The end begins with electric red lights flowing through the room like furious waves meeting in the middle, and with one last crash into the telescope, the conservatory becomes nothing but glass and blood and smoke and fire, all in the time it takes to inhale a single deep breath.
All that’s left standing is a girl peeking out from the smoke—big eyes, pale skin, tiny frame, and an eerie calmness about her despite the destruction. Then she turns away from the camera and sinks into smoke, vanishing like an illusion. Except I know she’s real. There are even message boards devoted to trying to figure out her identity. Is she responsible for the chaos? Was she a student whose power protected her? Does she have any information on what really happened? I need answers.
I could’ve prevented all of this if I trusted the dream of where I was underneath the stars and saying goodbye to Mama and Papa. I was used to my parents leaving to fight the good fight, but that morning when they were leaving to investigate a situation near the conservatory, I was unsettled and nervous and light-headed and thought about asking them to sit this one out, but I shrugged it off. That’s the last time I ignore my instincts.
There are three quick knocks at my door, and Atlas walks in.
“You decent? I got Wesley out here.”
“I’m good.”
Two words that are true, and two words that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Atlas comes over and kisses me on the top of my head as Wesley enters. They both reek and need showers. Atlas certainly isn’t helping the case when he kicks off his sneakers, but there’s something odd about how the smell of his sweaty socks brings me comfort. I’m transported back to our training sessions after the Blackout. I would be fine and focused for hours, but eventually I would snap over how much my life had changed. I would throw equipment because I was now an orphan. I would punch walls because Iris and I stopped being best friends. I would howl until Atlas could calm me down, bring me into bed where we would kick off our boots, and I would let him hold me.
I can’t sleep without his arms around me anymore.
“How did it go?” I ask as I review my notes.
“Turns out we suck at manual labor,” Atlas says.
“Speak for yourself,” Wesley says as he plants himself onto the beanbag chair Atlas called dibs on when we all first moved into Nova. “You were slowing me down.”
“You run ten times as fast as anyone else,” Atlas says.
“Not my fault you were born with the wrong power,” Wesley says.
Atlas and Wesley use their downtime to run what they like to call “side quests” to bring in money. We get some cash flow from online donations, but in a post-Blackout world, people aren’t as friendly and grateful as they used to be for all our efforts. We need money to pay the illusionists who keep us camouflaged and safe, buy food and beds and clothes for our rescues, and tons of other expenses none of us were prepared for when we suddenly became the new faces of our group.
“I thought we were taking a break from Mystery Girl,” Atlas says.
“She’s the only survivor.”
Atlas crouches beside me, and it’s hard to stare too long into his eyes, which are gray as rain clouds. “Have you eaten, Mari?”
After my parents died, I became so gaunt I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. I would ignore my screaming stomach because feeding myself meant living, and I didn’t know how to do that in a world that hated my parents and wished I had died with them. Atlas respected my parents, especially Mama, for giving him and Wesley a chance, and he was always looking after me, even when I said the foulest things to drive him away. One night I found myself knocking on his door because crying alone was too suffocating. He distracted me with his favorite romantic comedies when I needed to space out, and I eventually started eating all the food he was bringing me. Being alive and awake stopped feeling so lonely because of how Atlas cared for me. I even learned how to care for myself again.
Nine months later, I still slip.
“I’ll eat later,” I say.
“If I go get you tostones and blaze cake, can we take the night off and watch a movie?”
I twirl one of his blond curls and nod.
“You in, Wesley?” Atlas asks.
Wesley presses his hand against his heart and throws his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “You two love me enough to crash your date night? I’m flattered. But it’s been a couple weeks since I’ve been able to see my ladies. Maybe I can give Ruth a break and put Esther to sleep.”
“Good call,” I say.
Ruth is hiding out in a separate shelter in Philadelphia with their three-month-old. Cloning comes in handy when you’re raising your daughter alone and taking care of celestials, but I’m sure her life would feel simpler if Wesley was with her 24-7. Except none of us will be safe if we can’t prove to everyone that Spell Walkers are heroes and that celestials are humans too. That we’re more than vessels who are contracted—or forced, in prisons—to power the wands and gem-grenades and shackles they use against us.
Atlas kisses my knuckles after Wesley leaves. “I’ll be back in thirty.”
There are times I wish we never had to leave this room. Ever since Nova shut down in May because of funding, it’s been hard settling in, knowing sooner or later we’ll have to relocate when we inevitably get discovered. I was hesitant to ever unpack, but one night I returned to find string lights stretching across the walls and my favorite belongings set up around the room: Papa’s binoculars hanging by the window; Mama’s reading glasses sitting on top of the Colombian fairy tales she read me when I was young—well, younger—and the bottle of star-touched wine Atlas got me for my eighteenth birthday two months ago, which I’m saving for the day I clear my parents’ name. He turned this history classroom into our home and I pray to the stars that enforcers never find us because we won’t have time to pack.
“Hurry back,” I say.
Before Atlas can leave, our door opens, and Iris lets herself in. Everything good within me vanishes as fast as a blink. This isn’t like when we were growing up, and Iris and I shared everything—clothes, toys, beds, secrets. I don’t barge into her room, and she sure as hell shouldn’t be barging into mine.
“Excuse you,” I say.
“Save it,” Iris says. “We have an innocent to rescue. Where’s Wesley?”
“He just left,” Atlas says.
“We need all hands on deck,” Iris says. For someone so short, Iris has always done a solid job of making herself appear more powerful, more dominant.
“Why? Who’s the celestial?”
“He’s a specter,” Iris says.
This is the first time I’ve laughed in weeks. It’s great.
Iris glares. “I’m serious, Maribelle. I’ve been trying to track down more specters with white phoenix fire like we’ve seen since the Crowned Dreamer woke up, and in a viral video, I found one—attacking another specter with phoenix abilities who seemed surprised. I don’t think he’s one of Luna’s guys, but you can bet that she’ll be sending out the Blood Casters to hunt him down.”
“Wait. Is this a rescue mission, or are we trying to take down the gang?”
“Two phoenixes, one stone.”