Infinity Reaper by Adam Silvera (best new books to read txt) 📗

Republic, a trip that was planned for Mom to spend time with her distant relatives; and day one of eighth grade, which I should’ve realized was a publicity stunt since it was the first time Mom wasn’t around to take me to school. The Senator lingered the longest around the picture of us waving together in our tailored suits on the steps of a courthouse in the Bronx, moments after he announced that he was running for president.

“Eduardo is the reason I believe I can lead our great nation,” the Senator had said to the reporter. “Especially after losing Esmeralda.”

Then he took this ridiculous long silence that editors deemed worthy of keeping in the final cut.

I slide the picture off my desk and directly into my empty trash can, hating how I probably got my actor bones from the Senator. Thinking about acting reminds me of the picture I actually have been missing since I’ve been gone. I scan around for it since it’s no longer on my bedside table, but it’s not in here. The picture was of me and Mom on opening night of my first school play. I was dressed as the grandson of this dragon tamer and Mom was kissing the top of my head. The Senator wasn’t around because of some last-minute fundraiser. I was upset back then because he didn’t show up, but I’m pissed now because he completely removed a great physical memory of that night.

I head for the door right as the Senator and Jax come down the hallway. Jax shoves me back into the room, and I almost fall.

“Control your lackey,” I say.

“Jax doesn’t need control. He cooperates,” the Senator says. “You need to follow his lead.”

“You need to give me back my picture of me and Mom.”

The Senator stops to consider this and then chuckles. “The one of you from some play? I wasn’t in it, so we had it trashed.”

“You had no right.”

“Dead men have no possessions, and you were supposed to be one. If you wanted that picture so badly, you could’ve come back to life for that occasion.” The Senator claps. “Well then, I have private matters to discuss with Bishop and must alert select others about your return. If you need anything from the kitchens, Jax will have it sent up for you, and he’ll escort you to the bathroom as needed.”

“For my protection?” I ask mockingly.

“For my campaign’s protection,” the Senator says. “Welcome home, Eduardo. Have a good night.”

Jax telekinetically closes the door in my face.

In all my nightmares of the Senator discovering I’m alive, I never thought I would return here. Dead within the day always seemed more likely. There’s still time for that if I don’t cooperate.

I sit on my bed, exhausted. I’d forgotten how comfortable it was. I’ve come a long way from sleeping on stiff mattresses, couches, subway benches, and even the floor of that supplies closet when I manipulated Emil and the Spell Walkers into taking me hostage. This would all feel a little easier if Emil were here with me. If we could talk about our own lives instead of how to save everyone else’s.

But my life here won’t be easy. He’s going to keep me disconnected. There’s never been a TV in my room, and the Senator certainly won’t give me one now so he can continue controlling the narrative. Still, there’s one narrative he can’t control: he’ll never fool me again into thinking this luxurious house isn’t a prison. Except with traditional jails, the prisoners are expected to keep their heads low and behave while they serve their time. Here at home, the Senator is going to corrupt me further.

SixLike Father, Like Son

BRIGHTON

I wake up with a tube down my throat and wires in my arms, and I freak out.

Emil calls for help and nurses rush in, instructing me to relax and let their machines help me breathe a little longer. But Emil crying makes me want to panic even more, so I stare out the window instead. The blackness of the sky has been replaced with bright oranges and pinks and blues. The sun is rising. Has it been a few hours since I fainted? I’m guessing so since Ma would be by my side too if it’d been any longer than that.

When I’m calming down, I can’t help but think about this one time when Dad woke up in his hospital room alone. He was so scared, which felt backward. Children aren’t the ones who are supposed to tuck their parents back into bed after they’ve had a nightmare, or check their closets to make sure basilisks aren’t nesting in there. Dad explained that his fear was about dying alone, and that struck all of us. Since that moment, we always made sure someone was there when Dad woke up, even if that meant we missed class, work, birthdays, Emil’s tutoring sessions, and my extracurricular clubs.

I lucked out having Emil here to keep me company. Even luckier that he’s alive. But I’m definitely logging away that Prudencia isn’t here.

An hour later, a nurse returns to stop the intubation. My throat feels dry and swollen when he removes the tube, but I’m able to breathe okay. A practitioner, Dr. Bowes, checks my temperature, tests my senses, and assesses my energy levels. I’m burning up, and Emil presses a cold towel against my forehead. I used to be on the outside looking in whenever I watched Dad try and stay strong as nurses poked and prodded him. But the grass isn’t greener on the other side with Emil watching me suffer. I’m getting hotter and hotter. This happened to Emil when his powers first appeared. That could be a good thing, except for the fact that it was also what happened to Dad on and off before he died. Emil helps me remove my shirt, but it’s not making enough of a difference.

The question I’m building up the nerve to ask is making me nauseous