I’m not going into Bautista’s family tree, especially not where Maribelle and I sit on it. “I don’t know anything about that, but their notes are confusing.”
“There are all these ingredients we can’t translate,” Prudencia says. “We’ve looked through textbooks, online searches. Nothing comes up.”
“Which ingredients?” Dr. Bowes asks.
I read them out: “Ghost husk, cumulus powder, feather-rock, dry-tear, burnt-berry, crimson root, grim-ash, and water from the Shade Sea. Do any of these sound familiar?”
Dr. Bowes shakes her head. “Not a single one.”
“Could they be archaic names?” Prudencia asks.
“Possibly, but I think it’s more likely that these names were invented. Over the years, alchemists have worked to define their legacies with groundbreaking works. Even the great devastation Keon Máximo caused by creating specters is historic,” Dr. Bowes says. I keep a straight face, not owning up to my first life. “Rival alchemists since then have wanted to leave their mark on the world, and some began stealing the formulas of others and framing them as their own. By using code names that only the original alchemist will understand, their work is protected.”
It sucks that we can’t summon Sera’s ghost and ask her to let us in on the secret, but we know good and well that ghosts only speak in howls that make you hopeless and miserable. Not that I need any help in that department.
I close the journal. “So we’re screwed.”
“There’s got to be another way,” Prudencia says.
“What, we just throw a bunch of ingredients in a cauldron and luck into the right combo?”
“Planets aren’t formed in a day,” Dr. Bowes says.
I know she’s using the expression, but unlike planets, this potion isn’t going to create itself. “Smarter minds with legit resources have tried figuring out how to bind someone’s power and come up with nothing. We could spend the rest of our lives experimenting with this formula only to discover Sera was totally off base. This is . . .” I try taking deep breaths, but I’m losing to my anxiety. “This is why I didn’t want to get involved in the first place. This is so much bigger than me, and I can’t deliver the win.” I get up, handing the journal to Prudencia. “I’m done. I was never going to be the next Bautista. Sorry.”
Maybe Brighton was right. Maybe the wrong brother got powers.
Eight
High and Mighty
BRIGHTON
There’s too many people in this room, for star’s sake. Emil is reviewing test results with Dr. Bowes, and judging by his face it’s not looking promising. Wesley is leaning by the window and texting his contacts to figure out the next haven. Iris thankfully takes her phone call with Eva out into the hallway. There’ve been tons of practitioners too, but with everyone coming in and out, I haven’t seen Prudencia or Maribelle since we arrived a couple nights ago. One person is grieving her boyfriend. The other isn’t. I won’t be around when Prudencia regrets shunning me like this; that’ll be her future therapist’s problem.
Another practitioner, Dr. Oshiro, comes in, but I’m okay with them. Their methods of helping are simpler than the others. When I was a kid I assumed that all Gleam Care practitioners had healing powers, but Dad explained that if the world had that many willing healers, there would be fewer patients in hospitals. Unfortunately, that’s not the case, but Dr. Oshiro’s cooling abilities are very helpful at lowering my high temperature. They ask me to take deep breaths and I brace myself for their freezing touch as they place their tattooed hand on my forehead. It feels like those first moments when I step out into a snowstorm, cursing myself for not wearing some ski mask to protect my face from the cold, but then their touch cools my entire body down in seconds, and it feels like I’ve been relaxing in a pool all day to escape the summer heat. It’s not the kind of power I would’ve risked my life for, but it’s got its uses.
I couldn’t sleep last night. The side effects from the blood poisoning can be agonizing, but I’m more haunted by how much I hurt Emil yesterday. Apologizing seems pointless. This wasn’t like other past situations where all my own rage came before his feelings, like once when he wouldn’t turn off this podcast when I was trying to study so I told him that I was actually trying to succeed in life and not get rejected everywhere like he was with his pathetic grades. I knew Emil tried really hard with his schoolwork, but I didn’t care in that moment. It took weeks before things felt right between us. This time I would need true immortality to live long enough to make it up to him.
Dr. Oshiro and Dr. Bowes leave together, and Iris returns before the door can close.
“Your mom’s on,” Iris says, handing me the phone.
I don’t think I am ready to tell Ma everything. This reminds me of when I was studying for finals and, even with days and days of prepping, I still didn’t feel prepared. But it didn’t matter whether or not I was ready once the exam was in front of me—I just had to go for it.
A lot of people in my situation might ask for privacy, but I’ve lived so much of my life online that I don’t care. Especially not when everyone here knows my condition.
I take a deep breath and try to sound as strong as possible. “Hello?”
“My shining star,” Ma says with a crack in her voice. “I’m so happy you came back, but you can’t run away again. I told your brother the same thing, remember? We are each other’s responsibility.”
Tears are trying to break through as every moment feels like I’m inching toward my end. I feel guilty enough that she got hurt because I was pi