Thirteen

Nova

EMIL

The world passes by in blurs as we drive to Nova. My nausea is next level with Atlas driving like enforcers are tailing us. If Iris wasn’t so obviously doing her best to not howl in agony, I would’ve begged to pull over to force myself to throw up. I need this painful stretch of a day to be over already. But even as we get closer to Nova, I have a feeling the Spell Walkers are pushing me deeper into the chaos, not protecting me from it.

Maribelle is wrapping up a call with Wesley Young as we enter Brooklyn, going in on him for not making it to the mission to retrieve me on time. She instructs him to pick up Ma from the hospital and get back quickly before hanging up to make another call. She lets someone at the haven know that Iris was wounded by Stanton’s basilisk acid and will be in serious need of healing. If someone as powerful as Iris is fading in and out like this with her spell-proof skin, I would’ve been a goner. It’s hard to stomach a stranger getting hurt for me.

We pull into the parking lot of a lively gas station in Bed-Stuy. Just as I’m starting to feel nervous someone will recognize me, a massive flash swallows us whole. I shout and shield my eyes, bracing for an explosion.

“It was only an illusion,” Atlas says.

I open my eyes, and the gas station behind us is now abandoned and run-down with shattered doors, as if it’s been looted. “So it’s safe?”

“To the best of our available abilities,” Atlas says.

“One day we’ll find a solution where we don’t have to worry about sellouts,” Maribelle says.

Iris groans as she presses her jacket against her wound. “Don’t restart this fight when my shoulder is literally melting, Maribelle.”

“I’m not going to let you forget how three of our people died because you swore a superintendent would rather do the right thing than be rich,” Maribelle says. “That wouldn’t have happened if I was in charge.”

“But you’re not, and everyone is thanking all the stars for that one.”

I don’t know a damn thing about the history between Maribelle and Iris, but I would’ve expected the daughters of Spell Walkers to be there for each other during their time of grief. Not going to lie, it’s hard holding hope in a team with this kind of energy.

We drive up a hill and park in front of a two-story building where there’s a dangling sign for Nova Grace Elementary School for Celestials. I’ve long outgrown expecting the Spell Walkers’ hiding spot to be a floating structure, but I still expected it to have a little more style, like some astronomy skyscraper with all the latest tech. It’s all good; a school where celestials are able to practice their gleamcraft a little more freely is going to be its own sight to behold.

Everyone gets out of the car, and as I enter Nova, I truly feel like a character straight out of a fantasy book who discovers he’s special and is now going to attend a school to hone his powers. Except there’s nothing remarkably fantastical such as moving staircases or glowing wells to greet me. The hallway appears to be like any other school with a little celestial flair: posters on mindfulness when it comes to using gleamcraft in public, reminders on when to wear half capes, sign-up sheets for after-school training with savants, and more of that nature.

A young woman with brown skin and shoulder-length black hair runs out of the auditorium aiming a wand that glistens with the same rose quartz gems found in her necklace. “Password.”

Atlas turns to Maribelle. “You have it, right?”

“No, we were all in a rush to save Emil,” Maribelle says. She points at Iris. “Your girlfriend is in pain, Eva. You might want to get to work.”

“Password,” Eva says again as the tip of the wand glows. Her hand is shaking, and she doesn’t take her teary eyes off Iris. “Give me the password. Come on, this is serious.”

“Feather of fire,” Iris breathes as she sinks to her knees.

Eva throws down her wand and is immediately at Iris’s side, inspecting her wound.

“Maybe take them to their room?” Atlas asks.

“Good call,” Maribelle says before instructing us to follow her, but we continue to stare in wonder. “Trust me. You don’t want to stick around. Healing isn’t pretty.”

We keep peeking over our shoulders and can only make out Eva leaning over Iris with her hands pressed against the wound. As we head up the steps, screams echo through the hall. It reminds me of Ma’s cries when she learned Abuelita passed; I’ve never been able to get that out of my head. “Is Iris okay?”

“Iris will be,” Maribelle says.

“What was the holdup with the passwords?” Brighton asks.

“Precaution. We’ve been betrayed a couple of times.”

As we walk down the hall, Maribelle tells us the story of how their West Harlem haven was infiltrated because of a trio of celestials who were in their care. They were so paranoid about getting caught and detained that they signed up to become enforcers instead who were rewarded with high salaries and health insurance. To prove their loyalty, they exposed the haven. I don’t understand celestials who become bodyguards for politicians who are campaigning against their existence.

Maribelle leads us into a room decorated with star charts and posters of children’s songs about prime constellations. Brass planets hang from a steel track in the ceiling, slowly orbiting and casting dizzying lights and shadows in the small space until she switches it off. “Tight squeeze, but it’s the best we can offer.”

“We’ll take it,” Brighton says as he gazes out the window through a silver telescope.

“What’s the plan?” I ask. “Is Eva healing us too when she’s finished with Iris?”

Maribelle runs her hands through her dark hair and lets out a deep sigh before pulling out her phone. “Luckily for Eva, neither of you are in critical condition. She’s going to need a break.” Maribelle’s typing away while she heads for the door. “I need to keep digging online for that celestial girl, but I’ll send someone over with aspirin and snacks, and we can all circle back in a bit.”

Before I can ask for a game plan, she’s gone.

“Pretty cool setup,” Brighton says, inspecting more of the room. I’m sure that he’s itching to run around this building. “I wonder how long they’ve been hiding here.”

I sit on a rug shaped like a comet. “What do they want with me?”

Brighton joins me. “The Spell Walkers?”

“The Spell Walkers and the Blood Casters.”

“To join a side, I bet.”

When we were kids, we would draw ourselves in the power-proof vests Spell Walkers wear. In Brighton’s pictures, he was always flying from one mission to the next. In mine I was teleporting, but I wasn’t thinking about using the power to escape danger the way I do now. I dreamed of teleporting onto mountains and sleeping under the stars and sailing in the middle of nowhere with my family and preserving nests for phoenixes.

“I’ll never be a Blood Caster, but I don’t want to be a Spell Walker either,” I say with a crack in my voice. I’m exhausted and starving and scared. “And I don’t like the odds of hiding here as a rescue, since two of their havens have been exposed.”

“You heard Maribelle in the car—they’re learning from their mistakes,” Brighton says. “Someone would have to be self-destructive to charge into the spot where the Spell Walkers have home field advantage. We don’t even know about the other celestials here and what powers they’re packing. I wonder if we’ll get to meet them. . . .” He has this faraway look.

This isn’t how anyone should be living their lives. Hiding out in some school while being hunted down by enforcers and gangs. My panicked breaths increase, and a phoenix’s cry is roaring to life inside my head as I warm up. “I shouldn’t have these powers,” I say, shaking my head vigorously. “What’s to stop me from burning this place down?”

“I will,” Brighton says, grabbing my shoulder.

I can’t believe I tried running away alone.

Atlas pops in shortly after with bottles of water, protein bars, and a medical kit. I throw back aspirin while Brighton bandages my scraped arm.

The door opens, and I’m expecting Maribelle or Atlas again, but it’s Wesley. He’s a white dude about our age and height. He’s got strong curves, like a linebacker who takes no prisoners, and he’s rocking a football jersey that has the Spell Walker insignia—probably custom made but looks legit. In the poster Brighton has in our room, Wesley has a military buzz cut, but now his brown hair is grown out and pulled back into an absolutely hipster man bun that makes him even handsomer than I thought before.

“There you go!” Wesley says. He steps into the hallway and shouts, “They’re in here!” He smiles my way and reaches out a hand to shake, but Brighton pops up and beats me to it.

“Huge fan,” Brighton says. “I’ve lost count of how many times I watched that video where you ran up the plaza’s wall and stopped those jewel thieves.”

“That was supposed to be a personal shopping day,” Wesley says with a chuckle before returning his attention to me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to back up my crew. I was on my way to Philadelphia to see my family, but I did manage to collect yours.”

Before I can say anything, Ma rushes in with Prudencia right behind her. After the ten thousand times it’s felt like my heart has fallen out of place today, I’m shocked at how good and secure it feels after seeing my people, like I’m not as fragile as I thought. Ma hugs me so hard that my entire body doubles down in pain, but I don’t care. She’s nonstop telling me how relieved she is that I’m alive without taking breaths.

“You came too?” Brighton asks Prudencia as he pulls her into a hug.

“I’m surprised you survived without me,” Prudencia says.

“But what about your aunt?” I ask.

“She’s someone else’s problem,” Prudencia says. “I’m here for you.”

I hug the hell out of her.

“You can’t run away like that, Emilio,” Ma says.

“I don’t belong at home,” I say. “Everyone thinks I’m a hero. What kind of hero puts his family’s life at risk? I had to get out of there and figure out why this is happening to me.”

“We are your home,” Ma says. “You belong with us.”

Brighton claps his hands. “Great. Now that everyone is here, we can figure out our next move. Iris has hinted at some deeper meaning behind Emil’s powers. Maybe this is some big chosen one destiny business where we can all help out.”

Ma shakes her head and squeezes my hand. “No. Brighton, you’re leaving for college tomorrow.”

“No I’m not! We can’t sweep Emil’s phoenix fire under the rug.”

“We also won’t run straight into the cross fire!” Ma’s face is red, and I don’t want her getting worked up like this.

There’s a hard knock on the door, and Iris lets herself in. She’s no longer in her power-proof vest. There’s a gaping hole in her shirt, but there’s only light scarring where her skin had been bubbling before. She greets Ma and Prudencia with a nod. “How’s everyone feeling?”

“We’re good!” Brighton says. “Good enough. You?”

“I’ll live, thanks to Eva,” Iris says. “Emil, it’s time to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Ma asks.

“How your son has powers he shouldn’t possess,” Iris says. She catches her breath. She’s not standing tall like she was when I met her. She’s battered and tired. I guess Eva can’t heal someone completely. “There have been a lot of moving pieces in this war, and we have theories and intel to support Emil shaping up to become a major player.”

“A soldier,” I say.

One stare says everything.