Read Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss Online
Authors: James Patterson
Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss (27 page)
Something in me shatters. I don’t know if I can do this.
Even in this weakened state, Pearce seems to read my hesitation. “Do it,” he chokes as foam bubbles around his lips.
I know he’s right. If it doesn’t end now, it’ll never end.
“Finish it!” Pearce commands, gritting his teeth.
I raise my arms overhead.
Go!
I think.
But just as I’m about to squeeze Whit’s hand, a voice rings out over the field: “Enough!”
A woman rides forward from the Mountain People on a white horse, her feathered cloak rustling in the breeze.
It’s Izbella.
“
PLEASE!
” IZBELLA SHOUTS as she climbs off the horse. “Spare him!”
I glance at my sister, and though we don’t release Pearce completely, we stop the surge just before it explodes into his brain.
The effort that takes is incredible.
I’m shaking violently, and my hands are balled into fists. My stomach aches from the stress of holding the magic in, like it’s an actual mass in there, growing larger and pushing against my insides.
“Just kill me,” Pearce demands. “I don’t want to live without her.”
It almost impresses me. Maybe even
moves
me, just a little. He’s not whining, or crying, or begging. It’s like the last shreds of energy he has left in his being are all channeled into making this one certain declaration about my sister.
His last word on the battlefield is “her.”
Wisty winces like she’s been hit, and her shoulders slump inward. Still, she raises her arms up higher, her eyes determined.
“
Don’t!
” Izbella screeches. She lunges forward, clawing at us, and we instinctively push back. The surge is stronger than we expect, though, and sends her reeling backward more than twenty feet into an icy puddle of mud.
Wisty’s arms are striped with raised welts, and a scratch on my face is dripping blood, but it’s impossible not to feel guilty looking at the wailing woman rocking on her knees, folding into herself.
My throat is dry, and I can feel my own parents’ eyes following us.
How did it come to this?
“As a mother, I’m begging you,” she cries. “Have mercy.”
Mercy.
I clench my teeth at that word, thinking about all the people Pearce has killed, all the sympathy he’s lacked. I hold my power strong.
“Can’t we work for peace?” Izbella searches our faces despairingly.
“That’s a joke,” Wisty scoffs. “How can there ever be peace when there are men like your son in the world? Men like The One? Like the Wizard King?”
“Yes.” Izbella narrows her eyes. “It’s a dangerous madness that overtakes the powerful. I’m sure you, of all people, would agree.”
“I’m not a murderer,” Wisty spits. Though her face looks full of fury, I can hear the hurt in her voice.
“Neither am I. The King is dead. I am the Mountain Witch and these are my people.” She gestures behind her. “From this day forward, the threats will end, the water will flow, and we will walk away from this war. I swear it on my son’s life.”
“What about the lives of all the other children? The ones he helped abduct?”
Izbella closes her eyes and sighs softly, and the child soldiers lower their weapons, one by one. They blink with confusion as she releases them from her control. When Pearl looks up at me with understanding and devastation and shame on her face, I can barely hold myself together.
“The children are free to go.”
Except for all the ones who didn’t make it. Except for the ones they left to freeze in the yard, or killed without mercy.
Mercy.
But that’s the difference between us and Pearce, isn’t it? We couldn’t stomach watching people die.
“This isn’t right,” I say suddenly, turning to my sister. “We can’t do this.”
Wisty bites her bottom lip. “But… he tried to enslave the whole City! What if he comes back even more powerful and more dangerous next time?” The tears well in her eyes and she looks down, ashamed. “I fell for all his lies once….”
I smile sadly at my sister. “I hear you. He’s sick and wrong and utterly psychopathic. But…” I swallow before I let these strange words tumble out of my mouth. “I never thought I’d say this, Wist, but the way he looked at you on that battlefield, I saw a shadow of something else there. Something like the way I used to look at Celia. Something like what I feel now when I’m with Janine. And if, somewhere in Pearce’s twisted mind, he did all this because he cares about you… that makes him human. Not like The One. And that’s
something
, right?”
“Yeah.” Wisty takes a deep breath and nods. “I guess it’s something.”
I squeeze her hand one more time, and then we both let go.
PEARCE, RIGIDLY SEIZING with our power just moments ago, looks boneless as he collapses in an unconscious heap. Curled up like that, he really does just look like a helpless little kid, and I know immediately that we did the right thing.
An hour ago, thousands of soldiers were preparing for a bloodbath. Now, two armies look on as a mother gathers up her son’s limp body with incredible tenderness, and as she struggles to her feet with his long limbs dangling from her arms, and plods slowly toward the Mountain.
Just before she reaches the edge of the forest, Izbella turns. “Remember, Allgoods,” she warns. “There is nothing more dangerous than the combined magic of a witch and a wizard. Be careful how you use it.”
As she vanishes with Pearce through the trees and the mist, I turn to my sister with shining eyes. “Looks like you kept your promise, Wist.” She looks at me questioningly, and I hand her the broken, ashy drumstick. “We all survived.”
I’m pretty sure everyone is just happy with that at this point—we’re a grubby mess of tears and sappy, swaying hugs, and a few overjoyed survivors are even kissing the scraggly patches of brown grass.
But without the protection of their King or Queen, the Mountain men look across the field at us in sudden terror, and waste no time hightailing their horses toward the hills. Even Larsht gallops away, a white flag of surrender flying in his meaty hand.
I watch that flag, waving its way up the path, and suddenly, it bursts into flames.
My troublemaking sister’s at it again.
Larsht curses and drops the roaring fabric, but seeing the fire, his horse pulls its lips back from its teeth, flares its nostrils, and rears. Larsht falls to the side and grips the mane as the bucking animal drags him along. When he finally gets control, Larsht looks back for a long, resentful glare out of that intimidating glass eye of his.
Wisty’s giggling hysterically by now.
“Back to the good?” I ask, raising a mildly disapproving eyebrow.
She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “A witch has gotta have
some
fun, right?”
I’M RUNNING THROUGH the City, winding down alleyways and sprinting across intersections, my feet pounding along the cobblestones.
It’s not like other times I’ve run through these streets, though. I’m not being chased by soldiers or wolves; I’m not trying frantically to escape or save anyone’s life.
I’m not afraid.
“Come on!” I call out to Pearl Neederman, barely slowing as I pass her house. “We’re going to be late!”
“Speak for yourself, Wizard,” Pearl scoffs. She shoots past me in her new sneakers. “Try to keep up!”
I shake my head and smile, happy to see this sarcastic little pipsqueak is back to normal. “See you in the square!” I call after her.
The streets look different, too. We’re fixing up the houses and picking up the garbage. People are outside, walking their dogs and helping their neighbors. Underneath all the old red banners and the smog and the ash and the rubble, this really is a beautiful place.
We still have one more thing to wrap up to put the past behind us, though—one final piece of unfinished business.
“Citizens, it’s time to decide: what should we do about Mr. Bloom?”
When I hear the echo of Janine’s voice as I turn the corner to enter the city square, I feel a quick shiver of admiration. She has no idea how sexy her confidence is, and I think the crooked scar running down her neck just makes her more beautiful.
The square’s packed, like always, and even more people are trickling in behind me. They sit on benches or stoops to watch the proceedings, and when there’s no more room, they stand. They want to be a part of this.
And they can.
That’s why we’re holding the Council meetings in the square now. So while the Council members sit on the marble steps to debate, anyone can come, and every single citizen owns a copy of
The Book of Truths
.
Janine’s running the meeting today, and she’s a natural at it, but someone else will be in charge tomorrow, and there’ll be a whole new Council next month.
No more secrets. No more lies. Power to the people.
Only kids can vote at the meeting, though. Adults can give their input, but let’s face it—when they try to lead, their big, fat egos get in the way.
“I am an elected official!” Bloom glares around him from the center of the square, where he’s standing next to the fountain. His toupee is all askew, and now he’s the one in handcuffs. “Do you know who you’re dealing with?”
Case in point.
“Unfortunately for you, Mr. Bloom, we know exactly who we’re dealing with.” Janine stares at Bloom coldly from the steps above. “The collected citizens have found you guilty of hijacking the Council, imprisoning innocent people, and dragging the City into a war it had no chance of winning.”
“I was merely trying to do what was best for the citizens,” Bloom protests stubbornly. “They chose me to lead!”
The crowd doesn’t like this at all, and starts to push in.
“You tried to lead us to our deaths!” someone shouts.
“You manipulated us!”
“You acted like a power-hungry sociopath, and your stupid wig isn’t fooling anyone!” Wisty chimes in, grinning at Bloom from the sidelines.
Seeing my sister in the middle of this hostile group, Bloom’s face blanches. “Please,” he sputters, wringing his chained hands. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Don’t worry, General—you’ll live,” Janine announces, and the square quiets down. “Believe it or not, we actually want you to be happy.”
“And we know how much you like bossing people around!” a little girl on the Council adds.
“Since you’re a natural leader,” Janine continues, “we thought it would be fitting if you were given your own personal Council to rule as you see fit.”
The monkeys pour through the doors of the old Capitol building. They scurry down the marble steps, shrieking, and race toward Bloom en masse.
“This isn’t funny!” he bellows as they leap at him, crawling up his legs and hanging from his arms. As he dances around, trying to shake them off, the square erupts in laughter, and Bloom’s face reddens. “There isn’t anything funny about this, I said! I’m a decorated general!”
“Your new soldiers await your every command,” Janine agrees, trying to hide her smile as a monkey snatches Bloom’s toupee. “And don’t worry. They’ll be accompanying you to your new home in the desert.”
That’s our cue. I push through the crowd, and Wisty and I link arms.
“I’m being
exiled
?” Bloom says angrily.
“Oh, I hear the desert’s not so bad,” I say, squeezing my sister’s hand. “If you don’t worry too much about the Lizard People and the giant scorpions…”
Wisty and I unite our power and Bloom and his monkeys start to spin. Faster and faster. A blur of fur and shrieks, until they’re sucked right into the vortex. “Hey—this really isn’t funny….”
Bloom’s voice echoes until there’s nothing left in the middle of the square but a rusty pair of handcuffs.
THE WHOLE COMMUNITY is here, gathered at the foot of the Mountain, and something incredible is happening: the water is flowing again.
As we watch the white-blue line trickle down between the rocks, I know I’m not the only one holding my breath. It means life for so many families, and when it finally gushes over the cliff in a waterfall, every one of us cheers.
I swear, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and the challenges ahead of us feel a bit more surmountable.
I know it wasn’t that long ago that we were celebrating in the square after The One’s fall, and I get that it’s not all fireworks this time—that we have to rebuild things like wells, and portals… and trust.
But watching the kids splashing in the collecting pool and families filling jugs of fresh Mountain water, it’s impossible not to feel dizzy with simple gratitude: today’s a day for celebrating what we have.
So why, in the shadow of that Mountain, am I standing away from my friends and family, still so painfully aware of what’s missing?
A certain sly smile; a certain intense look; a certain spark lighting up my whole being.
Now, just a blank space.
He’s alive, I know it.
I can feel him. The connection lingers like a phantom limb, surprising me with a flutter in my stomach, or a tingle in my fingers.
The anger’s stronger than that, though. It’s
fury
, every time I think of his betrayal. More than anything, I wish I could erase the memory of him altogether.
Instead, the Mountain looming above is a constant reminder. I can’t help tracing the steep slope with my eyes—to the white-tipped peak, where the fog swirls. I can almost feel the cold up there, reaching for me with its icy fingers, and I hug myself, shivering.
Someone drapes a wool jacket around my shoulders.
“You looked a little chilly,” Byron explains, and carefully adjusts the collar up around my chin. Of course. Only Byron Swain would wear a full suit to a picnic in a field.