Infinity Son(11)

“I’m in,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know what it’s for, but I’m game.”

“Something extraordinary. The museum will be hosting a gala toward the end of the month, but it has to remain a secret for the next few days. This is going to be the celebration of a lifetime. We’ll be witnessing the hatching of a century phoenix.”

“Say what?” I never thought I would see a century phoenix at all, let alone the birth of one.

Kirk’s eyes gleam. “It gets better, Emil. Century phoenixes are an exceptionally rare breed, as you may know. It certainly doesn’t help that they don’t often reproduce when they do respawn, but this blue egg was feathered.”

I give myself a second to figure out what that means, but nothing. I know I shouldn’t compare my knowledge to someone who has a master’s degree in Creature Sciences and years of experience raising phoenixes and building habitats, but every time I don’t know something, it’s hard to appreciate it as something I learned, and instead I feel stupid for not knowing it already. “What does that mean?”

“A century phoenix’s egg is only feathered when it’s a firstborn.”

“So this is the phoenix’s first cycle of life!”

“The world will be able to witness Gravesend’s first breath.”

“Where is the egg now?”

“Gravesend is being guarded by Halo Knights in a secure location. She’ll remain there until it’s time for her birth, to protect her from the traffickers and Blood Casters who will no doubt try to hunt her down once we announce the purpose of the gala. We’ll tend to her here for the first month before releasing her into the wild.”

I think about the specters with phoenix blood who made headlines this week.

“On the news, they said a specter regrew his arm before he died, but his fire looked like it came from common ivories or crowned elders or halos. The regeneration doesn’t make sense, right?”

Kirk looks around the shop, like it’s been on his mind too. “Nothing is more important to a specter than power. It doesn’t surprise me when anyone works around the clock to make the impossible possible, the way Keon did when he had his first blood alchemy breakthrough. My hunch? Someone has found a way to double their abilities. The world is always changing, and I believe we’re about to be audience to a particularly dark turn of history, especially with the Crowned Dreamer rising. Let’s brace ourselves and pray no one messes with Gravesend.”

It’s rare that I keep secrets from Brighton, but I’m holding this one close to my chest. He’s bouncing to Cali in two days, and this is my chance to grow. To transform. My own little rebirth as I study hard in school—for real this time, no giving up after a week—and prep for Gravesend and straight wow Brighton when he sees what a phoenix pro I’ve become. I got to get in good with Kirk, because it’d be a legit dream to hit up Brighton, invite him back to New York, and hook him up with some behind-the-scenes exclusives of Gravesend’s journey for his series.

If I can pull this off, maybe, for once, I’ll stop feeling like a little brother who is years younger, even though we were born seven minutes apart.

Maybe I’ll stop feeling like the sidekick.





Six


Celestials of New York


BRIGHTON

My last full day in New York is off to a rough start.

Today marks six months since Dad died. Ma cold-shouldered me because I chose to keep packing instead of talking about my feelings. Then I tried to distract myself with some instant gratification online, posting a new profile; there’s no high like watching comments come in and views increase. But the Brightsiders were underwhelmed, to put it lightly. They don’t give a damn about the assistant manager of a travel agency that hires teleporters to transport celestials who’ve been blacklisted from boarding planes because of powers deemed hazardous. Instead, the Brightsiders flooded me with questions about why I didn’t work harder to get an interview with Atlas and Maribelle, as if the enforcers were going to grab coffee while I handled business.

My fans can be unreasonable.

To top it all off, we’re extra late to the Friday Dreamers Festival because of Emil, and wading through the crowds in Central Park is the worst. I want my series to grow beyond YouTube—a prime-time talk show is the dream—but all the incredible content I could’ve been filming the past couple hours is lost because Emil took his sweet time at work on some project he won’t tell me and Prudencia about. Whatever the secret is, I’m not expecting anything too exciting from a failing museum. But because Emil is still freaking out about enforcers since the other night, I promised him we’d all go together.

Dozens of enforcers line one path, and Emil’s panicked breaths make him look really suspicious.

“What if they’re the same ones who shot at us?” Emil asks.

“I doubt it.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Do you want to leave?” Prudencia asks.

He turns to me, and I don’t know what look I’m giving off, but he shakes his head.

Great.

I get that enforcers casting spellwork and buildings exploding can get any heart racing. But I’m not traumatized over it. My anxiety—if I can even call it that—has always been more academic, though, and never quite blows up the way Emil’s does, even when things are troubling me the most. Like when college acceptance letters were coming in, and my top choice wait-listed me.