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

plenty. But what have you done? All this power and no fire in your heart.”

“Maybe my next life will impress you,” I say.

“You weren’t supposed to be reborn, but it was a valuable lesson for my purposes. When I struck Bautista down with the infinity-ender, it wasn’t somewhere fatal. I didn’t believe it would matter, since all phoenixes die once struck with the blade, even a nick in the belly. Since a specter’s body is still human, he bled out, but I didn’t end his line. Ness has informed me you possess no memories of Keon’s or Bautista’s lives, and I’m positive I at least fractured that ability.”

So it wasn’t because Bautista experimented with all those power-binding and power-expelling potions. Which means that I can die for good if struck by the infinity-ender.

“You serve a purpose,” Luna says. “You’ve shown me the reaches of power that a specter can experience. How lovely it will be to fly with those glorious wings and live on forever.” She holds out the infinity-ender, and Ness clasps the bone handle. “Luckily for you, you’re more valuable to a client of mine alive than you are to me dead, as tempting as it is to snuff out your line once and for all. Still, the weaker you are, the better for everyone.”

Ness approaches me.

The fire bursts across my arms, but I can’t hurl any fire-darts at him. If Luna wants to see impressive, I’ll show her someone who won’t go down without a fight. I fly as high as I can, my neck craned against the ceiling. The chains prevent me from escaping, but I can relax my arms enough to let fire-darts rain down on the room. The acolytes scatter, and I nearly catch Luna, but Ness hops up and slices the exposed skin above my ankle. Scorching pain surges up to my waist, a metallic silver light flashing so brightly through my dark jeans. My wings vanish. I crash onto the foot where my ankle’s been cut and the chain pops my left arm from my shoulder.

“Get up,” Ness says.

“Please kill me,” I say. If he has any mercy, he’ll end me quickly and claim it was an accident. If someone reborn after me manages to carry Keon’s memories, they could be tempted to continue his work, and I want this entire conflict to die with Luna when the Spell Walkers take her down.

“Get up,” Ness repeats.

“I can’t.” My leg is in agony, like it’s being stabbed over and over.

Luna instructs an acolyte to help me, but Ness waves them off. He drops the dagger and roughly picks me up, slamming me against the wall. His eyes are red, and I like to think there’s an apology in his stare, but trusting him is what got me here. He bites his lip, and I brace myself. He cuts across my rib cage, and I scream in his face, crying and spitting as my insides run so hot they feel like they’re melting. He cuts the other side too; twin wounds that burn so fiercely I should black out from the pain, but the pain igniting within every few seconds keeps me awake.

“Marvelous, my pure miracle,” Luna says, taking the bloody dagger out of Ness’s hand. “You’ve made me very proud, as always.”

She instructs the acolytes to bind my feet in chains, even though she doesn’t expect my powers to recover soon.

Within minutes, I’m left alone.

Every time I get the sensation that I’m healing, my pain doubles, then triples, and I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. I’m drenched in sweat as these flames eat me alive, and I’m praying to the night skies that I die right here, right now. Blood soaks up my sleeves and the bottom of my shirt, dripping down my legs and to the floor. I cry for help, knowing damn well no one here cares. I remind myself that Brighton is okay because I was brave enough to stand up for him, how I will always suffer for his safety.

Times passes, and the agony doesn’t go away.

The faintest phoenix song begs me to survive, but I’m tired of the music and wish someone would put out my fire for good.

Thirty-FourMany Faces

NESS

I’m shaking hard in front of the mirror and I grip the sink with bloody hands.

Gray light bathes me, and I’m Peter McCall when he was thirteen. Brown eyes that feared me whenever we crossed paths, thin lips that quivered whenever I cornered him. He was so small that only half of his face reflects back at me now. He was the first celestial I bullied after my mother was killed, and he transferred schools after his parents caught him trying to take his own life. Gray light. Fourteen-year-old Harry Gardner. Black eye and missing teeth courtesy of my fists. He was the first celestial I attacked. I went home pissed because he hadn’t used his power on me, which would’ve gotten him locked up. Gray light. Fifteen-year-old Rhys Stone. Blue eyes, immaculate smile, bright future ahead of him. We never met personally, but there’s no forgetting the face of the celestial who was killed because of my convention speech, because of words the Senator wrote for me. Words I once believed.

Gray light after gray light, the many faces of people I’ve hurt go on and on. Some personally, others indirectly. Some alive, others dead. A few murdered by my own hand.

But there’s one that strikes hardest.

Gray light. Taller than me, hazel eyes, curlier hair, a face that I’ve never seen smile but hope I will. Emil Rey. Firefly. But I got him all wrong. He’s too clean, too perfect. He’s been ruined tonight—I ruined him.

I don’t want to, but I add the scars to my glamour and stare.

I will forever be haunted by the tears that filled his hazel eyes, the spit building over his lips, his cheeks flushing as he screamed for death, and his blood on my hands.

Gray light.

I’m