Infinity Son Adam Silvera (classic books for 12 year olds .txt) 📖

what’s happening to me, but this phoenix fire business is my mystery to solve, and I can’t risk you getting hurt while I figure it out.”

Brighton shakes his head. “Too damn bad. Wherever you go, I go. It’s us against the world. The Reys of Light.”

“You have to protect Ma,” I say. “You’re all she’s going to have left.”

Someone knocks on the door.

“Probably the neighbor,” I say.

“Stay back.” Brighton looks through the peephole.

I stay put even though I’m the one who can set someone on fire, but fear strikes hard at the possibility of enforcers waiting for me in the hallway for damaging public property and endangering passengers during the brawl.

“No way,” Brighton says.

My heart races. I’m about to make a run for it to the fire escape until Brighton smiles.

“It’s Atlas.”

“I can hear you talking. Open up, it’s urgent,” Atlas calls from the hallway.

A Spell Walker is here—this unreal day keeps topping itself.

Brighton opens up, and Atlas lets himself in. He’s wearing his power-proof vest again and appears incredibly nervous. He looks over Brighton’s shoulder and locks eyes with me. “You already packed a bag. Great. We have to get out of here now,” Atlas says. “People are coming for you.”

“Go where? Who’s coming?” I ask.

“Taking you to base.”

“I’m going with him,” Brighton says.

“Absolutely not,” Atlas says.

“Then I’m not going with you.” If the Spell Walkers are offering me refuge, I want protection for my people too. If not, maybe we can all escape to another country where specters aren’t public enemy number one.

“Do you have powers?” Atlas asks Brighton.

“No. I would’ve totally helped you the other night if I did,” Brighton says.

“What?”

“When you fought off that specter. Remember? I was the one who asked to take a photo with you,” Brighton says, though Atlas cocks his head in confusion. “It’s okay. There was a lot going on, and you meet a lot of people. I’m a huge fan. I loved when you fought off those traffickers and rescued that psychic from her father. I have your Funko Pop and—”

“Stay here and play with your toys,” Atlas says. “Emil, come with me. Leave your brother out of this.”

I stare at Brighton. It’s his call if he wants to follow me or not. Brighton holds out his fist, and I do the same, fist-bumping and whistling. We stand together.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Atlas says. “There’s no time to pack. Let’s go.” He rushes out the apartment, immediately returning and locking the door behind him. “Blood Caster is outside. Is there another exit?”

“Blood Caster?”

“Another exit! Come on!”

“Fire escape.”

I lead the way as the front door flies off its hinges and in walks Atlas. Again. The Atlases stare at each other. The new one is wearing a solid black T-shirt underneath his power-proof vest, and a scar peeks out of his sleeve. The shadows under his eyes are darker than I remember.

The new Atlas stares at the other. “What the hell?”

“That’s an imposter,” the first says. “Probably has shifter blood.”

“That’s you and you know it!” The new Atlas stares at his twin. “You got my freckles all wrong. Not enough on the forehead and none on the neck.” He smiles. “You also can’t do this.” He lifts his hand, and a funnel of high-pressured wind blasts into the first Atlas’s chest, flipping him over the couch. “Come with me,” he says to us.

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