started, but I’m feeling doubtful right now judging by the Basilisks for Beginners picture book in the Prime Constellation section. Doesn’t matter. We’re not here for books.

  “What’s going on here?” I point out the group of celestials sitting underneath a domed ceiling lamp that resembles the sun. “Come on.”

  Emil doesn’t budge. “We should find the books.”

  “We will after,” I say.

  “Brighton, let’s do what we came to do,” Prudencia says.

  “It’ll be quick,” I say.

  I guide Emil by the shoulders. I know my brother better than he knows himself right now. This is the right choice, blood and bones. The younger celestials are excited as we approach, and they’re staring at Emil like he’s a god, but they have no idea how special he actually is. No idea how his first life is one of the reasons they’re all in hiding today.

  “Morning,” Eva says. She’s the only Spell Walker present. “Come join us.”

  “What is this?” Emil asks.

  “Therapy. We get together every few days to check in.”

  Emil glares at me as we join the circle.

  Apparently, there have been new faces besides ours the past couple weeks, so some celestials are speaking up on how they got here. There’s Grace, whose voice can become as loud as a bullhorn, and she’s had a couple training sessions with Maribelle to act as security for the haven. Flynn can speak any language for every living being and was hunted by the Blood Casters, who wanted his talents to track down healthier creatures. Twelve-year-old Alberta can create earthquakes, and she and her family almost died when her power surprised them in New Jersey; she still doesn’t have a very good handle on it. Noted. This dude Zachary was cornered in the streets by someone trying to rob him, and when the robber pulled a knife on him, Zachary’s power to put someone to sleep surfaced for the first time, and he was accused of attacking the man. Then there’s Sapphire, who can create ropes of energy, but she’s not very good at it yet.

  I raise my hand.

  “You can just speak,” Eva says.

  “How did you end up here?”

  Emil needs to hear from active Spell Walkers.

  “I’ve been hunted for years,” Eva says. “Two years ago, I was with my best friend when four men hopped out of a van and tried to kidnap me. I’d been terrified before, but that night still haunts me. We only got away because a celestial appeared and hit them all with her sleeper spell. My best friend and I escaped, but . . .”

  My heart hammers. This is one of those stories where I know Eva is alive because she’s standing right in front of me, but I’m still so scared for her. “Is your fri
end here too?”

  “That afternoon tore us apart,” Eva says. “She felt powerless, and . . . she sought out power.” She looks like she wants to say more, but unlike when she told me about the consequences of her healing, she doesn’t go on. “Emil?”

  Emil’s head is hanging low.

  I wrap my arm around his shoulder. I know he’s scared, but if I can’t be the greatest hero this city has ever seen, I’ll make sure my brother will. “Bro, you’re in a ring of people who have been affected by this war. Who do you want to be?”

  Sixteen

  Assemble

  EMIL

  They’re kidding me.

  I can’t know who I want to be when I’m still struggling with who I am. It’s been twelve hours since my life completely blew up. Some celestials in this circle have always known they were going to come into powers, others were surprised like me, but how many found out they were adopted and are now expected to become a Spell Walker because it’s what their latest past life did? Because it’s what their first past life caused?

  Just me.

  I stay shut, and when the group breaks up, I keep my distance from everyone—especially Brighton, who set me up—in a corner of the library. I’m going to look through all these damn books myself and hope to find some way out of this. Before the hour is up, I know I’m kidding myself. I sucked at basic chemistry; I don’t stand a chance at alchemy.

  I stick to my strengths, reviewing an old textbook on phoenixes, but there’s only one page on gray suns. It doesn’t tell me anything new. I know they come back stronger every time, which is probably how I’m wielding both Keon’s gold flames and Bautista’s gray flames, but I don’t know if my powers will keep growing or if I hit my limit. Resurrection is clearly a thing, except I won’t come back as me when I die. I wasn’t even reborn with any of Bautista’s or Keon’s memories. Were Keon or Bautista self-healing? I never saw any footage of them flying. Some scientists have tried proving a phoenix’s ability to move through their past lives, but nothing solid has ever come from those theories. That’s the power I would want the most, so I could go back and stop Keon from creating specters in the first place, just like some mission in my favorite science fiction movies.