Everyone is safe. Brighton and Prudencia stare at me like I’m a stranger who fell out of the sky to save the day.
I taste blood again. My body aches like a gang stomped me out, not just a single specter. There’s zero joy in cold showers, but I’m ready to sink into one of those steel bathtubs filled to the brim with ice; Brighton probably feels the same. The way my flesh stings reminds me of a few years ago when Brighton and I were cooking up an anniversary breakfast for our parents, and I grabbed the frying pan with my bare hand before it had a chance to cool down.
The doors open. We step off the train while passengers continue filming. They need to stop, because enforcers aren’t going to give a damn that this was all self-defense. I don’t know how I’m going to live with myself if I killed Orton. Wisps of smoke trail into the air from Orton’s chest, which is slowly rising.
He’s alive.
I’m so relieved I could cry. But nerves strike again as an enforcer approaches, his metallic wand aimed at my chest.
“Everyone get on the ground.” The enforcer’s eyes shift between us.
I so badly want to explain that I have no idea how this happened, but instead I sink to my knees with Brighton, Prudencia, and James.
“He attacked us,” Prudencia says.
The enforcer hovers over Orton. Just as he reaches for the gauntlet on his belt, Orton’s eyes open, flooded by shadow, and he swings up with a fist of phoenix fire and clocks the enforcer in the jaw. The enforcer shoots into the air and crashes back down. A pair of enforcers charge our way, blasting bolts of lightning at Orton from their wands.
I get up and run with Prudencia, Brighton, and James. As we rush up the flight of steps, a phone falls out of James’s pocket. I recognize the yellow wolf on the case. Even in the flurry, I remember someone else with the same case recording the power brawl during the awakening of the Crowned Dreamer.
James scoops up his phone and runs away like I’m about to come for his life. I chase him up the steps, just wanting to piece together this puzzle. We reach the turnstile, and James ducks into a crowd, shoving people out of his way. I keep my eyes on the exit, but James doesn’t pop back up. Completely out of sight.
That is new. No one has ever been scared of me before. I’ve never had a fist of fire either.
“I think he was there the night of the block party,” I say, catching my breath.
Brighton shakes his head. His eyes are red, like he’s about to cry, which I’ve never been good at handling without being quiet and awkward. “You have powers.”
“I guess. I don’t know.” I lead the way out of the subway before the enforcers or Orton can catch up to us. “Our bloodline came through just in time.”
“Don’t play games with me. We saw your eyes. You’ve been holding out on me.”
I stop at the corner and turn to my brother. “What about my eyes?”
Brighton stares right back. “They burned like a specter’s.”
That’s impossible. “I don’t know what you saw, but I’m not messing with blood alchemy.”
“Your eyes were dark,” Brighton says.
Prudencia rests her hand on Brighton’s shoulder. “Chill out. Some celestial flares are darker than others.” She turns to me. “You’ve never shown any sign of powers before now, right?”
“Can’t imagine literally any scenario where I wouldn’t have mentioned that.”
I don’t know how we’re going to get home from here, maybe a bus, but we’re definitely not hopping back on the train, so I speed-walk forward across the street while the cars wait at the red light. I want to get home, stay low, and figure out what all this means.
“But what about the fire? That was phoenix fire, right?” Brighton asks.
I halt in the middle of the street.
I’m burning up, so hot that I think I’m about to find myself on fire again, maybe my entire body this time. I try reaching for any memory of a celestial who wielded flames like mine, and I come up with nothing. Only specters have that power. That was fire from a gray sun phoenix, no more doubts about it. It’s impossible that phoenix blood could’ve found its way inside of me, but not knowing how I got it is eating me up from the inside like poison. The world is spinning, like days where I don’t feed myself right but ten times worse. I’m falling, and my brother and best friend try catching me as cars honk. I’m blacking out, and the only thing on my mind is how quickly those gold and gray flames will burn everything good in my life to ashes.
Eight
Viral
BRIGHTON
I once pretended I could see the future.
The night before our fourteenth birthday Abuelita put me and Emil to bed and told us stories about her power. Her visions weren’t much to brag about, usually only ever taking her a minute or two into the future. Quick warnings to pick up the pace to catch the train or a heads-up that the phone was about to ring. But every few years a notable vision would break through, like how when she met Abuelito on the subway she foresaw their wedding.
Hours after midnight, I woke up Emil and claimed I had a vision about the owner of our favorite corner bodega getting hurt. Emil tried writing it off as a dream, but I doubled down on my lie, saying it felt different, it felt real. That I inherited the power from Abuelita.
We had snuck out through the fire escape because Emil was game for an adventure back then, especially after I told him that if I had power, then it must mean his power would kick in too if we worked together to save William. We did a mini stakeout and even convinced William to close up early. It was a good lie because, for all Emil knew, we prevented disaster. I felt guilty after we got home, though. No matter how happy he was for me, Emil was getting more and more frustrated when his own power wasn’t surfacing. I couldn’t lead him on like that any longer, so I came clean. He punched me really hard in the arm for waking him up at three in the morning over a fake vision of a fake crime, but then he laughed it off and said it would’ve been awesome if we really did get powers on our birthday. Better than a chosen one—the chosen two.
Fast-forward to today, and I never saw any of this coming.
This can’t be real.
I try shaking Emil awake in the streets, but nothing. He still has a pulse, but between the burning up, bump on his head, and cut lip, I’ve never seen him in such critical condition, and my own heart is racing harder than when we were fighting for our lives on the train. Drivers are getting out of their cars and pedestrians are calling for help, but we can’t waste time waiting around for an ambulance. Prudencia is quick with hailing a cab, and we carry Emil into the backseat.
“Darden Hospital, now!” I shout with my brother’s head in my lap.
The driver looks hesitant before taking off. “Make sure he doesn’t bleed all over my backseat.”
Prudencia is fighting back tears, but her voice is firm. “We should take him to Gleam Care.”
I’m still in total shock that my brother even qualifies to receive assistance from gleamcraft practitioners. “No one will take care of Emil like Ma will.”
“Emil’s blood may need special treatment, Brighton. Let trained celestials revive him.”
I nod.
“Take us to the Vega Center on the Concourse,” Prudencia instructs.