by Adam Silvera
Emil nods. “Yeah, I’m really rooting for you.”
“Thank you both,” Sunstar says. “We never pretend to be perfect, but we know this victory is of great importance for celestials everywhere. And even for well-intentioned specters such as yourself, Emil. I don’t know if you’re one of those specters we’ve seen over the years who are trying to do the right thing like Bautista de León, but our administration wants to ban that practice.”
Emil is red in the face. “I want that too, I promise. I didn’t do this to myself.”
“Were you drugged?” Shine asks.
He shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”
“And none of your business,” I say to Sunstar and Shine. “You don’t get to sneak your way in here and call for a meeting as if we’re in this together. Just because you haven’t condemned us doesn’t mean you support us. Now, my patience is running very thin, so make good use of this next minute and explain why you’re gracing us with your presence. Otherwise I’m leaving to hunt down every last Blood Caster myself.”
Sunstar folds her hands. “That ties beautifully with why we’re here. We’re very sorry for not publicly supporting you, but if we aren’t careful with this campaign, then everything will become worse for every celestial—and every innocent specter.” She eyes Emil, who blushes. “We don’t understand the cause of the Blackout, but we know something happened behind the curtains. I promise we support you and will make right on that soon by saying so publicly. I don’t want to mislead the American people. If we can secure the White House, we’ll be able to set a precedent for how gleamcrafters deserve to be treated globally.”
I’m tired of having to defend my humanity. My life shouldn’t be a debating point.
“How do you intend on doing that?” Iris asks.
“We want to abolish the Enforcer Program,” Sunstar says. “Every time an innocent celestial is brutalized and killed because of corrupt enforcers, the narrative increases that we’re all dangerous. That we must be stopped by the wands containing power sourced from our own blood. We need honest protectors who would devote themselves to detaining the Blood Casters and other rogues.”
“And who would that be?” I ask.
“You all,” Sunstar says.
“And the other vigilante factions born out of great intentions,” Shine adds.
Sunstar is beaming. “We’re calling it the Luminary Union, named so because this division will be a global guiding light in heroism, illuminating security practices that should’ve always been in place. Every Luminary will be vetted by a council of celestials who don’t operate with hate in their hearts. Every faction trying to do the right thing won’t have to be classified as vigilantes. Your work will be authorized and supported by the government.”
“Every faction that folds into the Luminary Union will be paid, of course,” Shine says. “We’ve discreetly donated to your campaigns for funds this past year. Our discretion will become unnecessary if we can build this division.”
This was always part of the dream for my parents—Iris’s too. They wanted their work more than trusted, but a welcomed service to make the world a better place. This world didn’t deserve them.
“First off, go easy on the light metaphors. We get it,” I say. “Secondly, why would we submit ourselves to the government? So you can control the way we save the world?”
Iris turns to me. “I seem to remember you quitting the group. You don’t get to be part of this decision.”
I can’t take her in hand-to-hand combat, but I want to throttle her anyway.
“You mean the group that my biological parents founded? I’m the true heir to the Spell Walkers. I’m the one who should be leading.”
“Then maybe you should act like it,” Iris says. Sunstar is trying to ask questions about my family, but Iris speaks over her. “We are protectors who need protecting too. My parents? Dead. Your parents? Dead. Atlas? Dead. Eva? Probably dead. And these are only the major deaths between the two of us. Our way clearly isn’t working, and I’m crumbling from all of these losses! I’m open to a change. You should be too.”
If that were true, she would patrol these streets with me and do everything it takes to end the source of our pain. “Eva’s fate is unclear, Iris. But Atlas’s isn’t. You get to be open to all the changes you want because there’s still a glimmer of hope that you’ll get to reap the benefits. I have no one, and I’m going to end every last person responsible for that.”
Sunstar rises and approaches me. I straighten up and her eyes clock my fists. “Maribelle, please. Whether or not you’re an active Spell Walker is irrelevant to the public. If the country is going to believe our vision, we need everyone’s cooperation.”
“Your vision. I’m not lying low so you can win your election. Why don’t you keep this big idea in your pocket for another few weeks?”
“Backdoor plans aren’t formulas for building trust. The Luminary Union will need years to build, and to accomplish this, I’ll need to be voted in for a second term as well. But this entire agenda is futile if you go rogue. Honor your parents by helping shape the country for the better.”
I could burn Sunstar right here, right now. She hasn’t offered a single condolence and yet she’s trying to use the memory of my parents against me. I shoulder-bump her out of my way, and Shine pops out of her seat as if she’s ready for another fight.
“Try me,” I warn her. “I’ve never seen an invisible woman on fire.”
Prudencia rushes between us with glowing eyes and her hand outstretched. The door swings open. “We are not each other’s enemies. But I know we can’t stop you, Maribelle. Take care.”
I cast one last look at the two women who are trying to claim the White House, the boy who isn’t cut out for this war, his best friend who has my respect, and the girl who used to be a sister to me. Then I leave, the one-woman army who won’t die fighting. I’ll live by doing what surely won’t be accepted in any Luminary Union guidelines—killing.
Thirteen
The Heroic Crime
EMIL
Everyone would’ve been better off if I’d never been reborn.
Dad would’ve never found me on the street and brought me into the family. Brighton wouldn’t have been so deep in this war that he thought getting poisoned by the Reaper’s Blood was the only way to win. Ma would be home, maybe missing Brighton if he’d still gone off to Los Angeles for school. Ness could’ve tricked the Spell Walkers into taking him hostage, and moved to another country, shifting so frequently that no one can track him. Eva would be safe with Iris, able to do good work with her powers, not forced to heal a terrifying alchemist. Dr. Bowes would be home with her son and husband.
But those aren’t the lives anyone gets to live. They’re all either dying like Brighton or already dead like Dad.
I’m not right in the head over this. Prudencia keeps reminding me that I didn’t have a choice in being reborn, but what about the choices I have made since becoming a so-called chosen one? I stupidly thought I could get in and out of this war, like I would have some astounding light-bulb moment about the power-binding potion. Come on, I was never going to be able to piss off someone like Luna and enjoy an early retirement. Of course she’s sending out her Blood Casters to abduct and assassinate us. I’ll never forgive myself for involving Brighton, Ma, and Prudencia.
I’ve been thinking about how Maribelle and Iris were able to keep going after the Blackout. They had Atlas and Eva to comfort them, to distract them, to love them. I don’t know how they’re going to keep it together now, but there’s another choice I’m especially regretting myself. I should’ve run away with Ness and taken Gravesend with me, escaped to the other side of the world, where we could’ve raised her in peace. Ness and I would’ve had time to figure out our whole deal. Maybe we would’ve been great friends, maybe we could’ve been something more, but now I’ll never know.
I’m done being alive, but I can’t say that out loud because no one ever wants to hear t
hat you’re over your life when others have lost theirs. Especially when it’s your fault.
Ever since Sunstar and Shine’s visit yesterday, I’ve felt safer with the illusionists hiding us, but even with all the vetting Sunstar’s people did before employing those celestials to use their powers of illusion to protect her, and now us, I still can’t shake this feeling that someone in that crew might sell us out, since it’s popular to blame the Spell Walkers for everything bad that’s happened to gleamcrafters since the Blackout. Maybe Senator Iron and General Bishop’s extreme methods will lose steam if all the Spell Walkers are dead before the election, and some votes can swing back to Sunstar.
I stand outside Brighton’s room, wondering when his new practitioners can give me a solid update on his condition. It’s really been a team effort. Dr. Swensen uses her power of hypnosis to keep Brighton asleep so he doesn’t have to suffer through the pain. Dr. Salinas has been treating the basilisk venom with antidotes she’s been brewing fresh, all custom because of the Reaper’s Blood poisoning.
When Dr. Swensen finally comes out and tells me that Brighton needs more rest and that I look like I should get some too, I thank her for everything she’s doing and head for the cafeteria instead. I need to throw back a big salad or something. I’ve had nothing substantial in my stomach since yesterday morning when Prudencia brought me this grilled tofu soup and stayed with me until I finished it.
I stop in place when I see an illusionist guard speaking into her headset by the side entrance, her eyes glowing. My heart is pounding instantly, and I’m ready to try and push past the pain and hurl a fire-arrow her way, but when she’s done maneuvering her hands around, carving a door-shaped hole beyond the actual open door, I see that she’s letting Wesley, Ruth, and their baby daughter inside the facility.
I forgot they were coming today.
Wesley looks concerned as he pushes the stroller toward me. “Emil, buddy, you okay?”
I don’t get how people who full-on know what’s what with someone’s situation can ask them if they’re okay. I’m clearly not. I haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time for days. I’ve barely eaten. My mother is dead or being tortured by the most dangerous gang in the city. My brother is in critical condition. There’s not a lot going on for me to make me feel anything close to okay.
“I’m fine,” I say, because I don’t have it in me to go off on someone well-meaning.
I turn my attention to Ruth, who has this cautious smile, like she wants to be pleasant for our official meeting but can also see that I’m suffering. She’s wearing one of her Mighty Wear shirts, a clothing line she started because she recognized there isn’t enough attire for fat celestials such as herself and Wesley. Brighton used to show me pictures from her account, especially when they featured Wesley, and her hair was black in all of her previous posts, but now it’s dyed light brown. Her brown skin seems well moisturized too, and Brighton always pointed to her as an influencer who seemed to really believe in the products she was promoting.
“You seem like you need a hug. May I?” Ruth asks without stepping any closer. “You’re not hurting my feelings if not. I know everyone isn’t a hugger.”
“You can hug me,” I say under my breath.
Ruth wraps her arms around me, and I relax my forehead on her shoulder. I already get a sense of what Brighton means by Ruth’s influencer abilities. She’s instantly sold me on this hug, and unlike an ab roller this fit guy on Instagram once convinced me to buy, I actually needed this. Her hair smells like vanilla, and it reminds me of when Ness asked for vanilla candles during his interrogation. I hug Ruth harder, wishing I could transport myself back to those simpler times where I could visit Ness in that supplies room at Nova and have honest conversations.
Wesley and Ruth introduce me to their squirming four-month-old daughter, Esther, who shares Ruth’s complexion and brown eyes, but her button nose and slightly pointed ears, like an elf in a fantasy novel, are all Wesley’s.
I lead them to their room, right beside the one I’m sharing with Prudencia, who is still asleep when I peek in.
“Is Iris around?” Ruth asks as she takes Esther out of the stroller.
“Her room is down the hall, but I haven’t seen her today.”
“Has she been going out to search for Eva?” Wesley asks.
I nod. I offered to go with her, but she made it clear that she didn’t want to have to protect me since my powers are barely working. I’m sure there’s more to it.
“At least it’s a safer place to stay, even if someone follows her back,” Wesley says. “The illusions made the center look busy. Bit of a dead zone in here.” He blushes while spinning his hands around, as if he can rewind time and take back the words. “I don’t mean dead zone like Brighton is going to die, or that everyone here is going to die, obviously, because we’re choosing to be here too, and we wouldn’t bring Esther if we thought it were high-risk, you know.”
Ruth places a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “Calm down.”
I don’t know where they’ve been the past couple of days and I don’t ask.
“I found out how we got discovered,” Wesley says. “Dr. Bowes has a son, Darren. He texted some friends that his mother was taking care of us, and word got out online.”
I asked for discretion, but Darren is fourteen, and his excitement got the best of him. I can’t blame him. I probably would’ve been able to keep it together if Ma had told us she was treating a Spell Walker at the hospital, but Brighton would’ve bragged away.
“He’s a fan of mine,” I say, which feels gross. “Dr. Bowes told me. I was supposed to sign something for him.”
“It’s not your fault,” Wesley says. “I told Darren the same thing.”
“You saw him?”
Wesley nods. “I reached out to the father and got them to a safe house. They’ll be relocating to a haven later tonight.”
I might not be able to bring back anyone from the dead, but I can own up and ask for forgiveness face-to-face. “I want to see him.”
Ruth is tearing up as she sways Esther back and forth. “You’re a sweetheart for wanting to speak with Darren.”
“I’m not trying to be sweet; I owe him an apology. He’s growing up without a mother because of me.” I wonder how much time I have without Ma before I’m dead too. “Can you take me to see him, or let me know where he is?”
“I can drive you,” Ruth says.
“You drove here,” Wesley says.
“Well, you stayed up all night with Esther.”
“Which you did all the nights before that.”
“You were preventing a ritual,” Ruth says, beaming like she’s won.
“You were caring for our daughter,” Wesley counters, smiling because he knows he topped her by declaring that their daughter trumps the world. “Not to mention the dozens of celestials at the shelter. Also, babe, you’re forgetting something huge about this trip. Rush. Hour. Traffic.”
Ruth lets out a deep sigh and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Emil, I absolutely break down in traffic. I once had to cast a clone to take over the wheel and it almost led to an accident when the clone vanished and . . .” She’s shaking her head and offers me the most apologetic expression.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Seriously.”
“Well, I’ll be your chauffeur,” Wesley says. “I’ll check in with my contact at the safe house and arrange the visit.”
While I wait, I go to the cafeteria. I drown my toasted tofu salad in ginger dressing and I lose my appetite halfway through my sweet potato fries. This is normally when Brighton would grab my plate and finish them off. But I’m sitting here all alone and I keep catching staff members stealing glances at me. I wonder how many of them have known me since I first went viral as Fire-Wing. They all definitely know me now as one of the Spell Walkers who has to be so fiercely protected that Sunstar and Shine got involved. I want to say hey and thank everyone for their work, but I don’t have it in me.
I pu
ll out my phone and tap into Instagram. I ignore the flood of comments and direct messages and type in Dr. Bowes’s full name, Billie Bowes, in the search bar. The most recent picture was taken at the Friday Dreamers Festival in Central Park, the day I got my powers. It’s wild how Dr. Bowes was there with her husband and son to support Sunstar at the same time I was there with Brighton and Prudencia. The world can feel so small sometimes. Darren is tagged in the picture, and I check out his profile. He hasn’t posted anything since Dr. Bowes was killed. There’s one post of him laying out a white T-shirt and fitted jeans on his bed, saying that this is the beginning of his Fire-Wing costume and that his mother is going to help him make a convincing power-proof vest with the Spell Walkers emblem so he can win this Halloween contest. I completely crack and cry so hard, burying my face into my arms, desperate for this life to be my last.
I jump when Wesley taps my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I wipe my tears. “We good to bounce?”
“Yeah, we can go.”
We leave the Clayton Center, and when I turn around, the guard who let us out is no longer there. It’s like Wesley said, the illusion creates this impression that there’s regular life happening here, one person crying into their phone, a doctor walking inside. You can’t tell from the outside that we have illusionists stationed by every door in the facility’s east wing. I don’t know what the plan is unless someone has an actual emergency, but I’m trusting that Sunstar’s team will be ready.
I didn’t realize how much I missed fresh air until stepping outside, and once we’re driving away, I keep the window down. I’ll have to put the window back up once we’re passing other drivers, but until then, I’m enjoying the breeze.
I tell Wesley I really like Ruth, and how my mother appreciated the kindness Ruth showed her too back at the shelter. Before I spiral again about Ma’s fate, Wesley distracts me with different stories of what a generous soul Ruth is. Whether she’s donating clothes to other celestials and allies that she used to get from sponsors, or cloning herself to help out other parents with their own children, Ruth is constantly giving herself to others.
