Infinity Reaper by Adam Silvera (new books to read .TXT) 📕

On the flight over, we reviewed which four ingredients we need, and Tala has already begun haggling with vendors. I admire a candleholder that’s shaped like a crystal skull as Tala trades one of her tranquilizers for saliva from a hibernating shadow-star hydra.

We need the shedding of a blood-plumed basilisk, and we can’t think of anyone better to ask than the man who has contacts that make his eyes look like slits and tattooed arms that are supposed to make him look scaly; it’s not impossible that he’s a specter, but personally, I think he’s overcompensating. On the shelves behind him are snake eyes, some as large as apples, in glass jars; jewelry made of fangs; and hideous snakeskin shoes that thankfully went out of fashion years ago. Tala points to what looks like a belt made of rubies on the third shelf. She trades the last gem-grenades in her bag for the dead skin.

Surrounded by all these herbs and chemicals and essences, I’m impressed with how good alchemists are at understanding the properties of ingredients to create effective potions. Anyone can brew if told what to throw inside a cauldron, but discovering everything yourself is a true skill. It must’ve been awful growing up with Luna as a mother, but if it meant that Sera learned the craft at a much faster rate, then I’ll make sure her childhood effort wasn’t in vain by using this shadow-star hydra saliva and blood-plumed basilisk shedding and everything else against Luna and her army.

We ask around for the soil that Sera named cumulus powder. One woman thinks we’d have an easier time finding fresh strawberries growing in a December snowfall. But a man who has seen better days directs us to a woman named Gemma toward the end of the line.

The booth has lanterns hidden behind the purple curtains, making it glow like a sunset. The vendor looks to be about Mama’s age, and she’s wearing a black veiled dress as if she’s returned from a fancy funeral.

“Are you Gemma?” Tala asks.

She nods as she counts her cash. “What do you need?”

“Soil from a high mountain. Maybe from Aconcagua or Everest.”

Gemma looks at us for the first time and grins. “What do a Halo Knight and a wanted Spell Walker need with soil of that nature? Putting together a potion?”

“That’s none of your concern,” I say.

“No, but I can’t help but be nosy when people come looking for rare items. That soil is often used for purging creature toxins, though it’s hard to get your hands on some without those blasted hydras biting them off,” Gemma says. “It’ll cost more than cash.”

Tala reaches into her bag. “I created bladed stars that explode in lightning.”

Gemma laughs. “Young lady, I applaud your innovation, but that doesn’t interest me. What else do you have?” She looks between us, but the only item of potential interest I’m carrying is the oblivion dagger. And I’m not trading a surefire way to kill June for the chance to make a potion to disempower her. Gemma’s eyes land on Tala again. “I’ll take your jacket.”

“No,” Tala says. “Take my crossbow instead.”

“Once again, your weapons do not excite me. I’m well protected already.” Gemma’s eyes suddenly burn like an eclipse. My psychic sense triggers as two extra arms punch out of Gemma’s sides, reach behind her, and pull out two wands from underneath a blanket. “Now, a Halo Knight’s jacket is a collector’s item that several clients of mine would take an interest in.”

“This jacket was given to me by my parents, who were murdered weeks ago.”

“Condolences,” Gemma says with enough honesty that I don’t set her on fire. “But that’s my price. I want to live and manage my business and maintain my reputation as having the best high wares, young lady.”

Tala tightens her jacket close as if it’s freezing down here, when actually the sorrow in her amber eyes tells me she’s about to part with it. She strokes the black feathered sleeves, and I hope it’s of some consolation to Tala that Roxana is still alive to produce enough feathers to start again. Tala takes off the jacket, her wings and talons and beak tattoos exposed. Before she hands it over, she asks, “Where’s the soil?”

Gemma stares as her hydra-grown arms unlock a chest and pull out a pouch that’s patterned with blue and white stripes.

“How do we know this is legit?” Tala asks.

“You not knowing the product isn’t my fault,” Gemma says as she swiftly snatches the jacket and hands over the pouch. “But if it turns out to be nothing but park dirt, you can find me down here dressed like one of you until I have a buyer.”

Tala storms off, and I chase after her.

“I’m good with snapping off her arms if you want to steal back your jacket,” I say.

Tala stops in front of a booth selling ointments that claim to prevent phoenixpox. “There’s no honor in that, but there is some in the sacrifice I made. It’s better to lose something sentimental if it means saving phoenixes everywhere.”

Her devotion to phoenixkind makes me feel selfish for not even offering the oblivion dagger. But she made her choice, and I quietly made mine.

“Excuse me,” a short man says, trying to get to the booth. He has a dark, thick beard peppered with gray, and he’s wearing a tracksuit. He does a double take, and it’s clear he recognizes me. Then he looks especially petrified when he sees Tala’s mask. He immediately runs away, snaking his way through the crowd.

There’s something familiar about him. Was he one of the Brew dealers I confronted during the night of the Cloaked Phantom? Or one of those pharmacy alchemists I’d hoped might have some affiliation with Luna?

Then I know. I never met this man, but back when the Spell Walkers researched Emil’s life before bringing him onto the team, we learned that his boss at the Museum of