by Adam Silvera
He’s not technically my twin anymore, but we grew up close like we were. I can talk to him about anything and sometimes it feels like I have but nothing hits harder than words we’ve never exchanged: I scare him.
“I’m not going to lie, bro, there’s no part of me that’s eager to get rid of these powers. I’ve been waiting for this moment forever, but that doesn’t mean I’ll actually understand the downsides of gleamcrafting until I’m deep in it. This isn’t going to work, though, if you treat me like some power addict from the jump.”
“You literally risked your life for the most dangerous combination of powers,” Emil counters.
“To not die and help fight back against the real dangers in this city. I know it’s not a choice you would’ve made, but I promise I’ll do everything I can to earn your trust. We’re a team. Can we hug this out already?”
I stand and help him up. This hug reminds me of this past June, when Emil was missing Dad during Pride month. Last year our parents offered to accompany us to the parade, but Emil wanted to have fewer eyes on him as he entered that space for the first time, so only Prudencia and I went with him. He’d told Dad and Ma they could join next time and Emil regretted that so hard this past Pride when Dad wasn’t around. I gave him the hug that Dad would’ve given him, which always felt like its own superpower.
I hope Emil feels easier around me. I’ve been messy with him, even before we got involved with the Spell Walkers, and it’s going to take more than a chat on the beach to fix a brotherhood that I was ready to move across the country to get away from, but I’m sure we’ll be stronger than ever before. Literally.
I pat him on the back. “We good?”
“We will be,” Emil says. He nods toward the cottage, to where Prudencia is making her way down to us. “Are you two good?”
“I hope so. Did she mention anything to you last night?”
“I mean, I put one and one together, but we didn’t talk about any of that.”
It wouldn’t bother me personally if Prudencia did get into that with Emil. What matters is knowing where we stand.
“Morning,” Prudencia says as she joins us.
I want to lean in for a kiss, but that doesn’t feel right.
I’m getting worked up over the confusing energy in this triangle of ours. Everything has changed and everything is changing. I’m a specter. Prudencia and I kissed and had sex after years of nothing. Emil might be feeling like a third wheel in the same way Prudencia has understandably felt the same and that I have too. Then there’s figuring out what we are to each other now that I’m alive to answer that unspoken question.
“How’d you sleep?” I ask.
“On and off,” Prudencia says. She glances at Emil, who takes the hint.
“I’m going to start some research on your powers,” Emil says.
“Let’s kick off training this afternoon,” I say.
We fist-bump and whistle and our connection isn’t quite there but it’s better than before. I’ll take that progress.
“You two must’ve had a great chat,” Prudencia says. “I don’t know if I’m more surprised by the hug or Emil helping you train.”
“We’re working through our trust and I want to do the same with you, Pru. I got to cut right to it. Do you actually care about me romantically? Or did last night only happen because I was dying?”
The wind blows back her hair as she looks down at the sand. “I wanted to be with you because I wanted to be with you. I let down my guard because you showed me a side of you that finally made me feel safe but I don’t know if I’m going to matter as much anymore now that you’re a specter.”
“Pru, I’m not choosing my powers over you. We can fight to have it all like Iris and Eva, Maribelle and Atlas, Wesley and Ruth.”
“I don’t want to be some power couple, Brighton,” Prudencia says with an edge in her voice. “I want to be a person in the world who isn’t hated for who I am.”
“I want to help create that world for you!” I go back to what Emil said and I can see the same concerns building on her face. “Don’t fear me. Trust me.”
I hold her hand and I’m so relieved when she squeezes mine. I get my lips ready when she leans in, but she kisses me on the cheek.
“You’re on probation, Brighton Miguel Rey. I will telekinetically throw you across the world if you break your promises.”
“No need, Prudencia Yolanda Mendez.” I stare into her brown eyes and she starts walking back to the cottage with a big enough grin. “Hey, Pru! Want to help me become the most powerful specter in the entire universe and the most followed person on Instagram?”
Prudencia’s hand drops to her side and her fingers wiggle and a bucket’s worth of sand sweeps into me. She’s already running away and laughing and I chase after her, eager to learn how to run at swift-speed so we can have more ordinary moments made extraordinary because of who we are.
I’m finally on the path to having everything I’ve ever wanted.
Twenty-Five
Training: Brighton Edition
BRIGHTON
If our lives were a fictional TV show, season one would’ve focused on Emil and season two is all about me. Viewers would remember how I cheered for Emil during his training and had his back during the other fights, but they would be more hyped for me knowing I’ve wanted powers more than he ever has. Our show—The Infinity Kings or The Infinity Cycle—would have a slow start because Emil isn’t necessarily the most exciting hero if we’re being honest. But then, right as viewers fear they might have to say goodbye to me as I’m swallowed in silver and sapphire flames, I emerge stronger than ever. I’m the absolute fan favorite who will carry the series forward.
I’m embracing this spotlight.
I hold up my phone until I find the right angle for a selfie. I don’t want to reveal anything in the house that could identify where we are but the sunlight spilling through the window is too harsh on my face. Just when I think I’ve got it, my phone is being wrestled out of my grip, and I’m nervous my regenerated hand is somehow acting on its own, but the phone flies behind me and straight to Prudencia.
Her eyes stop glowing and she places the phone on the floor where she’s sitting with a notebook open. “Next time it goes straight into the fireplace.”
“It’s not too late,” Emil adds while typing something into Ruth’s laptop.
I drop down onto the couch. “I’m excited! This is huge for me; I want to capture these moments.”
I’ve taken pictures on big days over the years: Emil and me on our sixteenth birthday, which we spent playing new video games while our parents catered to us all day; before my first date with Nina and then another with her kissing my cheek when we left the pizzeria; when I hit ten thousand subscribers on YouTube; right before I stepped onto the stage at graduation to deliver my salutatorian speech. The one that haunts me the most is from the morning of Dad’s funeral when I didn’t want to get out of bed. But it’s also the most important. Before becoming a specter, the biggest change in my life was coming home after the burial and becoming the man of the house.
“Bright, we got to get the research done so we can understand your complex powers.”
“Trial and error is all the more reason to document our sessions.”
“So this isn’t for your series?”
The way he asks that is as if I’ve been trying to hide my intention. I’m not sneaky. “Some of it will be, yeah. Just like we featured you on my accounts we’re going to do the same for me. The world needs to know they’ve got another hero on their side.” I can see it in his eyes that he thinks I’m only doing this for me. “We should do a live chat. Let everyone know what the Reys of Light can do.” He looks like he might counter, so I add, “Trust is a two-way street, bro.”
Emil nods. “You’re right. But we should know what we’re actually working with here before you plan some big reveal.”
“I second that,” Prudencia says.
“And I third it,”
I say. “We’re all on the same page.”
We divide and conquer. Emil is in charge of phoenix research, Prudencia is looking into ghosts, and I’m on hydra duty. I’m tempted to get my phone back so I can get a selfie out there and tease my big news. But I focus for an hour straight. This reminds me of my study groups before finals, except this time the world will be grading us on how well we manage to save everyone while not causing more harm.
Once Emil finishes his tofu salad, he shares his findings on century phoenixes, beginning with the basics about how they’re rare because they only spawn every hundred years; we already knew that. He couldn’t find any record of any other specter with that breed’s power, which will make me stand out. But ultimately the problem with all phoenix specters is no one has ever come back as themselves. There’s always new identities, and in Emil’s case, he doesn’t even have the memories of his past life. Luna claimed the Reaper’s Blood would heighten those powers to operate properly, between the purity of the creatures and the Crowned Dreamer elevating the gleam, but this has remained unproven.
“I found this on the Halo Knights’ website: ‘Century phoenixes are restless, war-hungry fighters with survival instincts so fierce they will kill anyone who threatens their lives because they don’t want to be away from the world for another hundred years.’ That’s just . . .” Emil runs his hand through his hair, and his eyes glaze. “I felt Gravesend’s cries when she hatched and I could tell she was ready for a fight, but I can’t imagine her becoming a killer.”
“The wilds are different,” I say.
Prudencia is writing in Bautista’s journal. “What I’m more concerned about is if your instincts will be affected by the powers. We’ll monitor your behaviors, but you have to tell us if you feel—”
“Murdery?” I mime cutting someone’s throat. Emil shakes his head and Prudencia looks away. “I’m kidding.”
But they don’t say anything. They’re already treating me like I’ve wiped out an entire city. I keep reminding myself that I’m going to prove everyone wrong. I’m the right hero for this war.
Prudencia almost throws her phone because she’s frustrated with the lack of information on specters with ghost blood, even coming up empty in some more taboo corners of the internet. We didn’t know those specters existed until last month and the rest of the world hasn’t caught on yet either. The only information Prudencia finds are people’s accounts of being haunted, which doesn’t do anything for us. It’s a shame that I can’t call up Orton, who died in his own phoenix flames, or invite June to an exclusive Ghost Specter of New York feature for my series.
The Global Hydrus Society has a wealth of information on hydras; I should’ve turned to them sooner instead of random articles. There’s a video of a golden-strand hydra running across a beach, occasionally bursting into swift-speed, which Wesley will help me master later, but when the hydra runs through the palm trees she blends in—damn near perfectly. The Hydrus employee explains what’s happening and I almost lose my head.
“So golden-strands live on tropical beaches,” I say, so excited that I cut off Emil as he tries telling us about the diet of century phoenixes. “And they can apparently camouflage themselves against the sand, trees, and ocean. That’s an extra power I wasn’t expecting!”
“So it’s geared toward nature?” Prudencia asks.
“I don’t know, but powers work differently between creatures and humans anyway. I’m not seeing anything about golden-strands being able to regrow their limbs, only their heads, and I got my arm back obviously,” I say, admiring my handiwork. “Since I can’t walk through walls without the ghost power maybe I can still sneak up on the Blood Casters with this new power.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Emil says.
He’s not the only hero anymore and he’s going to have to get used to it.
Knowing what I know now about the camouflaging, it’s especially heroic how I prevented Luna from drinking the Reaper’s Blood. She would’ve been more than unkillable; she would’ve been lethal. I can picture Luna fading into the homes of her enemies, cloaking herself to gather intel, and incinerating them before leaving. That’s only one dangerous combination she could’ve used with all of those powers.
Once I’m caught up on everything about golden-strands, I click around the site and find links about known hydra specters. Dione is listed with a picture of her captured from a surveillance camera. Her blood comes from a hillkiller and that breed is apparently known for living in forests and multiplying their heads in minutes. I switch over to the profile of a man, Lucas Samford, who has the blood of a rockborn hydra. Rockborns are the toughest to decapitate with their boulder-like exteriors, but once successful, they need weeks before they can grow another head. It took enforcers hours before they decapitated Lucas and burned his body in phoenix fire.
I go through several of these pages before landing on the history of a specter who called himself the Blood Beast. He was among the first wave of Blood Casters, back in the glory days when Bautista was an idolized hero for fighting against them. The Blood Beast had the essence from the death-throated hydra, notoriously the most vicious breed, and in his three months of having powers he had a high body count. An anonymous acolyte got his hands on Luna’s journals, tempted to infuse himself with the death-throated powers to become as dangerous, but the trials the Blood Beast had gone through proved so demanding, like eating rotten raw meat for every meal, that the acolyte ultimately gave up on the dream of becoming a specter and published the findings online to inspire others to do the same.
The Blood Beast didn’t live long. There’s a video of his death with a warning for sensitive material. I put on my earphones and press play. It’s gory. The Blood Beast is dashing around with six legs, six arms, and three heads. He annihilates enforcers who were relatively new at the time and smaller in numbers. But eventually, just like when Orton burned out, the Blood Beast must’ve pushed himself too hard and all his body parts fall off him until he’s nothing but a chest surrounded by heads and arms and legs. He looks like a life-sized doll waiting for someone to assemble him.
If I push myself this far, would I die?
There’s a blur and wind and I jump when Wesley taps my shoulder. “What are you watching?”
I slam down the laptop. “Uh . . .”
“You watching porn while your brother and girlfriend work?” Wesley asks.
“Not his girlfriend,” Prudencia singsongs as she smiles my way.
“And not porn,” I add. “It’s just a screwed-up video of a specter who pushed his limits.” They don’t seem convinced but I know Emil and Prudencia well enough that they would hate watching that. “Wesley, we good to train?”
Wesley smirks and dashes out of the house and down toward the beach.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Break time!”
“It’s not a break. You’re about to work some more,” Emil says.
“What’s work for you is fun for me.”
I grab my phone and chase after Wesley. He’s already lying in the sand of course and acting like he’s asleep, as if it’s taken me forever to reach him. It won’t be long until I have control over my swift-speed.
Wesley introduces me to some stretches that are not kind on me. I’ve always knocked Emil’s posture, but all the time I’ve spent editing videos on my laptop hasn’t done me any favors either. Emil records us on my phone while Prudencia exercises her power by lifting herself in a pull-up position.
“The most important rule when running with swift-speed is to always be several steps ahead of yourself,” Wesley says. “If you take off aimlessly, you’ll fly over your bed, or worse, almost straight into a moving truck. Not that I know of any thirteen-year-old who was so eager for a new video game that he almost got flattened on the highway.”
After Wesley is done lying about his past, he explains how much more aware of my surroundings I have to be than anyone running at standard speed because even though I can get away from dangers faster, I can als
o find myself facing them first too. My power is tricky since hydras can’t keep up momentum for longer distances like Wesley and other swift-speeded celestials can. I could lose steam right in the middle of a battle and not be able to escape.
“Let’s try it out,” I say.
I take a sprinter’s stance and focus on reaching the coastline. I expect the same jolt forward as all the roller coasters I rode on with Dad—always front row because he loved that adrenaline rush—but my running is as ordinary as ever. Wesley asks me to take deep breaths, which I do. To not think about it, but also concentrate, which I think I do. My burst of speed happened so effortlessly last night when I thought I was going to faint and I accidentally overshot my new power and ended up on the floor. But even that’s not happening right now.
I call “Time-out!” to Wesley and “Cut!” to Emil.
The sun is beating me down. I thought this was going to be easier. Instead I feel like a joke in front of Prudencia, who is telekinetically juggling pears and apples with one hand and building a mound of sand with her other. She’s going to be so powerful, and I’m going to be a one-hit wonder of a specter whose powers never surface again.
“Slow start,” Wesley says.
I wipe the sweat off my head as I realize he’s joking. “Not funny.”
“Quick pause,” Wesley says. Before I can tell him to shut up with the jokes he dashes away and returns with bottles of water for us. “Peace offering.” He sits beside me on the sand. “It’s a fun power, but it’s not always an easy one, Brighton. I grew up with mine, which you know I abused too.”
“After your parents kicked you out,” I say, remembering our Spell Walkers of New York interview.
“Before too. I wasn’t robbing anyone for my own survival yet but my parents were always so frustrated with me. They didn’t plan on having me and gave it a shot. Big regrets since they couldn’t ever keep up with me or get me to slow down. Instead of going home after school I kept exploring the city and one day my father told me that if I didn’t honor curfew he was going to change the locks. I didn’t think they’d kick me out; I was twelve. But they meant it.”
