Infinity Son (Infinity Cycle #1)(37)

“Get dressed,” Iris says, with Prudencia by her side.

“What? I am.”

Iris points at Brighton and Prudencia. “They’re coming along for a trial run.”

“For real?” Brighton asks.

“You and Prudencia have to stick close. You’ll each be given daggers, and if this goes well, I’ll be training you on how to use gem-grenades for future protection. We leave in three minutes. Suit up fast.”

Brighton spins around, and I can tell he’s expecting to find Spell Walker gear like mine. He puts on a black power-proof vest that has definitely seen some action; a tear from a blade, singed edges from fire, and three holes crossing the stomach from spellwork. I hope whoever wore this before my brother is okay. Once Brighton and Prudencia are dressed, we go down the hall. The whole time, Brighton is filming me as I march to my death.

Ma is shaking by the entrance, and Eva takes Iris into her arms.

“I don’t want you to go,” Ma says.

“Me either,” I say. But I’m only going to get my freedom by serving as a Spell Walker.

“Take care of Emil,” Ma says.

“We’re his sidekicks. We will,” Brighton says.

“As his brother and his best friend. All of you come home to me.”

One group hug and we’re out the door and back in the car that brought me here. We’re on the road, and I can’t believe I’ve gotten myself into this.

Maybe this is how every hero feels before they go into battle.





Eighteen


Burnout


EMIL

On the morning of Dad’s funeral, I refused to get off the train when we reached our stop. Brighton had to hold open the doors while Ma pleaded with me to take her hand, to be the strength she needed to get through the ceremony. Passengers saw that we were dressed in black and crying, but their sympathy and patience didn’t last long before people started shouting at me. They didn’t care that I wasn’t ready to face my father in a casket.

I don’t want to get out of this car and fight Orton.

“I’m not ready,” I say to Brighton and Prudencia, who are in the backseat with me.

“We’ll be there with you,” Brighton says.

Maribelle turns around from the driver’s seat. “You’ll be keeping your distance.”

“I don’t have the power to stop Orton,” I say. “I got lucky the first time.”

“We’ve got the element of surprise again,” Iris says. “And you have us too.” Iris’s powerhouse strength and Maribelle’s levitation and agility are a boost, for sure. “The objective isn’t to kill. We need to lay him out so we can question him on Luna’s advancements in alchemy.”

“But if you have to defend yourself, defend yourself,” Maribelle says. “If it’s kill or be killed, light him up.”

“Do everything you can to avoid killing,” Iris adds. But she doesn’t disagree with Maribelle either. This is not the thing I wanted to see them bond over.

I get out of the car, and my legs are trembling as I follow them into an empty warehouse for Eternal Lerna Footwear, this company I hate since they produce shoes made of hydra leather. The lights must be busted, and the sun setting isn’t helping us at all. I’m about to try and conjure a quick flick of fire when shards of glass from broken windows crunch under my boots. I freeze, terrified that Orton is about to pounce out of the shadows and strike me down before I can defend myself with a single lesson I’ve learned. I’d make history as a so-called chosen one who was taken down his first week on the job. But all is okay as Brighton turns on his camera’s light, helping us guide the way. The smell of fresh kicks, rubber, and glue grows stronger as we pass waist-high tables where the factory workers handled business.

Maribelle hovers to a balcony while the rest of us creep up these steel steps, and we all freeze when we hear voices in the room ahead. I make out Orton’s cruel laugh, and it sends shivers down my spine. I want to hit a one-eighty and hide in the car, but we’re in too deep already. It sounds like a group of people in there, and I wish I could see through these walls so I would know how outnumbered we’re about to be.

We press ourselves against the wall outside the door, and Iris gestures to Brighton and Prudencia to get some distance. Brighton is hesitant, but Prudencia drags him back by his vest.

“If she can’t help me, then I’m done helping her!” Orton shouts from inside the room.

Iris counts down from three and punches the door off its hinges. I follow her and Maribelle in.

The office is cramped enough without the six people in dirty gray jumpsuits and crimson belts staring us down—acolytes who have sworn their lives to the Blood Casters. Orton hobbles around the table, and when he grins, I zero in on his red-stained teeth. Dark veins pop against his sickly white skin, like shadows coursing through snow. His eyes glow like burning coal as he shoots bright, screeching fire at us. I freeze, and Maribelle is quick to yank me out of the way; Iris would’ve ripped my arm out if Maribelle hadn’t beat her to it. The fire explodes behind us, and I’m relieved that Brighton and Prudencia aren’t in here.

“Get them!” Orton shouts.

The acolytes charge. Three have switchblades, two have wands, and another has a battle-ax. One foolishly throws a punch at Iris, who catches his fist and swings him into another acolyte. Maribelle glides, careful not to bang into the low ceiling lights as she dodges spellwork. Two acolytes are closing in on me, and I back up, ready to run out that door, but I can’t do Maribelle and Iris dirty. There’s no shortage of fear to tap into as I hurl fire-darts into the acolytes. I hit shoulders and sides, doing my best not to kill anyone, even people who are trying to stab me. The woman with the battle-ax is screaming as she corners me, and as she raises it overhead, Maribelle pops up and snatches the weapon. Maribelle floats into a backflip kick, knocking the acolyte in her chin, and lands beside me.