Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle 2)

But those aren’t the lives anyone gets to live. They’re all either dying like Brighton or already dead like Dad.

I’m not right in the head over this. Prudencia keeps reminding me that I didn’t have a choice in being reborn, but what about the choices I have made since becoming a so-called chosen one? I stupidly thought I could get in and out of this war, like I would have some astounding light-bulb moment about the power-binding potion. Come on, I was never going to be able to piss off someone like Luna and enjoy an early retirement. Of course she’s sending out her Blood Casters to abduct and assassinate us. I’ll never forgive myself for involving Brighton, Ma, and Prudencia.

I’ve been thinking about how Maribelle and Iris were able to keep going after the Blackout. They had Atlas and Eva to comfort them, to distract them, to love them. I don’t know how they’re going to keep it together now, but there’s another choice I’m especially regretting myself. I should’ve run away with Ness and taken Gravesend with me, escaped to the other side of the world, where we could’ve raised her in peace. Ness and I would’ve had time to figure out our whole deal. Maybe we would’ve been great friends, maybe we could’ve been something more, but now I’ll never know.

I’m done being alive, but I can’t say that out loud because no one ever wants to hear t

hat you’re over your life when others have lost theirs. Especially when it’s your fault.

Ever since Sunstar and Shine’s visit yesterday, I’ve felt safer with the illusionists hiding us, but even with all the vetting Sunstar’s people did before employing those celestials to use their powers of illusion to protect her, and now us, I still can’t shake this feeling that someone in that crew might sell us out, since it’s popular to blame the Spell Walkers for everything bad that’s happened to gleamcrafters since the Blackout. Maybe Senator Iron and General Bishop’s extreme methods will lose steam if all the Spell Walkers are dead before the election, and some votes can swing back to Sunstar.

I stand outside Brighton’s room, wondering when his new practitioners can give me a solid update on his condition. It’s really been a team effort. Dr. Swensen uses her power of hypnosis to keep Brighton asleep so he doesn’t have to suffer through the pain. Dr. Salinas has been treating the basilisk venom with antidotes she’s been brewing fresh, all custom because of the Reaper’s Blood poisoning.

When Dr. Swensen finally comes out and tells me that Brighton needs more rest and that I look like I should get some too, I thank her for everything she’s doing and head for the cafeteria instead. I need to throw back a big salad or something. I’ve had nothing substantial in my stomach since yesterday morning when Prudencia brought me this grilled tofu soup and stayed with me until I finished it.

I stop in place when I see an illusionist guard speaking into her headset by the side entrance, her eyes glowing. My heart is pounding instantly, and I’m ready to try and push past the pain and hurl a fire-arrow her way, but when she’s done maneuvering her hands around, carving a door-shaped hole beyond the actual open door, I see that she’s letting Wesley, Ruth, and their baby daughter inside the facility.

I forgot they were coming today.

Wesley looks concerned as he pushes the stroller toward me. “Emil, buddy, you okay?”

I don’t get how people who full-on know what’s what with someone’s situation can ask them if they’re okay. I’m clearly not. I haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time for days. I’ve barely eaten. My mother is dead or being tortured by the most dangerous gang in the city. My brother is in critical condition. There’s not a lot going on for me to make me feel anything close to okay.

“I’m fine,” I say, because I don’t have it in me to go off on someone well-meaning.

I turn my attention to Ruth, who has this cautious smile, like she wants to be pleasant for our official meeting but can also see that I’m suffering. She’s wearing one of her Mighty Wear shirts, a clothing line she started because she recognized there isn’t enough attire for fat celestials such as herself and Wesley. Brighton used to show me pictures from her account, especially when they featured Wesley, and her hair was black in all of her previous posts, but now it’s dyed light brown. Her brown skin seems well moisturized too, and Brighton always pointed to her as an influencer who seemed to really believe in the products she was promoting.

“You seem like you need a hug. May I?” Ruth asks without stepping any closer. “You’re not hurting my feelings if not. I know everyone isn’t a hugger.”

“You can hug me,” I say under my breath.

Ruth wraps her arms around me, and I relax my forehead on her shoulder. I already get a sense of what Brighton means by Ruth’s influencer abilities. She’s instantly sold me on this hug, and unlike an ab roller this fit guy on Instagram once convinced me to buy, I actually needed this. Her hair smells like vanilla, and it reminds me of when Ness asked for vanilla candles during his interrogation. I hug Ruth harder, wishing I could transport myself back to those simpler times where I could visit Ness in that supplies room at Nova and have honest conversations.

Wesley and Ruth introduce me to their squirming four-month-old daughter, Esther, who shares Ruth’s complexion and brown eyes, but her button nose and slightly pointed ears, like an elf in a fantasy novel, are all Wesley’s.

I lead them to their room, right beside the one I’m sharing with Prudencia, who is still asleep when I peek in.

“Is Iris around?” Ruth asks as she takes Esther out of the stroller.

“Her room is down the hall, but I haven’t seen her today.”

“Has she been going out to search for Eva?” Wesley asks.

I nod. I offered to go with her, but she made it clear that she didn’t want to have to protect me since my powers are barely working. I’m sure there’s more to it.

“At least it’s a safer place to stay, even if someone follows her back,” Wesley says. “The illusions made the center look busy. Bit of a dead zone in here.” He blushes while spinning his hands around, as if he can rewind time and take back the words. “I don’t mean dead zone like Brighton is going to die, or that everyone here is going to die, obviously, because we’re choosing to be here too, and we wouldn’t bring Esther if we thought it were high-risk, you know.”

Ruth places a hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

I don’t know where they’ve been the past couple of days and I don’t ask.

“I found out how we got discovered,” Wesley says. “Dr. Bowes has a son, Darren. He texted some friends that his mother was taking care of us, and word got out online.”

I asked for discretion, but Darren is fourteen, and his excitement got the best of him. I can’t blame him. I probably would’ve been able to keep it together if Ma had told us she was treating a Spell Walker at the hospital, but Brighton would’ve bragged away.

“He’s a fan of mine,” I say, which feels gross. “Dr. Bowes told me. I was supposed to sign something for him.”

“It’s not your fault,” Wesley says. “I told Darren the same thing.”