Infinity Son

by Adam Silvera

  “What about the phoenix?” Then I figure it out, the light bulb moments I always envy Brighton for having, but this one scares me. “The century phoenix.”

  Ness nods. “If you want to put an end to her madness, you have to end her, firefly. Period. Problem is, you don’t have a killer’s bone in you. You wouldn’t even let Maribelle murder a remorseless assassin. Face it. Luna has you beat.”

  I hug my knees, tight, and hold back a scream.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask after a stretch of silence.

  Ness holds my gaze. “You’re the only person not expecting anything from me either.”

  Twenty-Six

  Rise

  EMIL

  The Spell Walkers are hitting me with questions left and right. How do we know Ness isn’t sending us straight into a trap? Why did he reveal everything to me? Is June stoppable? Do we have any chance in hell at actually beating the Blood Casters? There are no sure answers, but we’re thrown into a frenzy as we suit up and head for the cars. Iris tries convincing Ness to come along, but he simply tells her that the only way he’s going to the cemetery to face Luna is if he’s a dead body they can bury.

  I can’t find Brighton for a see-you-later when we head out, and it turns out it’s because he’s been sitting in the far backseat all along.

  “Get out,” Iris says as she takes the driver’s seat.

  “No. If Luna is actually going to be there then I can film her, and we can finally pin her to her crimes.”

  “It’s too dangerous,” I say. “Please, Bright, sit this one out.”

  “You guys are going to have to drag me out, and that’s time better spent getting to the cemetery,” Brighton says.

  “I hope the stars are with us,” Iris says.

  Maribelle, Atlas, and Wesley get in, and we take off. Prudencia isn’t here to watch his back either.

  The Spell Walkers are hoping to use the Crowned Dreamer for that much-needed power boost to get us through this night. They’ll have an advantage over the Blood Casters too, since their gleam is natural, which makes me lucky to be on the right side. But as we pull in and park, my chest is so tight. There’s no preparing for these impossibilities.

  Older Cemetery is so damn winter-cold that everyone’s breath is clouding the air around us as we continue searching for the Blood Casters. This darkness is too much for a city boy; I need streetlights the deeper I go across the field, past unmarked graves, but all we have to guide us are the brightening stars of the Crowned Dreamer, whose shape is becoming clearer every night. If we don’t stop the gang, Luna will be closer to remaking the world. And if there’s any possibility for a power-binding potion, who knows if it’ll be enough to work on Luna once she drinks the Reaper’s Blood.

  “We should invest in coats,” Wesley says.

  I cast a fire-orb for warmth and light. What I swore were branches snapping underneath my feet have actually been a trail of thin blackened bones that lead into a tree. Brighton follows the trail with his camera.

  “Bright, look alive.”

  “Documenting,” Brighton says.

  “You really shouldn’t be here.”

  “Neither should you.”

  “I don’t want to be,” I say. “But it’s different and you know it.”

  “I messed up, and I’m going to make this right. Showing more initiative than your favorite shape-shifter, who’s lounging at Nova and probably sweet-talking his way to get some Netflix going.”

  I’m not going to get pissed at someone who doesn’t want to fight because they want to live. I get it.

  “If he didn’t want powers, he shouldn’t have signed up for them,” Brighton presses.

  I’m about to beg him to cut the hero act and turn around and leave when Iris signals to us to shut up. She crouches behind the statue of a headless hydra. Even though wintry winds are doubling down, I clasp my hands and crush the fire-orb, my fingers instantly cold again, so it won’t give us away.

  Down a hill, the three Blood Casters are spread out like a pyramid with dark ropes connecting them, and they’re surrounded by a dozen acolytes in ceremonial robes. They’re all protecting a short man with deathly white skin and hair as gray as storm clouds. The alchemist, Anklin Prince, is standing between two graves while holding a metallic urn with a stone rim. I can’t make out the golden glyphs emblazoned on the base, but they’re burning bright as Anklin chants.

  Across from Anklin is none other than Luna Marnette. She’s never out in the open. If Ness wasn’t detained at Nova, I would’ve sworn he was posing as her. But this must be legit. Her face is gaunt, and she’s staring intently at the urn. Her tangled silver hair reaches down to her waist, and there are three sheathed daggers hanging from her belt. She’s wearing laced gloves that twinkle under the moonlight. I don’t know the sound of her voice or her eye color, but I already feel so haunted by her. Ness said that she doesn’t need power to be powerful, and I get it.

  I shiver as the cold strikes again. I guess messing with the dead must be responsible for these chills.

  “Keep your distance, okay?” I whisper.

  Brighton shakes his head. “You do your job and I’ll do mine.”

  He’s going to get us killed, I know it.

  We’re all huddled together, doing our best not to be seen by Luna’s people.

  “We got to get that urn,” Atlas says. “Wesley, that’s all you.”

  “We have no idea what those ropes do,” Iris says.

  “It’s probably ceremonial,” Maribelle says. “Wesley can be in and out and we should take advantage while we still have the element of surprise—”

  A bone snaps behind us and someone shouts, “SPELL WALKERS!”

  An acolyte.

  Atlas blasts him off his feet.

  Spellwork explodes around us, blowing apart the statue’s body. Everything we planned in the car has already gone to hell, but we’ll do whatever it takes to stop Luna from capturing her parents’ ghosts. Two acolytes chase me, and the cold air is filling my lungs like the times I would run from the train station to my building during winter just so I could get inside somewhere warm. Bolts of electric blue light sail past my shoulder and blow up around my feet. I jump behind a tree that shakes after a spell shoots through it. I pop out and nail an acolyte in the ankle with a fire-dart, and the other trips over him.

  I keep it moving, relieved to find Brighton crouched behind some bushes that must belong to someone who was rich as hell in life. The Blood Casters have got me straight scared with how still they are. Why aren’t Stanton or Dione or June dropping the rope to fight? It’s got to be more than ceremony. In a blur, Wesley charges toward the triad of specters and leaps into the air, but once he crosses the rope, a radiant gold force field rebounds him. Wesley flips through the air, and his back bangs against a massive headstone.

  Wesley falls face-first into the dirt, the stillest I’ve ever seen him.

  “Wesley!” Leaves swirl around Atlas, and he punches the air, his winds carrying six acolytes off their feet and collapsing all around.

  We run to Wesley and flip him over. Atlas shakes him, but his eyes remain closed.

  “Is he breathing?” I ask.

  Atlas nods when he feels a pulse. “We got to get him to Eva.”

  I look back and forth between the Blood Casters and Wesley. “Let’s get him out of here.”

  Spellwork continues unloading around us. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sound or the idea that someone is trying to shoot me. Can’t imagine Luna wants me as a weapon. You don’t go around snapping swords in half that you intend to stab someone with later.

  “Iris!”

  She fights her way back to us, hurling acolytes left and right. Every time a spell hits her, she stumbles, but none are strong enough to pierce her skin. Her eyes widen when she sees Wesley. “Tell me he’s not dead.”

  “Not yet. We got to get him to Eva.”

  “I should’ve let her come along, I’m so stupid—�
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  “No time for a guilt trip,” Atlas interrupts. “I’m going to knock out everyone, and you get Wesley to the car.”

  I forever wish I had the power to teleport instead of creating fire, especially now, when it means I could get Wesley to safety. But his health is counting on me to be on the offense, so I follow Atlas back into battle. He’s doing his best to hurl funnels of wind while dodging spellwork. Maribelle is floating around, kicking wands out of the hands from acolytes. She throws a gem-grenade at June, but the force field sends it back, exploding in midair.

  I take a deep breath and go off on all these acolytes. Fire-dart straight into the acolyte aiming a wand at me and another into the one shooting at Atlas. An acolyte jumps out of a tree with a net to try and capture Maribelle and I cast a fire-orb, timing it perfectly to explode against his chest.

  The path is as clear as it’s going to be, and I have to break past this force field. I charge a fire-orb and release, hoping phoenix power will drive through, but it slings back at me at a speed I can’t dodge. The orb hits me like a hammer to the gut and knocks the wind out of me. I’m not immune to my own power. Good to know, bad time to find out.

  I’m staring up at the sky from the ground when Atlas is shot out of the air. He falls twenty feet and crashes into the dirt beside me.

  “Atlas!” Maribelle appears beside us.

  “Mari, Mari, I’m okay,” Atlas weakly says.

  There’s fury in her eyes. “Watch him,” she says to me.

  Maribelle picks up a wand and takes off into the air, showing no mercy against the acolytes.

  The cemetery gets even colder, like I’m lying naked in streets of snow. There’s a howl that’s so piercing I’m convinced I’ll never sleep again, and it digs deep into my heart, making me feel incredibly lonely, like no one will care if I die this very second.

  Anklin is no longer chanting.

  Two shadows of black light appear out of nowhere, above the graves of Luna’s parents, and turn into ghosts so lifelike they could be living people. The ghosts stare at Luna with confusion, then horror. The person before them is much older than the young woman who violently murdered them. The Marnettes try holding hands, but they slip through each other.

  Luna’s laced gloves begin to glow. The ghosts step back as she stalks toward them like a predator. The Marnettes move their mouths, but no words come out, just that awful howling that makes me feel painfully empty, like I’m starving for crumbs of happiness. Unlike June, Stanton and Dione look to be suffering from this agony too, but they hold on to the ropes, locking the Marnettes in as they try escaping. They pound on the force field like it’s a door someone will open for them, and Mr. Marnette even goes so far as to bang into it with his shoulder. Mrs. Marnette howls in Dione’s face. Dione closes her eyes, but there’s no shutting out that ghost song.

  Heroes aren’t supposed to feel so easily defeated, but I’m damn near down for the count. I don’t have the heart for this life. I can throw fire but it’ll get deflected. I may as well be powerless.

  Luna corners her father while Anklin follows her with the urn. She doesn’t even say anything to him as she grabs him by the throat, her gloves sparking as she presses his face into the urn. He isn’t sucked in easily, so Luna keeps pressing down on him as if her father is simply a pair of shoes she’s trying to fit into a full suitcase. Within a minute, her father’s ghost is gone, trapped in the urn, to be vanquished later. Mrs. Marnette’s ghost howls even louder as she falls to her knees. Luna circles her like a vulture and shoves her into the urn too. Anklin seals the urn and hands it over to Luna.

  Her grin sends chills down my spine. “Kill them,” she says in the silence.

  The force field vanishes when Stanton, June, and Dione drop the rope.

  Me and Maribelle are the only active Spell Walkers, with Iris tending to Wesley and Atlas a couple feet away. This is it; this is not only how we fail everyone, but where we’re going to die. Where we’re going to be killed.

  Stanton charges me, and I’m quick with a fire-dart, but it only stalls him for a second. He races forward, grabs my neck, and flings me through the air. My world spins as I soar across the cemetery until I slam into the ground and bang into another headstone. I’m fading in and out, fighting to keep my eyes open. Maribelle is locked in hand-to-hand combat with Stanton. They’re anticipating each other’s punches, but Stanton speeds up, surprising her with a kick to her chin. Dione runs at me, screaming as two extra arms punch out of her sides, and she leaps. I’m not quick enough to attack back, but Iris jumps over me and catches Dione in midair, slamming her to the ground.

  “Get the urn,” Iris commands as one of Dione’s new fists clocks her in the chin.

  I get up, fighting past all limping and dizziness. Luna is watching the chaos and doesn’t flinch when I approach her.

  “You don’t have the fire I thought you would,” Luna says.

  “I’ve come this far,” I say.

  “This is where you’ll end, my little wonder.” She slides a dagger out of a sheath. The handle is made of bone and charred black, and the serrated blade is yellow. “You’re familiar with the infinity-ender, yes?” Anklin joins her side, and she hands him the blade. “I made the grave error of not stabbing Bautista in the heart when I killed him, my dear Anklin, so be sure to pierce Emil properly so we can end this bloodline once and for all.”

  Luna walks off with the urn, and Anklin barrels into me before I can make a move. He pins his knee deep into my stomach and drives the blade down on me. I catch his wrist and try wrestling the weapon out of his hand. The phoenix cries within me, guiding my reflexes like never before, like its essence is aware that our fire might be snuffed out for good. Anklin gains control, and the tip of the blade kisses my heart, and I pray Brighton isn’t watching and has the common sense to get the hell out of here. I don’t want to kill this man, but I have to fight for my life. I’m sweating and shouting as I ignite fire, burning Anklin’s hands. Gold and gray flames crawl up his sleeves. He drops the blade beside me as he tries to extinguish the fire.

  I don’t bother with him. I charge after Luna. I’m beat, but I’m still fast enough to catch up with her. I jump into the air and tackle her to the ground. The urn rolls out of her grip. I cast a fire-dart, aim, and the second before I throw it, Luna redirects my wrist and it shoots into a plaque. Luna punches me, her ring cutting into my cheek, and man, if I survive this, Ma is going to give me hell for fighting an elderly woman, no matter how corrupt she is. I clock Luna in the chin, but it’s not enough to lay her out, and I wonder how many times she’s been hit during her journey that she knows how to take a punch so well.

  I shoulder roll and grab the urn, running back in the direction of the car. I dodge recovering acolytes, holding on to the urn for dear life, and damn, I could’ve been a boss at football. Stanton steps in my path with a bloody nose. Maribelle is aiming a wand at June. It’s a distraction, and she’s falling for it. Dione and Anklin pop up behind me as Luna approaches too.

  “You come closer and I’ll pour everything out,” I say, trying to twist open the urn’s cap. They grin and laugh at me like they knew this would go down. “Fine, fine. Stay the hell back or I’ll burn it.”

  They all calm down.

  “Hand it over,” Luna says.

  Phoenix song screeches higher and higher within me, and my arms are set ablaze, bigger than ever before—true wings of gray and gold flames. I shoot into the air right as Stanton lunges at me. My legs are dangling and what-the-what, I’m actually flying. Flying isn’t as weightless as I thought it would be, it’s more like the worst pull-ups of my life, but I can’t sink with this urn in my possession, so I work harder and harder to rise high as a tree.

  “Get him down!” Luna shouts.

  I shift my body, holding one fist ahead of me, and I soar through the air with the wind and fire roaring in my eyes. The urn is tight in my grasp, and I fly out of the cemetery, happiness overpowering fear for once.

 
Twenty-Seven

  Fall

  BRIGHTON

  Emil is blazing like a comet, gray and gold flames streaking against the night.

  I lose focus on filming as my brother flies away with my favorite power. How long has Emil known he could do this? Was he keeping it a secret so he could bust it out in some blazing moment of glory? Unlike him, I’m not running away from battle. He can go back to Nova and play it safe with Ness; I don’t care. But this fight doesn’t end just because he got the urn.

  Maribelle and Iris are struggling to hold their own against Stanton, Dione, and Anklin.

  There’s a wand on the ground, and I drop the camera. Stanton spots me and is confused long enough for Iris to punch him so hard he hurtles into a trio of beat-down acolytes. I scoop up the wand, which feels as heavy as a steel bat even though it’s only as long as a cutting knife. My fingers are tight around this weapon, and I’m as powerful as I’ve always felt.

  This isn’t some video game. This is the real deal.

  I hold the wand like I’ve seen so many heroes and enforcers do on YouTube.

  I may only get one shot, so I choose the most important target.

  I squint at Luna and flick the wand.

  The ember-orange bolt misses Luna by inches and sets a tree ablaze. The force of the spell knocks me on my back, and my arm is shaking so hard, like an earthquake in my wrist, and I drop the wand. Luna stares at me with a cocked head, grins, and points at me. Acolytes are on top of me in moments, and I reach for the wand, but they’re dragging me away. I dig my nails into the ground, shouting for the Spell Walkers to help me, but I’m flipped around by Stanton, who hovers over me with his bruised face. He pins me down with his viselike grip and punches me between the eyes.

  Twenty-Eight

  Hearts

  EMIL

  Minutes after taking flight I’m not strong enough to stay up, so I ground myself on a street far away from the cemetery. I don’t know if I’m having an easier time with powers than other specters would since my body was never fully human, but it’s still so much work, like how Wesley runs out of breath after minutes of speeding around or how Maribelle also feels weighed down when levitating.