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Atlas tried drying his eyes and catching his breath. “I’m sorry, Mari, I know my parents are still alive, I’ll talk about this with Wes—”
“You’re allowed to miss your parents too,” I had told him.
It’s just as true then as it is now—I preferred a quick death for my parents than a long life of mistreatment in the Bounds.
I locked my fingers in his. “You can talk to me about anything. We make each other stronger the more vulnerable we are together.” I had to honor my own words no matter how much they scared me. I stared into his teary gray eyes. “I love you, Atlas. You always have me.”
The pain in his expression flickered away as he fully took me in. “I love you too, Mari.”
We kissed with the winds pushing us closer together.
I eye that spot in the bridge now, scared to go there knowing he won’t be able to hold me or tell me he loves me, but I hope it’ll make me feel closer.
I levitate several feet and dark yellow flames crawl from my fists to my elbows. It took Emil weeks before he realized he could fly, and that was born out of panic like when he first discovered he was a specter. I’m more capable than he is—I’m the daughter of powerful Spell Walkers, I’m a celestial-specter hybrid, I have been strengthening the gleam in my veins my entire life.
When I was a girl, I only tapped into my power for the first time when I was pushed by my loved ones. I’m all I have now. I’ll push myself.
I glide away from safety and toward the bridge. My yellow flames glow across the dark East River and I inch higher and higher, pushing past the height limits that have always separated me from everyone else graced with flight. My arms are shaking and my body is trembling and I’m sinking through the air. Atlas feels out of range more than ever, in this moment where I can’t even reach his memory, and the flames roar and roar until they stretch past my hands and become burning wings that carry me up into the night. I push and push against the winds and imagine Atlas and my parents beside me up until I land on top of the Brooklyn Bridge. I gaze at my wings, staying strong against the elements until I decide it’s time for them to vanish.
I’ve caught the attention of people below who were posing for pictures with the cityscape. I doubt many of them know that this bridge continues to exist because of me and Atlas and Wesley and Iris fighting off terrorists.
I sit in the center, imagining meeting Atlas under different circumstances. He could’ve been below playing around with Wesley while Iris and I were out on a stroll. Atlas and I could’ve noticed each other and just like when I coached Iris on how to talk to Eva she could’ve pushed me to say hi to Atlas. But reimagining history like this hurts because the reality is that we were brought together by battle and forever separated by it too.
It’s freezing up here, and I cast a fire-orb to keep me warm. I stare at the night sky, wishing I could find Atlas’s face glowing in the stars. There are all these nonsense prime constellations that I’m supposed to care about as a celestial, but unless one can bring my loved ones back to life, I really don’t. I break into tears and scream so loud and I’m so close to making it rain fire on everyone below me when the roaring wind gets so strong and loud that I can barely hear myself. I pretend that Atlas is around, casting the winds himself.
Then it begins pouring rain out of nowhere, dousing my fire-orb. I didn’t know it would rain tonight, but weather always catches me by surprise. Atlas was the one who paid the most attention to forecasts so he wouldn’t fly out into storms.
Lightning flashes across the dark cloudy sky and illuminates a mass
ive phoenix that casts its shadow over me as it flies toward the city. The phoenix’s feathers are yellow and brown and its belly and crown are black. It’s the largest phoenix I’ve ever seen up close, the size of a racehorse, and as it moves away from me I see the silhouette of a rider—a young woman. My psychic sense thrums, warning me of some great danger. The rain stops pouring down on me and the river but continues to follow the phoenix like this bird is a storm cloud. I’m not familiar with this breed, I’ve never had any reason to study phoenixes since I’ve never been up against one, but as I stand there wet and shivering against the cold winds, I’m sure this might change.
The phoenix rider is a clear threat. Who is she hunting?
Sixteen
Resetting
BRIGHTON
The Spell Walkers are honoring my wishes and packing up.
Iris dismissed the illusionists, which works out anyway since Sunstar is making her big announcement today and can use that extra protection. The doctors seem nervous without them, as if the Blood Casters have somehow tracked us here and have been waiting for the illusions to vanish so they can pounce. Dr. Swensen and Dr. Salinas have given me many reasons why I should stay, like how most times when I’m awake I can’t even keep my head up, and how my temperature shoots up and drops right back down without warning, and how I’ve been throwing up all my food. But I refuse, so they train Emil and Prudencia on how to mix a cooling gel and give them the ingredients for an herbal potion that may settle my stomach.
I meet Ruth and the baby briefly when we’re all gathered outside and she very generously offers to cook me whatever meal I want when we get to her place. She then takes Esther and rides in one car with Iris while Wesley drives the other with me, Emil, and Prudencia. Emil is the only one in the back with me, and I can keep to myself.
I’ve been having a lot of resets lately. There are some things I would’ve normally used my right hand for but now use my left, like brushing my teeth and scrolling through my phone. But then there are the major resets, like no longer planning different features for my online channels or expecting Ma to be around. No longer expecting myself to be around.
Until then, I wonder how long it’s going to take before I get used to using my left hand. I have to redo the fingerprint scanner on my phone since it doesn’t recognize my scaly index finger. I tap into Instagram and I have so many DMs, some from mutuals like genderqueer icon Lore asking me if I’m okay, but mostly from strangers who want to know if I was involved in the Alpha Church battle. Just like how I didn’t tell anyone I drank a potion to try and kill Luna, not realizing it was Brew, I’m not trying to get into the story of the Reaper’s Blood since it has an unhappy ending. I’m not one of those desperate souls on social media who needs attention so badly that they mistake basic sympathetic messages as true affection from their followers who are commenting while on the toilet. Part of me wants to put up a goodbye post so I can have the last word, but who cares?
I scroll through my feed. My favorite artist, Himalia Lim, has painted gold and gray wings across different buildings in the Bronx to celebrate Emil, and she’s sharing some pictures of fans posing in front of them; I don’t show Emil the posts. This celestial Reed Tyler cross-posts his clone dance challenge from TikTok using his actual clones, and it’s these little moments that build up within ordinary people that make them want to become specters. Lore is starting a book club, apparently, and their first choice is a fantasy novel about a nonbinary celestial who opens a portal that sends them into an alternate New York where powers aren’t real. If I lived in a gleam-free world, I would’ve been okay not having powers of my own. But that’s a fantasy world, and my reality has proven lethal.
No one talks during the ride. Prudencia turns on the radio and she quietly sings along with her favorite Mexican band. There are thick trees down this mostly empty road, and after getting deeper into the suburbs of New Suffolk, we pull into the cobbled driveway of a one-story cottage with dark green bricks and a maroon front door. The mailbox is marked with the house number, 149. Waves are crashing in the Great Peconic Bay, which is a quick walk away. If you were hanging up your power-proof vest, this is definitely a nice place to retire.
Wesley parks, and Emil races out of the car to help me out.
“I can open my own door,” I snap.
“I’m just trying to help,” Emil says quietly.
