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

but the attacks phase through him. The sooner I handle him, the sooner we can focus on rescuing Iris and Maribelle. I’m catching my breath when Orton hits me with a fire-orb in the center of my chest. I’m thrown backward and slam face-first into the wall. The power-proof vest saved my life, no doubt, but my forehead is busted open and I can taste blood on my lips.

“You’re okay,” Brighton says as he appears beside me and studies my wound.

I cry out because the cut stings and stings, like whenever I would get sunburnt from the beach and Brighton would smack my back as a joke.

“Whoa,” Brighton says. “It’s closing. You’re healing!”

Another phoenix power.

He reaches for his camera, and that’s when we see Orton glowing in white flames against the growing smoke. The fire has traveled from Orton’s arms to his back and is trailing down his legs. Someone might say he looks powerful, but there’s nothing but anguish on his face.

“Move him!” Prudencia shouts at Brighton.

Brighton tries helping me up, but Orton is closing in on us. He grabs his dagger. My brother won’t stab some dude—I know him. I’m about to raise my hand and try to blast Orton, but he stops. He continues taking slow steps, but he’s not progressing, like he’s stuck on some invisible treadmill. The white fire spreads throughout the rest of Orton’s body, consuming him from head to toe. Brighton is quick to aim his camera as the flames work against Orton. His howling dies before his body can slam across the floor.

I don’t know if this is rebirth or death. But we need to save our own lives.

I assist Maribelle as Brighton and Prudencia carry Iris. We step around the tomb of fire that’s continuing to eat at whatever remains of Orton’s corpse. Maribelle is in no condition to drive, and not having a license doesn’t stop Prudencia from putting her weekend driving lessons to use. Hopefully we didn’t survive this battle just so we can die in a car crash.

We pull out of the factory’s alleyway as black smoke spills out of the shattered windows. I watch the glowing fire within until it’s out of sight, and even then, I can’t push the memory of the flames eating Orton out of my head.

“Is that going to happen to me?” I ask.

“What?” Brighton asks.

“Burnout,” I say. “The powers turned on him. I’m not supposed to have mine either.”

“Bro, you were reborn with these powers! It’s different. You owned everyone in there like a hero.”

I can’t feel as hyped as Brighton. We didn’t get the information we needed. Maribelle is biting down on her shirt to fight past the pain of her burnt hands. Iris has been hurt so badly that she’s in need of healing—again. There were six acolytes, and I only saw one escape the factory. Orton is dead. I didn’t kill Orton or the acolytes directly, but six people are goners now because of me.

I shouldn’t get to be crowned as the hero when everyone’s suffering is my fault. And maybe we’re not the saviors this city needs.

NineteenSpell Walkers of New York

BRIGHTON

Being Emil on social media is wild. He isn’t doing great in real life since last night’s fight, but he’s tracking really well online—really, really, really well. His Instagram profile is now sporting the blue verified badge, and he’s got over six hundred thousand followers showing him love and support. Some hate too, but he doesn’t need to know about that. His Twitter mentions are so out of control that I can’t keep up. Most notably, his Celestials of New York training montage has over three million views. BuzzFeed even cribbed my clips for their post! Between that and the twenty thousand new subscribers I’ve made overnight, I’m living the dream.

Last night, I handed over the full video of the battle against Orton to the Spell Walkers so they could figure out why Orton burned out. When people’s bodies react poorly to the amount of creature blood needed to turn someone into a specter, it usually happens at the beginning. Orton had his powers for at least two weeks. This was extreme. Lucky for them, I got most of it on camera. I stayed up editing the battle to fire it up on YouTube as soon as possible, but it sucks that I lost some moments, like when Orton’s blast was flying straight at me and Prudencia so we had to take cover away from the doorway, or when Orton was walking in place as if he were shackled like some rabid dog.

The video is blowing up within the hour. I rush out of the library and back to our room to show Emil. I find him shaking, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, even though warm sunbeams are bathing him and Eva is sitting across from him with a mug of tea.

“Hey,” Emil says weakly.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Your brother and I are having a long-overdue talk,” Eva says. “Would you mind giving us some more time?”

“We tell each other everything,” I say.

The way Eva stares at me makes me question what I’ve said. “I’m happy to set up a time for us to do some group counseling, maybe even involve your mother, but this is a private session.”

Someone thinks she’s a real therapist.

“It’s okay. He can stay,” Emil says.

I’m tempted to throw an I-told-you-so smirk Eva’s way, but I keep it together and sit beside Emil. Emil gets me up to speed, though it’s nothing new—questioning his relationship with Ma, how he’s terrified all the time, how he couldn’t sleep last night because he feels so guilty over everything that happened with the factory. Talking it out with Eva is a solid idea because I refuse to grieve Orton and the acolytes, and Maribelle and Iris both received healing, so all’s well that ends well. Figuring out how he feels about the big family secret and feeling bolder in battles is going to