by Adam Silvera
“I don’t want to die here,” I say. “I want to go home or somewhere.”
Dad was never trying to die in the hospital either. He wanted to die peacefully with us at his side. One out of two isn’t the worst, but it’s not how I’m going to go out.
“Bright, we have prime security here,” Emil says.
“Fine, they’re going to protect me so I can die in peace here? The odds are stacked against me.”
“They might save your life! Come on, you always swear that just because something is unlikely doesn’t make it imposs—”
“SHUT UP!”
I tense up, thinking about all the different dreams I’ve had over the years. Graduating college as valedictorian. Becoming a talk show host. Breaking records with the number of followers I have. Getting the timing right with Prudencia. Saving the world with Emil as the Reys of Light.
Unlikely, but not impossible are the best odds for any dreamer. But I’m done dreaming.
Fifteen
Fire and Flight
MARIBELLE
No leads yet.
It’s been one day since that ridiculous meeting with Sunstar. I lost too many hours oversleeping in Atlas’s car, but I’m making up for it now. I’ve been patrolling Greenpoint for hours. It’s a hot spot for every hipster wanting to down Brew, the illusionary potion that gives its drinker a taste of what it’s like to have powers. One of Luna’s greatest mistakes was confessing to Brighton that she’s the creator of Brew. If I can track down a dealer, I can force them to give me information that will lead me to Luna and June.
Perched on top of a seven-story apartment building, I wait for a couple to round the corner before I jump off the ledge. Several feet above the ground I catch myself with a smooth glide like I’m walking down invisible steps. I tighten Atlas’s old baseball cap I found in the trunk and try to not be recognized so I can move discreetly.
I pass a celestial-run gym where I can see a woman through the window using her stretched-out, elastic-like arms as a jump rope. It reminds me of when Iris’s father, Konrad, would act like our coach and make exercising our powers fun. Mama and Papa always hoped I’d be able to fly on my own—and they always knew there was a chance my power of levitation would grow into flight. But they never told me that it might manifest in wings of fire. Not that it’s happened yet.
The Night Elk Bar on the corner has some life to it for a Thursday night. There’s a bouncer checking IDs underneath the tacky sign of an elk with crescent moons for eyes. I peek in and there’s a celestial dancing with his clone to impress a group of women. The music is fast with solid beats that Atlas wouldn’t have known what to do with.
Shortly after Atlas and Wesley began working with us, we hosted a welcome party at our haven. Iris DJ’d, playing all the hits that had us sharing headphones and dancing together. She played one of our favorites, this song in Spanish that begins slow before bursting with this beat that has you sweating by the end if you manage to keep up. I brought Atlas onto the dance floor and he didn’t stand a chance against this song and had to conjure his winds to cool down. That was the first time I was properly charmed by him.
Atlas can’t dance poorly anymore.
“Hey, you’re Maribelle Lucero,” the bouncer says.
I don’t pay him any mind. I cover my face some more with the cap’s brim and I walk away. I don’t stop moving like an emotional zombie until over an hour later when the Brooklyn Bridge comes into view. This is where I met Atlas. I want to feel closer to him, more than just being in his car or hugging his ashes, both of which I left behind in a school parking lot.
The very top of this bridge is where I first told him I was in love with him.
It was in April, three months after the Blackout. Atlas had taken care of me, and that day, it was my turn to take care of him. He’d just found out his parents’ prison sentence for robbing a bank was expanding for another five years.
“I was this close to having them back,” Atlas had said, snapping his fingers. He was pacing from one edge of the bridge’s crown to the other. He loved coming up here to relax with the wind in his ears. His blond hair was blowing in every direction and then he completely lost it. “I bet they didn’t even do anything wrong! They’re punishing them because I’m out here trying to do something right!”
He couldn’t even visit them. Not without walking straight into the Bounds, where all the enforcers wanted him.
Atlas tried drying his eyes and catching his breath. “I’m sorry, Mari, I know my parents are still alive, I’ll talk about this with Wes—”
“You’re allowed to miss your parents too,” I had told him.
It’s just as true then as it is now—I preferred a quick death for my parents than a long life of mistreatment in the Bounds.
I locked my fingers in his. “You can talk to me about anything. We make each other stronger the more vulnerable we are together.” I had to honor my own words no matter how much they scared me. I stared into his teary gray eyes. “I love you, Atlas. You always have me.”
The pain in his expression flickered away as he fully took me in. “I love you too, Mari.”
We kissed with the winds pushing us closer together.
I eye that spot in the bridge now, scared to go there knowing he won’t be able to hold me or tell me he loves me, but I hope it’ll make me feel closer.
I levitate several feet and dark yellow flames crawl from my fists to my elbows. It took Emil weeks before he realized he could fly, and that was born out of panic like when he first discovered he was a specter. I’m more capable than he is—I’m the daughter of powerful Spell Walkers, I’m a celestial-specter hybrid, I have been strengthening the gleam in my veins my entire life.
When I was a girl, I only tapped into my power for the first time when I was pushed by my loved ones. I’m all I have now. I’ll push myself.
I glide away from safety and toward the bridge. My yellow flames glow across the dark East River and I inch higher and higher, pushing past the height limits that have always separated me from everyone else graced with flight. My arms are shaking and my body is trembling and I’m sinking through the air. Atlas feels out of range more than ever, in this moment where I can’t even reach his memory, and the flames roar and roar until they stretch past my hands and become burning wings that carry me up into the night. I push and push against the winds and imagine Atlas and my parents beside me up until I land on top of the Brooklyn Bridge. I gaze at my wings, staying strong against the elements until I decide it’s time for them to vanish.
I’ve caught the attention of people below who were posing for pictures with the cityscape. I doubt many of them know that this bridge continues to exist because of me and Atlas and Wesley and Iris fighting off terrorists.
I sit in the center, imagining meeting Atlas under different circumstances. He could’ve been below playing around with Wesley while Iris and I were out on a stroll. Atlas and I could’ve noticed each other and just like when I coached Iris on how to talk to Eva she could’ve pushed me to say hi to Atlas. But reimagining history like this hurts because the reality is that we were brought together by battle and forever separated by it too.
It’s freezing up here, and I cast a fire-orb to keep me warm. I stare at the night sky, wishing I could find Atlas’s face glowing in the stars. There are all these nonsense prime constellations that I’m supposed to care about as a celestial, but unless one can bring my loved ones back to life, I really don’t. I break into tears and scream so loud and I’m so close to making it rain fire on everyone below me when the roaring wind gets so strong and loud that I can barely hear myself. I pretend that Atlas is around, casting the winds himself.
Then it begins pouring rain out of nowhere, dousing my fire-orb. I didn’t know it would rain tonight, but weather always catches me by surprise. Atlas was the one who paid the most attention to forecasts so he wouldn’t fly out into storms.
Lightning flashes across the dark cloudy sky and illuminates a mass
ive phoenix that casts its shadow over me as it flies toward the city. The phoenix’s feathers are yellow and brown and its belly and crown are black. It’s the largest phoenix I’ve ever seen up close, the size of a racehorse, and as it moves away from me I see the silhouette of a rider—a young woman. My psychic sense thrums, warning me of some great danger. The rain stops pouring down on me and the river but continues to follow the phoenix like this bird is a storm cloud. I’m not familiar with this breed, I’ve never had any reason to study phoenixes since I’ve never been up against one, but as I stand there wet and shivering against the cold winds, I’m sure this might change.
The phoenix rider is a clear threat. Who is she hunting?
Sixteen
Resetting
BRIGHTON
The Spell Walkers are honoring my wishes and packing up.
Iris dismissed the illusionists, which works out anyway since Sunstar is making her big announcement today and can use that extra protection. The doctors seem nervous without them, as if the Blood Casters have somehow tracked us here and have been waiting for the illusions to vanish so they can pounce. Dr. Swensen and Dr. Salinas have given me many reasons why I should stay, like how most times when I’m awake I can’t even keep my head up, and how my temperature shoots up and drops right back down without warning, and how I’ve been throwing up all my food. But I refuse, so they train Emil and Prudencia on how to mix a cooling gel and give them the ingredients for an herbal potion that may settle my stomach.
I meet Ruth and the baby briefly when we’re all gathered outside and she very generously offers to cook me whatever meal I want when we get to her place. She then takes Esther and rides in one car with Iris while Wesley drives the other with me, Emil, and Prudencia. Emil is the only one in the back with me, and I can keep to myself.
I’ve been having a lot of resets lately. There are some things I would’ve normally used my right hand for but now use my left, like brushing my teeth and scrolling through my phone. But then there are the major resets, like no longer planning different features for my online channels or expecting Ma to be around. No longer expecting myself to be around.
Until then, I wonder how long it’s going to take before I get used to using my left hand. I have to redo the fingerprint scanner on my phone since it doesn’t recognize my scaly index finger. I tap into Instagram and I have so many DMs, some from mutuals like genderqueer icon Lore asking me if I’m okay, but mostly from strangers who want to know if I was involved in the Alpha Church battle. Just like how I didn’t tell anyone I drank a potion to try and kill Luna, not realizing it was Brew, I’m not trying to get into the story of the Reaper’s Blood since it has an unhappy ending. I’m not one of those desperate souls on social media who needs attention so badly that they mistake basic sympathetic messages as true affection from their followers who are commenting while on the toilet. Part of me wants to put up a goodbye post so I can have the last word, but who cares?
I scroll through my feed. My favorite artist, Himalia Lim, has painted gold and gray wings across different buildings in the Bronx to celebrate Emil, and she’s sharing some pictures of fans posing in front of them; I don’t show Emil the posts. This celestial Reed Tyler cross-posts his clone dance challenge from TikTok using his actual clones, and it’s these little moments that build up within ordinary people that make them want to become specters. Lore is starting a book club, apparently, and their first choice is a fantasy novel about a nonbinary celestial who opens a portal that sends them into an alternate New York where powers aren’t real. If I lived in a gleam-free world, I would’ve been okay not having powers of my own. But that’s a fantasy world, and my reality has proven lethal.
No one talks during the ride. Prudencia turns on the radio and she quietly sings along with her favorite Mexican band. There are thick trees down this mostly empty road, and after getting deeper into the suburbs of New Suffolk, we pull into the cobbled driveway of a one-story cottage with dark green bricks and a maroon front door. The mailbox is marked with the house number, 149. Waves are crashing in the Great Peconic Bay, which is a quick walk away. If you were hanging up your power-proof vest, this is definitely a nice place to retire.
Wesley parks, and Emil races out of the car to help me out.
“I can open my own door,” I snap.
“I’m just trying to help,” Emil says quietly.
Prudencia looks like she might say something, but instead she locks her arm with Emil’s and they walk into the house.
I don’t care if they think I have a bad attitude. I get to be upset, for star’s sake.
I carry my own bag inside. There are pictures everywhere of Wesley, Ruth, and Esther from the walls to the table with the key bowl. Even the clock’s face is a photo of Esther as a newborn. There’s a piano by the sliding glass doors and a TV mounted above the fireplace. Emil, Prudencia, and Iris are awkwardly gathered around the cozy living room, unsure where to go.
“What’s the setup?” Iris asks.
“We have three bedrooms,” Wesley says in a hushed voice with Esther asleep in his arms. “I’m moving all of Esther’s stuff into our room. So Iris and Prudencia in one room and Emil and Brighton in the other? We have some air mattresses we can blow up.”
“I’ll take the couch,” Emil says.
“I’ll take the other,” Prudencia says and turns to Iris. “I want to give you some space if that’s okay.”
Iris gives the slightest nod. She checks her watch. “Sunstar’s announcement is in thirty minutes. Let’s meet out here then.”
The guest room is simple. Twin-sized bed, private bathroom, and a desk with a view of the bay. Emil would’ve been in a sleeping bag on the floor if he weren’t so frustrated with me. I charge my laptop, wanting to do some research on golden-strand hydras, but I spend the next twenty minutes propped up against the toilet, vomiting so much of this disgusting bile that my throat burns. Even though I’m tempted to stay in and rest, I wash up because I want to be with everyone else as they watch Sunstar’s announcement. I missed enough when I was asleep for days. I’m not part of the team anymore, but I’m still going to have a say as long as I’m here. Everyone is already situated, and Prudencia creates some space for me on the couch, but I drag a chair from the wooden dining table and sit next to Ruth.
We watch Sunstar take the stage in a town hall meeting with hundreds in the audience. She addresses that this country is indeed having an issue with gleamcrafters abusing their powers, especially with the rise of specters, but she has issues with how the enforcers have been operating. Enforcers have been trusted to defend citizens from gleam abusers, and instead, they have been abusing their authoritative power against innocent gleamcrafters. Thankfully she has a proposition—the Luminary Union, an official government task force comprised of some of the greatest protectors in every city. The True Lighters in Chicago. The First Sparrows in Omaha. The Arrowed Souls in Dallas. The Sunbeams in Phoenix. The Zoom Force in Lexington. The Shadow Belles in New Orleans. There’s a pause before she announces the Spell Walkers in New York and there’s an immediate mix of cheers and boos. She closes her statement by saying that in order to create a bright future, they need to rebuild the programs in place to protect this country, and that by uniting all of these groups under the watchful eye of the government, she believes we can all beat back the darkness.
“Do you think this is going to work?” Ruth asks as she turns off the TV.
“It’s a dream some may have been open to before the Blackout,” Wesley says. “Luna ruined all chances of people treating us with sympathy.”
“If we can’t make that dream come true, good luck enjoying this home you’re building for yourself,” Iris says as she gets up, pacing. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if we had a government that actually cared about us. I could have some help looking for Eva and Carolina. I wouldn’t have to ask for tips online or try to recruit trackers or hit the streets myself. But no, they are cut off from us because of a crime that we’re n
ot even responsible for!” She slams her fist down on the dining table, snapping it in half. She’s the shortest person in the room and with one punch she proves herself the strongest. Esther begins crying from the other room. “Sorry,” Iris says as she goes out into the backyard.
“She apologizing for breaking our table or waking up Esther?” Wesley asks.
“Baby or friend?” Ruth asks, ignoring his joke.
“I’ll take Esther for a run,” he says. Off Ruth’s look, he adds, “A light jog.”
I’m left sitting there with Emil and Prudencia. Emil manually turns on the fireplace and watches the fire lick away at the logs. Prudencia stretches across the couch she’s claimed as her own. I go back into my room, even though I don’t really want to be alone right now. I bring my laptop into bed and try to distract myself with some YouTube videos, but all I really want to do is form some kind of plan that will get the Blood Casters to at least put us out of misery as to whether or not Ma is even alive.
I don’t exactly have that blood-and-bones feeling like usual, but I suspect I have another major reset in my life—both of my parents are dead.
Seventeen
Propaganda
NESS
For the past couple days, I’ve been reading scripts, but not for anything I’m excited to star in. The campaign manager, Roslyn Fox, thought it would be a great strategy to counter Brighton’s Spell Walkers of New York series with videos of our own. The Senator and Bishop have signed off on the scripts that will paint celestials as walking weapons that need to be controlled—all thanks to the shifting power that was supposed to help me reboot my life.
I’ve been propped in front of the camera for over twelve hours filming anti-celestial videos. I’m locked away in the attic that’s been converted into a studio with only Roslyn for company. She looks murderous as she reviews our most recent take.