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

eating reminds me so much of when Dad passed, and she would have to force-feed herself.

Everything is terrifying, so I go straight to my mother like I always have in the home she didn’t have to invite me into.

She looks up at me with the reddest of eyes. “Emil.”

There’s that part of me that’s aching to hug her, to forgive her, but I’m frozen.

“My Emilio, I’m so sorry. My heart has never hurt more than seeing that look on your face. . . . I never wanted to put you through that.”

“You should’ve told me,” I say.

“Us,” Brighton says.

“Of course,” Ma says. “We took too long to tell you boys the truth. Part of me wishes I’d kept up the lie, so I wouldn’t have the memory of your betrayed faces. But it seemed too important. I will tell you anything you want to know.”

I have so many questions, but I’ve lived through enough truth with my family that it can wait. “I need some real talk first. I know everyone is counting on me becoming a soldier. It’s been really impossible to hype myself up enough to fill Bautista’s shoes, even though I want to live in a better world like everyone else here. But I know I’m not strong enough to create it.”

“You’ve done it before!” Brighton says. “Sort of.”

I’m not Keon or Bautista, and I don’t know them any better than anyone else who’s researched them online. “They both got killed, Bright. This isn’t some video game where I’ll respawn as your brother if I die. Are you going to feel good about pushing me into this fight if I end up dying?”

Brighton doesn’t hesitate. “I would hate myself forever. But are you going to feel good about walking away from all of this?”

“I would hate myself forever,” I echo. “I know too many names and faces and stories to not help. I might be a specter, but I’m a lot like the celestials who also didn’t choose to have powers. I want to focus on this cure and reverse the damage Keon and the Blood Casters have created.”

Brighton grins. “We’re going to get you through this. I’ll film your training so we can review everything together. I’ll tell you when you’re not giving it your all so you don’t get wrecked on the battlefield.”

“Battlefield,” Prudencia breathes. “Hell of a word.”

“Different times,” Brighton says.

“Ma?” She’s been quiet.

“No parent wants to watch their child walk into battle,” Ma says with my hand in hers, and I fight the impulse to rip it away. “I wish I could lift the world off your shoulders, Emilio, but I will support you however I can. If you want to stay, we stay. If you want to leave, we leave.”

No one can make this decision for me. We hang tight in silence for a little while longer so I can give myself a few more breaths before I change my life even more. We assemble together and march to the brewing chamber. The Spell Walkers are gathered, and all eyes are on us. My phoenix fire has nothing to do with how powerful I feel in this moment. All credit goes to my own little army standing with me.

“I’ll become one of you.”

SeventeenTraining

EMIL

The Spell Walkers are no joke when it comes to getting me in shape for the streets.

Atlas coaches me on how to call for my power, and it’s harder than the pull-ups Iris has me doing with my scrawny arms during our intense workouts. Whenever I manage to summon the heavy phoenix fire, I’m supposed to try and get some hits on Wesley, which—come on—hitting a regular moving target is hard enough. Learning how to swing bones with Maribelle is off to a rough start when she has to readjust my thumb so I form a proper fist. Brighton is hyping me up from behind the camera, but there’s no way this footage will make me look like a hero to anyone.

Day by day, the Spell Walkers have got to realize they’re investing in the wrong person. But they’re not giving up on me. The bruises are building up after three days of Maribelle going in on me, and I avoid Ma whenever I have to ice them so she doesn’t know how much pain I’m in. On our fifth day of training I’m just as stunned as anyone when my balance improves, my focus tightens, and the flames feel lighter. Throwing projectile shots is so much more complicated than hitting targets in video games, and when I stop aiming for where Wesley is and start anticipating where he’ll be next, I finally hit him in his power-proof vest.

On our seventh day of training, the Spell Walkers prepare a trial run for me. All our sessions have been private, but this time Iris has invited everyone in the building to spectate, and man, there must be sixty people here who are counting on me to help save them.

“Your objective is to rescue the fallen celestial,” Iris says. There’s a dummy on the other side of the gym. “And bring them home.”

“That’s it?”

“Let the trial begin,” Iris says, and the lights dim.

All eyes are on me as I fight through Atlas’s winds to reach the dummy, like I’m caught in a storm. I’ve never stopped to think about what weather conditions I might have to face when I’m out on a mission, and it’s a new element of fear that strikes me. Right before I reach the dummy, a strong breeze starts whizzing past me, over and over. Wesley is running circles around me, and before I can stop him, he barrels into me with his shoulder. I’m knocked back into the wall with no mat to catch me. Everyone in the bleachers groans as I try picking myself up. Wesley charges again, and I cross my arms over my chest, bracing myself for another hit as my phoenix fire ignites and forms wings. He crashes into me, but this time he’s