I spin around and get in his face. He backs up with teary eyes. “I’m not interested in some support group, especially not with you. If you had held on to June like I asked you to, she would be dead instead of Atlas.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Will Ness know where June is?”
“He said the gang routinely moves around. They won’t be in any of their usual spots now that he’s betrayed them.”
Just my luck.
“Maribelle, I’m seriously sorry, and I—”
“It’s great that you’re done with this fight. You don’t belong here. But before you go, tell Wesley to come see me. No one else.”
The Spell Walkers have fallen apart, and I don’t care. I’m a one-woman army.
I go to the bathroom and return to Atlas with a bucket, water, and rags. I wash the blood and debris from his face, apologizing over and over. Wesley arrives and offers to help, and I don’t fight him.
“He wanted to be cremated,” I say. “Say your goodbyes while I pack my bag.”
“Mari, don’t—”
“He’s the only one who could call me that.”
I don’t take my time in our room. Atlas was my home—wherever he was, that’s where I felt happiest and safest. I throw everything that matters into the duffel bag—the star-touched wine Atlas gifted me, Papa’s binoculars, Mama’s reading glasses, and the daggers I will drive into June. When I return downstairs, Wesley and I carry Atlas out to the playground and lay his body on top of a stretch of glass.
“What if he didn’t see June possess me?” This question will haunt me until we’re reunited. “What if all Atlas saw was me pointing a wand at him and firing a spell? He wouldn’t even have had time to think about it. It was all so fast, Wes. I hate that it was so quick that he didn’t have time to register that it wasn’t me, and I hate that I’m upset that his death was swift.”
“He knew you loved him,” Wesley says.
“He would be alive if I didn’t.”
Wesley stays quiet. It’s true.
“I’m technically the one who killed him, so I should be able to bring back his ghost. But only after I’ve killed June. Then I can send him to rest in true peace.”
“I want to be there if you’ll let me.”
I nod.
“I’ll see you soon, Atlas.”
I call for my power, focusing on getting vengeance on June, and I close my eyes once the dark yellow flames enshroud Atlas’s body. I won’t leave him, but I can’t watch. For an hour, I sit with my back to Atlas’s body, crying against Wesley as we breathe in charcoal and other odors. Then, when Atlas’s body is gone, I empty the bottle of star-touched wine in a dying plant. I scoop up Atlas’s ashes with a gardening shovel and pour as much as can fit of him into the bottle and I pray to the mightiest of constellations it will be enough to summon him back for a proper goodbye.
“When will I see you again?”
“I’m sure our paths will cross. Take care of your family, Wes.”
“Be safe, Maribelle.”
I head for the parking lot with the bottle of ashes close to my chest. Being a Spell Walker, I didn’t always want to save everyone. Too many people hated me so fiercely, but now, I’m sure of my calling. Pure vengeance.
Out by Atlas’s car, Brighton is waiting by the driver’s seat with his laptop under his arm and backpack over his shoulder. “Do you need some company?” he asks. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not like Emil. I won’t hold you back.”
I nod.
“Let’s go. We have a ghost to kill.”
Thirty-NineFirefly
EMIL
Tonight has been beyond miserable. I’m carrying Gravesend’s egg, feeling torn between who needs me the most—do I sit with the group, make things right with Brighton, help Ma and Prudencia pack? I need a break from it all, so I go to the person who isn’t expecting anything from me. Ness didn’t think it was appropriate to be with everyone in the boardroom while we were grieving and strategizing, so I set him up in an old art supplies room. Not a huge upgrade from the closet he was camping out in before, but at least this one has better lighting and smells of paints and paper. He’s staring out the open window, breathing in that fresh air.
I’m still not sure what’s what between us, but for now, he saved me and got the egg from Luna. That’s enough of a spark for trust.
“Everything okay?” Ness asks. “That’s a stupid question, isn’t it?”
I sit in the center of the room, admiring Gravesend’s feathered blue egg as I catch up Ness on everything that’s gone down since we split two hours ago. Eva failed to heal the wounds inflicted by the infinity-ender blade—inflicted by him. I tensely sat between Brighton and Prudencia as Maribelle discovered the true source of her power. Brighton flipped on all of us, and I haven’t seen him around since. Then Maribelle rightfully blamed me for Atlas’s death. I don’t know how I would live with myself if I helped her murder someone, but it would feel a lot easier knowing an assassin was dead instead of a hero.
“Will painting you a picture help?” Ness asks.
“Can you paint?”
“Technically, yeah. It won’t be good, though.”
It’s a lovely gesture, something I would treasure no matter the quality, but it doesn’t feel right to have a painting party when people are panicking as they wrap up their lives so we can evacuate as soon as possible.
“Maybe another time,” I say.
“Can I explain myself instead?”
He keeps his distance, which should make me feel safer, but I’m thrown over how lonely I feel, like we’re both stars in the sky that aren’t close enough to
