Twenty-Eight

Hearts

EMIL

Minutes after taking flight I’m not strong enough to stay up, so I ground myself on a street far away from the cemetery. I don’t know if I’m having an easier time with powers than other specters would since my body was never fully human, but it’s still so much work, like how Wesley runs out of breath after minutes of speeding around or how Maribelle also feels weighed down when levitating.

Someone films me as I’m descending with my gold and gray wings of fire, and I jet around the corner when she asks for a picture. I go into an alley, dig through a dumpster, and fish out a Trader Joe’s paper bag to hide the urn. I don’t think I’m above the law as I melt a chain to steal a bike, but I can’t exactly get on the subway with trapped ghosts that our city’s greatest enemy needs to make herself indestructible.

I take off on the bike, the well-bagged urn hanging from the handlebars. No one is following me, and I stick to less traveled paths, turning a twenty-minute ride into an hour. I’m so banged up and drained, but when I pull in at Nova I’m ready to see everyone and hope that Wesley and Atlas are getting the healing attention they need. Eva, Prudencia, and Ma are waiting by the door.

“Password,” Eva says.

“Break Luna before we can’t,” I say, and we’re good.

I hug Ma and Prudencia, so surprised and grateful to be back in their arms.

“Why aren’t you with the others?” Eva asks.

“Turns out I can fly. They’re not back yet?”

“Should be any minute now.”

I show them the urn, which is depressing all over again. Luna was ready to bleed the ghosts of her parents so she could live forever. We have to find a way to free the Marnettes.

The front door bangs open. Iris is shouting the password with Wesley over one shoulder while also carrying Atlas’s legs as Maribelle holds him up under his arms. Why isn’t Brighton helping out Maribelle? Eva immediately gets to work on Wesley, howling as she absorbs his pain. Maribelle is rushing her. My chest tightens. There’s nothing I can do in here so I go outside to see what’s what with Brighton. Maybe he was banged up too and limping in. He’s not outside or in the car either and I run back inside.

“Where’s Brighton?”

Iris takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

“Where is my brother?”

“The Blood Casters grabbed him,” Iris says.

Ma sucks in a breath and she presses her hand against her heart. Prudencia is holding her up and I remain motionless.

“It all happened so quickly,” Iris says. “You flew away and we were losing the fight. Brighton got his hands on a wand and when he missed Luna they got him. We wanted to pursue them, but . . .” She looks at Wesley, who’s recovering.

“You left him!” Prudencia shouts.

“We had to act fast,” Iris says.

My brother is hostage to the city’s worst gang and death no longer seems like the worst thing that could happen to Brighton. This urn no longer feels like a victory.

I want out of this war so badly it hurts. I want to rip out my hair and my teeth and my nails and bones. I want to scream so loud that I lose my voice. I want to stay beneath the ocean until this phoenix fire is washed out forever.

I cross the hall to take Ma’s hands in mine. “I’m going to get him back, I promise.”

She’s inconsolable. “They’re going to kill him, Emil, they’re going to kill him.”

“No they won’t, they must need him,” I say. Brighton is the biggest idiot for not listening to me to hang back, but I’m the biggest traitor out of all my lifetimes. I promised Ma I would keep Brighton safe, her only son by blood, and I abandoned him when I flew away. “I’m going to bring him home and then we’re all done.”

Her arm is shaking and her breaths are sharp, and she grips me with one hand and slams her chest with the other.

She’s having a heart attack.

Twenty-Nine

Extraordinary

BRIGHTON

Stanton got me good with that punch.

The room is dark with no windows. I’m stretched across concrete ground. I could be underground. Probably not a sewer since it doesn’t smell like waste, and it’s too quiet to be subway tunnels. Wherever I am, the Blood Casters didn’t tie me up. Maybe they didn’t think I’d recover so soon. I stand, wobbling. I peek out the door and the hallway is cold with shafts of light coming from a flickering light bulb. This reminds me of every horror video game I refused to play at night, and I go right back inside because there’s being brave and there’s being stupid. The Spell Walkers are probably questioning how I ever became salutatorian since attacking Luna wasn’t exactly brilliant, but I had a weapon then, and I’m certainly not exploring this building without one. I open a locker, thinking this might be some one-star gym until I find a toolbox. I tuck the screwdriver inside my belt and carry the wrench and hammer out into the hallway.

I obviously have a bad feeling about this, no need for my blood-and-bones instinct. The Blood Casters must want me to walk into some trap, but my options are limited, and I’m certainly not going to hang around in that room hoping to hammer someone to death. I turn the corner, and an acolyte crosses from one door to another with a crate of potions. I count to three and sneak along the walls until I’m inside the room he left.

It’s a lab that’s smaller and messier than my bedroom. The lighting is bright enough to worsen my headache. There are old-school cauldrons that reek of gas. Trays of feathers and scales and fur. Jars of yellowed fangs and human teeth. There are unmarked ingredients that look like tree bark and crushed rubies among others. I set down the hammer and wrench on the counter, inspecting these vials of glistening celestial blood and potions of all colors that are labeled with powers. There’s an open logbook with data in tight cursive, tracking where they received each power. So many have come from outside of New York. There are side effects listed, such as nausea, fever, and blood poisoning, that the drinker might experience.

Will drinking one give me power?

I don’t know how tested these potions are, but a fraction of power is more promising than using these tools to protect me. I probably shouldn’t try more than one, but I could escape with shape-shifting by posing as an acolyte or break through the walls with powerhouse strength. I hold a gray potion, dreaming about flying out of here.

The door opens, and Luna enters with Dione behind her.

“Ah, it’s the boy who tried to assassinate me,” Luna says.

My aim sucked with the wand, but maybe Luna is close enough for me to throw this hammer at her head. Do everyone a favor before Dione can tear me apart. My wrist is shaking as I keep close to the screwdriver in my belt. If they come near me, I’ll drive it into their necks, I don’t care.

“You’re dying anyway,” I say, lower than I hoped. “We won’t let you become immortal.”

“I truly hope you had to torture my dear Ness for information about the cemetery.”

“He’s on our side. He doesn’t want to see you rise to power either.”

“Fascinating. I didn’t see him fighting alongside you.” Luna coughs, wiping blood from the corner of her chapped lips with a handkerchief that’s stained red and brown. There are dark shadows underneath her eyes. Some of us stay up all night editing YouTube videos and others work on formulas for immortality. “You believe I don’t deserve to live,” Luna says.