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Brighton snickers. “England and Hot Wings here may have been on each other last night.”
I ignore him, crushing the blood-plumed basilisk’s dead skin as instructed in the journal. We slowly find a flow through our first potion, triple-checking every step to make sure we’re making good use of our limited ingredients. Prudencia sprinkles the soot and torch grains into the steaming cauldron, and telekinetically stirs while Brighton boils some phoenix tears with the ground-up basilisk skin.
“The end of specters is really beginning,” I say.
I’m a mix of pride and anxiety all weekend as we work on the Starstifler. There’s a schedule we’re supposed to stick to so that nothing goes wrong, but of course Brighton would rather train and enhance his “signature moves” instead of wake up in the middle of the night to check on the potion that will one day bind his powers. I don’t say it out loud, but I’d rather lose more sleep to see this through myself than risk Brighton sabotaging it.
By Monday, everything seems to be going smoothly, though spirits are still down since we haven’t gotten any concrete updates about Ma or Eva.
“Hosting a debate watch party in an hour,” Brighton says.
“Watching Sunstar demolish Iron will be a nice break,” Prudencia says.
“We should take a shot every time Iron lies.”
“We would die.”
“You might. Emil and I are the Infinity Kings.”
Brighton smiles and tries to get a fist bump out of me but I shake my head.
Prudencia and I sprinkle shavings from the phoenix eggshell into the potion and meet up with Brighton and Wyatt in the library. We gather around Brighton’s laptop, ready for Sunstar to show this country why she deserves to be the next president.
Fifty-Two
Eclipsing
NESS
Ask me anything about Nicolette Sunstar.
She was born in bright lights at the zenith of the Dazzling Compass constellation. She has a birthmark shaped like an hourglass above her left knee. She received her middle name, Penelope, from the aunt who first got her interested in justice. She loves traveling to cold climates, especially Alaska when the aurora borealis paints the sky. She’s the daughter to a marriage counselor and bookshop owner. She has always filled her home with the greenest of plants, which she nurtures without using her power. She met her husband during karaoke night in college and Ash Hyperion was drunkenly singing a love song. She begins her day making breakfast with their daughter, Proxima, usually blueberry pancakes, and preparing her for school.
She deserves to be the president of the United States.
For the past week, I’ve been reviewing all the materials given to me about her.
I’ve read the three-hundred-and-eighty-four-page paperback about her life, Our Country, Our Universe, twice. I’ve been glued to an internet-less tablet and watching over thirty hours of interviews and speeches. I’ve been given the debates too, which I’ve rewatched ten times because of how Sunstar embarrasses the Senator on national TV as she recounts all his failures.
But she’s going to lose this election because I’m going to lie to the country while looking like a carbon copy of her.
I’m in a limousine with the Senator, Bishop, and Roslyn in the back and Jax and Zenon up front. Dione is tailing us in a town car with Luna and June. Since leaving New York and arriving in Boston for the debate, I’ve been hoping that some natural catastrophe would swallow all of us into the pit of the earth so some of the country’s absolute worst can die already, but unfortunately it’s a lovely night.
We arrive at the host site of the debate, Doherty University. Even though the college has historically favored celestial rights, that might die tonight after I hit them with Sunstar’s new celestial supremacy stance. Attendees are filling the campus grounds as we drive to the rear of the building.
“Showtime,” the Senator says. “Get rid of your face, Eduardo.”
I glow gray and morph into a white bodyguard with pitch-black hair. I’m given shades so the media will have a harder time identifying me if any of them bother to investigate. This twenty feet between the car and the building is the first time I’ve been outside since being held at the manor. It’s impossible to enjoy the fresh air without feeling like I’m suffocating under the Senator’s control.
The young greeter escorts us to a green room, rambling to the Senator the entire time about what a big fan she is and how she’ll be applying for internships if he gets into office. The Senator claims he’s honored, but I know he can’t wait to be rid of her. Unlike Sunstar, who spends her time getting to know everyone in the community, the Senator mostly aligns himself with those in power; a young woman directing us to a room hardly fits that bill in his eyes.
“I’ll come and grab you in fifteen minutes,” she says.
“Much appreciated,” the Senator says, shaking her hand with both of his. The moment the door closes behind her, he turns to Zenon. “Status?”
Zenon’s eyes glow. “The person running surveillance in the camera room has no eyes on us.”
The Senator’s forced smile drops. “Fantastic. Roslyn, notify Luna. Zenon, locate Sunstar. Time is limited to execute the swap.”
