Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle 2)

Reversing the Cycle

EMIL

The castle’s library is intimate, but I’d happily kick up my feet on the gray chaise for hours, or as Wyatt would put it, spread my ashes here.

There are prints of different phoenixes above some knee-high bookcases, signaling the books that center on that particular breed. I stop in front of the century phoenix, grieving Gravesend, who won’t ever grow up to spread her wings as massively and proudly as this illustrated one. Tala opens the balcony doors and air blows in. There are a couple chairs outside, but there’s hardly any space to stretch with Nox and Roxana resting on the floor.

Everyone is gathered around a wooden table already, but I’m lagging behind as I admire all these colorful spines of books with general information about caring for phoenixes. I could spend the rest of my life here reading up on phoenixkind, armed with the knowledge to try and save them. That’s not why we’ve been brought in here, so I grab a seat before Brighton can come down on me again for experiencing a second of leisure. There’s a chandelier with beak-shaped bulbs and the light is casting over seven volumes of The Firebird Compendium. Wyatt is flipping through the pages of an eighth volume.

“Share your theory,” Tala says as she sits on the back of Maribelle’s chair.

“I’m finding the page I need for a smoother presentation,” Wyatt says. “I’d hate to disrupt the flow once we get these wings flapping because—aha!” He murmurs the text to himself while nodding along. “Marvelous. Emil, sweet Emil, when discussing the range of your powers it got me thinking. A phoenix’s most beautiful talent is rebirth, and we didn’t know specters to be privileged with that ability until we met you.”

I hadn’t directly considered resurrection as a privilege. There are so many people who have died ahead of their times—Dad, Atlas—and yet I’m the one whose soul has been brought back twice already. For all we know, I’m the first and only specter who experiences this. Will this work for Maribelle since she’s also part-celestial? Will it work for Brighton since his grand set of powers are technically incomplete? What about my enemies like Orton? Has he already been reborn as an infant and will grow up with the memories of our feud?

For the infinitieth time, I want out of this cycle.

“So what’s the deal?” I ask.

Brighton leans forward. “Wyatt thinks we can go back in—”

“Buh, buh, buh, buh!” Wyatt shakes his finger. “You didn’t take kindly to my ‘low-budget science-fiction-movie rip-off’ but that doesn’t mean you can rob me of my dramatics.” He shifts his attention back to me. “I was wondering perhaps if we could repair your memories and almost overlooked how phoenixes don’t always return with their previous life’s memories. That doesn’t mean they’re lost forever. It simply requires more of a journey.”

“A journey back through time,” Brighton says. “He thinks we can go back in time.”

Wyatt’s jaw drops. “You bastard.”

Brighton smirks.

I’m not making the connection. “I’m sorry. What? How are we time-traveling?”

“Don’t frame it too literally. Unlike your brother’s accusation, this won’t run the narrative of standard time-travel movies that come with a bunch of rules about not bumping into your past self or even so much as moving a single rock without changing the course of history.” Wyatt sits on the table beside me with the book in his lap. “You see, phoenixes need history. When they resurrect they are carrying their past lives with them through time, but they can move backward if they desire—it’s known as retrocycling. It’s a necessary function for phoenixes whose memories have been fractured, such as yours, to return through their past lives and gather the wisdom they need to avoid repeating mistakes. If phoenixes can retrocycle, I don’t see why you can’t travel through your own bloodlines.”

I always thought the memories of my past lives were lost in time. I’ve read up a little on phoenixes retrocycling, but that’s not something I thought I could pull off. After the Halo Knights were killed at the museum and Kirk was giving up Gravesend to turn me into some science experiment, he was speculating if I could slip into my previous lives. Luna didn’t answer his question. I’m not sure if she even knows herself if this is possible for phoenix specters.

“You think I can work my way back through Bautista’s life?”

“Perhaps. Then you can see for yourself what Bautista and Sera were planning with their power-binding potion.”

Assuming any of this is legit, my life grows more and more surreal. There’s a chance I can transport myself to the past and become one with Bautista? I really can’t believe this. I turn and Brighton seems to believe it just fine. Envy is written all over his face.

“What about me?” Brighton asks. “And Maribelle. You said this would affect all of us, but we don’t have past lives like Emil.”

“Of course you doubt reincarnation,” Tala says before Wyatt can speak. “And you continue to know nothing about the blood of the creature within you.”

“A phoenix has two bloodlines,” Wyatt gently says. “The first tracing back to their family. The second flowing infinitely from their personal life cycle. If my theory holds any weight, there will be opportunities for Brighton and Maribelle to retrocycle too through their familial bloodlines.”

Maribelle’s face lights up for the first time in ages, but a shadow seems to come over her as quickly. “I . . . I can’t see Mama and Papa. Only Bautista and Sera.”

“You can see Aurora and Lestor,” Brighton says. “But I’m guessing they would have to be around Bautista and Sera. Shouldn’t be too hard since they were all original Spell Walkers.” A smile is creeping up on him. “I can see Dad with my power.”

Much like Maribelle, I’m taken aback. I was on the edge of a thought of which moments in the past I’d love to reexperience with Dad, when I remember that even though he’s my father we’re not linked by blood. If this war ever settles and I get the time I need to process every ounce of trauma, I’d like to imagine myself finding peace over being secretly adopted sooner rather than later. But the goalpost seems to move further and further away any time the world reminds me that I was living a lie for eighteen years.

I bet I’ve got that same envious expression that Brighton had moments ago.

Then it hits me.

“Can Brighton only go back through the bloodline of someone if they’re dead?” I ask.