Infinity Son by Adam Silvera (some good books to read .TXT) 📕

wild how much money got dropped on collectible figurines and video games and books, and how none of that matters now that our safety has been threatened. Atlas leads the way out of the apartment and down the stairs, with Brighton keeping close like a second shadow. I’m the last to leave the apartment, and I lock the door behind me. I run down the stairs, reliving these fond memories of going outside to play and hanging out with friends. Now I’m running away from home with my brother and one of the most powerful Spell Walkers.

Guarding the lobby door is a short young woman with dark brown skin, shaved hair that’s dyed bright green, and a power-proof vest—Iris Simone-Chambers, the small but mighty leader of the Spell Walkers. “What took so long?”

“The shape-shifting Blood Caster interfered,” Atlas says. “He fled.”

Before I can introduce myself, I spot a crowd outside the building. There are half a dozen signs, but I can only make out two:

Move over, Spell Walkers! Fire-Wing is here!

Burn yourself with that phoenix fire!

“You’re going to be okay,” Iris says.

I feel like a celebrity as I step outside the building with Iris and Atlas acting as my bodyguards. I’ve never wanted to be famous; that’s Brighton’s dream. I’m the guy behind the camera, and I’m down with that anonymity. Some people in the crowd are chanting “Fire-Wing!” and want pictures while others are calling me an abomination. I don’t get how it’s possible to feel like my life is in danger when I’m being protected by Iris, who can lift a car over her head and whose skin is spellwork-resistant, and Atlas, who can suspend people with his winds, but I don’t feel safe at all.

A car horn honks, and Maribelle Lucero leans out of the driver’s-side window of the Jeep, yelling at us to hurry up.

When we move for the car, a figure I’d hoped I’d never see in person slides out of a sewer grate on his stomach and slithers onto the street with the smoothness of a water snake. His blond hair and clothes are dripping wet, and he smells of waste. Dark green veins branch across his pale skin. His eyes are burning eclipses before shifting to yellow pupils that shrink into slits. I nearly trip over myself trying to get away from Stanton, the Blood Caster with basilisk blood whose face can be found on so many Wanted posters for his gang-related crimes. Stanton opens his mouth and emits a spray that smells like rotted animal carcass. Blood rushes to my head and I’m so dizzy and we all fall to our knees. My heart is beating slowly. I’m nothing but prey as Stanton grips my throat and drags me through the street.

Fighting Stanton at the top of my game would’ve been impossible enough, and all I can do now is kick at the air and tap Stanton’s wrist for mercy. I have no idea where he’s taking me. I try casting fire, but nothing. Just as I’m ready to give up, Stanton roars in pain and releases his hold. He rips a dagger out from his stomach and drops it on the ground while applying pressure to his wound. Through the haze I see Maribelle floating toward Stanton. When she reaches him, she unleashes a furious cycle of kicks against his chest until he falls.

She scoops up her dagger by its pearl handle and eyes the bloody blade that is bubbling in red acid. “You ruined my father’s blade,” Maribelle tells Stanton, as if he threw it at himself. She helps me to my feet as Iris approaches.

Iris sways and rights herself. “Get him in the car.”

“Ace idea, Captain. What would we do without your brilliant commands?”

“Now’s not the time—get out of the way!”

Iris shoves us, and we fly a foot into the air, slam down, and roll against the curb. I pay no mind to the scrapes and aches when I see Iris is bent over as acid eats away at her shoulder—she took the hit for us. Stanton pounces, scoring punches and kicks on Iris. She tries fighting back with her good arm, but his reflexes are swift.

“Get to the car,” Maribelle says as she runs over to fight Stanton.

Atlas assists Brighton into the back of the Jeep with our luggage before flying over to us. Gusts of wind carry Stanton into the air as Atlas pins him against the wall, shouting for everyone to escape. I stay to help Iris.

“I said get to the car,” Maribelle snaps.

“I’m here to save you, Emil,” Iris groans.

“You did, you did.”

We get to the car, and Brighton and I sit in the far back behind Maribelle and Iris. Maribelle reaches over and slams on the horn. Atlas releases his hold on Stanton, letting him crash to the ground, and glides over and jumps straight into the driver’s seat. I can’t believe we’re moments away from escape.

“Hang tight, Iris. We’ll get you to Eva,” Atlas says as he starts the car. “What the . . .”

A girl with big eyes and dark silver hair and moon-white skin is rising out of the ground. She’s barefoot, drenched in sweat, and wearing a heavy sweater that trails above her knees, nearly concealing her black shorts.

“Move out of the way,” Atlas shouts out the window. The girl doesn’t budge. “Fine.” He steps out of the car, and wind picks up around her. Trash swirls through her. She’s untouchable.

“It’s her,” Maribelle whispers. “It’s her! It’s her!”

“Who?” Brighton asks.

“The celestial from the Blackout, the one from the surveillance tape.” Maribelle grabs Iris’s knee. “The one who must know what really happened to our parents!” She goes for the door, but Iris binds her with her unaffected arm. Even though it doesn’t look as if Iris is placing a lot of effort into restraining Maribelle, she can’t escape. “What are you doing? Let me go!”

“Drive!” Iris shouts.

“Don’t you dare, Atlas!”

Atlas is torn, then looks out the window before kicking into gear and speeding