by Adam Silvera
“Downstairs in Wesley’s room.”
I’m running hot again, and if I can’t control myself, that mysterious ring of fire might kill everyone in this room. Seems appropriate since I’m truly a killer now. The boy I love more than anyone else is gone because of me.
“What’s wrong with me?” Atlas isn’t here to calm me down. “I’m heating up.”
“Power advancement?” Eva says.
“I can levitate. Flying higher and further would be a development.”
“You sure your parents didn’t have fire-casting in their bloodlines?” Brighton asks.
Everyone keeps speculating except Iris.
“You know something,” I say as I approach her.
She refuses to make eye contact. “No one knew . . . no one thought this would happen. My parents believed your power had advanced as far as it could. It just came so late, and your blood glistens, and you’ve shown no other signs of being . . .”
“Being what?”
“A specter,” Iris says. “This is phoenix fire, Maribelle. It just surfaced differently than Emil’s. Flight before fire.”
I’m going to blow this building to the ground. “How do you know all of this?”
“I was told everything in confidence. The fact that you’re experiencing both sets of powers is exceptional, especially since . . . especially since Bautista didn’t. He only possessed phoenix fire.”
“What the hell does Bautista have to do with me?”
“No way!” Brighton’s hands fly to his mouth.
“Lestor and Aurora raised you,” Iris says. “They’re your parents, but—”
“Save it, Iris, I don’t care about your secret intel. I’m a Lucero. End of story.”
“You’re Bautista and Sera’s daughter, Maribelle. To our knowledge, you’re the first child born from a specter and celestial.”
No one says anything. Even Wesley stops sobbing and stares in confusion. Emil is the only other person in this room who has a sense of what I’m going through, and even then, our experiences are different. His past life is my biological father. I have no idea when Mama and Papa decided to raise me as their own or how that even unfolded. Was that Bautista and Sera’s idea? Finola and Konrad’s? Why didn’t anyone tell me? Why was this a secret?
The question that pains me: “Who else knows?”
“No one,” Iris says.
Even Eva is shaking her head. “Iris, how could you not tell her? This wasn’t some intel like before. This is her family.”
“I was sworn to secrecy! Maribelle, I didn’t want to disturb your history. That wasn’t my place.”
“The hell it wasn’t! You were the only person who knew! Atlas died without ever knowing the real me. I could’ve died never knowing the real me!”
“My job was to protect you. It’s what Lestor and Aurora wanted.”
“Don’t you dare use their memory against me!” Everything suddenly makes sense about why Iris would keep up this lie. “Oh my stars, no wonder you kept it all a secret. You thought that if I knew that I came from Bautista and Sera, then I would take over as leader of the group.”
Iris pops up from her seat and slams her fist on the table so hard that it caves in. “You have never once tried to make this impossible job any easier! You were my best friend, you were like a sister to me, yet all you do is come down on me when something goes wrong, and you never credit me when I get us a win. I have sacrificed my life to lead this group.” I can’t remember the last time I saw Iris crying. “You don’t care about my pain because you think I’m unbreakable, that I’m strong enough to carry everyone on my shoulders. News flash, Maribelle, I’ve been heartbroken since the Blackout too. Thanks for asking.”
I turn my back on her. I’ll never forgive her. I sit beside Wesley and try to understand my life. I’m a celestial and a specter—it’s possible after all. The levitation isn’t an extension of Mama and Papa’s flight. Are their powers the reason they were chosen to raise me? To trick me? If my powers are coming from Bautista, then what do I get from Sera? She had powerful visions, and I have . . . I have good instincts. Intuition when the going gets tough in battle. The dream and sickening gut feeling I had before Mama and Papa left me for the last time—I knew they weren’t going to come back. It wasn’t paranoia, it was a warning.
I could’ve prevented the Blackout if I’d understood and nurtured my power.
“What do we do now?” Brighton asks with some take-charge spirit. “We have a building full of celestials who need to be more involved. I can—”
“You’re not doing anything, Bright,” Emil says.
“You don’t speak for me,” Brighton says with a fire that’s missing around here.
“We’ve got Gravesend’s egg. We won. Luna is screwed.”
“This isn’t what victory looks like.”
“We have been tortured. We’re lucky to be alive. Time to call it quits.”
“Then you can stay out of it. We’ll stop Luna without you.”
“You cannot come on any more missions,” Iris says. “We just lost one of our best celestials—one of our best friends. Atlas was powerful and good, and now he’s dead. If we couldn’t bring him home alive, we can’t guarantee your protection. It’s too big a risk, and if you hop in one of our cars again, I will throw you out myself.”
Brighton’s face is red. “First I’m not worth a rescue mission. Now I can’t enlist in this war because I might die? You’re not safe just because spellwork can bounce off your skin. Wesley isn’t so quick that he hasn’t been hit. I’ve seen more action than Eva.”
“Brighton, enough,” Prudencia says. “Be with your family. Be with me. No more blood should be lost.”
“I’m not turning my back on everyone,” Brighton says. “But good on you all for being able to do so.”
He leaves.
Iris approaches Wesley. “We need to relocate everyone. It’s too dangerous.”
I’m energized by Brighton’s fire, and I stand. “Don’t worry about the Blood Casters. I’m going to get to them first. Take care of June and the others for good.”
“Spell Walkers don’t kill,” Iris says. “Can we at least see eye to eye on that?”
“You all don’t kill. But I will.” I get up and head for the door. “I quit.”
My first thought when I see Atlas underneath the blanket is that he must not be able to breathe. I pull back the blanket, and I’m frozen for seconds before the sobs burst out of me. Too many memories rush through me, like the date I planned for him on Nova’s rooftop and whenever we showered together and when I kissed him for the first time and whenever he made me laugh so hard that I forgot all my pain. He became my home, and now I don’t know where to go.
Before I leave Nova, I have to take care of him.
I step out to grab rags and water and find Emil sitting in the hallway. I keep walking, but he follows me.
“I get what you’re going through—the family thing. If you want to talk—”
“That has no effect on me,” I interrupt. “You’re not my father.”
“I know I’m not. Definitely not trying to pull that card. It’s so . . . bizarre. But I know what it’s like to go through something life changing and discover your parents didn’t give birth to you. It’s not the same thing at all, I know, but it doesn’t have to be so lonely.”
I spin around and get in his face. He backs up with teary eyes. “I’m not interested in some support group, especially not with you. If you had held on to June like I asked you to, she would be dead instead of Atlas.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Will Ness know where June is?”
“He said the gang routinely moves around. They won’t be in any of their usual spots now that he’s betrayed them.”
Just my luck.
“Maribelle, I’m seriously sorry, and I—”
“It’s great that you’re done with this fight. You don’t belong here. But before you go, tell Wesley to come see me. No one
else.”
The Spell Walkers have fallen apart, and I don’t care. I’m a one-woman army.
I go to the bathroom and return to Atlas with a bucket, water, and rags. I wash the blood and debris from his face, apologizing over and over. Wesley arrives and offers to help, and I don’t fight him.
“He wanted to be cremated,” I say. “Say your goodbyes while I pack my bag.”
“Mari, don’t—”
“He’s the only one who could call me that.”
I don’t take my time in our room. Atlas was my home—wherever he was, that’s where I felt happiest and safest. I throw everything that matters into the duffel bag—the star-touched wine Atlas gifted me, Papa’s binoculars, Mama’s reading glasses, and the daggers I will drive into June. When I return downstairs, Wesley and I carry Atlas out to the playground and lay his body on top of a stretch of glass.
“What if he didn’t see June possess me?” This question will haunt me until we’re reunited. “What if all Atlas saw was me pointing a wand at him and firing a spell? He wouldn’t even have had time to think about it. It was all so fast, Wes. I hate that it was so quick that he didn’t have time to register that it wasn’t me, and I hate that I’m upset that his death was swift.”
“He knew you loved him,” Wesley says.
“He would be alive if I didn’t.”
Wesley stays quiet. It’s true.
“I’m technically the one who killed him, so I should be able to bring back his ghost. But only after I’ve killed June. Then I can send him to rest in true peace.”
“I want to be there if you’ll let me.”
I nod.
“I’ll see you soon, Atlas.”
I call for my power, focusing on getting vengeance on June, and I close my eyes once the dark yellow flames enshroud Atlas’s body. I won’t leave him, but I can’t watch. For an hour, I sit with my back to Atlas’s body, crying against Wesley as we breathe in charcoal and other odors. Then, when Atlas’s body is gone, I empty the bottle of star-touched wine in a dying plant. I scoop up Atlas’s ashes with a gardening shovel and pour as much as can fit of him into the bottle and I pray to the mightiest of constellations it will be enough to summon him back for a proper goodbye.
“When will I see you again?”
“I’m sure our paths will cross. Take care of your family, Wes.”
“Be safe, Maribelle.”
I head for the parking lot with the bottle of ashes close to my chest. Being a Spell Walker, I didn’t always want to save everyone. Too many people hated me so fiercely, but now, I’m sure of my calling. Pure vengeance.
Out by Atlas’s car, Brighton is waiting by the driver’s seat with his laptop under his arm and backpack over his shoulder. “Do you need some company?” he asks. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not like Emil. I won’t hold you back.”
I nod.
“Let’s go. We have a ghost to kill.”
Thirty-Nine
Firefly
EMIL
Tonight has been beyond miserable. I’m carrying Gravesend’s egg, feeling torn between who needs me the most—do I sit with the group, make things right with Brighton, help Ma and Prudencia pack? I need a break from it all, so I go to the person who isn’t expecting anything from me. Ness didn’t think it was appropriate to be with everyone in the boardroom while we were grieving and strategizing, so I set him up in an old art supplies room. Not a huge upgrade from the closet he was camping out in before, but at least this one has better lighting and smells of paints and paper. He’s staring out the open window, breathing in that fresh air.
I’m still not sure what’s what between us, but for now, he saved me and got the egg from Luna. That’s enough of a spark for trust.
“Everything okay?” Ness asks. “That’s a stupid question, isn’t it?”
I sit in the center of the room, admiring Gravesend’s feathered blue egg as I catch up Ness on everything that’s gone down since we split two hours ago. Eva failed to heal the wounds inflicted by the infinity-ender blade—inflicted by him. I tensely sat between Brighton and Prudencia as Maribelle discovered the true source of her power. Brighton flipped on all of us, and I haven’t seen him around since. Then Maribelle rightfully blamed me for Atlas’s death. I don’t know how I would live with myself if I helped her murder someone, but it would feel a lot easier knowing an assassin was dead instead of a hero.
“Will painting you a picture help?” Ness asks.
“Can you paint?”
“Technically, yeah. It won’t be good, though.”
It’s a lovely gesture, something I would treasure no matter the quality, but it doesn’t feel right to have a painting party when people are panicking as they wrap up their lives so we can evacuate as soon as possible.
“Maybe another time,” I say.
“Can I explain myself instead?”
He keeps his distance, which should make me feel safer, but I’m thrown over how lonely I feel, like we’re both stars in the sky that aren’t close enough to shine brightly together.
“I didn’t want to leave Nova, but you were so ready to risk everything for Brighton. You were ridiculously kind to me, and I had to repay that. But when we were on that roof and Stanton had us cornered, I had to grab the reins.”
“So you laid me out with the urn,” I say. “Then Luna made you cut into me.”
“No, she didn’t make me,” Ness says. “She was furious because I exposed her cemetery plans. I had to convince her I was double-crossing you, and since she wanted to punish you, I volunteered to prove my loyalty to her. It pained me, but it was the only way I could make the best of a horrific situation. Dione wouldn’t have been careful. June would’ve shown no mercy. Stanton would’ve gone too far and possibly killed you.” He can’t look me in the eye. “She believed me.”
“I believed you too,” I say. He would’ve made a great actor in another life.
“Did Eva clean your wounds?”
“No. Between Atlas and how worn out she was from trying to heal me, I didn’t ask for more help. I should be good.”
Ness opens a drawer and pulls out an apron, cutting it up and running the sink. “Take off your shirt. I’ll help you.”
“It’s okay.”
“You have to wash it. Come on.” He squints. “What’s the problem?”
I fidget with the sleeve of my baggy shirt. “I’m not used to someone who looks like you asking me to remove my shirt.”
“Someone who looks like me?”
“Your face is solid and you’re no doubt on top of the rest of your body too.”
“You trying to call me cute and fit?” Ness asks with the hint of a smile.
“In my own words.”
“Look, you’re sweet, but I don’t live in the gym.” Before I can stop him, he removes his shirt and presents himself like I shouldn’t be impressed with his toned chest and build. “It’s not that serious. Believe me, when I first got my powers, I saw dozens of different versions of myself, but I like who I am.”
“Of course you do. I would morph into you if I could.”
“That’s sweeter.” Ness pulls his shirt back on. “Your face is solid too, firefly. I’m sure the same goes for the rest of your body.”
I’m running hot. I know he’s not into me—no one has time for that anyway—but it’s hard to believe him when no one else has ever been able to convince me of this. Smart money is on Ness lying so he can help me and ease his guilt over these scars that I’ll have for the rest of my life.
I tell him why I always wear baggy shirts. My body is either too skinny or not skinny enough. Never enough muscle. But it’s always easier to hide inside shirts where no one can figure out what my body looks like. I used to wear tank tops at the beach, even to go in the water, which always led to chafing, but seeing everyone with their six-packs stopped me from going altogether. I was always promising myself that every summer was going to be the summer I could finally walk shirtless and feel desired and acc
epted. Then there are all the guys on Instagram whose bodies I zoom in on, and when they post their exercise routines I try them out and deprive myself of any sweets because my joy isn’t worth being ignored.
“Even the Spell Walker gig makes this impossible,” I add with tears in my eyes as Ness sits across from me on the floor. “Everyone has their idea of what heroes should look like, and that’s not me.”
“You’re really not kidding, are you?” Ness asks.
“I don’t need you to tell me how skinny or strong I am, I get it, but it’s this voice in my head that—”
“That needs to shut up,” Ness interrupts.
“I don’t think I’ll ever feel good about myself. I could have the six-pack and the V-cut and people saying they want me, but I will never feel beautiful enough for everyone in the world.”
“You should only feel beautiful to yourself,” Ness says. “And only be with someone who gets that you’re beautiful because of who you are. Look, firefly, the first night I saw you I almost broke concentration and morphed back into myself. Make of that what you will.” He blushes, which is wild, but if anyone can fake that, it’s a shape-shifter. “I shouldn’t have pushed. But you really should clean your wounds. Get your brother or mother to help you. It doesn’t have to be me.”
I stand. “Do you promise not to comment on my body?”
“Of course. If it makes you feel more comfortable, I can close my eyes?”
“Let’s try that.”
We go by the sink, where he wets the rag and closes his eyes. I lift my shirt, immediately puffing out my chest, an instinct that’s been burned into me from locker rooms and the rare instances when I changed in front of friends. I guide Ness’s finger to the cut on my forearm, and he’s gentle, but presses down more when he’s worried it’s not properly cleaning the area. Then I watch his face when I direct him to my ribs, wondering if he’s going to cringe in any way over how bony I feel, but he remains as focused as anyone can be with their eyes closed. He asks if he can put his hand on my lower back to better anchor himself, and I say yes, and the sensations burning through me still take me by surprise. I bite down on my lip when he applies too much pressure on my rib cage and he apologizes. The tip of my hair rests on his curls as he washes the last cut on my left arm.