Infinity Reaper

by Adam Silvera

  Between Ruth’s parents conceiving her to groom her into an all-powerful celestial and Wesley’s parents locking him out for asserting some independence with his powers, it’s a wonder Ruth and Wesley are so loving to their daughter. Really makes me appreciate how lucky I was to have Dad and Ma—to have Ma still. . . .

  “My point is that swift-speed is a survival power. You can use it to rescue others and to save yourself.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t look back that often. I pay attention to where I’m going next. And where I’m going next is inside that beautiful sea because I’m melting in this heat.”

  He dashes straight toward the water and runs on top of it, which I didn’t realize he could do. I’ve followed a lot of his media hits over the years and I’m already daydreaming about running up walls like he has. But this is some advanced skill. Strong currents of water trail him like he’s a Jet Ski until all of a sudden he drops beneath the surface.

  I bust out laughing and turn to Emil. “Did you record that?”

  “You told me to cut,” Emil says.

  “You had one job, bro.” My laugh winds down when Wesley doesn’t come back up. “Where is he?”

  Prudencia runs toward the sea and is trying to part it but it’s going to take a lot more than juggling fruit before she’s strong enough to do that.

  “There!” Emil points.

  Wesley is not too far off, but he’s struggling to stay above the surface. I run for him and my body is thrust forward so quickly that I might have whiplash. Sand kicks up around me as I pass Prudencia. Water splashes around my ankles in a matter of seconds. I’m dashing! Dashing on water! I’m a heartbeat away from Wesley but I don’t know how to hit the brakes on my power safely, so I just stop and fall beneath the surface. I tumble around for moments that feel longer than it took for me to run here. Wesley helps me out and he’s laughing as I blow out all the water that shot up my nose.

  “I can’t believe it worked!” Wesley says as he paddles perfectly to stay afloat. “The victim-in-distress is the oldest trick in the book! Even I didn’t fall for that as a kid!”

  I almost snap at him, but I laugh instead because this is huge. I ran with purpose and direction and the adrenaline rush of needing to save him gave me the charge I was missing. Not only that, my first successful dash was on water. This is what I’m talking about—I’m next level.

  We’re swimming back to shore and Emil is standing there shocked. Of course he didn’t manage to get this on camera either, but I’ll let it slide this time since we really thought Wesley was in danger. Not that there’s anything powerless Emil could’ve done about it.

  Wesley pats me on the back. “You just needed some motivation. Let’s try again now that you’re more familiar.”

  I make sure Emil is recording before Wesley coaches me further. Thank the stars because I’ve really got the hang of this. It’s like riding a bike. I dash all the way down to a distant neighbor’s bonfire and reverse, making it back in under four minutes. I never realized it would feel so draining, but it’s like when Emil described carrying his fire as heavy. Wielding gleam isn’t easy. Those of us who can endure are the real champions of this world. After a few more successful runs, Wesley challenges me to a game of tag to test my abilities to keep sight of a moving target in the event I ever need to chase down other swift-speeders like he has in the past. Time moves differently when you can run at an above-average rate. It feels like I’ve been running for an hour, and when I stop to catch my breath, Prudencia tells me it’s only been ten minutes. I call it quits before I can catch him.

  Wesley skids by me, sand kicking up. “That was a better start, Brighton. You’ll catch me one day.”

  “I’ll outrun you one day,” I say with a grin.

  And that’s a promise.

  Over a massive lunch where I finish devouring the last of my steamed potatoes, brown rice, and black bean burger, Emil discovers that the city has a special guest. A Halo Knight and her phoenix have been spotted around New York, and they’re causing rainstorms everywhere they fly. They were last seen at the Light Sky Tower last night, which she’d broken into, but there aren’t any details to support why. That’s her business and has nothing to do with us.

  Emil is fascinated by the clips circulating online, but I return my attention to my own phone so I can rewatch the videos of me dashing. I realize now that when I was running toward that bonfire that Wesley should’ve followed me with the camera because the current footage is basically just me taking off and returning a few minutes later. It’s easy enough to edit out the dead space, but maybe I can layer it with some voice-overs with what was going through my head; I haven’t seen anyone else do that. The other videos of me chasing after Wesley are a good demonstration of my speed and these will be safe to share online.

  The second I’m free from helping Emil and Prudencia clean up our plates, I bring my laptop to the backyard and review all the old footage of Atlas teaching Emil how to reach within and call for his power. There are so many reasons to miss Atlas, but right now I wish one of my favorite heroes were around to coach me the way he did Emil. This would be epic to share for an in memoriam piece.

  I’m trying to center myself mentally when Emil and Prudencia join me outside.

  “Studied up?” Prudencia asks.

  “Ready to ace this,” I say. I feel confident like this is an exam.

  I prop my phone against the fence, hit record, and confirm that I’m visible before trying to cast fire. In the video, Atlas tells Emil to visualize his power to cast it, but that’s easier said than done. I’m imagining the silver and sapphire flames in my possession, even the heat when it felt like I was burning alive, but that doesn’t instantly conjure them. Atlas had it easier. He got to grow up with his powers at the same time he was learning how to talk and string together sentences. It’s a lot harder for those of us learning later in life.

  I can’t even get a flicker.

  “Come on,” I say under my breath.

  “What are you feeling?” Prudencia asks.

  “Frustrated. I’m concentrating and visualizing everything like Atlas instructed.”

  Prudencia takes my hand and settles me. “It’s more than that. Papí always said powers have to be powered. Frustration is holding you back. When I use my telekinesis, I’m giving myself control in a world where I don’t always feel like I have some. What do you feel, Emil?”

  “It always starts as fear,” Emil says. “Like when Orton was trying to kill you, Bright. When I wanted to protect you more than anything, the fire came to life.”

  Prudencia releases me. “Dig deeper, Brighton.”

  “Don’t just try to drag fire out of you,” Emil adds.

  I close my eyes.

  I have my own fears. Emil’s powers activated because he wanted to protect me, but I went for the Reaper’s Blood because it meant that I wouldn’t ever have to fear death again. I don’t want to go through what Dad went through, I want the fullest life possible, and the phoenix fire gave me the second chance I desperately needed. Heat flushes over me and I don’t dare peek to see anything that’s happening; I keep stoking the flames. Emil and Prudencia are right; this is about more than me being able to cast fire and maybe one day fly. I might never be untouchable as a ghost, but with my hydra and phoenix powers I won’t have to fear an easy death and will be able to save so many lives. I’m hotter and hotter thinking about how this world will celebrate me—magazine covers, documentaries on my life, book signings for my sure-to-be ghostwritten memoir, statues erected in my honor, teams of celestials and specters uniting under my watch.

  I will have infinite glory.

  From somewhere deep within I hear a pained screech like a phoenix being killed, like Gravesend being stabbed. I open my eyes and silver and sapphire flames are spiraling around my fists like snakes on fire.

  Emil and Prudencia are staring at me, caution in their eyes, as if they’re worried I’m going to be in tremendous pain again, but I’m fine. T
he weight of the flames isn’t even as heavy as Emil made it out to be—or maybe I’m simply stronger than him.

  “What do I do with these now?” I ask about the flames with a laugh.

  “You can pull them back in,” Emil says. “Think about grounding yourself and—”

  Grounding myself is the last thing I want to do.

  I thrust my fists toward the sky and bolts of silver and sapphire fire shoot into the air with a thunderous phoenix screech and explode above us like fireworks.

  This power thrumming through me is the beginning.

  The world will worship the Infinity Savior.

  Twenty-Six

  Brighton of New York

  BRIGHTON

  A couple hours after casting fire, I finish editing the video of my dreams. I project the final cut from my laptop onto the TV and I gather everyone in the living room—Emil, Prudencia, Iris, Wesley, and Ruth with Esther, who’s asleep in her mother’s arms.

  “I promise you’re not actually ready for this, but are you ready?” I ask.

  I get an enthusiastic fist pump from Wesley and encouraging words from Ruth, but Emil, Prudencia, and Iris are a tougher audience. I respect that. As a creator, I always want people to like my work because they actually do and not just because they feel forced to pretend because it’s me.

  I hit play.

  The video opens with darkness. Then, my voice: “The time has come. . . .” I’m shown on the sand with a quick cut to me in the backyard. It must look pretty basic, but that’s the point. These were my last ordinary moments before I consciously cast my new extraordinary powers. Then the screen splits. On the left I’m running, on the right I’m flicking my hand, but nothing happens. “For another Spell Walker to rise . . .” The focus is back on me on the beach, minutes after I ran across the sea to save Wesley, and I dash away from the camera, edited slightly to show me returning sooner than I did in real time because I scrapped the voice-over idea. Then it moves onto the most glorious moment in the backyard. I get chills watching myself, eyes closed in concentration, as wisps of smoke snaking around my wrists grow into the silver and sapphire flames. My eyes open, and while I grew up dreaming of the day that they would glow like some godlike corner of the universe, I still find these burning eclipses absolutely beautiful. We linger on my smile before shifting to quick cuts of me demonstrating my speed as I chase after one of the country’s fastest celestials and me casting fire-bolts into the sky, the latter a talent that took us all by surprise. The video ends with me carrying fire in my hands before I dash out of sight; it took us a few tries to get that shot right, but we pulled it off.

  “Incredible, right?” I ask.

  “That’s the trailer to a movie I’d watch,” Wesley says.

  “Very inspiring. You put all of that together so quickly too!” Ruth says.

  “It’s a shame you don’t have footage of me sweeping sand in your face, but this works too,” Prudencia says.

  “It’s pretty epic, Bright,” Emil says.

  Happiness surges through me, like watching my follower count increase in the past. “This is only meant to be a teaser of what’s to come. My prologue, if you will.”

  Iris scoffs. “Then maybe you shouldn’t open your story with a lie. I never cleared you to become a Spell Walker.”

  In the past twenty-four hours, I have been intimate with Prudencia for the first time, had a second shot at life, tapped into my new powers, and put together this video so I can finally have the big moment I’ve been dreaming about for years. Of course Iris has to ruin that.

  “But you’re down three team members,” I say.

  “Believe it or not, that hasn’t affected my ability to count on my own.”

  “I’ve been in this fight when all I had was my camera. Now I have Emil’s and Wesley’s core powers—all in one host! We’re trying to save Ma and Eva and you haven’t been successful tracking them down alone. You need me.”

  Iris is staring at me but she seems to be looking through me. If I could read minds I’m sure all of her thoughts would be about Eva. “I might need you, but you won’t be making that decision for me. There’s nothing to suggest that our people haven’t been killed already. So if all I have left is the legacy of the Spell Walkers, I’m going to make sure we don’t do any more damage that will endanger celestials, and keep our numbers from decreasing any further so I don’t have to suffer through another math lesson. The truth is, Brighton, I don’t trust you.”

  She gets up and walks toward her room and I’m very tempted to dash in front of her, but I control myself because I know that’s out of line.

  Working with the Spell Walkers has had many lows but it’s also been a dream come true. As incredible as it would be to join the ranks like my brother and become even more famous than Bautista, I’m not going to let Iris put me in a corner like this. It’s tough enough feeling like I’m on probation with Emil and Prudencia, but I’m not letting Iris have that power over me too.

  “Her loss,” I say.

  “She’s not saying you’ll never be a Spell Walker,” Prudencia says. “Just not right now.”

  I’m not going to sweat this because I have a lot to be proud of, even though I may never be an official Spell Walker and despite not getting all three sets of powers the Reaper’s Blood promised. It’d be so easy to let Iris’s slight get the best of me like when I didn’t get to be valedictorian, but everything about me now is undisputedly unique. Someone can get better grades than me—while my focus was down because I was grieving, don’t forget that—but it’s not as if there’s another specter running around who is going to stand a chance against me once I master my abilities.

  I’m in a league of my own.

  I grab my laptop and make a quick edit to the video, swapping out Spell Walker for hero. Before I do anything else I take a selfie, memorializing the Brighton whose extraordinary powers aren’t known to the public. I type out my caption—Brighton Rey just got a little Brighter. #BrightonOfNewYork—and upload first on the Celestials of New York Instagram. Then I get the video up on YouTube and Twitter and I even finally cave in and make a TikTok so I can dominate the primary online spaces. Every video has the event details for the livestream Emil and I are hosting in a couple hours on Instagram. I sit against the wall where I can charge my phone while hopping between all the apps and soaking up the comments. My views and following are skyrocketing, quickly catching up to Mr. Infinity Son himself.

  There are so many questions about how I became a specter and I reply to some in my comments section, letting them know that all will be answered during the livestream. Followers around the world tell me all about their plans to watch—stay up late, be sneaky at school, take an early break at work.

  I get a DM from Lore and they’re happy that I’m doing better and they would love to do a Q&A in the near future. Even though I have more followers than them, Lore still has an impressive social reach to other important influencers whose radar I need to be on. My growth will be huge as the Infinity Savior, but I expect that’s going to cap somewhere, so tapping into the audiences of the other influencers will be a great refresh. I promise Lore an interview when time allows; I have some missions to tend to first, after all.

  “Someone wants to help make merchandise,” I tell Prudencia while checking out the user’s feed. It’d be helpful to have someone handle the administrative responsibilities and I can be the face of it all. “They seem legit.”

  “Why don’t you follow up with them after getting ready? Your chat is in thirty minutes, superstar.”

  “Please make that my new nickname,” I say.

  “Dream on, dreamer,” Prudencia says with a smile.

  I’m having a hard time picking what to wear, especially without my full closet in front of me, until I remember every influencer who puts time into looking casual even though they controlled every single-sleeve roll and wrinkle. I don’t need a tuxedo or some trying-too-hard-to-be-cool leather jacket. Ruth gives me her blessing to cho
ose something from her closet, and even though she’s not actively selling anything from her Every Body Is Super line, I make a mental note to credit her in the caption. I choose a blue shirt with white lettering since it’s the closest one that matches my flames.

  I go outside with Emil and Prudencia and the evening air is chilly. We go deep into the trees, finding a nondescript area with a couple rocks for us to sit on and enough moonlight so we can be seen. I review the talking points with Emil, making him repeat them back to me because I want this conversation to appear casual and we can’t have that if he’s sitting there with a notepad. Prudencia offers to hold the phone for us so we can stream at a wider angle, but I think it’s going to be cozier if I’m shoulder to shoulder with Emil. This way I also get to see how many viewers are tuned in and read some of the comments.

  “We’re still not mentioning my past lives, right?” Emil asks.

  We had this conversation back when we were doing the Spell Walkers of New York feature. “That’s not my call. You and Pru were the ones who didn’t want to bring it up.”

  “Because people might hate Emil for being Keon once upon a time ago,” Prudencia says.

  “Or they’ll love him for being Bautista,” I counter.

  “Either way, they’ll take it out on phoenixes once they realize specters can resurrect with their essence,” Emil says. “I’d hate for the Blood Casters to get the jump on us and reveal this to turn the public against me, but they haven’t done it yet. Hopefully they have their own reasons for keeping it quiet.”

  “Good point. The secret stays in the vault,” I say.

  I still think there can be something so powerful about the world knowing that Emil wasn’t only adopted, but that he was reborn in fire from the two most popular specters in history, but the story isn’t more important than the consequences.

  “We shouldn’t mention the ghost specters either,” Prudencia says. “We don’t need alchemists and necromancers pretending to be gods any more than they do.”