The Gift (20 page)

“Make him go away, Whit,” I grunt through my headache.

“Really, Wisty,” insists Byron. “I just want to help —”

“I don’t need help. I’m perfectly capable of being miserable on my own. Buzz off and do something useful for once in your
life,” I mutter.

“Something useful?” he says. “Oh. I didn’t think you thought that I could.”

“Seriously, I’d be
so
incredibly psyched to be proven wrong right now.”

“Well, then. How about… I pick the lock on the door?”

Whit and I both look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking. Then I remember: Byron has a subzero sense of humor.

In our exploration of this dank place, we’ve come across only three doors. And, of course, they’ve all been locked tight.
We’ve checked, in the event that there’s some good-hearted,
normal
person hiding in the body of a grunting, surly school monitor.
(Not.)

“I did it on one of the other doors—not the door we used to get in here,” Byron explains. “Then I put it back so we wouldn’t
get in trouble.”

“A door is a door is a door,” I say, still aghast. “How’d you
do
it?”

“It wasn’t that hard. I used to be a Sector Leader’s Star
of Honor, and as trainees we learn all kinds of skills that are helpful in a prison. So I found a piece of wire and I looped
it into the tumbler and felt around, and then, you know, before too long, I’d got it.”

“When exactly did you do this?” I ask.

“When you guys were snoring so loud that I couldn’t sleep.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Whit. “You can pick the lock to a door that might be our escape route out of here, and you
didn’t tell us?”

“Well, there’s something behind the door,” explains Byron.

“So? Like what? A monster?” Whit quips and makes a scary face.

“More like, umm…” Byron’s voice trails off.

“What?”
I scream at him.

“Your parents.”

Whit

I KNOW YOU’RE ASKING yourself the same question I am. I’m sure Wisty is, too. Could there possibly be
any
reason
not
to tell us that our parents are in the room next door?
If they really are?

“I… I think they’ll hurt you, Wisty,” Byron stutters. “They’re not safe anymore. Something’s happened to them.”

That’s all just total bull. Has to be. Byron is clearly the first of us to go psycho.

I put my arm around my sister, and she’s shaking with dread and fear. “Not safe? They’re our
parents!
” Her voice is becoming shrill. “They’re not capable of hurting us. I swear, Byron, if it turns out you’re not lying and you
can get us to them, I will
kiss
you over and over. And forgive you for every single awful thing you’ve ever done. Which is a lot.”

That makes it a no-brainer for the weasel. With a sigh,
he starts toward the door, and we follow. Could Crossley really have been telling the truth?

“Swain, you’re not getting off that easy,” I call after him. “If you’re lying, I swear you’ll regret if for the rest of your
days. And if you’re not lying, then explain why you think they’re dangerous!”

“I can’t explain it,” he says, and seems about as disturbed as we are. “Some things you just can’t explain. But it’s true.”

“Our parents are good people. They haven’t changed,” I tell him as we arrive at the door. “Just… do your thing, Byron.”

Byron’s trembling—in real or acted fear, I don’t know or care—but he nods and sticks his piece of wire into the keyhole and
starts feeling around.

After a small eternity, we hear a click.

Whit

I GRAB THE HANDLE away from Byron and press down on the thumb latch. We’re greeted with another click, and then I slowly push open the creaky
door.

Unlike the rest of this forsaken pit, the corridor ahead isn’t even dimly lit. It’s pitch-black.

“Can you see anything?” Wisty asks from behind me.

“Let your eyes adjust,” Byron suggests. He’s hanging back a little, clearly not thrilled that he suggested this little plan
but complicit now. “You’ll see. I think.”

After a pause, my heart stops for a beat. There’s definitely something moving in the darkness ahead of us.

“Mom? Dad?” I call out tentatively.

Wisty takes my words to mean I think I’ve seen them, and she bolts out from behind me.

“Mom! Dad!”
she cries.

I feel her flying by me in the dark. “Stay
back!
” I shout,
and with a lucky reach, I catch her by the sleeve of her jumpsuit. Just in the nick of time, too.

Because right then I hear the loudest, most terrifying growl.

Wisty’s breathless. “S’okay, Whit,” she whispers. “I’m good with dogs.”

“It’s not a dog.” Byron’s voice drifts in. “Trust me on that one.”

It’s the
next
voice I hear that sends my heart racing. Or skydiving.

“Whit? Wisty? Did I hear your voices?”

It’s our mother!

“Yes, Mom!” Wisty calls into the dark. “We’re here! Are you and Dad okay?” Wisty is struggling to get free of me, but I won’t
let her go yet. This can’t be safe. Something’s very wrong.

Then our mother says, “Don’t come near us! Get away!”

I can feel it now. Something really bad’s going to happen.

Our mother and father don’t want us here.

Wisty

A FLICKERING COLD BLUISH LIGHT from
I don’t know where
suddenly illuminates the end of the hallway. It’s like a scene in a horror movie shot in monochrome.

My parents—gaunt, sunken-cheeked, listless—appear to be shackled to a far wall. My mother’s formerly thick and curly hair
looks flat and matted with sweat. Her eyes are bulging as she stares, alarmed, into the darkness.
She’s not seeing us, is she? I don’t think so.

And my father’s eyes are… closed. His body is so thin, and he’s limp.
Is he —?

I can’t even begin to imagine this. It’s so wrong and impossible to comprehend.

“Dad!”
I scream again. And that’s when I see a hulking animal emerge from the darkness. My mother yells out a second time, “Go back!
I beg of you! Get
away
from us!”

The creature starts pacing in front of our mother and father. Whit’s grip on me tightens. The creature’s flesh is
falling off, its mouth drips blood, patches of its skull bone are sticking out all over the place through patchy, mangy fur.

Whose blood is that on its muzzle?
Don’t let it be my mother’s and father’s —

Suddenly the light in the shapeless space is brighter. I see that the wires hooked to my parents are glowing blue, eerily
like the ones in the Reward Center where they sucked me dry.

“We have to take out that
thing,
Whit! Now! I’ll do it if you won’t.”

Byron’s voice urgently whispers from behind, “No, Wisty! It’s a spirit-sucker—a Lost One. If it gets you, you’re done! Even
you can’t defeat it.”

“I don’t
care!
” I scream, struggling harder against Whit’s grip. “I’ll burn you, Whit. I swear I will.”

“Wisty, just wait a sec.” Whit’s eyes have been locked on the scene in shock, but now he lets me go. “Ow!” he yells. “You
did it!”

I’m glowing. I’m getting hotter and hotter. I’m a firebrand. Maybe, just maybe, my M is rising? “I can do this. Mom and Dad,
I’m coming to get you… don’t worry!”

“No! Turn back!” Mom moans. “Get away! I’m warning you, Wisty! You, too, Whit!”

I start tearing down the corridor, and Whit is just a half step behind me. I knew he’d fight! The creature turns to face us
and starts bounding toward me. I see bloody,
clumped, rotting fur swinging under its jawbone. Then I blast through a virtual wall of its foul, stinking breath.

As I take a flying leap toward the creature, all I’m thinking of is a tigress tackling a rabid jackal in the wilderness, concentrating
on the sensation of claws pushing through my fingers, sharp enough to rip this horrid beast apart.

Please, please, let my magic work —

And then I’m engulfed in fur, bone, and teeth.

Wisty

THE SECOND THAT WHIT lands on top of me, we body slam the floor and the room goes dark. Everything is gone. The creature, Mom and Dad, the eerie
blue light—all of it. And then… all is explained.

“Well, well, well.” We hear a voice behind us. And it’s not Byron’s. “Once again, you have ruined everything, Whitford Allgood.”

Whit and I are still recovering from the impact and seeing stars, but that dimly backlit caned figure, combined with that
frighteningly familiar voice, equals bad news, the worst news possible.

It’s The One, of course, standing there in his dark business suit, long arms folded, right in front of me and Whit. Byron
the Traitor Weasel is nowhere to be seen.

“Wondering what I’m doing here? Taking time away from my frighteningly full schedule?” he goes on. “Well, I’m afraid I received
a call from the school headmaster.
Seems you’ve not been the model students we’d hoped you’d be. Just when you, Wisty, had a chance of making a breakthrough,
your overzealous brother crushed it. I mean that quite literally. I was
this
close to securing Wisteria’s Gift.”

Whit’s still holding me, but I manage to struggle up, squinting, dazed, the horrid vision of our parents lingering with me.

“Breakthrough?” I choke out. “Are you telling me that whole horror show was just another
test?
”

“I’m not
telling
you anything, Wisty. At this point, I’ve lost my patience with you.”

“Wha —?” So maybe my parents
aren’t
actually near-starved war refugees guarded by a Lost Thing? This is good! My heartbeat is settling.

“What do you want from me?” I demand. “I aced your test in the Dynasium and then got so sick that I almost vomited up my toenails.
That’s about as good as it gets. I’m no A student.”

“How wrong you are, my Wistful. I should have known you would have ignored what I taught you about the true potential of your
power. We had higher hopes for you, but you’ve proven yourself to be just another teenager who disrespects the guidance of
her elders. So
terribly
sad.” He sighs. “I daresay you deserve some punishment for wasting so much of society’s time and resources. But where do
I start? So many ways to punish, and so little time.” He chuckles. “Perhaps we’ll begin by vaporizing your friend.”