Infinity Son(20)
We know better than anyone that loved ones don’t always come home.
Ten
Enigma
EMIL
My entire body feels like I’ve been dropped out of the sky.
I groan as I wake up in a hospital room. Brighton is quick to his feet and looks down at me with eyes redder than whenever he stays up all night editing.
“You’re okay,” he says. “Don’t get up.”
The bright ceiling lights hurt my eyes. I take deep breaths, thinking about what makes me happy to try and calm myself down. That very first memory of being in the Sunroom for my thirteenth birthday comes to mind, and just as quickly, the happiness of it all warps. How did that kid who posed in front of gorgeous replicas of phoenixes grow up to find their blood inside of him? “I just don’t understand,” I say. “I didn’t do this to myself—I would never.”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Brighton says. “Right now, we have to deal with Ma. She was losing it when she saw you in this bed, so Prudencia took her to the cafeteria to calm her down.”
“Does she know? About me?”
“I told her we got jumped by a specter. She doesn’t know anything about your powers, but we can’t keep it secret.”
He hands me his phone. A video of the subway fight has gone viral. It’s weird playing viewer to the moment those gold and gray flames surface for the first time. I can even make out the shape of a phoenix in the fire, flickering in and out. “They’re calling me Fire-Wing,” I say, reading the top comments. “I’m not some comic book superhero.”
“Yeah, and there are better names out there,” Brighton says.
“I have no idea how I got us out of there. I wasn’t even trying to throw those fire-darts at him.”
“However it happened, your hero game is strong.”
I struggle with the gratitude. “I’m not a hero for making sure someone didn’t kill you two. That’s common sense.”
“Tons of people disagree with you,” Brighton says.
“Like who?”
Brighton hands me my phone. “All your new followers.”
I go on Instagram. I’ve never seen a flurry of notifications like this. My follower count keeps shooting up the couple times I refresh my page. Maybe I can use this new platform for creature awareness, but everyone would just call me a hypocrite since I have phoenix blood in me. Somehow.
There’s a missed call from Nicholas and a text letting me know that if I need to chat with someone who sort of understands what’s going on, then he’ll be there for me. Knowing Nicholas cares is a true light in the darkness. Unlike all the other high school friends who are hitting me up to hang out, which is interesting since none of them seemed to have my number on my birthday but suddenly found it again today. Imagine that. There are two missed calls from the museum. One from Kirk saying he wants to speak with me, probably to curse me out for stealing phoenix blood, and another from Sergei who’s annoyed at how my newfound fame is going to make his life hell at the gift shop. As if I’m actually going to be able to go back to work this week. Or ever.
“Do you think this will blow over?” I ask.
“Honestly?” Brighton shakes his head. “I’ve seen every video out there where people come into their powers, and the attention you’re getting is spectacular. Phoenix fire like that? You’re going to need someone with the power to bring back the dead to take their eyes off you.”
Great, just great.
“I guess we should tell Ma before she finds out some other way.”
“You sure you’re ready?” Brighton asks.
“No, but I’d rather it come from me.”
“I’ll be by your side the entire time,” Brighton promises.
Back when I was a kid, oblivious to the world’s ugliness, I always imagined myself marrying princes, and Brighton only expressed interest in a princess sitting on the throne beside him. We never questioned this, and the same went for our parents. I had been talking about beautiful princes for so long that I never had to come out to my family, but when I got older and found the word that best fit my romantic worldview—gay for the win—it was awesome for telling new people in my life, and most important, how comfortable the word felt on my tongue. It’s as normal as my hazel eyes and constant bedhead. I grew to understand that acceptance like that was a miracle.
But the word specter doesn’t feel good in my heart, and building the nerve to tell Ma I somehow am one is far scarier. Will she ever talk to me again? Kick me out? I won’t be able to stay with Prudencia since her aunt is painfully monstrous about all gleamcraft. Maybe I’ll move with Brighton to Los Angeles and sleep in his dorm room on an air mattress, but it breaks my heart to even think about leaving Ma behind all alone. I hope I don’t lose her love.
Ma and Prudencia return, and my chest tightens as they hug me.
Ma strokes my hair. “How are you feeling, my Emilio?”
I’m freaking out and confused, but I simply tell her that I’m sore while massaging the bruise on my head.
“The police are going to find the monsters who did this to you,” Ma says, and even though there’s a comforting reassurance in her voice, I can see this helplessness in her eyes. “I’ll call for someone now.”