Infinity Reaper (Infinity Cycle #2) - Adam Silvera Page 0,5

thick eyebrows and red hair that’s pulled into a ponytail. He’s the most impressive telekinetic I’ve ever seen; there’s no way any assassin will ever land a shot on the Senator as long as he’s around. The other, Zenon Ramsey, has dark blond hair that completely covers his eyes, which lulls people into thinking he’s not paying attention when in reality he’s watching more than most. He has the rare ability to see things through other people’s perspectives—literally. I’ve heard it only works on people in a short distance, but that’s all he needs to be a security guard for a two-mile radius.

The Senator has always employed celestials to protect our family, and having celestial bodyguards when he’s actively campaigning against the community always felt like a special sort of magic trick until I learned how well they were being paid to keep him alive. That’s more than I can say for being a Blood Caster who was working to make Luna immortal. What is shocking to me is how Jax and Zenon regarded me like I wasn’t supposed to have been blown to smithereens at the Nightlocke Conservatory.

How many others know that the Senator tried to have his own son killed so he could paint the Spell Walkers as dangers to society?

Even if there was some way I could take down Jax and Zenon and get away on a life raft, a piercing screech high above in the sky tells me that I wouldn’t get very far. A phoenix that is four times the size of an eagle swoops down toward the river, its crystal-blue belly skimming the surface as it searches for any intruders or escapees. This phoenix with drenched indigo feathers is a sky swimmer, which I can identify because the Senator once returned home from a hunting trip with the head of one; it might still be mounted in his office at the manor.

“Quite a sight,” the Senator says as he follows me to the bow of the ship.

At first I think he’s talking about the sky swimmer, but he’s staring straight ahead at our destination. The New York Bounds is a collection of small stone castles, huddled together like someone pushed all the rooks of a chessboard together. The towers are windowless, designed that way so inmates will be disconnected from the stars, dampening their abilities. Solitary confinement is the cruelest punishment, burying celestials so deep underground that it’s as if all the stars have vanished from the universe.

I’ve seen this up front.

The Senator brought me here after my mother was killed.

We toured the Bounds so I could understand the creative measures that the prison’s correctional architects had to put in place to seal away their powerful inmates. On one level, there were two men floating inside tanks of water, with only their heads above the surface so they could breathe and eat; their waste was their own problem. The fire caster couldn’t summon his gleam at all, and if the lightning striker wanted to make a move, well, that was his life to take. On another level, electric traps were installed around the edges of a cell to prevent a woman who could melt herself into a puddle from escaping. Her neighbor was a man who could camouflage himself against any surface, so the engineers installed sprinklers that sprayed paint of different colors to always keep track of him.

The last person we visited that day was a convict in solitary confinement. He’d been imprisoned for using his heating powers to boil the blood of his family. The screams echoing through the corridors had me so nervous that I had stayed hidden behind my then-bodyguard, Logan Hesse. But when the security guard opened the cell, I realized I had no reason to be scared. The inmate’s hands and ankles and waist were bound by iron chains. He had no fight in him as we observed him like some animal in a zoo. The next day, the celestial was found dead in his cell, with red handprints burned onto his pale face. When the Senator told me the news, he mocked the dead man with an impression of his suicide. I laughed so hard before returning to schoolwork.

I hate who I was.

The boat docks at the pier.

The island is known for having its traps, like sand basilisks waiting to swallow people whole, but when the Senator steps onto the beach before me, I trust that he knows more than I do right now. I’m weighing in