by Adam Silvera
Brighton shrugs off my hand. “Don’t ‘or something’ me like editing the video is equivalent to literally anything else. Not after I’ve personally started turning the tides to restore this team’s reputation.”
Atlas and Wesley exchange a that’s-our-cue glance and take off together, leaving me alone with Brighton and Prudencia.
Brighton stares at the door. “You do realize they’re about to interrogate Eduardo, right? There’s no way Maribelle is going to go easy on him.”
“Even more reason why you shouldn’t be in there filming,” Prudencia says.
“Whatever.”
He walks off.
“Nothing is ever enough for him,” Prudencia says.
Truth. We’ve given him access to the missions, even though I hate risking his and Prudencia’s lives. We let Brighton film the Spell Walkers exposing their stories to launch his campaign. His hunger can’t be satisfied, like when his power brawl video did astronomically better than anything he’s uploaded before, but he was down on himself because it wasn’t viral enough. I really miss those simpler days when we were brainstorming names for his channel. Dad was his first subscriber. Ma pawned off family jewelry to buy Brighton his first camera. Maybe Brighton’s ego is our fault.
I’m about to chase after him when I hear commotion inside the closet. I stare at the door with a pounding heart. There’s no way Eduardo has gotten the jump on Iris and Maribelle.
“Want me to stay with you?” Prudencia asks, watching Brighton turn the corner.
“Yeah, but no. Go ahead.”
She nods at the supplies room. “Good luck with that.”
“Back at you.”
I let myself in. Maribelle is hovering over Eduardo, who is massaging his new bloody lip.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Maribelle ignores me. “Tell me how I can find June.”
“Also how Luna infused a celestial with creature essence,” Iris adds.
“And maybe how you survived the Blackout?” I ask, my voice cracking.
Eduardo shakes his head. “It may not seem like it as you turn me into your punching bag, but this is not some negotiation. Besides, I’ve already won.”
“Oh yeah? What did you win?” Maribelle asks.
Eduardo looks from wall to wall. “I mean, I could go for a bed and some rosewood candles to get rid of the dirty mop smell. But I’ll take whatever security I can get from the Casters.”
“Are you serious?” Iris asks.
“I’ll settle for vanilla candles if that’s all you have.”
Iris folds her arms. “You can turn into anyone. Move across the country. They would never find you.”
“The last time a shifter specter fled, he didn’t make it very far before the gang tracked him.” Eduardo goes still as a statue. “He was tortured for so long that he died between morphs—absolutely unrecognizable. Stanton very kindly showed me pictures the night of my initiation. Friendly warning.” He looks up at us. “The only way I can truly be safe from Luna and the Casters is in this hideout. Wherever we are.”
Maribelle crouches and gets in his face. “Tell us everything we want to know or we’ll release you.”
“That would be more threatening if I wasn’t holding the keys to the car you want to drive. There’s no way you’re letting me out of your sight.” Eduardo’s cocky grin reminds me of his father’s confidence during speeches. “You won’t find anyone alive more calculating than Luna. She’s taught me how to play the long game.”
“I promise you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Maribelle says.
“Maybe not, but I was clever enough to get you to the arena,” Eduardo says.
She doesn’t say anything.
Gray light washes over Eduardo, and he shrinks into a shorter white girl dressed in acolyte gear. He plays with the long blond hair and stares at Maribelle with bright blue eyes. “Have hope,” he says in a high voice.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
Maribelle glares. “She—he—was Hope, the acolyte at the dock who tipped me off about where we could find June and the other Blood Casters.”
“I knew you were gunning for her because of that YouTube interview. Figured I would give you what you want.” Eduardo morphs back into himself. “If you’re pissed that I manipulated you, then go ahead and release me. It’s win-win for me as long as I don’t sell out Luna.”
I can’t believe the boy we have chained up is the one who has us cornered. He’s definitely the son of a corrupt politician.
“You’re right that we won’t let you go,” Maribelle says. “If you’re not going to tell us how you’re alive or who June is or what Luna is up to, then you leave me with no other choice but to beat it out of you.”
She arches her fist. I speed forward and catch her punch with both hands. I can’t know what she’s going through in trying to avenge her parents. The only mystery revolving around Dad’s death is whether or not he would’ve lived longer if he hadn’t gone for the clinical trial. Maribelle’s heart may be in the right place, but she can’t come undone to get answers. I have to believe the person who helped train me is better than this.
Maribelle rips her fist out of my grip. “You have no idea what the hell you’re doing. You’ve been here for what, two weeks? All of a sudden you think you know what we’re about.”
“I know what you’re supposed to be about,” I say. “We can’t go attacking people for answers. That doesn’t make us better than their side.”
“I want justice, and treating our prisoners with comfort is not how we’re going to get it.”
“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Eduardo says.
Maribelle looks like she might throw me across the room so she can stomp out Eduardo, and I can’t blame her if he keeps running his mouth. “Emil, I would love for this to be black-and-white, but war makes us do things we didn’t know we were capable of. We’ve shown compassion, but we’ve also had to become violent to stay alive. To try and win.”
“That’s not me,” I say. “I’ll be a soldier, but I’m not a murderer.”
Eduardo’s posture straightens as he eyes me.
“Take a walk, Maribelle,” Iris says.
“You don’t boss me around!” Maribelle gets all up in Iris’s space and looks down at her. “We’re going to lose. We don’t stand a chance under your leadership or with Emil playing nice with the other side.” She spins, and she’s so close to me that our noses almost touch. “What do you think soldiers in the military do? Do you think they gear up for battle and then lay down their wands? No. They take their shot, and they do their best to not miss.”
“I get that, but our endgame is peace with the rest of the world. So many deaths will be in vain if we can’t get everyone to trust us, right?”
“Don’t talk to me about deaths that will be in vain. Not while you get in the way of me figuring out who assassinated and framed my parents.” Maribelle closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I was wrong to put my faith in you. We all were.”
She storms out, and the door slams behind her.
I’ve never pretended I was going to be some incredible savior, but I still ache from that guilt laying into me like a boxer.
“Will you talk to us now?” Iris asks.
Eduardo points at me. “I’ll talk to him and him only.”
“Not happening,” Iris says.
“Good luck cracking Luna’s big plans before the Crowned Dreamer goes away,” he says.
Iris releases a deep sigh. “Be careful with him.”
She leaves me alone with the shape-shifter. I’m trusting it’ll all be good since he’s tied up, but if he gets funny with me I got to be quick with a fire-dart.
“Why’d you only want to talk with me?” I ask.
“You’re fascinating,” Eduardo says. He’s eyeing me with pure wonder. “I’m in the business of never being seen more than once, but we’ve crossed paths serendipitously multiple times already.”
“I wouldn’
t call you trying to trick me in my home or leading us to the arena as serendipity.”
“Before that.”
Eduardo’s eyes burn like a gray eclipse as he glows and transforms. It takes me a minute, but he’s the same guy I saw on the first night of the Crowned Dreamer, the one who was filming the brawl. Then he transforms again into James, the guy who was selling Brew with Orton—the one who had the same phone case. Then again as the only acolyte who fled the fight at the factory. And one last glow and he becomes himself again.
“Pardon me if I got some of the details wrong—keeping track of eye colors or hair length or height doesn’t matter in this moment. But you get what I mean now? New York is huge, Emil. You will see someone once while you’re out and about and never again for the rest of your life. But you keep popping up like a firefly at night.”
“You’re one to talk, Eduardo. You’re supposed to be dead.”
“That’s not my name anymore. Eduardo Iron died during the Blackout,” he says. All his intrigue has been swallowed by darkness. “You’re not the only who gets another shot at life.”
He knows about my origin. More than ever, I hope the Spell Walkers keep him here.
“So what’s your name?”
“Ness Arroyo,” he says.
If I remember right, Arroyo was his mother’s last name. He’s erased every connection to Iron.
“Does your father know you’re alive?”
“No.”
“Maribelle can use that against you if you don’t speak up about June.”
Ness nods, like he’s considered this already. “I imagine the enforcers have a unit devoted to locating this haven, but if the Senator gets word that I’m alive, then that’s when every officer will be dragged out of bed to track me down. He can’t risk the country discovering that his entire campaign is a lie, not this close to the election.”
He calls his father the Senator. It reminds me of when Brighton and I were kids and he got pissed at Dad, so he called him Leonardo for a week. It was so impersonal, and Dad refused to let Brighton win by showing how much it bothered him.
“Is teaming with the Blood Casters really better than living under Iron’s roof?” I ask.
Ness rises. He’s maybe an inch or two shorter than me, but my heart races because of how powerful he feels with his leveled shoulders and intense stare. “The gang has turned me inside out. They carved me into someone dangerous and brilliant.” He shakes his leg, and the chain clinks against the floor. “This can’t hold me. I can morph into a child and escape and snap your neck.” He steps toward me, and my fist is on fire. The gray and gold flames light up Ness’s face—the shadows under his eyes, the exhausting defeat I see in the mirror as well. “The Senator used me as a pawn and mouthpiece of my generation time and time again. He made sure everyone saw a child grieving a mother he lost to celestial violence. The Blood Casters aren’t innocent by a long shot, but I won’t ever allow the Senator to use my face again.” He turns his back on me and lounges across the floor, using a paper towel roll as a pillow. “Good night, firefly.”
Twenty-Four
Powerless
BRIGHTON
I’m on the roof, cooling down with the Crowned Dreamer glowing above me. Emil only has authority because of his power, but I’m still a contender for some power of my own because of my bloodline. Ma hasn’t shown any sign of taking after her mother, but the Crowned Dreamer can hook me up with visions. I could become the powerful clairvoyant my abuelita never was and I can foresee Luna’s next move and protect our team from surprise attacks.
I would prove once again why I shouldn’t be shrugged off.
The door opens, and Prudencia steps out. The chilly wind greets her immediately, and she rubs her bare arms. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“You found me.”
“How are you feeling?”
She sits beside me, and her presence calms down the rage that’s been heating me up. I’m still running hot, but I feel more like I’m sitting by a cozy fireplace instead of standing in a burning building. I’m tempted to wrap my arm around her and keep her warm.
“Undervalued,” I say. “Do they not realize what I’ve done for them? And what was with Emil’s garbage about running off to go edit my little video?”
“He didn’t call your videos little.”
“He may as well have. I’m saving the world too.”
“You are, Brighton, but this is a team effort. We all have different roles to play. There are some meetings we shouldn’t sit in and some battles where we should hang back.”
“If Emil is there, I’m there. That’s that.”
Prudencia turns away from the Crowned Dreamer, and I can’t look her in the eye. “Are you there to protect him or prove yourself?”
“I’ve already proven myself, Pru. Sorry if my accomplishments don’t stack up like Emil’s.”
“There is no reason to be jealous of him. He is not enjoying this, but he’s doing his best. You’re both brilliant in your own ways, and you can’t forget that.”
“Oh, come on. There’s nothing brilliant about lucking into powers and having your hand held every step of the way. I’m incredible at what I do because I have worked hard for years.”
Prudencia gets up. “You’re being a lot right now, so I’m going to give you some more time to yourself. Maybe you’ll remember that we’re all in this together.”
She leaves, and I’m not calling her back or chasing her down.
I stay out with the Crowned Dreamer until it becomes uncomfortably cold, and I go inside and get to work on my “little video” in the computer lab. It’s hard rooting for Emil the same way, I can’t lie. He’s running around and throwing fire-darts, and if it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have all this glory. I could easily cut some of these clips of his finer moments; fewer Emil-related GIFs to cross my timeline. But the only thing I’m getting rid of is when Maribelle lunged for June to kill her. Even though June is rolling with the Blood Casters during a cage match, the last thing viewers need is a reason to paint Maribelle as a killer. We have to control the narrative, and this is what’s best.
I’m too exhausted to get up now and find a second eye on this, so I upload the video and squeeze onto the couch. My subscribers are all over it. I picture their notifications waking them up all night; posting late is a new tactic to build my following. If someone wants to brag about how they saw the video early, they have to subscribe to get my notifications. When the content is epic like this, you don’t want to be late to the show. I spend twenty minutes reading through the comments as they roll in. Lots of people are impressed with how Emil’s aim has improved. Others are blown away by the hydra and the phoenix. A few praise me on how brave I was to go in there with no powers. They’re calling me a hero, and I drift off into a well-deserved sleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been knocked out when I’m pulled out of a dream where I was flying. Emil is calling my name and shaking me awake. “I’m not going to our room,” I groan, shutting my eyes to try and rest some more.
“Get up!” Maribelle shouts.
I pop up to find Prudencia, Iris, and Atlas behind Emil and Maribelle. “What’s going on? Did Eduardo speak?”
“His name is Ness,” Emil says. “He hasn’t said anything.”
“So he’s not Iron’s son?”
Emil keeps his eyes low as he runs his hand through his curls. “I’ll catch you up later. Your video took a turn.”
“As in, everyone has turned on us,” Maribelle says.
“It’s your fault too,” Iris says to Maribelle.
While they argue, ignoring everyone asking them to calm down, I open my laptop. I feel sick reading the comments. People are calling us liars and asking me to explain myself and telling me I should delete my entire channel. Subscriber count has dropped by nearly ten thousand, which is a sign of what’s to come. This has always been one of my fears as a creator. Trusting that something I put my heart into will turn on me.
Turns out there was a straggler back at the arena who recorded Maribelle attempting to kill June. The user shared the clip online, and Silver Star Slayer uploaded it to his channel to disprove all my messaging, saying that no one should trust me or the “violent and destructive Spell Walkers.” My face is hot, and I might throw up. I wouldn’t even wish this moment as a nightmare—the heroes I’ve been hyping up are going at it with each other because I’ve screwed them over. Looks like there’s still some support online for Emil since he let June go, but other commenters are calling him complicit.
Maribelle snaps back to me. “Your channel was supposed to help us.”
“I’m sorry. I edited it to protect our image.”
“It backfired,” Maribelle says. “Everyone thinks I’m as evil as the Blood Casters.”
“This backfired because of your actions,” Iris says. “Whether Brighton posted the video or not, this was going to leak. He just got the jump on this guy, and now the optics aren’t great. End of the day, Maribelle, you were about to kill someone, and it doesn’t look like self-defense.”
“She killed our parents!” Maribelle looks so confused, like maybe she’s wondering if she’s speaking a whole other language because Iris doesn’t seem to understand her pain. “I’m not some bloodthirsty killer. I want vengeance.”
“We’re seeking justice, not revenge. Celestials are depending on us to get this right.”
“Specters too,” Emil says.
“I know you’re not defending that shape-shifter,” Maribelle says. “His crew is getting away with actual murder while we’re being persecuted because I attempted to kill the celestial who screwed us over.” Emil tries to speak, but she talks over him. “If it wasn’t for Atlas showing up that first night when he did, then Ness would’ve kidnapped you and probably had your brother killed. Ness made his bed, and he has to lie in it.”
“You tried to kill June, and you now have to live with that,” Iris says.
