by Adam Silvera
“Thanks for coming along,” Wyatt says.
“You’re kidding, right? Thanks for these incredible views,” I say as I turn back to where the New Ember Sanctuary feels far off, like a star. “I don’t just mean the mountains and river. Your perspective too. It’s been a huge struggle reckoning with my history, and every day I feel like I’m moving deeper and deeper into a dark space. I straight-up haven’t wanted to live a few times, and I want to feel more grateful for this life that I shouldn’t have.”
“Of course you should have your life,” he says.
I look to the sky, so full of stars—you can’t catch a sight like this in the city. I imagine that each star belongs to those who have fallen in my life and beyond—Dad, Ma, Ness, Atlas, Gravesend, Bautista, Sera, the other Spell Walkers, every celestial who was murdered because of fear and hate, and every creature who was hunted for power.
“I didn’t grow up believing in souls reincarnating like you did, Wyatt. And since learning that I have past lives, I’ve been surrounded by death.” I hold out my hands, bracing myself for sharp pain as I conjure a fire-orb, but I’m okay because of the Dayrose salve. “You’ve given me hope that I can do incredible things with these powers. That I can make sure the gray sun whose blood is in mine didn’t die in vain.”
“You have a bright future ahead of you, love.”
“I’m going to make sure of that. I died with Bautista—I once died as him. I never want to feel that death again, but I do want what he had in his life. Even in the middle of all the chaos, Bautista still found time for a love that was so epic he sacrificed himself for it.” I think about when Ness returned for me back at Nova, how invincible I felt. And how much I wish I had made that clear to him right then and there. “It’s so hard to be open to happiness when people are missing and dying, but I’m never going to get anywhere in life if I’m waiting for everything to be perfect. If all goes according to plan, this might be my last life, and I got to start somewhere—and with someone.”
The fire-orb is making his eyes glow until I crush it between my palms because I don’t want to burn him. I can still make out his lips in the darkness, and he’s paying attention to mine too. The wind whistles as Nox continues to take us over mountains and rivers, though I’m only focused on Wyatt.
My heart is hammering as he reaches for my hair and pulls me to him, our faces so close that I suck in my breath. His dimpled smile is the key that unlocks me, that frees me like riding a phoenix on a beautiful night. I kiss him, our lips pressed together, and I’m running so hot I might explode.
I didn’t expect any of this when I walked into the library tonight—flying on Nox, kissing Wyatt, welcoming happiness. It would be so easy to be miserable and alone during a war even though I want more, but this is the first of hopefully many winning moments while I’m still fighting the bigger battle. And the life Wyatt is offering me as a Halo Knight is one I hope to live.
His hand slides under the jacket, and I tense as he grabs my side, almost breaking the kiss. I’m not used to this. I’m not opposed either. I run my hands down his pecs, fighting away all these ugly thoughts that someone like Wyatt only wants me because I happen to be gay and around. Then I remember how Ness asked me to only be with someone who thinks I’m beautiful because of who I am. I think that was true for Ness, and I think it’s true for Wyatt too.
I lean away from the kiss though our foreheads remain pressed together and we’re still holding on to each other. His smile gets another quick kiss out of me.
“You get better and better, love.”
“So do you, Skybreaker.”
When I manage to look away from his blue eyes, I notice that we’re back at the Sanctuary. I could have stayed out all night like this, but that’s not fair to Nox. Wyatt dismounts first, and he holds my hand as I hop off. Completely unnecessary and fully welcomed. I don’t let go of him as I turn to pet Nox, thanking him for this incredible ride.
We enter the library, and I realize I’m not ready to go back to my room.
“I really liked holding you tonight,” I say with my eyes to the floor because letting those words escape was vulnerable enough. “Can I stay here?”
“My door’s been open since the day we arrived,” Wyatt says.
He leads me to the farthest corner of the library where a sleeping bag is hidden behind a waist-high bookcase with tomes organized by color, like a rainbow of literature. All the colors vanish as he switches off the light. We’re both wet, so we strip down to our underwear, and I change into one of Wyatt’s dry shirts; he got me in his clothes like he wanted. We share the one pillow with our lips a breath apart and hold each other as phoenix song plays outside like nature’s greatest playlist. Except I’m too wired to think about sleeping.
Today, I went back in time so I can save lives, and tonight, I changed mine.
Forty-Nine
Forevermore
MARIBELLE
It’s late when Roxana gets us to Saffron Square in Brooklyn. Tala sends her away since she’ll be vulnerable in the market.
We go down into the abandoned train station where seven years ago construction was halted after wild basilisks kept swallowing workers whole and chewing the steel tracks between their fangs. I remember Mama saying how much she didn’t envy the celestials contracted with killing the basilisks, and how outraged the Save the Serpent activists were.
I had no idea there was a whole underground market operating here. It’s always a strange feeling when visitors know your city better than you do, but Tala has done business here before.
There’s graffiti all over the walls: a celestial telekinetically strangling a basilisk with the train tracks; green blood dripping from a slit palm and forming a girl and her serpentine shadow; a subway entrance shaped like a snake’s mouth with SHED spelled in fangs; and the biggest piece is of a basilisk with windows trailing down three flights of steps like a train that’s delivering us straight to the market.
“Welcome to the Shed,” Tala says as she puts on her mask, its beak still broken from our fight, and she passes shoppers with her shoulders high.
Glowing lanterns hang above the twenty or so booths, though it’s mercifully still dark enough that people don’t seem to be recognizing me. It’s close to one in the morning and there are easily a hundred people down here. How many are here to save the world and how many want to keep ruining it? I’ve smelled worse in my life, but the way someone has gone heavy on incense to cover the worst of humans is still horrible.
On the flight over, we reviewed which four ingredients we need, and Tala has already begun haggling with vendors. I admire a candleholder that’s shaped like a crystal skull as Tala trades one of her tranquilizers for saliva from a hibernating shadow-star hydra.
We need the shedding of a blood-plumed basilisk, and we can’t think of anyone better to ask than the man who has contacts that make his eyes look like slits and tattooed arms that are supposed to make him look scaly; it’s not impossible that he’s a specter, but personally, I think he’s overcompensating. On the shelves behind him are snake eyes, some as large as apples, in glass jars; jewelry made of fangs; and hideous snakeskin shoes that thankfully went out of fashion years ago. Tala points to what looks like a belt made of rubies on the third shelf. She trades the last gem-grenades in her bag for the dead skin.
Surrounded by all these herbs and chemicals and essences, I’m impressed with how good alchemists are at understanding the properties of ingredients to create effective potions. Anyone can brew if told what to throw inside a cauldron, but discovering everything yourself is a true skill. It must’ve been awful growing up with Luna as a mother, but if it meant that Sera learned the craft at a much faster rate, then I’ll make sure her childhood effort wasn’t in vain by using this shadow-star hydra saliva and blood-plumed basilisk shedding and everything else against Luna and her army.
We ask around for the soil that Sera named cumulus powder. One woman thinks we’d have an easier time finding fresh str
awberries growing in a December snowfall. But a man who has seen better days directs us to a woman named Gemma toward the end of the line.
The booth has lanterns hidden behind the purple curtains, making it glow like a sunset. The vendor looks to be about Mama’s age, and she’s wearing a black veiled dress as if she’s returned from a fancy funeral.
“Are you Gemma?” Tala asks.
She nods as she counts her cash. “What do you need?”
“Soil from a high mountain. Maybe from Aconcagua or Everest.”
Gemma looks at us for the first time and grins. “What do a Halo Knight and a wanted Spell Walker need with soil of that nature? Putting together a potion?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I say.
“No, but I can’t help but be nosy when people come looking for rare items. That soil is often used for purging creature toxins, though it’s hard to get your hands on some without those blasted hydras biting them off,” Gemma says. “It’ll cost more than cash.”
Tala reaches into her bag. “I created bladed stars that explode in lightning.”
Gemma laughs. “Young lady, I applaud your innovation, but that doesn’t interest me. What else do you have?” She looks between us, but the only item of potential interest I’m carrying is the oblivion dagger. And I’m not trading a surefire way to kill June for the chance to make a potion to disempower her. Gemma’s eyes land on Tala again. “I’ll take your jacket.”
“No,” Tala says. “Take my crossbow instead.”
“Once again, your weapons do not excite me. I’m well protected already.” Gemma’s eyes suddenly burn like an eclipse. My psychic sense triggers as two extra arms punch out of Gemma’s sides, reach behind her, and pull out two wands from underneath a blanket. “Now, a Halo Knight’s jacket is a collector’s item that several clients of mine would take an interest in.”
“This jacket was given to me by my parents, who were murdered weeks ago.”
“Condolences,” Gemma says with enough honesty that I don’t set her on fire. “But that’s my price. I want to live and manage my business and maintain my reputation as having the best high wares, young lady.”
Tala tightens her jacket close as if it’s freezing down here, when actually the sorrow in her amber eyes tells me she’s about to part with it. She strokes the black feathered sleeves, and I hope it’s of some consolation to Tala that Roxana is still alive to produce enough feathers to start again. Tala takes off the jacket, her wings and talons and beak tattoos exposed. Before she hands it over, she asks, “Where’s the soil?”
Gemma stares as her hydra-grown arms unlock a chest and pull out a pouch that’s patterned with blue and white stripes.
“How do we know this is legit?” Tala asks.
“You not knowing the product isn’t my fault,” Gemma says as she swiftly snatches the jacket and hands over the pouch. “But if it turns out to be nothing but park dirt, you can find me down here dressed like one of you until I have a buyer.”
Tala storms off, and I chase after her.
“I’m good with snapping off her arms if you want to steal back your jacket,” I say.
Tala stops in front of a booth selling ointments that claim to prevent phoenixpox. “There’s no honor in that, but there is some in the sacrifice I made. It’s better to lose something sentimental if it means saving phoenixes everywhere.”
Her devotion to phoenixkind makes me feel selfish for not even offering the oblivion dagger. But she made her choice, and I quietly made mine.
“Excuse me,” a short man says, trying to get to the booth. He has a dark, thick beard peppered with gray, and he’s wearing a tracksuit. He does a double take, and it’s clear he recognizes me. Then he looks especially petrified when he sees Tala’s mask. He immediately runs away, snaking his way through the crowd.
There’s something familiar about him. Was he one of the Brew dealers I confronted during the night of the Cloaked Phantom? Or one of those pharmacy alchemists I’d hoped might have some affiliation with Luna?
Then I know. I never met this man, but back when the Spell Walkers researched Emil’s life before bringing him onto the team, we learned that his boss at the Museum of Natural Creatures wrote a nonfiction book about some journey with phoenixes. What I remember most was this black-and-white author photo of him wearing a white turtleneck and a raptor glove. I couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was trying to look while he rested his chin on his gloved fist, and even Atlas couldn’t hold back his smile at how funny I found it.
“That man is Kirk Bennett. The museum curator who would’ve hired your parents to protect Gravesend, and then traded her egg away for Emil.”
Tala breaks into a sprint, shoving shoppers out of the way, and I follow in the path she’s cleared. Kirk runs past the stairway and through a dark tunnel where there are no lanterns in sight to light his way. I cast fire, but Tala is still several feet ahead of me, tracking Kirk by his pounding footsteps. She dives forward and tackles him, his face splashing in a deep puddle; he’s lucky if it’s only dirty water.
My fire-orb illuminates his face. “We haven’t had the pleasure, Kirk.”
“Please let me go,” he says. “I didn’t do anything!”
“Innocent people don’t run away like you did. What are you doing here?”
“I’m running an errand,” Kirk says.
“For what?”
He’s biting his tongue until I inch the fire-orb closer. “For whom—Luna.”
I tap Tala’s shoulder and ask her to ease up on him, but she’s too furious. “What are you getting for her? Where is she?”
The Starstifler can wait if we get a location on Luna now.
“I don’t know where she is! I’m picking up some oils and herbs used to strengthen phoenixes, and an ointment for shifters. She’s planning on sending someone over to grab them in the next few days.”
I’m not going to camp out in his home. That can turn into a trap quickly.
“Do you know who I am?” Tala says.
“A Halo Knight,” Kirk says.
She rolls him onto his back and removes her mask. “My parents were murdered in your precious museum over a job you didn’t honor.” He tries to apologize, but Tala’s fist connects with his chin too fast and hard. “Your word means nothing.” She drives her knee straight into his stomach. “You profited off phoenixkind and couldn’t bother protecting the precious first life of one who had centuries of lives ahead of her.”
Kirk begs for her to stop as she raises her fist. “Please! I’ll do anything! You want Luna? We can set up a trap for whoever comes for her order. They’ll know more than I do!”
Tala finally gets off of him. “You have ten seconds to get out of here.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Kirk is gasping for breath as he runs down the tunnel.
“Do you believe him?” I ask.
“My parents once believed him. I won’t make their mistake.”
Tala chooses an ordinary arrow and loads it into her crossbow. She aims with nothing but the sound of Kirk’s running to signal where he is. She takes a deep breath as tears slide down her blushed cheeks. He’s one of many people responsible for the death of her parents. Tala shoots the arrow through the darkness, and the fleeing footsteps stop and his anguished cries echo through the tunnel.
“He deserves to be a stranger to breath forevermore,” Tala says. “But I’ll settle for having him locked up for his crimes against phoenixes and my family.”
Fifty
The Silver Star Slayer
BRIGHTON
One look at the news proves that I’m not this country’s problem child.
Allegations against celestials have been increasing lately. Sometimes it feels like there’s a new one every day. But the three that have dropped this morning are rough: the invisible high school coach spying on students while they’re changing in the locker rooms; the boss with fire in his eyes as he corners his assistant for refusing dates with him; and the m
other who blinded the children who bullied her son at school.
“I don’t know how Sunstar is going to counter Iron during Monday’s debate,” I say to Prudencia as she finishes her breakfast. “I got to get back out there, try to help.”
“We blew up a building the last time we tried to help,” Prudencia says.
“Technically, the other specter blew it up.”
“I’m sure we can trust Iron to make that distinction.”
“I want to give Sunstar something to fire back with.”
“Brighton, no matter how much good we do, Iron’s people find ways to twist it.” Prudencia takes my hand. “I know you’re feeling powerless even though we know you’re not. But it’s not safe right now. You couldn’t even go home without getting attacked. We’re lucky no one died that night.”
I’m relieved none of my neighbors got killed. I am. But this is one of those moments where I’m grateful Prudencia is telekinetic and not telepathic because she would be disgusted to read my mind and see that I wouldn’t mourn some losses for the greater good.
It’s hard to be the Infinity Savior when I can’t save people.
“Okay,” I say, which feels like a weak promise I might break at any moment.
“Maribelle and Tala should be back with the potion ingredients soon, and then we can disempower the Blood Casters for good. That’ll paint Sunstar and her proposal for the Luminary Union in a better light. Sit tight with me for a little bit longer?”
She kisses me behind my ear, then twice down my cheek, and then finally my lips. We fall back onto the bed, and she sits on top of me, closing and locking the door with her telekinesis, which has definitely become a turn-on for me. My phone keeps vibrating, but I ignore it as my hands reach underneath her shirt and as her hands unbuckle my jeans. Even though we had the room to ourselves last night, we didn’t have sex because we weren’t sure when Emil was going to pop back in, but tonight I’m assuming he’s with Wyatt again or curled up with some phoenixes outside, I don’t care. I’m about to kick off my pants when Prudencia grabs my phone.
