by Adam Silvera
Wyatt walks circles around them. “Many tried waking up their phoenixes, but when most creatures and animals are hibernating, they only wake up when it’s their time.”
“My brother isn’t a phoenix! If we can’t wake him up, let’s get a fire extinguisher or buckets of water!”
I’m going to shake Emil awake. I surround my hand in silver and sapphire flames, hoping it’ll hurt less as I touch Emil’s fire, but if worse comes to worst and I lose a hand, I can grow a new one. I reach for him when Maribelle gasps, her dark yellow flames vanishing.
Maribelle frantically looks around the room. “I heard her.”
“Who? What happened?” Tala asks.
“Sera.” Maribelle fights back tears in her eyes. “I think she was dying.”
Tala takes this in. “Maybe her death was the closest doorway into her life.”
Wyatt nods along. “Brilliant. The point of the cycle isn’t to begin at the beginning, but to connect your beginning to her end.” Wyatt’s eyes widen as he bounces. “Oh, my holy blazes, we bloody did it!”
I want to punch this guy. “You’re celebrating this while my brother—”
Emil screams as his gold and gray flames dissipate. His eyes are wide like he’s seen something horrific; I wonder if I looked anything like that when Dad spat his blood on me before slumping over dead. Emil is shaking uncontrollably until Wyatt wraps his arms around him. Emil cries as he presses a hand to his sides, hiding his face in Wyatt’s shoulder.
“You’re safe,” Wyatt says. He places a hand on Emil’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“He was sitting in fire, genius,” I say. “Bro, what happened? Did you see Bautista?”
He doesn’t say anything.
This is unearthing so many awful, powerless feelings from over the years. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m really confused over how Emil figured it out before me. No offense to him, but come on. Not only am I stronger as the Infinity Savior with Reaper’s Blood, but learning has always been more instinctive to me. Emil couldn’t even assemble his tiny dresser—that came with instructions!—without my help.
“That was a whole other world,” Maribelle says. The last time I saw her gaze this distant was hours after Atlas died. “I felt like I was everywhere and nowhere. The more I accepted Sera as my mother, the more my senses were overloaded with things that don’t make sense. I smelled the color blue as memories of my life came into focus.”
Emil perks up, more blood smeared across his face. “I stopped rejecting my connection to Bautista. Stopped pretending that I didn’t used to be him. Then I swore I heard the gold fire on Bautista’s skin even though he was nowhere in sight.”
“Perhaps it’s a synesthesia of sorts,” Wyatt says, ignoring Emil’s blood on his shirt. “Senses may be bleeding into each other as you traverse into other lives.”
Is this why retrocycling didn’t click with me? I used logic: think about the past, go to the past. How could I have known that heightened senses were going to lead the way? Emil and Maribelle need to enlighten me on the details that prompted everything.
“Bright, did you see Ma and Dad?”
“No, but we should all try again. Let’s go.”
“No way,” Emil says. “I got to chill for a sec.”
“It’s more draining than you can imagine,” Maribelle says to me. “I’m starving and exhausted.”
Tala helps Maribelle to her feet. “Let’s get you something to eat.”
“I need a nap,” Emil says. “Or a sleep. And some ice for my wounds.”
“I’ll prepare a salve for you,” Wyatt says. “We can revisit this when you’re all feeling up to it.”
Prudencia must be able to sense that I’m about to fight back because she rests her hand on my shoulder. I can’t believe I’m watching Emil, Wyatt, Maribelle, and Tala leave like there isn’t more work to be done here.
“This is a gigantic breakthrough and they’re all going to grab a bite and nap away,” I say.
Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one truly committed to making this world a better place.
“Brighton . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
I have to bite my tongue. I’m relieved she can’t read my mind because I would only support her argument. Nosebleeds and shivers and feeling hot is child’s play compared to my blood poisoning and arm literally burning off. But if I spoke that truth right now I would be insensitive to Emil’s and Maribelle’s exhaustion and empty stomachs.
Prudencia hugs me. “I’m on your side. All I’m saying is we don’t know what they’ve been through.”
“I should find out. I’m going to try again now that I know more.”
Prudencia looks me in the eyes. “There’s no world where you weren’t.”
“So you’ll stay with me?”
“I’m here.”
“Will you record me?”
“This is still a sacred space I want to respect,” she says. “But I won’t fling your camera to the skies if you only use the footage for research.”
“Good compromise,” I say and kiss her. There’s one thing that could stop me from trying to retrocycle right now.
“What are you doing differently this time?”
This is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do. “Maribelle found herself on the edge of Sera’s death. I think I have to go back to Dad’s. I have the unfortunate advantage of having been there.”
Tears are forming in Prudencia’s eyes. “Brighton, you don’t have to do that to yourself.”
“If it means saving Ma, I do.”
No one can contest that.
I prop my phone against the wall and ready the camera. I don’t repeat all of Tala’s breathing exercises, I trust I can get myself in the right headspace. I close my eyes, ignite my fire, and I paint the picture of my most traumatic day ever.
Dad and I were in the living room. There was standard city noise outside the window, nothing special. Dad was wearing the green bathrobe I got him as a welcome-home gift after some time spent in the hospital; his temperature frequently dictated whether it was on or off. He sat on the couch with his favorite book, The Last Great Earthling, telling me how, during his most recent reread in the hospital, he couldn’t stand the narrator, and how there was no chemistry between the couple. I’ve tried reading the book before, and I thought Dad was wrong on both counts, but it was fun watching him getting angry over a story he has cherished for so many years.
That’s when his death began.
The sickness turned on him so suddenly that he ripped the book’s cover, tearing the man standing on earth in half. I’m waiting for my heightened, nonsensical senses to take over, such as the glossy cover screaming in pain or feeling Dad’s lungs squeezing as if I was cutting off his air with my bare hands, but nothing comes. I’m fighting back all the tears and waiting for a nosebleed, but nothing. When the heat of my own fire becomes too much, I call it quits.
“Cut the camera.”
Forty
Power Couple
BRIGHTON
“I have an idea.”
I’m getting some air in the courtyard with Prudencia. She’s been watching this family of white phoenixes for the past few minutes even though they’re just being birds. I don’t expect much from pigeons, but phoenixes should always be doing something cooler than trailing each other.
“Is this about retrocycling again?” she asks.
“Sort of. For whatever reason I can’t access that power, but if Ma is alive, then we need to figure that out sooner. Let’s drive back into the city so I can pick up something of hers from home. Then Wyatt can track her.”
“Good point. Let’s do it.”
“Thank the stars, I was nervous you’d find some reason to say no.”
“I was considering waiting to make the trip with Emil, but I know you would just hijack someone’s phoenix and go yourself.”
“You know me well.”
We return inside the castle, wak
ing up Emil to tell him our plan. He’s so drained that I’m not sure he fully registers that we even spoke to him before he falls back to sleep. We leave the grounds, crossing the bridge back to the car. Prudencia is beautiful as she concentrates on the road and gets us out of the woods. On the road she blasts some music, tapping the wheel as she sings along. I pull out my phone to film her.
“Don’t post that anywhere!”
“Why not? You’ll get so many new followers.”
“That’s exactly why. I’m still trying to lie low.”
“But wouldn’t being the Infinity Queen to my Infinity King be fun?”
“I prefer being the Infinity Independent Woman.”
“That doesn’t have a ring to it.”
“You would say that, Infinity Boy.”
“I prefer Infinity Man.”
“You would say that too,” she says, smiling.
For how powerless I’ve been feeling, Prudencia has been lighting me up the entire drive back into the city. I’m sure she’s being extra flirty and fun to distract me from everything that’s been going wrong and I really appreciate it. Partners shouldn’t only be there to witness your troubles. They should also help you get your mind off of them. I’ve got to make sure I’m doing the same for her moving forward.
There’s something big that’s been on my mind since the Cloaked Phantom, when everything changed between us. But I can’t wait around for some special constellations to give me permission to be bold.
“Can I ask you something?”
“That’s always been such a strange question. Are people really answering no and carrying about their day?”
“So your answer is yes.”
“Correct.”
“Do you love me?”
Prudencia is quiet until we stop at a red traffic light. “Maybe I should’ve asked what your question was about before answering. I wasn’t prepared for that one.”
“Sorry. It occurred to me that I said it to you and then we had sex, but didn’t get to talk about any of that because of my powers.”
“Saved by the powers.”
“You don’t have to answer. Never mind.”
Prudencia keeps driving and we’re getting closer to home. “I obviously love you, Brighton, and I’m clearly attracted to you. But I need some time to figure out if I’m in love with you. I’m an eighteen-year-old orphan who’s been on the run with my best friends for weeks and my head has been a little foggy.”
“Do you regret coming into my room that night?”
“Not at all. Don’t make me regret it.”
That’s a great start and it won’t end after everything we’ve been through.
Pulling up around the corner of my block makes me feel like the Brighton who used to live here is some past life of mine. It’s easy to remember the Spell Walkers fighting Stanton on this street the day Emil got his powers, but those childhood memories of playing around with the neighborhood kids feel so distant. I always knew I was going to grow out of those friendships and do better things, but to me that meant moving to Los Angeles and starting film school. Not becoming a local hero who’s too busy to respond to DMs from friends I used to play tag with.
“I don’t have my key,” I say as we start going up the stairs of my building.
“I really try not to use my you-know-what for personal reasons, but I’ll let it slide today.”
“You should let it slide every day.”
“Before I had to use my you-know-what to stop Orton from torching you and Emil, I went almost two years not using it,” Prudencia says as we reach the fourth floor and stop in front of my door. “But now Infinity Independent Woman has to strengthen up.”
She makes sure the coast is clear before telekinetically unlocking the door. I take down the eviction notice on my way inside.
The apartment is still messy. I was last here with Maribelle the night of the Crowned Dreamer. She posted about Atlas’s death on Instagram and then I pitched her my idea to steal the Reaper’s Blood; she was immediately on board.
“You know Maribelle was the last girl in my room? Pretty epic, right?”
Prudencia fakes the biggest gasp and clutches my wrist. “Aw, how was she? Was she amazing? I’m so happy for you!”
“No, don’t be happy, be jealous.”
“Did she make you feel like an Infinity Man?”
“You know I’ve always been excited to bring you home as more than a friend and you’re being a bully,” I say, turning away from her. Then I spin back against my control to find myself face-to-face with her and her glowing eyes. “That was hot.”
She’s about to kiss me when my bedroom door opens.
I’m expecting—hoping—it’ll be Ma because who else would possibly be in here. A stranger walks out of my room. He’s pale with shaggy brown hair, a torn white shirt, and eyes that look tired as if he was sleeping in my bed. This better not be some looter or superfan.
“Who are you?”
He answers with burning eyes and throws a white fire-orb at us.
We duck, and the fire-orb sails over our heads and explodes against the wall. I dash-tackle the specter into my bedroom.
“Why are you here?”
He head-butts me off of him and gets back to his feet. I dash again, this time shooting straight through him as if he isn’t there and crashing into my desk. He phased . . . one of the ghost powers that I don’t have. Then I realize the last specter I fought with white fire was Orton. He’s casting another fire-orb when my TV flies straight into him.
“He has knock-off Reaper’s Blood,” I say, remembering how Luna said she only experimented with the mixing of essences on some but saved the ultimate pure blood version for herself
I’m about to attack when the stranger vanishes from under the TV. I keep looking around, expecting him to pop up from behind me. This is my first real fight since getting my powers and I’m more than ready to make an example of this specter so the rest of the world will learn what happens when you cross me.
“Maybe he left,” Prudencia says, looking out the window.
We go into the living room.
“I’m guessing Luna sent him in case we came home.”
“He’s probably on his way back to Luna.”
I hear clicking coming from the kitchen. I gesture for Prudencia to be quiet as we creep up to find the specter standing over the oven with a fire-orb. My eyes widen as I grab Prudencia and dash through the living room right as there’s a thunderous explosion and storm of fire blasting out of the kitchen. Dark smoke fills the apartment immediately as the fire alarm goes off. Another explosion rockets from the apartment beneath us, and another, and another—the specter is taking us down with this entire building.
“Are you okay?” Prudencia asks.
I’m in shock as I turn to find the fire spreading toward us as if this home isn’t sacred to my family. Even if we had the money to start over after Dad died we never wanted to leave because this is where he and Ma raised us. But now all our furniture and pictures are being swallowed up by flames.
I should’ve been faster to kill that specter.
“Brighton!” Prudencia shakes me. “We have to go.” She grabs my hand, leading me toward the fire escape.
“Wait. My neighbors . . . I’ve got to make sure they all get out.”
She looks torn, but nods. “Where do we start?”
“You open every door and I’ll run into every apartment. But you get out of here as soon as you’re done.”
The sprinklers have been activated already and the wet floor is shaking beneath us. It might cave in if we’re not fast enough. Prudencia telekinetically slams open every apartment’s front door before moving to the next level, working her way down. Residents are already filling the halls and I’m trying hard not to slip as I dash in, shouting for everyone to evacuate. My lungs are sucking in this bad air, but I have to keep moving. So many lives are at stake. By the time I’ve reached the second floor, Prudencia is losing time as sh
e helps an elderly woman down the stairs. I bang on the few doors that haven’t been opened yet, relieved when the residents come out.
“You’ve been on the news,” one man says.
“You need to leave,” I say, dashing to the ground level to find every apartment cleared right as Prudencia vacates with the woman.
I breathe in fresh air, holding Prudencia’s hand as we cross the street to join the rest of my neighbors. We’re all watching flames eat up our building—our home. I stare at the huge hole in the wall where my kitchen used to be, and tear up.
“It’s all gone,” I say weakly.
“We saved a lot of people,” Prudencia says. “That’s what matters most.”
“Yeah, but . . . we didn’t get to grab anything of Ma’s.”
I feel powerless to save her all over again.
Forty-One
Dayrose
EMIL
There’s a knock at my window.
I shared the bread from my dinner with this common ivory and she’s probably back for more. I turn over from my bed, up from my third nap since almost retrocycling, and Wyatt is somehow hovering outside even though he isn’t a gleamcrafter. I realize what’s what. I squint, just able to make out Nox, who is blending into the shadows tonight. I struggle opening the window, pain shooting up from my reignited infinity-ender wounds, but I manage. Wyatt hops inside and Nox zooms away.
“Is my door broken?” I ask.
“Sweet Emil, I kindly request that you welcome more flair into your life.”
“Sure thing, I’ll schedule that in after I go back in time.”
“Fantastic.” Wyatt digs inside his satchel and withdraws a mason jar containing a thick liquid I can only describe as red mud. “Here, good sir, is your Dayrose salve.”
I unscrew the top.
“Wait, don’t!”
But it’s too late. This Dayrose salve, whatever this is, doesn’t smell like any rose. I gag so hard, screwing the top back on immediately. The stench reminds me of this time that I cooked some veggie pasta for the family, but some of it got left in the pot while we were away for a few days, and it molded so bad that Brighton threw up on the kitchen floor upon smelling it. Wyatt lowers his headband to cover his mouth and nose before passing me an extra so I can do the same.
