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

Dr. Bowes’s solemn expression says it all. “It appears your body is rejecting the elixir you consumed. We believe you may have a few more months ahead of you.”

I don’t get it—I glowed after drinking the Reaper’s Blood. That has to mean something. “But the elixir was mixed and consumed when the Crowned Dreamer was at its zenith.”

“Blood alchemy for specters has been around for decades, but there are no surefire methods,” she says.

Even with all of Luna’s calculations, the elixir could’ve turned on her too. If I spared her from everything I’m going through, I hope she suffered from my spell before dying. There are worse legacies I could have.

“We’re preparing some more tests to run and afterward we can explore some alternative practices to cleanse your blood,” Dr. Bowes says. “Do you need anything else for the time being, Brighton?”

“I need a minute.”

Dr. Bowes says something before leaving, but I don’t hear her because I’m too busy sorting through my own thoughts about how the elixir backfired.

Emil and I are quiet when we’re alone. He gets me ice chips to chew on, and he’s making me feel guilty with how sad he looks, so I focus on the sky some more. I wonder how many more skies I’ll get to see before I die. If I’ll get to see Ma. Talk things out with Prudencia. If Emil and I—

“Did you mean what you said back at the church?” Emil asks, ending the silence.

I said a lot of things back there, but I realize he’s asking me about what I said before I drank the Reaper’s Blood. How I would rather die like Dad than live powerless. “Just get your I-told-you-so out of the way,” I say.

“Not happening. Everyone ignores their big brother,” Emil says.

“I’m older. I was born first . . . thought I was born first. We don’t actually know.”

“I’ve got two extra lifetimes on you. I win.”

Even though he’s forcing this humor, this is the smoothest conversation we’ve had in weeks. Everything else has been this battle about how best to approach our positions in this war. Strangely enough, the last time it felt this easy talking to Emil was after we found out he was adopted. We had talked about how we were always going to be brothers, no matter what.

“Remember my bully in seventh grade?” I ask. “The one who hated my early YouTube videos?”

“First time I ever hit someone who wasn’t you,” Emil says.

We got into a number of fights with each other growing up, and it was always over something stupid. One time he was practicing his drawing, so he traced a superhero over one of my comic books and left pen marks all over the page. Another time I kept hogging the TV to play an RPG where you get to build your own celestial. But those fights were different from the ones we got into with other people at school or on our block. Watching Emil deck that other kid was something I wish I’d gotten on camera so I could play it on repeat.

“It was incredible,” I say.

“Until he hit me back and punched you too.”

“Hey, we got jumped together. Even back then.”

“Simpler times,” Emil says.

Truly. It’s not that I would trade this gang war for schoolyard smackdowns. I just wish this all turned out differently. That Emil and I could’ve been the powerful Reys of Light like we dreamed about when we were younger.

“I wish I wasn’t your brother,” Emil says.

Somehow, that hits harder than finding out I’m dying.

“No, that came off wrong,” Emil says, red in the face. “Sorry. I wish you were an only child. I love being your brother, Bright, but our brotherhood is what got you involved in this war in the first place. If Dad hadn’t found me on that street corner, you would be safe at home and covering all this action for your Celestials of New York. You wouldn’t be—”

“What, dying? No, but I wouldn’t be happy either.”

“I know, but you never got caught up in any of this until you were living in my shadow. You wouldn’t have felt so competitive or incomplete. I’m just saying, I wish another family found me.”

“No, what you’re saying is you wish I wasn’t involved. Guess what, Infinity Son, I’m the one who stopped Luna, not you. If I hadn’t been there you would be dead and Luna would be immortal. How is that good for anyone? For the world?”

Emil hops out of his seat and kicks it over. “I don’t care about the world! I care about you!”

“This is why I’m the one who should have powers! I could prove that not all specters are bad, that we can trust ordinary people with powers. That we can all be more like Bautista. Be more like you.”

It pains me to use Emil as a shining example, but it’s true. Power didn’t corrupt him, and corruption seems to be the popular narrative about any specter. This country is doing itself a gigantic disservice by assuming everyone will abuse their abilities. Right now, enforcers are the only authorized special-ops unit tasked with taking down gleamcrafters. Some celestials have been hired as enforcers, sure, but the majority are humans who are fighting back with wands, gem-grenades, and other weapons boosted by gleamcraft. But what if we trusted more people with powers? What if we could use creature blood to strengthen soldiers in the military, police officers, bodyguards, and protectors of all kinds? We can’t assume that everything will go wrong just because a select few might abuse that privilege.

“For the hundredth time,” Emil says, shaking. “I don’t want these powers. They are not the solution to my problems.”

“Maybe you would feel differently if you saw Dad die!”

That shuts him up.

We’re both breathing heavily. My cheeks are wet with tears and sweat. My fist is shaking so hard, I could probably punch a wall and not feel a thing. “I always hoped Dad