Infinity Son (Infinity Cycle #1)(36)

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 to be happy for a second, thinking I could use that extra time to nap or chat it up with Eva, but in that breath of daydreaming, Iris had to hit me out of it like one of her brick-crushing punches. “Wait. Why me? What about Atlas and Wesley?”

“They’re caught up with a job in New Jersey. We’re training you to fight outside, not rescue dummies.”

“I know, but I’m still so sore, and I’m only just getting the hang of things.”

“Orton tried to kill you all last time, and we have to stop him now,” Iris says. “I’ve been tracking several leads that can help us find the Blood Casters, and I found his new territory where he’s been selling Brew. We have to figure out Luna’s ultimate goal, and Orton is our best shot for intel.”

Brighton closes his laptop and raises his camera. “I’m going too!”

Iris shakes her head. “Filming videos within Nova is one thing, but we’re not risking your life out in the field.” Brighton tries getting another word in, but Iris holds up her hand. “Emil, meet me in the locker room.”

“She didn’t even give me a chance to explain,” Brighton says.

“It’s Iris’s job to protect us,” Prudencia says.

“It’s my job to build sympathy for gleamcrafters everywhere. Emil’s been getting some positive traction online from celestials and sympathizers. He’s giving them hope. But if we can’t control the narrative, then the greater public will never come to their senses that the Spell Walkers and Emil aren’t terrorists. Look at him, he doesn’t even want to go out now—and people still like him!”

Prudencia lets out a deep breath. “I’ll try to explain to her.”

I drag my feet to the locker room. This is straight-up ridiculous. No matter how much training I’ve been through, I have no business out on the streets. No one would ask a doctor to do a firefighter’s job, but everyone’s cool with sending a museum gift shop employee after the person who tried killing him.

Brighton fixes his camera on me as Prudencia walks over to Iris, who’s lacing up her boots while Maribelle is in the other corner stretching.

There’s gear laid out for me. The gloves are deceptively heavy, with fabric woven around brass knuckles for that extra damage. I haven’t seen the others in elbow pads, but I throw them on because I want as much protection as possible; I’d put on a damn helmet right now if one was lying around. My long white undershirt is made from sun-dust, which feels like wool woven with feathers; it’s the same fire-resistant fabric the Halo Knights wear into battle. I pull on the power-proof Spell Walker vest—midnight blue with the gold constellation spray-painted across the chest.

“You look badass,” Brighton says.

The whole outfit is heavy, and even though I get to keep my jeans and sneakers, I don’t feel like me.