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“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.”
Nineteen
The Cloaked Phantom
NESS
The Senator has spent the afternoon watching final cuts of my propaganda videos.
We’re up in the attic with Roslyn, and she’s explained her updated rollout plan. The majority of videos will be fed out online through sock puppet accounts. The ones capable of doing the most damage to celestial reputations—also known as the Senator’s favorites—will be offered to pro-Iron networks such as Wolf News for more prominent airing.
Roslyn pulls out a script from her folder. “I wrote this one last night. I created a victim who claims that Iris Simone-Chambers broke her arm and threatened to punch a hole in her stomach if she didn’t turn over surveillance footage that would’ve identified her as guilty of a robbery.”
The Senator slides the script back across the desk. “We can’t involve detailed personal accounts like that. Not for the Spell Walkers or Sunstar or any of my opponents. If they sense something is off, it could open an investigation that would stanch the wound we’re trying to widen. Only videos that can’t be traced back to us.” He turns to me, where I’m sitting in the corner by the window. “We can’t have Eduardo’s wonderful work go to waste. Isn’t that right, son?”
I don’t react. That’s what he wants and I’ve given him enough.
Filming for the past two days has been absolutely draining. The closest I’ve come to actively using my power for long stretches of time like this is when I once went undercover as one of Luna’s rival alchemists to get him some intel for blackmail. For how physically exhausting this has all been, it’s got nothing on how it’s affected me mentally. I’m the person behind all these masks of lies. Once these videos are out there, everyone who suffers—rights taken away, jailed, killed—will be because of my performances. The whole thing makes me want to morph into a little boy and cry into my mother’s chest.
