Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle 2)

“You saw him?”

Wesley nods. “I reached out to the father and got them to a safe house. They’ll be relocating to a haven later tonight.”

I might not be able to bring back anyone from the dead, but I can own up and ask for forgiveness face-to-face. “I want to see him.”

Ruth is tearing up as she sways Esther back and forth. “You’re a sweetheart for wanting to speak with Darren.”

“I’m not trying to be sweet; I owe him an apology. He’s growing up without a mother because of me.” I wonder how much time I have without Ma before I’m dead too. “Can you take me to see him, or let me know where he is?”

“I can drive you,” Ruth says.

“You drove here,” Wesley says.

“Well, you stayed up all night with Esther.”

“Which you did all the nights before that.”

“You were preventing a ritual,” Ruth says, beaming like she’s won.

“You were caring for our daughter,” Wesley counters, smiling because he knows he topped her by declaring that their daughter trumps the world. “Not to mention the dozens of celestials at the shelter. Also, babe, you’re forgetting something huge about this trip. Rush. Hour. Traffic.”

Ruth lets out a deep sigh and turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Emil, I absolutely break down in traffic. I once had to cast a clone to take over the wheel and it almost led to an accident when the clone vanished and . . .” She’s shaking her head and offers me the most apologetic expression.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Seriously.”

“Well, I’ll be your chauffeur,” Wesley says. “I’ll check in with my contact at the safe house and arrange the visit.”

While I wait, I go to the cafeteria. I drown my toasted tofu salad in ginger dressing and I lose my appetite halfway through my sweet potato fries. This is normally when Brighton would grab my plate and finish them off. But I’m sitting here all alone and I keep catching staff members stealing glances at me. I wonder how many of them have known me since I first went viral as Fire-Wing. They all definitely know me now as one of the Spell Walkers who has to be so fiercely protected that Sunstar and Shine got involved. I want to say hey and thank everyone for their work, but I don’t have it in me.

I pu

ll out my phone and tap into Instagram. I ignore the flood of comments and direct messages and type in Dr. Bowes’s full name, Billie Bowes, in the search bar. The most recent picture was taken at the Friday Dreamers Festival in Central Park, the day I got my powers. It’s wild how Dr. Bowes was there with her husband and son to support Sunstar at the same time I was there with Brighton and Prudencia. The world can feel so small sometimes. Darren is tagged in the picture, and I check out his profile. He hasn’t posted anything since Dr. Bowes was killed. There’s one post of him laying out a white T-shirt and fitted jeans on his bed, saying that this is the beginning of his Fire-Wing costume and that his mother is going to help him make a convincing power-proof vest with the Spell Walkers emblem so he can win this Halloween contest. I completely crack and cry so hard, burying my face into my arms, desperate for this life to be my last.

I jump when Wesley taps my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I wipe my tears. “We good to bounce?”

“Yeah, we can go.”

We leave the Clayton Center, and when I turn around, the guard who let us out is no longer there. It’s like Wesley said, the illusion creates this impression that there’s regular life happening here, one person crying into their phone, a doctor walking inside. You can’t tell from the outside that we have illusionists stationed by every door in the facility’s east wing. I don’t know what the plan is unless someone has an actual emergency, but I’m trusting that Sunstar’s team will be ready.

I didn’t realize how much I missed fresh air until stepping outside, and once we’re driving away, I keep the window down. I’ll have to put the window back up once we’re passing other drivers, but until then, I’m enjoying the breeze.

I tell Wesley I really like Ruth, and how my mother appreciated the kindness Ruth showed her too back at the shelter. Before I spiral again about Ma’s fate, Wesley distracts me with different stories of what a generous soul Ruth is. Whether she’s donating clothes to other celestials and allies that she used to get from sponsors, or cloning herself to help out other parents with their own children, Ruth is constantly giving herself to others.

“She won’t tell you this herself, but she’s strong enough to create six clones at a time,” Wesley says while keeping his eyes on the road. “For Valentine’s Day, I wrote something in her card that was really bad. Cheesy-bad. It was something like ‘Your love is so huge that I’m sure you have seven hearts in your chest,’ and in response she cloned herself so that all the clones could roll their eyes at the same time.”

I get a quick laugh out of it, which feels nice, like the fresh air. “Wow. You tried.”

“Always do,” Wesley says. “Even if I look like a clown, then we have another funny memory.”

We start pulling into the city and I close the window, throwing on a beanie that will flatten my curls in case anyone recognizes me from their cars.

“You’re lucky you have each other,” I say.

“I’m lucky to have her. It feels like yesterday when I was using my powers to steal and survive, but Ruth has changed me. She turned her back on her rich, respected family and all the spoils strangers would give her if she did a single Instagram post, and all she does now is give and give and give. Her time, her energy, the shoes off her feet.”

“Any chance we can send her on some Kindness Tour? We need more Ruths in the world.”