Emil comes out from behind the camera, and Prudencia takes over.

“How honest should I be?” Emil asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe if I own up to my past lives, we won’t lose the spotlight.”

“Solid.”

Prudencia shakes her head. “It’s not solid. Emil, there might be a bigger bounty on your head to make you pay for what Keon did. Violence against phoenixes will only increase. It’s all too risky.”

So we go with what’s safe for the video. Emil talking about how he was excited for college and how things were picking up at work. It’s fine, but it’s all surface level. Everyone would lose their minds to hear about how he was adopted, how he was found on the streets. It was a plot twist that shook us greater than our favorite stories. It doesn’t matter, I guess. If Emil is in it, people are going to treat it like a gigantic deal.

I pack up and immediately lock myself in the computer lab to work on edits. Ma makes sure I’m eating, and Prudencia urges me to rest, and Emil keeps me company while flipping through Bautista and Sera’s journal. I pass out at the table while polishing Atlas’s video, and when Emil wakes me up to go to bed, I get back to work. I clock out around five in the morning, only when I’ve done all my edits. I review everything when I wake up and present it to the team. Everyone is good, so there’s one last thing left to do.

I hit upload.

The Spell Walkers of New York have broken the internet. The #HumanPower tag is trending globally, and people are taking it on like it’s the latest Instagram challenge. It’s only been fourteen hours, and Emil’s video is leading with over two million views. The others have all crossed one million too.

My phone is absolutely blowing up with media requests and follower growth. I love the high of notifications, but I had to finally turn them off. Shooting past one hundred thousand YouTube subscribers was the big dream, and now that I’ve crossed that line, I want more—I need more.

I’m getting some heat from this conservative vlogger, which isn’t that surprising—the so-called Silver Star Slayer is always spreading conspiracy theories about celestials. Anytime Senator Iron gets caught saying something that should work against his campaign, you can count on him to upload a video about how a shape-shifter probably posed as Senator Iron or some other celestial used their technological powers to manipulate the footage, as if that’s even a thing.

The Silver Star Slayer has got his political neck of the woods believing the following: it’s only a matter of time until Atlas follows in his parents’ footsteps; Wesley’s sob story about Ruth cloning herself to help out with their baby is a disservice to single mothers who are actually struggling; if Iris wanted to be a hero, she would disband the Spell Walkers; Maribelle is calling for an invasion of privacy of a young girl’s life because she won’t accept that her parents are murderers; Eva is selfish for not healing patients in need of urgent care; and Emil is being groomed to assassinate Senator Iron and any other anti-gleamcraft politicians.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the group. “People are buying into it.”

I never wanted to give anyone more ammo.

“But not everyone. Anyone willing to believe his lies isn’t ever going to change their mind about us,” Iris says. “This is a promising sign. You’ve proven that they’re paying attention to us with their hashtag. Now we just have to figure out how to leverage this platform to cause some real change.”

Prudencia walks over with bottles of cider and champagne. “You did it,” she says with a true smile.

Everyone gets themselves a glass, and they toast me.

I may not be throwing fire, but I’m just as much a hero as anyone else.

Twenty

No One

NESS

Dione Henri is limping when she finally returns to Light Sky Tower with dark shadows under her venom-green eyes. Blood is caked in her curly red hair and splattered across her muscular, tattooed arms. I can’t help myself, I’m always drawn to the white scars around her body—the thick line across the tulips on her forearm, another splitting the pink rose on her shoulder, a deep one at the base of her neck, to name a few—and the new one below her knee is still healing, like flesh stitching itself together. Why people continue to cut away at the girl with hydra blood as if that will stop her is beyond me.

A few months ago, I would’ve been thrilled to see her return in one piece. Starting over with no ties to my old life was lonely, and Stanton is too ruthless for true friendship. Dione’s presence was more real, more human. I was sure we were in the same boat—indebted to the gang for saving our lives and heartbreakingly loyal because it was better than running from our pasts alone. Dione bad-mouthing the Senator when we watched the news together was a sign that she’s good people, and she was the only one who checked in on me the night I killed that alchemist who put a wand to my head. But she’s been on a power trip lately, throwing herself into more and more danger in the name of Luna’s grand design, which she thinks will make her safe forever. That it will make all of us safe forever. The mission is what matters. No friends.

I’ve been wondering if she watched the video of the Spell Walker Eva Nafisi talking about how they were former best friends. Considering her current state, now doesn’t seem like the time to ask.

“Where’s the freak of nature?” Dione asks me and Stanton.

Always nice to hear that I’m not the only one still unnerved by June’s existence.

“More blood tests with Luna,” I say.

“Then we leave in two minutes without her,” Dione says.

“You don’t control me,” Stanton says.

There are several Casters around the country, but we’re the elite, we’re in on the big plan. Stanton is the most senior of the New York gang by a year, but we only serve one leader and that’s the person who gave us power. Our roles are constantly shifting, but for the most part, we’re set. I spy on Luna’s enemies and impersonate at her orders. Dione negotiates with dealers, traffickers, and politicians, and when that fails, she uses pure force so she doesn’t return without good news. Stanton hits the streets to prey on potential Casters who first have to be initiated as acolytes to prove themselves—a step I’m grateful I got to skip, since Stanton’s methods in testing their loyalty and fierceness are brutal. And June is nothing more than an assassin, far as I can tell. The killer who hasn’t been seen by the world since the camera caught a glimpse of her in the wreckage of the Blackout. Luna has paid many favors to the media to keep June’s face out of their circulation.

Dione ignores Stanton’s bait and fills us in on the rare golden-strand hydra that’s being transported from Greece for some trafficker’s client who outbid Luna. The trafficker wasn’t going to reveal the whereabouts and timing of the drop-off, not even after Luna offered to bless him with the powers of an ivory phoenix, so Dione assassinated his entire crew single-handedly, and he changed his tune. It’s important that the hydra remains unharmed, which means preventing its delivery to the Apollo Arena, where it will be forced to fight another creature in a vicious cage match.

Everything is going down within the hour in Brooklyn, so Stanton rounds up some acolytes and we leave the tower. I pulled tonight’s disguise from the security guard who looked at Luna with disdain when we first arrived at the end of August. Wearing a dead man’s face is good for my conscience; not like he’ll get arrested for any crimes I commit tonight.