Infinity Son(24)
There’s a grunt from behind the couch and up comes someone else—a boy whose face and body keep stretching and shrinking and changing skin tones. The Spell Walker gear fades in a dull gray light, replaced with a basic tee and jeans. In seconds the shape-shifter has a new face—still pale but longer, with a crooked nose and one eye that’s twice as large as the other. I don’t know if this is who he is or another impersonation, but my stomach tightens as he withdraws a wand from his waistband and shoots a black light at Atlas.
Atlas rolls out of harm’s way, and the black light explodes against a family photo, leaving nothing but ash. I’ve heard wands are only as powerful as the celestials who gave their blood to make them. I don’t ever want to cross paths with the celestial who is walking around with that kind of power—or with the alchemist who was willing to weaponize it for others. The shape-shifter blasts the window open, and the bang and shattering shock my senses as he takes off down the fire escape.
“We’re here to take you to our haven,” Atlas says.
“Who’s we?” I ask.
“Maribelle is in the car, and Iris is guarding the entrance.”
“It’s actually you!” Brighton says. “We met the other night.”
“You asked for a picture.” Atlas nods. “In the middle of a fight, Brighton,” he adds with a grin.
“You know my name?”
“We did our research after that brawl went viral. Cool YouTube videos.”
“Shut up,” Brighton says with wide eyes, and I know he’s breaths away from asking Atlas which videos are his favorite.
Atlas claps his hands. “If the shape-shifter made a move for you, there’s a chance that other Blood Casters won’t be far off either. You won’t be able to come back here, so pack whatever valuables you can in the next minute.”
I stand still as Brighton rushes to our room.
I can’t believe the impostor was a Blood Caster—a specter with shifter blood. He must’ve been trying to recruit me. Nah, he would’ve worn his face if this was a recruiting mission. This was tricking and kidnapping. Who knows what would’ve happened to Brighton if we had followed him. Maybe he would’ve been turned into a specter too, or held hostage unless I agreed to become a Blood Caster. Or worse.
Brighton returns with one of his rolling suitcases for his flight tomorrow and a duffel bag of his own, the sleeve of a hoodie falling out as he shoves his laptop and chargers inside. “I’m good, I think.”
What’s going to happen to the rest of our stuff? Will enforcers storm in? It’s wild how much money got dropped on collectible figurines and video games and books, and how none of that matters now that our safety has been threatened. Atlas leads the way out of the apartment and down the stairs, with Brighton keeping close like a second shadow. I’m the last to leave the apartment, and I lock the door behind me. I run down the stairs, reliving these fond memories of going outside to play and hanging out with friends. Now I’m running away from home with my brother and one of the most powerful Spell Walkers.
Guarding the lobby door is a short young woman with dark brown skin, shaved hair that’s dyed bright green, and a power-proof vest—Iris Simone-Chambers, the small but mighty leader of the Spell Walkers. “What took so long?”
“The shape-shifting Blood Caster interfered,” Atlas says. “He fled.”
Before I can introduce myself, I spot a crowd outside the building. There are half a dozen signs, but I can only make out two: Move over, Spell Walkers! Fire-Wing is here!
Burn yourself with that phoenix fire!
“You’re going to be okay,” Iris says.
I feel like a celebrity as I step outside the building with Iris and Atlas acting as my bodyguards. I’ve never wanted to be famous; that’s Brighton’s dream. I’m the guy behind the camera, and I’m down with that anonymity. Some people in the crowd are chanting “Fire-Wing!” and want pictures while others are calling me an abomination. I don’t get how it’s possible to feel like my life is in danger when I’m being protected by Iris, who can lift a car over her head and whose skin is spellwork-resistant, and Atlas, who can suspend people with his winds, but I don’t feel safe at all.
A car horn honks, and Maribelle Lucero leans out of the driver’s-side window of the Jeep, yelling at us to hurry up.
When we move for the car, a figure I’d hoped I’d never see in person slides out of a sewer grate on his stomach and slithers onto the street with the smoothness of a water snake. His blond hair and clothes are dripping wet, and he smells of waste. Dark green veins branch across his pale skin. His eyes are burning eclipses before shifting to yellow pupils that shrink into slits. I nearly trip over myself trying to get away from Stanton, the Blood Caster with basilisk blood whose face can be found on so many Wanted posters for his gang-related crimes. Stanton opens his mouth and emits a spray that smells like rotted animal carcass. Blood rushes to my head and I’m so dizzy and we all fall to our knees. My heart is beating slowly. I’m nothing but prey as Stanton grips my throat and drags me through the street.
Fighting Stanton at the top of my game would’ve been impossible enough, and all I can do now is kick at the air and tap Stanton’s wrist for mercy. I have no idea where he’s taking me. I try casting fire, but nothing. Just as I’m ready to give up, Stanton roars in pain and releases his hold. He rips a dagger out from his stomach and drops it on the ground while applying pressure to his wound. Through the haze I see Maribelle floating toward Stanton. When she reaches him, she unleashes a furious cycle of kicks against his chest until he falls.