by Adam Silvera
The more and more politics are getting involved in my business, the less enthusiasm I have for this livestream. But I hype myself right back up because it’s not like I have to hide any ghostly powers from the public anyway. I still get to show off.
Once it’s nine on the dot, we go live.
“Hey, Brightsiders, it’s your boy Brighton coming at you from somewhere in the world—I can’t say where exactly because I’ve got some ruthless Blood Casters after me—and I’m here with my amazing brother, Emil, for the chat of a lifetime.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders. “Say what’s up, man.”
Emil offers a shy wave. “Hey.”
I’ll never understand how he isn’t fueled by all this attention. I’m so fired up right now, especially as the comments are rolling in. My favorite is from a fan who says they’ve been following me since my first YouTube video and how they’re loving my journey. I shout out their handle and thank them. They immediately react with more love because I noticed them. The power in a simple hello is incredible.
The chat opened with nearly ten thousand viewers and in two minutes we’re already passing one hundred thousand. “There are already so many of you, but we’re going to wait a little longer to start to give everyone a chance to settle in,” I say. “But I got a treat for you early birds.” I watch my eyes burn like eclipses in the livestream and silver and sapphire flames slither around my fingers. The chat section explodes with fire emojis. We’re nearing five hundred thousand viewers when I announce that we’re good to start, which is amazing since it’s relatively short notice, but I hope we cross a million viewers.
“So you’ve shown us what’s new,” Emil says. “I obviously know what’s what, but do you want to walk all your epic Brightsiders on what went down?”
I’m glad he remembered to call them epic. Lore calls their fans “beauteous” so much that it’s almost like they have ownership over the word. I want my brand to be epic heroism and this association will better connect me with my followers.
“My origin story has been a trip,” I say. “Everything changed for us the day that specter tried to kill me. You saved my life, bro. You’ve saved it a lot of times since then too. But there was only so much I could do from behind the camera, especially when the brawl was breaking out.”
“That night was wild,” Emil says.
“You were almost killed. Luna Marnette stabbed you with an infinity-ender blade—a weapon designed to kill phoenixes for good! Show them your scar.” I reach for his shirt but he grabs my hand and pushes it back toward me. “Come on, show everyone what we’ve been through!”
“I’m not lifting my shirt,” Emil says and then I remember all his body business.
“All good. It’s not for those with weak stomachs anyway.” Great recovery. This is why I’ve always thought I’d be a great TV host. “But yeah, one week ago tonight when the Crowned Dreamer was at its zenith, we were battling it out with the Blood Casters. We were down a man after Atlas was killed—may he rest well in the stars—and Luna was about to turn herself into a specter with this new concoction. I was able to take her down before she could drink the elixir and then something came over me and I went for it. I drank it all.”
“And it poisoned your blood,” Emil says. “You almost died like Dad.”
I have a YouTube video I filmed a month after Dad died to explain why I hadn’t been posting as regularly but I share all the details again for everyone new. “Between being scared for my life in Gleam Care and Stanton coming to assassinate me, I really thought I was a goner. But it turns out I’m strong enough so I could become a soldier like you.”
There are so many comments from people hoping to become specters too.
“And Bautista de León,” Emil says. “You’ve loved him since we were kids.”
“I have! There’s no denying that the majority of specters are abusing their powers. But then you have some shining stars like you and Bautista who have done a lot of good.”
“With powers that aren’t ours,” Emil says. “I’m really hoping I can figure out that potion to disempower any specter. No more Blood Casters. No more us.”
I nod along even though that was not a talking point for this discussion. “Until that time comes, we have a lot of work to do making this country safer from the true terrorists—the Blood Casters. Emil and I have both been captured and abused by them. We’re lucky we’re alive. But we don’t know if that’s true for our mother who they kidnapped.”
“They took Eva Nafisi too. Some of you might remember her as the healer from Brighton’s Spell Walkers interviews,” Emil says like I forgot about her.
“Eva made me good as new. She’s an incredible healer and an even more remarkable human. Eva and our mother are strong women, but they don’t stand a chance against the Blood Casters. We need all of you to be our eyes around the city so we can bring them home safely,” I say.
As Emil describes everything about the fight at the Aldebaran Center, I read through the questions that are coming in so fast that I can hardly keep up. People want advice on how to become specters. Others are sharing their own personal struggles that require heroic hands. There are some good ones too I want to address.
“I think it’s time to answer some questions,” I say. It’s a safer move since Emil isn’t exactly sticking to the script anyway. “I see a lot of you asking if I’m planning a rebrand on the series since Emil and I aren’t celestials. Maybe I’ll change it to ‘Gleamcrafters of New York’ so it’s more inclusive. But honestly, I created Celestials of New York because it was my way of feeling close to the lives of those with powers. Keeping up this format of interviewing strangers feels tricky with everything going on that I might make it my own until things settle down. If they ever do.”
There’s immediate support and even a suggestion that I follow Atlas’s lead and how all his posts were dedicated to lives saved and lost. That could be a cool way to honor him.
“Let’s see. . . .” There’s one question that’s been popping up the most and it’s time to get it out of the way. “Okay, okay, okay! Am I a Spell Walker? The answer is . . . NOPE.” I’m tempted to reveal how badly the group’s ranks are fracturing, but I’m bigger than that. “I’m part of a more important unit—the Infinity Kings. Back when you all thought of Emil as Fire-Wing, I joked that he was the Infinity Son since he’s got these amazing powers from a firebird of infinity.”
Once again, my little twist saves the day. I don’t have to reveal why I really gave him that name.
“I’m cool with you all using my name too,” Emil says.
“And I’ll always be Brighton, especially for all of you epic Brightsiders. But once I got my powers I thought it’d be cool to add an edge to my identity too. I came up with the Infinity Savior. What do you all think?”
Engagement is key when growing your following. I might be the influencer but it’s important to let my followers think they have influence over me too. The Brightsiders are really taking to the name. One commenter suggests Infinity Brother and I wish I could block this person who would reduce me as if I’m still shadowing Emil on his missions and not my own individual person. Thankfully their comment gets buried by all the love and that’s when I notice we’ve crossed 1.3 million viewers.
“I’m so happy the name is a hit,” I say with a hand to my heart. “I’ll admit, being a specter with a bull’s-eye on my back is really terrifying. But I’ve got a great support system.” I glance over at Prudencia, wishing I could mention her. “I’ve always been able to turn to Emil and I’m lucky enough to have all of you out there cheering me on too.” I really want to stay and chat all night, but if I answer all these questions now, then my followers, old and new, won’t have any reason to keep hanging around. “Emil and I need to get some rest after an eventful day. I promise to do another chat soon.”
I elbow Emil’s side, waiting for him to initiate our send-off.
“Oh—uh. Before we were the Infinity Kings, we were the Reys of Light,”
Emil says.
“And now we’re shining brighter than ever,” I say and salute.
I end the livestream before I’ve lost my cool. To think last night I was dying and now I’m living my best life. I apologize to Emil over the shirt thing and get a fist bump and whistle out of him. My high only gets higher when Prudencia tells us that we did a great job and kisses me softly on the lips. I’m the luckiest human alive.
I spend the rest of the night in bed, scrolling through social media with Prudencia asleep on my chest. There’s already amazing fan art of me fighting every known Blood Caster with my flames and those criminal specters are so screwed when this becomes a reality. I got some haters too who don’t think I’m being real about everything. I go on their profiles and decide I’m not going to take abuse from jealous people with five hundred followers who want what I have, who wish they were me.
It’s a hard pill to swallow that even superhumans need sleep, but I don’t go willingly. I spend every last waking moment soaking up all the Infinity Savior love.
This is only the beginning.
Twenty-Seven
Bright Star
MARIBELLE
The smell of fresh rosemary wakes me up, and the Halo Knight is standing over me. I instinctively want to punch her, but my grogginess works in her favor—we don’t have to fight because we share the same enemy.
Without her mask it’s easy to see in her eyes that she isn’t eager to take me on either. Her leather jacket with the feathered sleeves is hanging off the back of an armchair, leaving her in a black tank top, which also means she can’t surprise me with any more daggers. She removed my power-proof vest and it’s nowhere in sight. She has a home field advantage wherever this is, and my psychic sense isn’t ringing around her.
The Halo Knight takes a seat in the armchair and rests the rosemary on a side table. “Did you enjoy your sleep?”
I’m regaining control of my muscles as I sit up from the plush couch. We’re in some minimalistic loft with high concrete ceilings and light bulbs strung around the round windows. The Cloaked Phantom isn’t outside. “How long was I unconscious?”
“Thirty-one hours.”
“What?!”
“The tranquilizer is intended for phoenixes the size of Roxana. You’re lucky you’re alive,” she says as she crosses her legs.
“Then you owe me an apology for almost killing me.”
Her amber eyes narrow. “Shouldn’t be a concern of yours given your stolen phoenix powers.”
She knows nothing about me.
“I was born with the powers, but they’re new to me.”
The Halo Knight scoffs. “Interesting. I didn’t realize you were a phoenix doing one hell of an impression of a specter.” She begins clapping and it’s infuriatingly sarcastic. “Brava.”
“I don’t know whether or not I can resurrect. But it’s possible since my biological father could. Bautista de León.”
There are a million questions resting on her lips. The one she asks catches me off guard: “Who are you?”
The truth is, I don’t know anymore.
I’m the daughter to four powerful parents, all dead. I’m a terrorist to some and a hero to others, even though I’m no longer a Spell Walker. I’m not Atlas’s girlfriend anymore because Atlas isn’t alive. I don’t have any idea who I’ll be if I even survive this fight.
“I’m someone born into chaos,” I answer.
“So, Maribelle de León, you’re a princess as far as specter royalty goes.”
“Lucero,” I correct. I feel strongly enough about that name. “Same question. Who are you?”
She hesitates, well aware that she has control over me as long as I’m on her turf, but she shares anyway. “Tala Castillo. All my life I’ve been taught that there is nothing more horrific than someone who kills a phoenix for their power. My parents told me all the stories about how your father was paraded as a champion, but we know that he was simply a thief dressed up as one.”
In some ways, Tala might have a better understanding of Bautista than I do. Whenever Mama and Papa spoke about Bautista, they always framed him as the kind of person who didn’t have the same greed for powers in his heart as other specters. But no matter what, the hero is always someone else’s villain, and for the Halo Knights, that would’ve been Bautista among every other specter with phoenix blood.
“I’m not defending Bautista. I don’t know him. The past few weeks have only brought so many revelations, including that I’m Bautista and Sera Córdova’s daughter and the true power of phoenix specters. I’m sure Emil Rey is on your radar.”
“Fire-Wing,” Tala says.
That nickname from the media didn’t exactly stick. “Well, Emil is Bautista reincarnated, and Bautista is the direct scion to Keon Máximo.”
There’s a world-shaking wonder in Tala’s eyes. “But . . .”
Halo Knights put their faith in the concept of resurrection, and Emil is now walking proof.
I walk Tala through everything I’ve discovered since Emil came into my life one month ago: the family secrets my own parents kept from me but that Iris’s parents shared with her; the ghost specters, in particular June; and the true intentions behind the Blood Casters pursuing Gravesend instead of an ordinary century phoenix.
Tala bites her lip. “So Luna is running around immortal.”
“She isn’t. No one is. Emil’s brother Brighton drank the Reaper’s Blood and he’s dying because of it.”
“Those powers were never his to have,” Tala says.
“He could’ve done good with them.”
Tala gets up and puts on her jacket. “If I only had a dollar for every time I heard that hollow-hearted sales pitch about a specter, I could afford a place like this instead of renting it from a true phoenix activist. Follow me upstairs.”
Upstairs?
I’m wobbly but find my footing as we walk across the loft with its walls covered in mirrors and black-and-white photos of a woman interacting with different phoenixes in the wild. She must be the activist. Around the corner there is a spiral staircase that takes us to this rooftop garden with stone benches and a bubbling hot tub big enough for Roxana to curl inside. The light howler is underwater and somehow hears us approaching, or maybe even senses our presence, and her drenched head comes out from under the steaming water and shakes it off. I get splashed and the water is as hot as it looks. Not a problem for a phoenix, I suppose.
Tala kisses Roxana between her lightning-blue eyes, which are as large as fists. “Phoenixes have existed before humans and yet the majority of us don’t respect their glory. It’s rare, but there are still some phoenixes alive today who have cycled through thousands of lives. If you want to talk about doing good by them, find other ways to honor them that don’t involve sacrificing them for human benefit.” She strokes the yellow feathers on her jacket’s sleeve. “These feathers come from Roxana. Some are from shedding, most of from when she’s died over the years.”
“Died how?”
“The standard cycle of a light howler is one year before they pass and begin again a month later,” Tala says. She grabs two green apples off a small tree, and the phoenix grabs one with her beak and chomps away. “From growing up in Cebu and spending some time in Cairo, I have protected Roxana from ever being killed by alchemists and hunters.” She scratches the phoenix’s neck but Roxana only cares about that apple. “I have vowed to put my life before all of hers.”
“Did your parents do the same for their phoenixes?”
“All Halo Knights do. This is our oath,” Tala says. “In return for our services we’ll be reincarnated as phoenixes.” She looks to the stars. “I’ll be reunited with my parents one day. If not in this life, then the next.”
I’d forgotten that this was built into their beliefs. Even as someone who is part specter and may have that ability, I still don’t believe this to be true. “If a pair of phoenixes landed beside us right now, how would you know if they were your parents or not?”
“I’ll feel it in my heart,” Tala states simply. “The same way my ex-girlfriend Zahra knew the butterfly that landed on her shoulder during graduation was her grandmother reincarnated.”
I cross my arms. “Faith isn’t proof. I would love to believe any time that the wind blows is because my dead boyfriend is casting it in my direction, but I’m not going to pretend I’m not grieving.”
Tala stands and Roxana perks up too. The slightest hint of danger pricks me. “Death is part of the cycle and the only death to fear is one that breaks the cycle.”
“Then why are you hunting down your parents’ killers, if this is natural?”
“Murder isn’t natural.”
Tala turns her back on me and hops onto the ledge of the roof. For a second I think she’s going to jump. Roxana would have to be as fast as my research claims light howlers are to catch Tala because she would hit that ground in under a minute. I would know, having jumped off countless buildings. Tala teeters on her heels and toes, really trusting in herself to not fall over. I stand beside her.
“My parents were everything to me. My first loving hands, my compass. I am who I am because of them and I expected them to live longer to nurture the best parts of me and wring out the worst,” Tala says.
Even though she’s one harsh wind away from falling off the edge, Tala’s composure is the most relaxed I’ve seen her. Not saying much, since our meeting involved physical combat and a flying arrow and dagger, but I find my own fists unclenching around her. I won’t dismiss her as nothing but a weapon the same way the world does to me.
“My name means ‘bright star,’” Tala says as she stares into the night sky. “My parents tried and tried to have children but my mother continued miscarrying. They prayed to their phoenix companions, a crowned elder and a sun swallower, one last time to help usher a child into this life, and nine months later I was born. I was their bright star in a life they personally considered dark without me. Now their love is gone.”
