EMIL
Everyone would’ve been better off if I’d never been reborn.
Dad would’ve never found me on the street and brought me into the family. Brighton wouldn’t have been so deep in this war that he thought getting poisoned by the Reaper’s Blood was the only way to win. Ma would be home, maybe missing Brighton if he’d still gone off to Los Angeles for school. Ness could’ve tricked the Spell Walkers into taking him hostage, and moved to another country, shifting so frequently that no one can track him. Eva would be safe with Iris, able to do good work with her powers, not forced to heal a terrifying alchemist. Dr. Bowes would be home with her son and husband.
But those aren’t the lives anyone gets to live. They’re all either dying like Brighton or already dead like Dad.
I’m not right in the head over this. Prudencia keeps reminding me that I didn’t have a choice in being reborn, but what about the choices I have made since becoming a so-called chosen one? I stupidly thought I could get in and out of this war, like I would have some astounding light-bulb moment about the power-binding potion. Come on, I was never going to be able to piss off someone like Luna and enjoy an early retirement. Of course she’s sending out her Blood Casters to abduct and assassinate us. I’ll never forgive myself for involving Brighton, Ma, and Prudencia.
I’ve been thinking about how Maribelle and Iris were able to keep going after the Blackout. They had Atlas and Eva to comfort them, to distract them, to love them. I don’t know how they’re going to keep it together now, but there’s another choice I’m especially regretting myself. I should’ve run away with Ness and taken Gravesend with me, escaped to the other side of the world, where we could’ve raised her in peace. Ness and I would’ve had time to figure out our whole deal. Maybe we would’ve been great friends, maybe we could’ve been something more, but now I’ll never know.
I’m done being alive, but I can’t say that out loud because no one ever wants to hear that you’re over your life when others have lost theirs. Especially when it’s your fault.
Ever since Sunstar and Shine’s visit yesterday, I’ve felt safer with the illusionists hiding us, but even with all the vetting Sunstar’s people did before employing those celestials to use their powers of illusion to protect her, and now us, I still can’t shake this feeling that someone in that crew might sell us out, since it’s popular to blame the Spell Walkers for everything bad that’s happened to gleamcrafters since the Blackout. Maybe Senator Iron and General Bishop’s extreme methods will lose steam if all the Spell Walkers are dead before the election, and some votes can swing back to Sunstar.
I stand outside Brighton’s room, wondering when his new practitioners can give me a solid update on his condition. It’s really been a team effort. Dr. Swensen uses her power of hypnosis to keep Brighton asleep so he doesn’t have to suffer through the pain. Dr. Salinas has been treating the basilisk venom with antidotes she’s been brewing fresh, all custom because of the Reaper’s Blood poisoning.
When Dr. Swensen finally comes out and tells me that Brighton needs more rest and that I look like I should get some too, I thank her for everything she’s doing and head for the cafeteria instead. I need to throw back a big salad or something. I’ve had nothing substantial in my stomach since yesterday morning when Prudencia brought me this grilled tofu soup and stayed with me until I finished it.
I stop in place when I see an illusionist guard speaking into her headset by the side entrance, her eyes glowing. My heart is pounding instantly, and I’m ready to try and push past the pain and hurl a fire-arrow her way, but when she’s done maneuvering her hands around, carving a door-shaped hole beyond the actual open door, I see that she’s letting Wesley, Ruth, and their baby daughter inside the facility.
I forgot they were coming today.
Wesley looks concerned as he pushes the stroller toward me. “Emil, buddy, you okay?”
I don’t get how people who full-on know what’s what with someone’s situation can ask them if they’re okay. I’m clearly not. I haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time for days. I’ve barely eaten. My mother is dead or being tortured by the most dangerous gang in the city. My brother is in critical condition. There’s not a lot going on for me to make me feel anything close to okay.
“I’m fine,” I say, because I don’t have it in me to go off on someone well-meaning.
I turn my attention to Ruth, who has this cautious smile, like she wants to be pleasant for our official meeting but can also see that I’m suffering. She’s wearing one of her Mighty Wear shirts, a clothing line she started because she recognized there isn’t enough attire for fat celestials such as herself and Wesley. Brighton used to show me pictures from her account, especially when they featured Wesley, and her hair was black in all of her previous posts, but now it’s dyed light brown. Her brown skin seems well moisturized too, and Brighton always pointed to her as an influencer who seemed to really believe in the products she was promoting.
“You seem like you need a hug. May I?” Ruth asks without stepping any closer. “You’re not hurting my feelings if not. I know everyone isn’t a hugger.”
“You can hug me,” I say under my breath.
Ruth wraps her arms around me, and I relax my forehead on her shoulder. I already get a sense of what Brighton means by Ruth’s influencer abilities. She’s instantly sold me on this hug, and unlike an ab roller this fit guy on Instagram once convinced me to buy, I actually needed this. Her hair smells like vanilla, and it reminds me of when Ness asked for vanilla candles during his interrogation. I hug Ruth harder, wishing I could transport myself back to those simpler times where I could visit Ness in that supplies room at Nova and have honest conversations.
Wesley and Ruth introduce me to their squirming four-month-old daughter, Esther, who shares Ruth’s complexion and brown eyes, but her button nose and slightly pointed ears, like an elf in a fantasy novel, are all Wesley’s.
I lead them to their room, right beside the one I’m sharing with Prudencia, who is still asleep when I peek in.
“Is Iris around?” Ruth asks as she takes Esther out of the stroller.
“Her room is down the hall, but I haven’t seen her today.”
“Has she been going out to search for Eva?” Wesley asks.
I nod. I offered to go with her, but she made it clear that she didn’t want to have to protect me since my powers are barely working. I’m sure there’s more to it.
“At least it’s a safer place to stay, even if someone follows her back,” Wesley says. “The illusions made the center look busy. Bit of a dead zone in here.” He blushes while spinning his hands around, as if he can rewind time and take back the words. “I don’t mean dead zone like Brighton is going to die, or that everyone here is going to die, obviously, because we’re choosing to be here too, and we wouldn’t bring Esther if we thought it were high-risk, you know.”
Ruth places a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “Calm down.”
I don’t know where they’ve been the past couple of days and I don’t ask.
“I found out how we got discovered,” Wesley says. “Dr. Bowes has a son, Darren. He texted some friends that his mother was taking care of us, and word got out online.”
I asked for discretion, but Darren is fourteen, and his excitement got the best of him. I can’t blame him. I probably would’ve been able to keep it together if Ma had told us she was treating a Spell Walker at the hospital, but Brighton would’ve bragged away.
“He’s a fan of mine,” I say, which feels gross. “Dr. Bowes told me. I was supposed to sign something for him.”
“It’s not your fault,” Wesley says. “I told Darren the same thing.”
“You saw him?”
Wesley nods. “I reached out to the father and got them to a safe house. They’ll be relocating to a haven later tonight.”
I might not be able to bring back anyone from the dead, but I can own up and ask for forgiveness face-to-face. “I want to see him.”
Ruth is tearing up as she sways Esther back and forth. “You’re a sweetheart for wanting to speak with Darren.”
“I’m not trying to be sweet; I owe him an apology. He’s growing up without a mother because of me.” I wonder how much time I have without Ma before I’m dead too. “Can you take me to see him, or let me know where he is?”
“I can drive you,” Ruth says.
“You drove here,” Wesley says.
“Well, you stayed up all night with Esther.”
“Which you did all the nights before that.”
“You were preventing a ritual,” Ruth says, beaming like she’s won.
“You were caring for our daughter,” Wesley counters, smiling because he knows he topped her by declaring that their daughter trumps the world. “Not to mention the dozens of celestials at the shelter. Also, babe, you’re forgetting something huge about this trip. Rush. Hour. Traffic.”
Ruth lets out a deep sigh and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Emil, I absolutely break down in traffic. I once had to cast a clone to take over the wheel and it almost led to an accident when the clone vanished and . . .” She’s shaking her head and offers me the most apologetic expression.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Seriously.”
“Well, I’ll be your chauffeur,” Wesley says. “I’ll check in with my contact at the safe house and arrange the visit.”
While I wait, I go to the cafeteria. I drown my toasted tofu salad in ginger dressing and I lose my appetite halfway through my sweet potato fries. This is normally when Brighton would grab my plate and finish them off. But I’m sitting here all alone and I keep catching staff members stealing glances at me. I wonder how many of them have known me since I first went viral as Fire-Wing. They all definitely know me now as one of the Spell Walkers who has to be so fiercely protected that Sunstar and Shine got involved. I want to say hey and thank everyone for their work, but I don’t have it in me.
I pull out my phone and tap into Instagram. I ignore the flood of comments and direct messages and type in Dr. Bowes’s full name, Billie Bowes, in the search bar. The most recent picture was taken at the Friday Dreamers Festival in Central Park, the day I got my powers. It’s wild how Dr. Bowes was there with her husband and son to support Sunstar at the same time I was there with Brighton and Prudencia. The world can feel so small sometimes. Darren is tagged in the picture, and I check out his profile. He hasn’t posted anything since Dr. Bowes was killed. There’s one post of him laying out a white T-shirt and fitted jeans on his bed, saying that this is the beginning of his Fire-Wing costume and that his mother is going to help him make a convincing power-proof vest with the Spell Walkers emblem so he can win this Halloween contest. I completely crack and cry so hard, burying my face into my arms, desperate for this life to be my last.
I jump when Wesley taps my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I wipe my tears. “We good to bounce?”
“Yeah, we can go.”
We leave the Clayton Center, and when I turn around, the guard who let us out is no longer there. It’s like Wesley said, the illusion creates this impression that there’s regular life happening here, one person crying into their phone, a doctor walking inside. You can’t tell from the outside that we have illusionists stationed by every door in the facility’s east wing. I don’t know what the plan is unless someone has an actual emergency, but I’m trusting that Sunstar’s team will be ready.
I didn’t realize how much I missed fresh air until stepping outside, and once we’re driving away, I keep the window down. I’ll have to put the window back up once we’re passing other drivers, but until then, I’m enjoying the breeze.
I tell Wesley I really like Ruth, and how my mother appreciated the kindness Ruth showed her too back at the shelter. Before I spiral again about Ma’s fate, Wesley distracts me with different stories of what a generous soul Ruth is. Whether she’s donating clothes to other celestials and allies that she used to get from sponsors, or cloning herself to help out other parents with their own children, Ruth is constantly giving herself to others.
“She won’t tell you this herself, but she’s strong enough to create six clones at a time,” Wesley says while keeping his eyes on the road. “For Valentine’s Day, I wrote something in her card that was really bad. Cheesy-bad. It was something like ‘Your love is so huge that I’m sure you have seven hearts in your chest,’ and in response she cloned herself so that all the clones could roll their eyes at the same time.”
I get a quick laugh out of it, which feels nice, like the fresh air. “Wow. You tried.”
“Always do,” Wesley says. “Even if I look like a clown, then we have another funny memory.”
We start pulling into the city and I close the window, throwing on a beanie that will flatten my curls in case anyone recognizes me from their cars.
“You’re lucky you have each other,” I say.
“I’m lucky to have her. It feels like yesterday when I was using my powers to steal and survive, but Ruth has changed me. She turned her back on her rich, respected family and all the spoils strangers would give her if she did a single Instagram post, and all she does now is give and give and give. Her time, her energy, the shoes off her feet.”
“Any chance we can send her on some Kindness Tour? We need more Ruths in the world.”
“Ooh, ‘more Ruths in the world.’ Going to use that in my next card,” Wesley says with a chuckle. “There’s something I’ve been hiding from everyone. Months ago, Atlas came with me when I bought this cottage for my family. We had a lot of fun that day. . . .” He trails off. He didn’t know Atlas that long, but they were still tight like brothers. “I bought the place off this celestial we saved, and it’s this safe space where Ruth and I can raise Esther in peace. It’s where Ruth and I have been staying, and she wants to invite you all over when we leave the center.”
I shake my head. “No way. We’re not bringing danger to your home.”
I’m already struggling with living with myself. How many more people have to get hurt before I fly away and live alone on some mountain on the other side of the world?
“Believe me, I’m not excited either, but you’re all family. We’ll take care of you.”
“We suck at taking care of each other. Look at how many lives we’ve lost this week alone,” I say.
Atlas, Gravesend, Dr. Bowes. Maybe Brighton, Ma, and Eva.
“It’s the Heroic Crime,” Wesley says as he pulls into a garage and parks the car.
“The what?”
“Something I coined. It’s what happens when innocent people get caught in the cross fire of war. No matter how careful we’re trying to be when saving the world, there will be casualties. The losses are brutal and real, and a lot of us would time-travel back and undo whatever acts cost us loved ones like Atlas and innocents like Dr. Bowes.”
Maybe Luna was onto something all along with the Reaper’s Blood. There wouldn’t be so much grief in the world if we could all live forever. Dr. Bowes could be home making costumes with her son.
“Darren is going to hate me, right?”
Wesley squeezes my shoulder, which doesn’t hold a candle to Ruth’s hug, but I get it. “I know the feeling. I’ve been able to sit down with some kids and apologize for not being able to save their guardians. Some of them need a minute, but then they share stories and it doesn’t bring them back, obviously, but we all feel better in that moment. Darren looks up to you, and he was clearly proud of his mother. Just go in there, remind him that it’s not his fault, and that his mother was a hero who was creating a better world for him.”
Unlike Dr. Bowes, I can’t confirm if my own mother went down fighting or not. Or if it was quick and painless, or if they made her suffer for so long that she begged for death.
I keep my teary eyes to the ground, which works since we’re trying not to be recognized as we walk down the street.
Wesley throws on his hood, telling me how earlier today when getting Darren and his father to this safe house that he wished he could’ve been wearing sunglasses, but people have been especially suspicious of sunglasses since the Blackout, swearing that they’re for celestials hiding their glowing eyes so they can use their powers undetected. Not our problem this evening, but I think about how easy Ness could blend into a crowd. He didn’t have to tense up like me as I’m passing people on the street, acting like I’m suddenly interested in the awning of a flower shop and the bagel shop on the corner.
We stop outside the tattoo shop, Orb Ink, and the sign on the door has been flipped to Closed and the blinds have been drawn. I realize that we’re standing on a message in graffiti and I step back to get a closer look: YOUR LIGHTS ARE OUT NEXT. I’ve seen this hate speech targeted at celestials ever since the Blackout, and Senator Iron never condemns those behind it.
“Is this shop celestial-owned?” I ask.
“Yup.” Wesley knocks on the door in a rhythm that must be code.
A woman approaches and she has dozens of small silver tattoos, like clocks and bricks and flowers, that seem to sparkle on her brown skin. Her dark eyes take me in before she unlocks the door.
“Hey again, Xyla. This is—”
“Pleasure,” Xyla interrupts as she shifts her gaze back on Wesley. She definitely won’t be dressing up as me for Halloween. “You have ten minutes before Flex arrives to escort the boy and his father. I’ll be in the back finishing some paperwork. In and out, you got it?”
“Copy that,” Wesley says as she lets us in and walks away. “Don’t mind her, E. She might not be on the front lines but her job is risky too. I’m going to go grab Darren and Daniel.”
I look around while Wesley heads into a room that I’m guessing gets used for private tattoo sessions. The shop’s name is illustrated on the ceiling like a constellation. There are pictures of past clients with their tattoos: a star on a woman’s forehead, a stallion galloping along someone’s waistband, two hands shaping the universe on a man’s forearm, a polygonal hydra with seven heads on someone’s back that glows in the dark, and, my favorite, a crowned elder—the beautiful phoenix that is born old—with its storm-gray feathers and amber eyes perfectly drawn onto a woman’s shoulder.
If I ever get a tattoo, I think I’d go for one of Gravesend. Then I could remember her when she was a beautiful newborn phoenix instead of bloodied and dead.
Wesley comes out the back with Darren and Mr. Bowes. Mr. Bowes is bald with a thick beard and Darren has shaggy black hair with his first specks of a mustache coming in. Darren is wearing a plain white T-shirt like me with camo pants and big headphones around his neck. He walks straight to a stool and flips through a binder with template tattoos. Mr. Bowes comes out to me and shakes my hand.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say. I shake my head because I hate how that sounds. That condolence barely did it for me after my dad died. “No, that’s not enough. My brother and I are alive because of your wife. She deserved better.”
“Billie really cared for her patients,” Mr. Bowes says.
It doesn’t feel right for me to say that she cared more about her family. They know that already. “She shouldn’t have died because of us. I’m sorry that we brought danger her way.”
Mr. Bowes nods. He’s not contesting.
I cautiously walk over to Darren and sit opposite him. “Hey, Darren.” He keeps flipping through the binder. Wesley told me that it can be harder to crack the shells of children who have lost their parents, but I’m only four years older than Darren. I don’t get to act like some know-it-all. I connect with him the only way I know how. “I lost my dad a few months ago. I don’t go sharing this secret online, but I have no problem telling you that I’m actually adopted. I just found out a few weeks ago. It was a total surprise because my dad always treated me like a Rey, and I know how lucky I am for that. A day hasn’t gone by where I haven’t missed him asking me about my day or telling me some story that sometimes ran long.”
Darren closes the binder. He almost turns toward me, but stops.
“I cried a lot with my mother after my dad died. My brother, Brighton—you might know him from his Celestials of New York series—he kept a lot of his grief to himself. I’m not trying to tell you how to grieve, just that there’s no one right way.”
Darren looks me in the eye. “Why aren’t you dead too?”
My breath is caught in my throat.
“Darren,” Mr. Bowes says with a warning tone.
“No, he’s fine,” I say.
“I’m not fine!” Darren shouts, flinging the binder onto the floor. “I don’t care about your dad, he didn’t die because of me!” The commotion causes Xyla to come out from the back room and she looks as surprised as Wesley. “Why aren’t you dead too? Are you better than my mom?”
“No, of course not—”
“Why didn’t your neck get snapped?”
I didn’t think he knew the details of how his mother was killed. His father is telling Darren that enough is enough, but he’s not letting up.
“I thought you were supposed to be one of the good guys!”
“I tried, I’m trying—”
“Tell that to my mother!”
I turn back to Wesley, ready to ask him if we should go, but no, I deserve this. When I turn back around, Darren is gone and Dr. Bowes is sitting across from me with a broken neck.
“My son has to grow up without a mother because of you,” Dr. Bowes says in a raspy, otherworldly voice, blood spitting out of her mouth. “You should be dead!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
I know this can’t be real, I know the dead can’t come back to life, I know we can’t understand ghosts, but I know Dr. Bowes is right. I’m the one who should be dead.
“Remember this face!” Dr. Bowes screams as her eyes close and her flesh begins unraveling. She keeps repeating herself, burning this horror into my mind alongside the very real memory of Stanton snapping her neck, and through another repeat her voice becomes Darren’s and the illusion ends. “Remember this face, remember this face,” Darren cries with his eyes still closed like the short-lived illusion he cast over himself like a costume.
Mr. Bowes drags Darren by his arm, apologizes for his son’s behavior, which is nonsense because I deserve to be trapped in a horror house, haunted by illusions of everyone who has died because of me.
I watch them as they leave the shop, and Darren turns one last time before getting in the car, a threat in his eyes.
It’s safe to say that I’ll remember his face. It’s the face of someone who sees me as a villain in his story, and when he’s older and stronger, and if I’m somehow still alive, he will hunt me down, take everything I love, and kill me.