Witch And Wizard: Fire Part 10

Chapter 37.

Whit WELL, THAT WAS intense.

With portals, each one is a different experience, but it's never very much fun. There have been times it wasn't unlike going through a car wash; times it felt like being "squeezed out a birth ca.n.a.l" (in Wisty's words); and one notable episode when I was sure I looked like a tomato smashed against a wall when I came out the other side.

But this one was unlike anything I'd ever gone through. After that initial nasty b.u.mp on the head, I thought it was all over, but then I felt the weirdest sensation, like my cells were rearranging themselves or something.

I'm definitely in the Shadowland now, because I can hardly see a thing.

"Celia!" I call out tentatively. "Mom? Dad?"

As I stumble through an opaque wall of fog, I gag on the smell of rotting sewage - no, rotting flesh - and my heart flutters with recognition.

Lost Ones.

Less-than-angelic humans stuck in the labyrinth of the Shadowland so long their very souls have rotted into a ma.s.s of stink and decay. Monsters tormented by loss and demented with hunger.

Hunger for human flesh.

G.o.d, no.

I hear the screams of men being tortured, devoured. Soldiers? The N.O.P.E. guards, leaping after me into the portal and into the cannibalistic maws of Lost Ones? I shudder violently, but though the shrieks go silent, there's nowhere to run.

Suddenly dozens of decaying arms grab at me from out of the smoke, their slimy flesh slipping around my shoulders, my chest, my throat. I scream, but the sound is m.u.f.fled among the moaning and frenzy.

I push back at them, wrenching my body in utter terror.

"Don't try to fight us, idiot," a low, garbled female voice coos into my ear, full of ill intent. "You can't win. Don't you see? We're already dead." The others cackle, and the Lost Girl continues. "Don't you wish you were dead?" She puts a clammy hand on my cheek, and I recoil. I'm glad that I can't see her rotting face through the haze. "You will be."

She laughs, and my stomach turns as I now begin to make out a hint of stringy flesh left on her face as it shakes terribly, her cavernous eyes dancing in front of me. "Soon. Very, very soon, you'll be dead, too, handsome idiot stranger."

Chapter 38.

Wisty MY FACE IS scrubbed clean, my hair is brushed, glossy, and trailing down my back like a flame, and I'm decked out in a chic green dress that Mrs. Highsmith had lying around. I click along the spotless streets in my too-tight shoes as if I don't even care that the security cameras from the surrounding mansions - each of which I'm sure comes equipped with a vicious wolf-mutt growling just beyond the gate - are trained on my every move. If it weren't for the glint in my eye, you'd swear I was New Order Youth all the way.

After weeks on the run covered in blood, grime, and who knows what else, I almost feel like I'm going to a fancy N.O. recital. My old frenemy Byron Swain once told me about those so-called parties that culminate in an elaborate recitation of The One's successes, with the N.O. elite dressed to the nines and patting one another on the back. As excruciating as that would be, I wish I were going there - instead of where I'm actually headed.

My showdown with The One, maybe to save the fate of the world, but more likely to die.

I'm muttering Mrs. Highsmith's advice -"wits, courage, compa.s.sion" - like a mantra, and I'm so worked up I almost walk right in the path of a Youth Troop on patrol.

There are two straight lines of stone-faced children, marching stiffly in crisp white uniforms accented with bold red trim. The leaders are just kids - probably younger than I am, but they've got the cold, brainwashed look of soldiers of the highest rank. Not one of them would hesitate to bash my head in.

They've got a few even younger kids with them, who are being dragged along, sobbing, in chains.

New Order families and couples stroll by, elegant in their fine clothes. They don't look at the chained kids, or seem to hear their wails.

But I do see the looks on those kids' faces, the hopelessness and the pain. I do hear their screaming. I walk past the banner-lined street that will take me to the palace and The One's headquarters. Without even meaning to, I find myself approaching the troop instead. Though it's the last thing in the world I want to do, I can't not help.

Chapter 39.

Wisty I HAVE THE sudden, eerie feeling that something is horribly wrong as I'm walking toward the troop. I can almost feel hands pressing down on me, choking out the air, and even in the thin material of my dress in the chilly breeze, I start to sweat.

Whit is in serious trouble.

How can I help him now? Entrances to the Shadowland are few and far between these days, and I could never get to Mrs. Highsmith's portal quickly enough. The Youth Troop is standing at attention; they've already spotted me ambling toward them. I'll just have to pray he can get himself out of whatever horrible mess he's in, I think, remembering Rency's ruined face.

I'm on edge, and the cold stares of the troop as I approach aren't helping. What kind of moron walks right up to brainwashed killers without even so much as a disguise?

Yours truly.

I panic and do a quick face-scramble, but the New Order Youth start to crack up as I draw near. They point and snicker, imitating me, and I get the sinking sense that maybe I'm a little cross-eyed. And that my nose is skewed to one side of my face.

The kid at the head of the line blows a whistle sharply, demanding decorum. I can't see his face, but the troop immediately stands at attention.

"Just kidding around," I say, forcing a weak laugh and quickly rearranging my features. I tap the last kid in line on the shoulder, and he spins around, ignoring the reproach of the whistle-blower up front.

"I'm, um I'm here to join the troop. I want to be a New Order soldier someday," I gush. "I was hoping to destroy freedom and imagination ?" Other kids gasp and turn around at my mention of the forbidden words. Perfect.

A boy with jet-black hair snaps the strap of my dress. "Oh really?" he sneers. "You're not exactly up to protocol with this little 'outfit.' "

An older teenage girl yanks on my newly disguised dirty-blond hair. Her own hair is so tight it pulls back her whole face. "And didn't anybody tell you? All the spots for uglies are full."

I shrink inside even though I know the truth: I'm the only one in the world with enough power to rival The One's. But a well-aimed insult can still sack me with a boatload of self-doubt.

"It's my dream to honor the N.O.," I press on, careful to keep any hint of irony from creeping into my voice. "Truly."

Chapter 40.

Wisty "TRUE NEW ORDER Youth material joined at the beginning of the ascendancy," the girl says as an older boy wrenches my arms behind my back.

"They saw the light of The One Who Is The One. They followed the path of true justice," another boy says with robotic detachment while the first clamps handcuffs around my wrists.

"All others are fakers. Wannabes," a stern little girl with braids chimes in as they march me to the front of the line with the other prisoners. "They are At Risk. They support the unholy cause of the Resistance. They must be stopped!" her shrill voice screeches.

The black-haired boy cuts in, whispering in my ear, "That's where we come in. On the direct orders of His Greatness, it's our job to make such heathens" - he snaps his fingers, grinning wickedly -"disappear."

I draw a sharp intake of breath. A Y.E.S. - Youth Extermination Squad! I'd thought they were just a sick rumor.

The boy shoves me into the center of the two lines, and I huddle against a couple of the smallest prisoners, a girl and a boy no older than five, with rivers of tears running down their grubby cheeks.

I hear Mrs. Highsmith's voice in my head. Confident. Powerful.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," I whisper to the s.h.i.+vering kids.

Other than torture and death, or maybe just being turned into a mindless drone for the remainder of your days, that is.

"Take me to your leader," I say to the leering New Order Youth sarcastically.

"Oh, come on, Red," a voice says from the front, a voice that knows how much I hate that nickname. "For a girl who so desperately wants to join the N.O., you could put a little more feeling into it." I know that nasally accent, that whine.

The boy with the whistle turns around, his eyes scanning my face as if he doesn't recognize me, as if he hadn't been trying to win my heart for ages, as if I hadn't once turned him into a weasel because he was such a freaking traitor. As if we'd never met.

He grabs my arm roughly and marches me along. "Your wish is my command. To the leader we go. Nice dress, by the way."

The whistle-blowing head of the Y.E.S. is none other than Byron Swain!

Chapter 41.

Whit I'M IN CHAINS, but I can still speak. And as long as I'm alive I won't stop trying to get answers.

"I'm looking for Benjamin and Eliza Allgood. Is there a girl around here named Celia? If you tell me where the river is - the place where people, um cross over - I can help you get out of here, too. I swear I'll help you!" There's real desperation in my voice, but the Lost Ones are too busy right now to answer my questions.

They're busy doing the same thing they've been doing for hours since we arrived at their camp, or hideout, or whatever this eerie, foul-smelling place happens to be: they're busy eating forest animals.

Live.

I feel bile rising in my throat. I may never eat meat again.

I turn from the grisly scene, but the metallic smell of blood nags at my nostrils. The word abattoir pops into my head, dark and foreboding. I can't remember what it means, but it conjures up images of hacksaws and horror shows. Of muscle pulled from bone and the frenzied desperation of animals awaiting slaughter.

The feeling of I'm next.

The fog isn't as thick here, and I can make out surrounding forests. I'm trying not to look over there, though, either. The trees are not made of wood and leaves but bone. The clouds above are red, menacing, and our shadows seem to have a life of their own; they slither along the ground like snakes, mime acts of violence, dance up your back. I'd run, but there's nowhere to go. Everywhere outside this valley is thick, opaque fog.

We're way deeper into the Shadowland than I've ever been before; I had no idea any of this existed, but maybe it means I'm finally getting somewhere. Where there are forests and clouds, there's got to be a river, right? Mrs. Highsmith said something about following the animals. Could she have meant these sad, torn-to-shreds creatures?

I strain to see through the fog, squint for some hint of water in the distance. No luck, but I do see more Lost Ones. The zombielike creatures shuffle toward the camp, their stench preceding them. They've got something with them being pulled on ropes. Looks like Kids?

More kids could mean more chances to dupe these ghouls and escape. I scan the crowd, not recognizing anyone at first - they're still far away. There are several older kids, including a bigger guy around my age; a kid with a bandanna tied around his head; and a couple of small boys. There's an animal with them, too - a big, loping dog that looks an awful lot like Feffer, the Curve dog who once tried to eat Wisty and me before we tamed her.

Wait, it totally is Feffer!

That means these kids are Resistance!

I feel a surge of elation, my pulse quickening.

I want to shout to my allies, but I don't want to set off a frenzy among the Lost Ones. I sit tight, watching the kids file in, impatience making me fidgety. And my eyes fall on a cute girl around sixteen near the end of the line, with wild, curly hair and combat boots.

I know that determined, no-nonsense walk anywhere - Janine!

Chapter 42.

Whit "WHIT!" JANINE NEARLY plows me over with a fierce hug that takes my breath away. She's tied up, and the other kids grumble as their hands are pulled on the rope, too.

My heart seems to get caught up in my throat. I bury my face in her dark hair and squeeze her with all of my strength. It's a little awkward with the others around watching, but I don't care about anything but this right now. Thank G.o.d she's alive! Somehow - even in this awful place, captured by soulless creatures - I'm elated.

And surprised to find that the only thing I really want to do is kiss her.

Janine's never been one for a poker face, and she looks at me with fierce emotion, like she's offering up the whole of herself. "I thought I'd never see you again, Whit! I thought -" She clutches my arms, and my heart beats faster.

"I thought you were dead, too," I admit breathlessly, stroking her cheek.

I still love Celia, and I don't know exactly what I feel for Janine, but I do know that I've missed her more than I thought was physically possible, and I didn't understand that until this minute. Her serious, intelligent face, free of makeup but prettier than any movie star's. Her smart ideas. Her strength. I don't want to ever let her go again.

"Jamilla said I thought ," I whisper, still overwhelmed. "How did you end up here?"

"The Resistance tried to escape in the Shadowland," she answers. "Whit, we looked for you. We waited and we searched. I didn't want to leave you behind, but the N.O. was everywhere in the Overworld, and you and Wisty were on all the posters, so we thought you'd gone into hiding and -"

"Shh it's okay. We didn't know how to find you guys either. Everything just got so turned around. Are Emmet and Sasha here, too?" I ask, looking around for their familiar faces. "Did they make it out?"

Her eyes fill with tears, and she brushes them away angrily. "I don't know. We were split up. I had everything mapped out! We had a plan to get all the kids through to another portal, and Emmet went ahead to scout the path "

More tears escape, and her cheeks flush in frustration as she continues. "But we got turned around in the fog and just couldn't get away from them." She nods at the Lost Ones. "I've been racking my brains to figure out what their plans are for us. But it's as if they're hungry dogs following a familiar scent home. They've just been hauling us around on these ropes for days, and I think -" Janine flinches uncharacteristically, her eyes widening. "I think they're going to feast on us."