Infinity Son by Adam Silvera (e book reader free txt) 📗

the one propelled backward. He rolls across the floor, and the crowd cheers.

I stare at my hands—my fiery wings don’t fly, but they work as a shield.

I need all this to end, so I grab the dummy’s leg before Wesley recovers. The dummy is heavier than I expected, and my arms and sides are still beyond sore from all the training. Maribelle floats out of the shadows and kicks me dead in the chin; I have no idea how my teeth aren’t raining out of my mouth. She lands and kicks me in the rib cage so hard, like I owe her money or something.

“I quit, I quit,” I cough out.

I’m not a fighter, I’m owning that.

Maribelle helps me up, and her head tilts. “We don’t get to quit.”

She twists my arm and flips me over her shoulder. The air is knocked out of me so hard I fight for my next breath. No matter how many times I’ve seen that move done in action movies, I wasn’t prepared for how much it would feel like my arm was almost ripped out of its socket or how my back feels like it could’ve been shattered.

I crouch on one knee and gesture for a time-out. “I need two minutes.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Maribelle says.

“Give me a break!”

“Would you ask the Blood Casters for a time-out? Do you think the enforcers will give you a chance to recover? Your opponents want you weak. Prove them wrong.”

Maribelle levitates and torpedoes toward me. I avoid her with a shoulder roll like she taught me. I crouch on one knee and cast fire, knocking her out of the air. She’s groaning, but I can’t check up on her; I have to focus on the mission. I’m dragging the dummy across the floor when dodgeballs throw me off my feet. Iris launches another dodgeball, and I hurl fire-darts until I’ve blasted them all apart, shreds of rubber falling between us. I drag the dummy by its legs and collapse when I cross the finish line, panting hard as people shout “Fire-Wing!” over and over.

Everyone in this room is counting on me to be this hero. Fire-Wing.

I hope they never find out that my past life is the reason they all need rescuing.

It’s been odd as all hell watching Brighton edit clips of me, but the next afternoon, the Spell Walkers have approved of what he’s calling his masterpiece, and it goes live on Celestials of New York. It’s basically a two-minute montage of everything I’ve been up to lately. There’s an epic score that crescendos during the original clip of me on the train when my power first surfaced, then slows down when I’m getting my ass kicked during training, and picks up again as I pass my trial. It’s cool, yeah, but I doubt people will have sympathy for a specter since I can’t exactly prove to the world that I was reborn into all of this. Everyone will accuse me of bringing this onto myself.

Brighton is hyped as the views skyrocket. For every ten good comments, there’s someone hoping I’m set on fire and fed to a hydra. I have to stop reading—even the supportive ones—because there’s enough pressure already. I’ve been meaning to begin one-on-one counseling with Eva like Ma has, but between training and deciphering Bautista and Sera’s notes with Prudencia, I can’t find the time. Too many people are counting on me. Myself included. Figuring out a cure is the only way I can piece my life back together.

I’m icing my shoulder while Prudencia and I flip through the dark blue leather journal with a gold fire-orb drawn onto the cover. Bautista writes in the sloppiest cursive, but dude could draw. Underneath sketches of extinguished flames, I make out his note about one of his attempts. He worked with a celestial who could neutralize other people’s powers, but much like the gauntlets that enforcers use, the effect wasn’t permanent. Between the handwriting, the art, and his fears, I wonder how much I’m me because of my own choices and how much has gotten passed down from Bautista like genetics. Maybe my attraction to phoenixes has always been because of my histories as Bautista and Keon.

Prudencia types more notes into her phone. “I’ve never heard of half of these ingredients Sera mentions. Bone tears? Water from the Shade Sea? Cumulus powder? Ghost husk? I can’t tell if she’s a brilliant alchemist or a know-nothing whose visions never helped her out.”

“Bautista really believed in her,” I say. “Why else would he keep being her test subject?” There was one potential cure where Bautista drank a potion mixed with the blood of water-casting celestials to try and put out the fire, but it was another bust. “What if those trials are why I never got Bautista’s or Keon’s memories? Maybe in trying to cancel out everything, all they did was extinguish that power.”

“It’s possible. Everything is just a theory, right?” Prudencia flips back to an entry about the Halo Knights that we dog-eared. It really hammers in how they’re tremendous champions of the sky whose numbers have greatly diminished over the years, but they continue to devote their lives to the welfare of every phoenix breed. “If the Halos hadn’t hated Bautista so much for hosting phoenix powers, they could’ve been helpful.”

“True. But we need to figure out how to stop all specters.”

“And make sure they can’t just re-up on more blood.”

“Totally a task for two people not trained in alchemy.”

The door opens, and Iris enters. I’ve completely lost track of time for our session. Today we’re working on arms and abs, but I can’t imagine I’m ever going to be molded into having a six-pack like Atlas. “Hey, sorry I’m late, we’ve been going through the notes.”

“Training is canceled today,” Iris says. “You’re coming on a mission with me and Maribelle to take down the specter you fought on the train.”

So the enforcers didn’t get their hands on Orton after all.

I dared