BRIGHTON
If our lives were a fictional TV show, season one would’ve focused on Emil and season two is all about me. Viewers would remember how I cheered for Emil during his training and had his back during the other fights, but they would be more hyped for me knowing I’ve wanted powers more than he ever has. Our show—The Infinity Kings or The Infinity Cycle—would have a slow start because Emil isn’t necessarily the most exciting hero if we’re being honest. But then, right as viewers fear they might have to say goodbye to me as I’m swallowed in silver and sapphire flames, I emerge stronger than ever. I’m the absolute fan favorite who will carry the series forward.
I’m embracing this spotlight.
I hold up my phone until I find the right angle for a selfie. I don’t want to reveal anything in the house that could identify where we are but the sunlight spilling through the window is too harsh on my face. Just when I think I’ve got it, my phone is being wrestled out of my grip, and I’m nervous my regenerated hand is somehow acting on its own, but the phone flies behind me and straight to Prudencia.
Her eyes stop glowing and she places the phone on the floor where she’s sitting with a notebook open. “Next time it goes straight into the fireplace.”
“It’s not too late,” Emil adds while typing something into Ruth’s laptop.
I drop down onto the couch. “I’m excited! This is huge for me; I want to capture these moments.”
I’ve taken pictures on big days over the years: Emil and me on our sixteenth birthday, which we spent playing new video games while our parents catered to us all day; before my first date with Nina and then another with her kissing my cheek when we left the pizzeria; when I hit ten thousand subscribers on YouTube; right before I stepped onto the stage at graduation to deliver my salutatorian speech. The one that haunts me the most is from the morning of Dad’s funeral when I didn’t want to get out of bed. But it’s also the most important. Before becoming a specter, the biggest change in my life was coming home after the burial and becoming the man of the house.
“Bright, we got to get the research done so we can understand your complex powers.”
“Trial and error is all the more reason to document our sessions.”
“So this isn’t for your series?”
The way he asks that is as if I’ve been trying to hide my intention. I’m not sneaky. “Some of it will be, yeah. Just like we featured you on my accounts we’re going to do the same for me. The world needs to know they’ve got another hero on their side.” I can see it in his eyes that he thinks I’m only doing this for me. “We should do a live chat. Let everyone know what the Reys of Light can do.” He looks like he might counter, so I add, “Trust is a two-way street, bro.”
Emil nods. “You’re right. But we should know what we’re actually working with here before you plan some big reveal.”
“I second that,” Prudencia says.
“And I third it,” I say. “We’re all on the same page.”
We divide and conquer. Emil is in charge of phoenix research, Prudencia is looking into ghosts, and I’m on hydra duty. I’m tempted to get my phone back so I can get a selfie out there and tease my big news. But I focus for an hour straight. This reminds me of my study groups before finals, except this time the world will be grading us on how well we manage to save everyone while not causing more harm.
Once Emil finishes his tofu salad, he shares his findings on century phoenixes, beginning with the basics about how they’re rare because they only spawn every hundred years; we already knew that. He couldn’t find any record of any other specter with that breed’s power, which will make me stand out. But ultimately the problem with all phoenix specters is no one has ever come back as themselves. There’s always new identities, and in Emil’s case, he doesn’t even have the memories of his past life. Luna claimed the Reaper’s Blood would heighten those powers to operate properly, between the purity of the creatures and the Crowned Dreamer elevating the gleam, but this has remained unproven.
“I found this on the Halo Knights’ website: ‘Century phoenixes are restless, war-hungry fighters with survival instincts so fierce they will kill anyone who threatens their lives because they don’t want to be away from the world for another hundred years.’ That’s just . . .” Emil runs his hand through his hair, and his eyes glaze. “I felt Gravesend’s cries when she hatched and I could tell she was ready for a fight, but I can’t imagine her becoming a killer.”
“The wilds are different,” I say.
Prudencia is writing in Bautista’s journal. “What I’m more concerned about is if your instincts will be affected by the powers. We’ll monitor your behaviors, but you have to tell us if you feel—”
“Murdery?” I mime cutting someone’s throat. Emil shakes his head and Prudencia looks away. “I’m kidding.”
But they don’t say anything. They’re already treating me like I’ve wiped out an entire city. I keep reminding myself that I’m going to prove everyone wrong. I’m the right hero for this war.
Prudencia almost throws her phone because she’s frustrated with the lack of information on specters with ghost blood, even coming up empty in some more taboo corners of the internet. We didn’t know those specters existed until last month and the rest of the world hasn’t caught on yet either. The only information Prudencia finds are people’s accounts of being haunted, which doesn’t do anything for us. It’s a shame that I can’t call up Orton, who died in his own phoenix flames, or invite June to an exclusive Ghost Specter of New York feature for my series.
The Global Hydrus Society has a wealth of information on hydras; I should’ve turned to them sooner instead of random articles. There’s a video of a golden-strand hydra running across a beach, occasionally bursting into swift-speed, which Wesley will help me master later, but when the hydra runs through the palm trees she blends in—damn near perfectly. The Hydrus employee explains what’s happening and I almost lose my head.
“So golden-strands live on tropical beaches,” I say, so excited that I cut off Emil as he tries telling us about the diet of century phoenixes. “And they can apparently camouflage themselves against the sand, trees, and ocean. That’s an extra power I wasn’t expecting!”
“So it’s geared toward nature?” Prudencia asks.
“I don’t know, but powers work differently between creatures and humans anyway. I’m not seeing anything about golden-strands being able to regrow their limbs, only their heads, and I got my arm back obviously,” I say, admiring my handiwork. “Since I can’t walk through walls without the ghost power maybe I can still sneak up on the Blood Casters with this new power.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Emil says.
He’s not the only hero anymore and he’s going to have to get used to it.
Knowing what I know now about the camouflaging, it’s especially heroic how I prevented Luna from drinking the Reaper’s Blood. She would’ve been more than unkillable; she would’ve been lethal. I can picture Luna fading into the homes of her enemies, cloaking herself to gather intel, and incinerating them before leaving. That’s only one dangerous combination she could’ve used with all of those powers.
Once I’m caught up on everything about golden-strands, I click around the site and find links about known hydra specters. Dione is listed with a picture of her captured from a surveillance camera. Her blood comes from a hillkiller and that breed is apparently known for living in forests and multiplying their heads in minutes. I switch over to the profile of a man, Lucas Samford, who has the blood of a rockborn hydra. Rockborns are the toughest to decapitate with their boulder-like exteriors, but once successful, they need weeks before they can grow another head. It took enforcers hours before they decapitated Lucas and burned his body in phoenix fire.
I go through several of these pages before landing on the history of a specter who called himself the Blood Beast. He was among the first wave of Blood Casters, back in the glory days when Bautista was an idolized hero for fighting against them. The Blood Beast had the essence from the death-throated hydra, notoriously the most vicious breed, and in his three months of having powers he had a high body count. An anonymous acolyte got his hands on Luna’s journals, tempted to infuse himself with the death-throated powers to become as dangerous, but the trials the Blood Beast had gone through proved so demanding, like eating rotten raw meat for every meal, that the acolyte ultimately gave up on the dream of becoming a specter and published the findings online to inspire others to do the same.
The Blood Beast didn’t live long. There’s a video of his death with a warning for sensitive material. I put on my earphones and press play. It’s gory. The Blood Beast is dashing around with six legs, six arms, and three heads. He annihilates enforcers who were relatively new at the time and smaller in numbers. But eventually, just like when Orton burned out, the Blood Beast must’ve pushed himself too hard and all his body parts fall off him until he’s nothing but a chest surrounded by heads and arms and legs. He looks like a life-sized doll waiting for someone to assemble him.
If I push myself this far, would I die?
There’s a blur and wind and I jump when Wesley taps my shoulder. “What are you watching?”
I slam down the laptop. “Uh . . .”
“You watching porn while your brother and girlfriend work?” Wesley asks.
“Not his girlfriend,” Prudencia singsongs as she smiles my way.
“And not porn,” I add. “It’s just a screwed-up video of a specter who pushed his limits.” They don’t seem convinced but I know Emil and Prudencia well enough that they would hate watching that. “Wesley, we good to train?”
Wesley smirks and dashes out of the house and down toward the beach.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Break time!”
“It’s not a break. You’re about to work some more,” Emil says.
“What’s work for you is fun for me.”
I grab my phone and chase after Wesley. He’s already lying in the sand of course and acting like he’s asleep, as if it’s taken me forever to reach him. It won’t be long until I have control over my swift-speed.
Wesley introduces me to some stretches that are not kind on me. I’ve always knocked Emil’s posture, but all the time I’ve spent editing videos on my laptop hasn’t done me any favors either. Emil records us on my phone while Prudencia exercises her power by lifting herself in a pull-up position.
“The most important rule when running with swift-speed is to always be several steps ahead of yourself,” Wesley says. “If you take off aimlessly, you’ll fly over your bed, or worse, almost straight into a moving truck. Not that I know of any thirteen-year-old who was so eager for a new video game that he almost got flattened on the highway.”
After Wesley is done lying about his past, he explains how much more aware of my surroundings I have to be than anyone running at standard speed because even though I can get away from dangers faster, I can also find myself facing them first too. My power is tricky since hydras can’t keep up momentum for longer distances like Wesley and other swift-speeded celestials can. I could lose steam right in the middle of a battle and not be able to escape.
“Let’s try it out,” I say.
I take a sprinter’s stance and focus on reaching the coastline. I expect the same jolt forward as all the roller coasters I rode on with Dad—always front row because he loved that adrenaline rush—but my running is as ordinary as ever. Wesley asks me to take deep breaths, which I do. To not think about it, but also concentrate, which I think I do. My burst of speed happened so effortlessly last night when I thought I was going to faint and I accidentally overshot my new power and ended up on the floor. But even that’s not happening right now.
I call “Time-out!” to Wesley and “Cut!” to Emil.
The sun is beating me down. I thought this was going to be easier. Instead I feel like a joke in front of Prudencia, who is telekinetically juggling pears and apples with one hand and building a mound of sand with her other. She’s going to be so powerful, and I’m going to be a one-hit wonder of a specter whose powers never surface again.
“Slow start,” Wesley says.
I wipe the sweat off my head as I realize he’s joking. “Not funny.”
“Quick pause,” Wesley says. Before I can tell him to shut up with the jokes he dashes away and returns with bottles of water for us. “Peace offering.” He sits beside me on the sand. “It’s a fun power, but it’s not always an easy one, Brighton. I grew up with mine, which you know I abused too.”
“After your parents kicked you out,” I say, remembering our Spell Walkers of New York interview.
“Before too. I wasn’t robbing anyone for my own survival yet but my parents were always so frustrated with me. They didn’t plan on having me and gave it a shot. Big regrets since they couldn’t ever keep up with me or get me to slow down. Instead of going home after school I kept exploring the city and one day my father told me that if I didn’t honor curfew he was going to change the locks. I didn’t think they’d kick me out; I was twelve. But they meant it.”
Between Ruth’s parents conceiving her to groom her into an all-powerful celestial and Wesley’s parents locking him out for asserting some independence with his powers, it’s a wonder Ruth and Wesley are so loving to their daughter. Really makes me appreciate how lucky I was to have Dad and Ma—to have Ma still. . . .
“My point is that swift-speed is a survival power. You can use it to rescue others and to save yourself.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I don’t look back that often. I pay attention to where I’m going next. And where I’m going next is inside that beautiful sea because I’m melting in this heat.”
He dashes straight toward the water and runs on top of it, which I didn’t realize he could do. I’ve followed a lot of his media hits over the years and I’m already daydreaming about running up walls like he has. But this is some advanced skill. Strong currents of water trail him like he’s a Jet Ski until all of a sudden he drops beneath the surface.
I bust out laughing and turn to Emil. “Did you record that?”
“You told me to cut,” Emil says.
“You had one job, bro.” My laugh winds down when Wesley doesn’t come back up. “Where is he?”
Prudencia runs toward the sea and is trying to part it but it’s going to take a lot more than juggling fruit before she’s strong enough to do that.
“There!” Emil points.
Wesley is not too far off, but he’s struggling to stay above the surface. I run for him and my body is thrust forward so quickly that I might have whiplash. Sand kicks up around me as I pass Prudencia. Water splashes around my ankles in a matter of seconds. I’m dashing! Dashing on water! I’m a heartbeat away from Wesley but I don’t know how to hit the brakes on my power safely, so I just stop and fall beneath the surface. I tumble around for moments that feel longer than it took for me to run here. Wesley helps me out and he’s laughing as I blow out all the water that shot up my nose.
“I can’t believe it worked!” Wesley says as he paddles perfectly to stay afloat. “The victim-in-distress is the oldest trick in the book! Even I didn’t fall for that as a kid!”
I almost snap at him, but I laugh instead because this is huge. I ran with purpose and direction and the adrenaline rush of needing to save him gave me the charge I was missing. Not only that, my first successful dash was on water. This is what I’m talking about—I’m next level.
We’re swimming back to shore and Emil is standing there shocked. Of course he didn’t manage to get this on camera either, but I’ll let it slide this time since we really thought Wesley was in danger. Not that there’s anything powerless Emil could’ve done about it.
Wesley pats me on the back. “You just needed some motivation. Let’s try again now that you’re more familiar.”
I make sure Emil is recording before Wesley coaches me further. Thank the stars because I’ve really got the hang of this. It’s like riding a bike. I dash all the way down to a distant neighbor’s bonfire and reverse, making it back in under four minutes. I never realized it would feel so draining, but it’s like when Emil described carrying his fire as heavy. Wielding gleam isn’t easy. Those of us who can endure are the real champions of this world. After a few more successful runs, Wesley challenges me to a game of tag to test my abilities to keep sight of a moving target in the event I ever need to chase down other swift-speeders like he has in the past. Time moves differently when you can run at an above-average rate. It feels like I’ve been running for an hour, and when I stop to catch my breath, Prudencia tells me it’s only been ten minutes. I call it quits before I can catch him.
Wesley skids by me, sand kicking up. “That was a better start, Brighton. You’ll catch me one day.”
“I’ll outrun you one day,” I say with a grin.
And that’s a promise.
Over a massive lunch where I finish devouring the last of my steamed potatoes, brown rice, and black bean burger, Emil discovers that the city has a special guest. A Halo Knight and her phoenix have been spotted around New York, and they’re causing rainstorms everywhere they fly. They were last seen at the Light Sky Tower last night, which she’d broken into, but there aren’t any details to support why. That’s her business and has nothing to do with us.
Emil is fascinated by the clips circulating online, but I return my attention to my own phone so I can rewatch the videos of me dashing. I realize now that when I was running toward that bonfire that Wesley should’ve followed me with the camera because the current footage is basically just me taking off and returning a few minutes later. It’s easy enough to edit out the dead space, but maybe I can layer it with some voice-overs with what was going through my head; I haven’t seen anyone else do that. The other videos of me chasing after Wesley are a good demonstration of my speed and these will be safe to share online.
The second I’m free from helping Emil and Prudencia clean up our plates, I bring my laptop to the backyard and review all the old footage of Atlas teaching Emil how to reach within and call for his power. There are so many reasons to miss Atlas, but right now I wish one of my favorite heroes were around to coach me the way he did Emil. This would be epic to share for an in memoriam piece.
I’m trying to center myself mentally when Emil and Prudencia join me outside.
“Studied up?” Prudencia asks.
“Ready to ace this,” I say. I feel confident like this is an exam.
I prop my phone against the fence, hit record, and confirm that I’m visible before trying to cast fire. In the video, Atlas tells Emil to visualize his power to cast it, but that’s easier said than done. I’m imagining the silver and sapphire flames in my possession, even the heat when it felt like I was burning alive, but that doesn’t instantly conjure them. Atlas had it easier. He got to grow up with his powers at the same time he was learning how to talk and string together sentences. It’s a lot harder for those of us learning later in life.
I can’t even get a flicker.
“Come on,” I say under my breath.
“What are you feeling?” Prudencia asks.
“Frustrated. I’m concentrating and visualizing everything like Atlas instructed.”
Prudencia takes my hand and settles me. “It’s more than that. Papí always said powers have to be powered. Frustration is holding you back. When I use my telekinesis, I’m giving myself control in a world where I don’t always feel like I have some. What do you feel, Emil?”
“It always starts as fear,” Emil says. “Like when Orton was trying to kill you, Bright. When I wanted to protect you more than anything, the fire came to life.”
Prudencia releases me. “Dig deeper, Brighton.”
“Don’t just try to drag fire out of you,” Emil adds.
I close my eyes.
I have my own fears. Emil’s powers activated because he wanted to protect me, but I went for the Reaper’s Blood because it meant that I wouldn’t ever have to fear death again. I don’t want to go through what Dad went through, I want the fullest life possible, and the phoenix fire gave me the second chance I desperately needed. Heat flushes over me and I don’t dare peek to see anything that’s happening; I keep stoking the flames. Emil and Prudencia are right; this is about more than me being able to cast fire and maybe one day fly. I might never be untouchable as a ghost, but with my hydra and phoenix powers I won’t have to fear an easy death and will be able to save so many lives. I’m hotter and hotter thinking about how this world will celebrate me—magazine covers, documentaries on my life, book signings for my sure-to-be ghostwritten memoir, statues erected in my honor, teams of celestials and specters uniting under my watch.
I will have infinite glory.
From somewhere deep within I hear a pained screech like a phoenix being killed, like Gravesend being stabbed. I open my eyes and silver and sapphire flames are spiraling around my fists like snakes on fire.
Emil and Prudencia are staring at me, caution in their eyes, as if they’re worried I’m going to be in tremendous pain again, but I’m fine. The weight of the flames isn’t even as heavy as Emil made it out to be—or maybe I’m simply stronger than him.
“What do I do with these now?” I ask about the flames with a laugh.
“You can pull them back in,” Emil says. “Think about grounding yourself and—”
Grounding myself is the last thing I want to do.
I thrust my fists toward the sky and bolts of silver and sapphire fire shoot into the air with a thunderous phoenix screech and explode above us like fireworks.
This power thrumming through me is the beginning.
The world will worship the Infinity Savior.