BRIGHTON
My body feels like it’s on fire.
Since the middle of the night, I’ve been reapplying the cooling gel across my forehead, chest, arms, and even my feet. Then the morning brought insult to injury when I struggled with opening the childproof cap of my painkillers with my left hand. Also, pharmacies really shouldn’t be allowed to call these pills painkillers if they’re not going to kill the pain. I’m covered in sweat and biting back my cries when someone knocks on the door. I’m about to shout at Emil to go away when Ruth calls my name from the hallway.
“Yeah?” I ask, strained.
Ruth enters and her hand goes to her heart. She looks around the room, which is already a mess, and then her eyes glow like multiplying stars. A purple light flashes and her clone appears, matching every lock of hair behind her ear and every wrinkle in her shirt. The clone collects the plates from my half-eaten lunch and my empty glass and leaves. Ruth is gentle as she helps me out of bed so she can replace my drenched sheets. She parts the window’s curtains to let more air in and it’s dark out now. I’ve slept most of this day away.
“Do you want some company?” Ruth asks. “I could use some.”
“Isn’t that what clones are for?”
“It’s hard talking with someone who knows everything about you because they are you. Believe me, I would run my own book club if my clones had their own opinions,” Ruth says with a smile. “You should take your medicine with some food in your stomach.”
“I’ll eat in here.”
“If you really want to, but it would mean a lot to me if you joined me in the living room. Pretty much everyone is out right now, so it’s relaxed,” she says.
I should try and eat some more, especially after everything I’ve been throwing up.
Ruth’s clone returns with ice-cold water. Ruth and her clone exchange tired smiles before the clone fades in a pale purple light. If this had been weeks ago, it would’ve been cool seeing Ruth’s power in action after hearing Wesley talk about it in our Spell Walkers of New York interview, the one that got Ruth a lot of slack from the conservative blogger Silver Star Slayer. But now it makes me extra envious.
We go out toward the living room, where someone is playing piano. It’s a little choppy, but otherwise it’s beautiful and calming. I’m expecting it to be Wesley or another clone, but it’s Prudencia seated on the bench, her hands hovering over the keys, pressing down on them with her power. She loses concentration when I enter, and Esther begins squirming in the bassinet beside her feet. Prudencia’s eyes glow and when she resumes playing Esther settles down.
“Where is everyone?” I ask as I sit on the couch in front of a foldout table since Iris destroyed the real dining table.
“Iris finally fell asleep, and Wesley and Emil are installing surveillance cameras along the road just to be safe,” Ruth says with fear in her voice. She’s risking her home for us.
She prepares a plate for me with mashed potatoes, gravy, steamed broccoli, roasted carrots, corn, and a salad with sunray dressing. Nothing that I can’t eat easily with one hand.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Ruth says as she sits beside me on the couch. “I should’ve asked before, but are you okay with my clones being around? It’s second nature to me, but I want to be more sensitive.”
“No, you keep doing you. I’m actually curious about your powers. . . .” I stop, realizing that this is one of Prudencia’s biggest issues with me. “Forget it. You don’t have to talk about that.”
“I’m happy to. It’s been a journey,” she says, beginning her story.
Ruth comes from a long line of celestials with cloning abilities. Their matriarch, Ruth the First, was born under the Twinned Queen constellation, which only surfaces for two nights every century. She was so powerful that she could clone objects too. Fame turned Ruth the First into a purist and all the other children in her line followed suit. When the Twinned Queen returned eighteen years ago, Ruth’s parents timed their pregnancy so they could have her under the constellation.
“They were so happy when they found out they were having a girl so they could name me after Ruth the First. But my mother’s water broke three days before the constellation. Labor was painful and she did her best to keep me in, hiring healers to absorb her pain and drinking all these potions to numb herself, but it was all too much and she gave birth to me early.”
Fast-forward several years and Ruth showed no sign of powers. Ruth couldn’t clone herself or objects like her mother or project her spirit in her sleep like her father. Her parents had her tested by savants and were so ashamed to admit that their daughter was Ruth the First’s descendant and showed no sign of gleam.
“I grew up embarrassed that I wasn’t special,” Ruth says.
“I know the feeling. My grandmother was psychic. Her power wasn’t that strong, just these immediate future visions, like if someone was about to trip, but I still had hope for myself. And no . . .” I gesture at my entire body. “Here I am. The unchosen one.”
“You might be better for it. My powers didn’t manifest because of anything good. That savant recommended a forced isolation on me, and scenarios where I would need to escape somewhere to try and spark my power. My parents busied me with friends and playdates for weeks and then, one day, they took it all away. I couldn’t go outside and I was so lonely and crying all the time. Ten days later my clone appeared for the first time because I wanted someone to play with me.”
I’ve lost my appetite.
Ruth looks back at her daughter, and I already know she would never torture Esther this way. “My mother called me her Twinned Princess . . . She tested me to clone objects like her, but the only thing that happened was another clone emerged so she could deal with my mother while I played with my first clone.”
“That’s horrifying. Why haven’t you ever spoken about this?”
“It doesn’t help our cause to paint celestials in such a terrible light. We have people on our side making grave mistakes like this, but if we can’t show everyone that most of us are model citizens, especially after the Blackout, then we’re never going to be granted the equality generations and generations of celestialkind have been fighting for.”
I never thought that celestials could be as monstrous as the worst specters. That the Blood Casters aren’t the only villains.
“Do you talk to your parents?”
Ruth shakes her head. “Not really. The older I got, the less I appreciated their attitude toward other celestials. They’re wealthy and self-important and enrolled me in an elite private school for celestials to strengthen my powers so investors would care about my future. I always fought with them to make a difference with their money, but they only invested in our bloodline, so I took all the money I gained from social media partnerships, donated my fancy clothes, and gave up everything that felt like royalty. Then I started working at a hostel for celestials and I got good—okay, I’m being humble, I got amazing—at tailoring clothes for celestials in need.”
The music stops playing. Prudencia gently rocks the bassinet with her telekinesis, and she looks so beautiful using her power for such a simple reason.
“Do your parents know about Esther?” I ask.
“They do. They were impressed that Wesley is a Spell Walker, but they said his power would ruin our bloodline as if I care about that. Esther could have no powers and I’m happy if she doesn’t. Though Wesley wants her to have a combination of our powers so she and her clones can dash around my parents’ homes and rob them clean.” She rolls her eyes and smiles.
Her story is so epic it would’ve done really well on Celestials of New York, but really it needs to be an eight-part docuseries.
“You don’t want to make things right with them?” I ask, thinking about how I’m not going to get that chance with Ma.
“They gave birth to me, and they’ll technically always be family, but they’re not mine. I have Wesley and Esther. The other Spell Walkers. My friends at the havens. Emil isn’t your blood, but you know he’s your brother.”
“Of course.” He always will be.
“Family isn’t about blood.” Ruth nods very obviously at Prudencia. “Don’t let the good ones get away.”