Infinity Son

by Adam Silvera

  Iris cuts in before Maribelle because she insists she has to get back to surveying specter activity to figure out what the Blood Casters are planning with the Crowned Dreamer. Iris tells the story of what it has meant to not only be a legacy Spell Walker, but to come from a line of women who are stronger with each generation. Leading the Spell Walkers after the Blackout has felt like impossible work, but her parents never shied away from the importance of the mission, even when the stars felt dimmest, so Iris will continue carrying the world on her shoulders instead of letting it roll away, hoping she can one day live as an ordinary twenty-year-old.

  Maribelle joins me onstage with a photo in her lap. She defends her parents, saying that the media has got it all wrong about the Luceros and the Chambers. Instead of harping on how the Spell Walkers are responsible for the Blackout, she urges a deeper investigation on the girl everyone saw on the surveillance footage. She holds the missing pages of the story that the country is misreading. I’m about to ask her about what it’s like to be in a relationship that was born from tragedy, but Maribelle storms off with red eyes, and Atlas chases after her.

  Two more to go.

  Eva’s dark hair flows out from behind her rainbow cap, gifted to her by Iris to beat any urges to yank more strands from her head. She doesn’t make eye contact with me or the camera as she introduces herself as the hidden Spell Walker the world has never met because her healing power has made her too valuable. Three years ago, after losing her parents, who were working in a celestial shelter that was annihilated by a terrorist, Eva moved in with her lifelong best friend’s family. Eva had exposed her power to heal a child who’d been hit by a car, only to be followed by men who tried to kidnap her and sell her off to some shady alchemists. Her friend’s mother fought them off long enough for a celestial to come to the rescue, but she was shot in the conflict and died before Eva could heal her. Her friend watched, powerless, and soon after that, the friend sought out power to protect herself—she became a specter. Even scarier, she’s now the Blood Caster with hydra blood.

  I had no idea Eva was once friends with Dione Henri. I’ll admit, I was curious how Eva’s videos were going to track compared to the others in the series, but once this story gets circulating, I’m sure everyone is going to be holding their breath to see what happens between the Spell Walker and Blood Caster who have so much history together. I know I am.

  Emil comes out from behind the camera, and Prudencia takes over.

  “How honest should I be?” Emil asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe if I own up to my past lives, we won’t lose the spotlight.”

  “Solid.”

  Prudencia shakes her head. “It’s not solid. Emil, there might be a bigger bounty on your head to make you pay for what Keon did. Violence against phoenixes will only increase. It’s all too risky.”

  So we go with what’s safe for the video. Emil talking about how he was excited for college and how things were picking up at work. It’s fine, but it’s all surface level. Everyone would lose their minds to hear about how he was adopted, how he was found on the streets. It was a plot twist that shook us greater than our favorite stories. It doesn’t matter, I guess. If Emil is in it, people are going to treat it like a gigantic deal.

  I pack up and immediately lock myself in the computer lab to work on edits. Ma makes sure I’m eating, and Prudencia urges me to rest, and Emil keeps me company while flipping through Bautista and Sera’s journal. I pass out at the table while polishing Atlas’s video, and when Emil wakes me up to go to bed, I get back to work. I clock out around five in the morning, only when I’ve done all my edits. I review everything when I wake up and present it to the team. Everyone is good, so there’s one last thing left to do.

  I hit upload.

  The Spell Walkers of New York have broken the internet. The #HumanPower tag is trending globally, and people are taking it on like it’s the latest Instagram challenge. It’s only been fourteen hours, and Emil’s video is leading with over two million views. The others have all crossed one million too.

  My phone is absolutely blowing up with media requests and follower growth. I love the high of notifications, but I had to finally turn them off. Shooting past one hundred thousand YouTube subscribers was the big dream, and now that I’ve crossed that line, I want more—I need more.

  I’m getting some heat from this conservative vlogger, which isn’t that surprising—the so-called Silver Star Slayer is always spreading conspiracy theories about celestials. Anytime Senator Iron gets caught saying something that should work against his campaign, you can count on him to upload a video about how a shape-shifter probably posed as Senator Iron or some other celestial used their technological powers to manipulate the footage, as if that’s even a thing.

  The Silver Star Slayer has got his political neck of the woods believing the following: it’s only a matter of time until Atlas follows in his parents’ footsteps; Wesley’s sob story about Ruth cloning herself to help out with their baby is a disservice to single mothers who are actually struggling; if Iris wanted to be a hero, she would disband the Spell Walkers; Maribelle is calling for an invasion of privacy of a young girl’s life because she won’t accept that her parents are murderers; Eva is selfish for not healing patients in need of urgent care; and Emil is being groomed to assassinate Senator Iron and any other anti-gleamcraft politicians.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to the group. “People are buying into it.”

  I never wanted to give anyone more ammo.

  “But not everyone. Anyone willing to believe his lies isn’t ever going to change their mind about us,” Iris says. “This is a promising sign. You’ve proven that they’re paying attention to us with their hashtag. Now we just have to figure out how to leverage this platform to cause some real change.”

  Prudencia walks over with bottles of cider and champagne. “You did it,” she says with a true smile.

  Everyone gets themselves a glass, and they toast me.

  I may not be throwing fire, but I’m just as much a hero as anyone else.

  Twenty

  No One

  NESS

  Dione Henri is limping when she finally returns to Light Sky Tower with dark shadows under her venom-green eyes. Blood is caked in her curly red hair and splattered across her muscular, tattooed arms. I can’t help myself, I’m always drawn to the white scars around her body—the thick line across the tulips on her forearm, another splitting the pink rose on her shoulder, a deep one at the base of her neck, to name a few—and the new one below her knee is still healing, like flesh stitching itself together. Why people continue to cut away at the girl with hydra blood as if that will stop her is beyond me.

  A few months ago, I would’ve been thrilled to see her return in one piece. Starting over with no ties to my old life was lonely, and Stanton is too ruthless for true friendship. Dione’s presence was more real, more human. I was sure we were in the same boat—indebted to the gang for saving our lives and heartbreakingly loyal because it was better than running from our pasts alone. Dione bad-mouthing the Senator when we watched the news together was a sign that she’s good people, and she was the only one who checked in on me the night I killed that alchemist who put a wand to my head. But she’s been on a power trip lately, throwing herself into more and more danger in the name of Luna’s grand design, which she thinks will make her safe forever. That it will make all of us safe forever. The mission is what matters. No friends.

  I’ve been wondering if she watched the video of the Spell Walker Eva Nafisi talking about how they were former best friends. Considering her current state, now doesn’t seem like the time to ask.

  “Where’s the freak of nature?” Dione asks me and Stanton.

  Always nice to hear that I’m not the only one still unnerved by June’s existence.

  “More blood tests with Luna,” I say.

  “Then we leave in two minutes without her,” Dione says.

  “You don
’t control me,” Stanton says.

  There are several Casters around the country, but we’re the elite, we’re in on the big plan. Stanton is the most senior of the New York gang by a year, but we only serve one leader and that’s the person who gave us power. Our roles are constantly shifting, but for the most part, we’re set. I spy on Luna’s enemies and impersonate at her orders. Dione negotiates with dealers, traffickers, and politicians, and when that fails, she uses pure force so she doesn’t return without good news. Stanton hits the streets to prey on potential Casters who first have to be initiated as acolytes to prove themselves—a step I’m grateful I got to skip, since Stanton’s methods in testing their loyalty and fierceness are brutal. And June is nothing more than an assassin, far as I can tell. The killer who hasn’t been seen by the world since the camera caught a glimpse of her in the wreckage of the Blackout. Luna has paid many favors to the media to keep June’s face out of their circulation.

  Dione ignores Stanton’s bait and fills us in on the rare golden-strand hydra that’s being transported from Greece for some trafficker’s client who outbid Luna. The trafficker wasn’t going to reveal the whereabouts and timing of the drop-off, not even after Luna offered to bless him with the powers of an ivory phoenix, so Dione assassinated his entire crew single-handedly, and he changed his tune. It’s important that the hydra remains unharmed, which means preventing its delivery to the Apollo Arena, where it will be forced to fight another creature in a vicious cage match.

  Everything is going down within the hour in Brooklyn, so Stanton rounds up some acolytes and we leave the tower. I pulled tonight’s disguise from the security guard who looked at Luna with disdain when we first arrived at the end of August. Wearing a dead man’s face is good for my conscience; not like he’ll get arrested for any crimes I commit tonight.

  I’m hoping no serious action will be necessary, but as we all park and fan out across the marina, hiding in boats and behind bushes, I stay close to Stanton and Dione, because that’s the key to staying alive. Luna tells us to look after each other like family, and even though that word has been meaningless for years, we know we better live up to her expectations. So many acolytes would love to take our places.

  I tense up as the cargo ship pulls in to the pier. The door swings open, and while the hydra’s growl is chilling, nothing freaks me out more than a dozen armed mercenaries exiting the boat with wands and daggers swinging from their belts. We don’t have nearly as many acolytes as we need to survive this. To even attempt it.

  “Let’s call them off,” I say. “Wait for them at the arena.”

  “Security at Apollo is tight,” Dione says.

  “We’ll die if we move now,” I say.

  “We’ll never truly live if we don’t,” Dione says.

  Dione lunges into action. She reaches mercenaries with her bursts of swift-speed before their spells can be fired, and she snaps one’s neck. The acolytes come out of hiding, distracting the mercenaries long enough for Stanton to strike.

  Here we go.

  My wand is charged to the max. I need to make these six blasts of lightning count. I enter the fray right as one acolyte takes a spell straight through his heart, falling over into the river. The mercenary responsible takes aim at me, and I shoulder roll out of the way, almost going over the edge and into the water myself. Before I can fight back, Stanton pops up behind the bearded man, sinks his teeth into his neck, and rips out a chunk of flesh. Blood gushes all over the dock, and the mercenary falls into it, writhing around.

  Stanton grins and waves before spinning in time to catch the wrist of someone who was trying to stab him.

  Objective: protect the hydra from harm.

  Reaching the boat isn’t simple. I only get two discharges out of my wand before a mercenary blasts it in half, burning my hand. An inch to the left would’ve been a head shot. I would’ve died as someone else. . . .

  I hop onto the nearest boat and take cover in this ridiculous midlife crisis purchase. The little wobble of the boat is enough to trigger my seasickness. The couple times I rode the ferry with my mother were enough to keep me off water forever. I try to hold my dinner in, but when I look through the foggy window and onto the dock, I see a mercenary pin an acolyte under her boot and shoot a spell between his eyes. I throw up all over my boots.

  Dione and Stanton and the remaining three acolytes are being overpowered.

  “Ness!” Dione shouts.

  There’s fury all over her face as if I’m stronger than her, as if I’m the one who said we should go and try to fight this battle.

  New plan: Morph into one of the fallen mercenaries long enough to get past the survivors who are keeping my people at bay. Then we all run.

  I’m in the process of modeling myself after the one Stanton thought was acceptable to bite like some vicious storybook vampire when someone tackles me from behind.

  “I hate shifters,” the man growls.

  He flips me over. He swings his long red hair out of his face, revealing a thick scar that travels across his cheek. Who knows if the hydra that did that became a trophy in his home, but at least that creature managed to slash away half of this man’s nose. The mercenary chokes me, and I’m hoping Stanton and Dione are going to appear out of the shadows and save me, but nothing. I lose concentration on my morph, and my entire glamour fades away.

  “You . . .” His face goes white. “Aren’t you—”

  I rip the wand out of his holster and fire a spell through his heart.

  “I’m no one,” I say with my first breath.

  The life vanishes from his eyes, and he collapses on me. His corpse is heavy, but I manage to roll him off. I tried to avoid this—so badly—but if it’s my life or someone else’s, there’s no competition. Footsteps are coming my way. If I could swim, I’d throw myself overboard. But I can play dead better than anyone I know. I morph into an acolyte with blood staining my shirt and stay very still, even though my heart is alive and racing. Let everyone think we took each other out.

  The Blood Casters failed tonight, but I can make this right.

  I have to make this right.

  May the stars have mercy on me if I can’t.

  Twenty-One

  Hope

  MARIBELLE

  It’s a couple days after Brighton’s campaign before something worthy pierces the news cycle, but this late-night report of an attack on the Brooklyn marina catches my eye. There are images of dead acolytes being bagged up, and that’s all I need to resist Atlas pulling me back into bed. This is a solid lead, and because Atlas is a gentleman, he gets up, and we rush out to his car with our gear.

  “The couple that hunts together, stays together,” I say as we take off.

  Atlas yawns. “I vote for becoming the couple that stays in together and gets a full night’s rest.”

  I had that once—didn’t work for me. The only person I dated before Atlas was Aquila, a powerful celestial who was rescued by Iris’s parents. I was fourteen when I bumped into her outside the haven’s bathroom, oblivious to who she was and why I was so attracted to her. I was able to talk through my feelings with Iris, who’s always understood her heart. Aquila and I bonded over music and strong mothers, but unlike me, she wasn’t committed to the fight and wanted to stay indoors instead. Going off on her because her power was more active and better primed for the fight than mine wasn’t my finest hour. But praying to the stars that everything will sort itself out isn’t me. I get out of bed to make a difference.

  “Iris is going to be pissed we didn’t wake her up,” Atlas says.

  “If she was really on her game, she wouldn’t need us to.”

  “Mari, she can’t be awake twenty-four seven.”

  “Why not, she’s the all-powerful celestial who’s going to save the world from itself, isn’t she?”

  I can’t believe I didn’t see all her arrogance when we were growing up.

  “Sounds more like Emil,” Atlas says. “What people are expecting, at least.�
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  “I don’t want to say it to Emil’s face, but the wrong brother got powers. Emil’s sensitivity and resistance to fighting is much more suited to doing all the behind-the-scenes activity. Brighton’s take-charge attitude paired with those powers could’ve been truly revolutionary for us.”

  “I believe in Emil. He’s doing his best.”

  “I hope his best gets better.”

  We park minutes away and almost bump into a couple holding hands as they exit a bodega, carrying groceries. I’m envious. No one is expecting them to save the world. They’re not trying to avenge the deaths of their parents. They get to hold hands and breathe in peace. I’m tempted to reach for Atlas’s, but we have to keep our hooded heads low under the moonlight and not draw attention to ourselves as we continue our late-night mission.

  There’s yellow tape stretched across the dock. All the body bags and police are gone. I step in puddles of blood that haven’t dried yet, and I’m adding more crimson footprints to the grimy wooden panels. I investigate the insides of a metal cargo crate, using my phone’s flashlight to expose the claw marks and scattered fur.

  “Hydra,” I call out, and my voice echoes within. I step out. “Luna must be creating another specter.”

  Atlas is standing still and staring at the blood.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “So many deaths. Mari, if I die during battle—”

  “We’re not having this talk.”

  “—I want to be cremated. I don’t want some open casket funeral where my body is stitched back together from whatever takes me out and people remember me wrong. I want my ashes scattered somewhere . . . maybe even tons of places.”