“Emil, the authorities are going to need a report on what happened tonight,” Dr. Bowes says as she pulls up a chair.
“The Blood Casters,” I say.
She nods. “Iris mentioned this while we were treating her too. I understand she’s been in touch with your mother and has advised her to keep her distance for the time being.” Makes sense, but I know that can’t be easy on Ma. “I have to thank you for your service to this country, Emil. It takes a brave soul to fight this fight. I don’t think I’d have it in me, even with your powers. I grew up watching Bautista and his Spell Walkers charge into combat. That was back when they were welcomed heroes—celebrities too, of course.” Dr. Bowes smiles wistfully before pressing her hand against her heart. “I cried for weeks after he died, and it was years before I took down his posters.”
The way she’s looking at me makes me question whether she knows that Bautista is my past life. But that’s impossible. The public doesn’t know that reincarnation is real, since even specters with phoenix blood like me aren’t resurrected as the same person. The way she’s going on about Bautista so admirably makes me think she’d be chill if I let her in on the secret, but it’s my original life as Keon Máximo, the alchemist who turned himself into the first specter, that I want to keep close to the chest. The only person I told who isn’t directly involved in this war between the Spell Walkers and the Blood Casters is my former boss at the museum, Kirk Bennett. Then he betrayed me for his own research and fame.
I play it cool about Bautista. “He was a hero.”
“As are you. My son is so proud of me for helping a Spell Walker. You probably hear this a lot, but he’s your biggest fan. We’ve been working on his costume for Halloween. He’s going as you.”
The blood that didn’t spill out of me back in the garden rushes straight to my face. There were a couple years where Brighton and I dressed up as the Spell Walkers for Halloween. He had to be Bautista, of course, because of that alpha, big-brother bone in him, and I chose to be Lestor Lucero because I thought he was cute, I can’t even lie. But look at us now. Brighton’s fantasies got the best of him tonight and he drank Reaper’s Blood so he could fit in with the Spell Walkers. I’m Bautista’s real-life scion. These lives were never costumes, but Dr. Bowes’s son is going to dress up as me, even though I might be dead before Halloween. And what then? Will her son mourn me the same way she grieved Bautista? He doesn’t know me, and she didn’t know him. This cycle of worship and grief needs to come to an end.
I offer a quick thanks—that’s the best I got.
“Where’s my brother?”
I might have to deck him if he’s out in the hallway bragging into some camera about this Reaper’s Blood business.
For a moment, Dr. Bowes looks as if someone has come around the corner and surprised her. She composes herself and says, “Don’t be alarmed.”
“Too late. What’s wrong?”
“I understand Brighton drank a potion tonight,” Dr. Bowes says. “Traffic increases in all our facilities during the appearance of every prime constellation as people pursue specter conversion. Believe me, we’re already bracing ourselves for the Cloaked Phantom next weekend. My alchemy courses while pursuing my PhD couldn’t have prepared me for this new, dangerous trend of people experimenting with multiple essences. The results have been disastrous. There have been so many reports of people combusting, others eaten alive from within, limbs falling off.”
I absolutely didn’t need her to paint this picture of Brighton’s legs and arms falling off, like rotted teeth out of a mouth, while he screams and dies in a fiery blaze, but there’s no shaking that out of my head.
“It’s very tricky,” she says. “But I assure you my team and I are doing our best to stabilize him.”
“You can’t guarantee that.” I’m shaking. It’s like all the promises the doctors and alchemists fed us about saving Dad. “The elixir was created by Luna Marnette herself. It’s next level. She’s responsible for the Blood Casters and all these other hybrid specters. She was going to use this potion to live forever.”
“Immortality is impossible,” Dr. Bowes says.
“I bet you think stealing blood from ghosts is impossible too, but here we are.”
Dr. Bowes is stone-faced as she absorbs all of this. “You’re all fighting a battle beyond our comprehension, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer her. “Can I please see Brighton?”
She helps me out of bed, and I’m dizzy. I settle into the wheelchair she’s insisting I use. Good call. She guides me to another room four doors down.
Inside, Brighton is in bed with his eyes closed, but this isn’t some peaceful sleep. He’s the palest I’ve ever seen him. There are IVs injected into his arms, delivering clear, light blue and dark red fluids into his veins. There’s a ventilator helping him breathe, and it’s nicer than the one we had at home for Dad. I know that I should feel relieved, but it’s actually freaking me out that Brighton’s condition must be so severe that he needs the best equipment available.
I get out of the wheelchair, holding his hand and fighting back tears.
“He’s stable at the moment,” Dr. Bowes says.
“Our dad died from blood poisoning.”
“I’m aware,” Dr. Bowes says.
How much do strangers know about me? I feel uncomfortable, like cameras are following me everywhere I go.
“The hydra essence turned on him,” I say. “Won’t it kill Brighton too?”
“We’re working to purify the blood before an infection can spread, but considering there are three foreign essences working against his system, the chances of Brighton’s body failing are higher than most. But you all came to the right place; I’ve treated many specter aspirants before. You won’t believe how many people try to get powers without hiring an alchemist. It’s like when my husband tattooed himself as a teenager to save a buck. It didn’t turn out well.” Dr. Bowes looks sheepish as she realizes that she’s gone and made this about herself. “I promise I will do everything I can to make sure your brother goes home with you.”
She’s too confident. If Ma were here right now, she would go off on Dr. Bowes for not giving it to us straight.
I hope Brighton lives, even if it means reliving all the heartache we went through watching Dad in pain.
“How much time do you think he has?”
“It’s too early to tell, but I would prepare for a few months if we can’t successfully purify his blood.”
Months—and that’s if we’re extremely lucky. “What if we could cancel out the essences? Do you think that will stop his sickness?”
“It’s a popular theory, but no one has ever been able to eradicate a specter’s powers. Once creature blood is fused into a person, those abilities become as permanent as a celestial’s. Enforcers have means to temporarily dampen powers, of course, but even that takes considerable resources. I’m afraid that there is no known cure for specters presently.”
Brighton always says that something being unlikely doesn’t make it impossible. I hope I get to hear him say it again.