Witch And Wizard: Fire Part 17

It's still dark, but the street kids are already out en ma.s.se, their plastic garbage bags slung over their shoulders as they pick through the streets for anything left by the careless rich. The compet.i.tion is cutthroat, and once they realize we don't have a bean between us they don't pay us any mind.

A black dog noses around in the garbage in the dim light of the alley, and my heart aches for Feffer. The dog's ragged ears p.r.i.c.k up at the distant howl of a pack of N.O. hunting wolves, and his tail goes between his legs.

We're barely out of the range of the wolves and searchlights before Byron is wheezing like an asthmatic eighty-year-old smoker after a workout. I notice my own exhaustion for the first time. It's either keep going or collapse at this point.

"Do you have any idea where we're headed anyway?" I ask. I probably would have preferred to ditch the weasel if I wasn't totally turned around in this maze of N.O. concrete. Without him, I'm sure I'd end up stumbling right back through the palace-compound gates.

Byron coughs, hands on his knees. "Of course I know where we're going," he says indignantly. "There's a portal I know of, a top secret, intensely complicated gateway that few of the most elite N.O.P.E. members even know about. It leads to the darkest, most terrifying part of the Shadowland." Byron looks at me gravely.

Sure, going to the Shadowland always involves a certain amount of risk and trepidation, but the guy can be so dramatic.

"And your intel says that's where Whit's hanging out?"

"Well, the information is less specific than we'd hope for" (Byron code for No, I'm taking a wild guess here and hope I'm right ) "but there's evidence to suggest that Whit is highly sought after by the dead, and one can a.s.sume that he would be drawn to the more remote areas in his quest to locate your parents," he reports.

"Headed for the worst place at the worst possible time? Yeah, that sounds like my brother." I try to smile, but Byron's probably right, actually. A tightness closes around my heart. Please let Whit be okay.

Byron sighs. "And we're on a deadline. The report said, 'The end is near,' whatever that means, so we need to find Whit as soon as possible."

I nod. The end has felt near for a very long time.

"And, Wist? There's another thing I suspect you're not going to be rather ecstatic about."

Another thing? As in, worse than "the end is near"? I c.o.c.k an eyebrow, and Byron hesitates.

"What? Just say it."

"The portal is not exactly easy to get through - because it's underwater."

Underwater. My hands start to sweat and my throat goes dry remembering the claustrophobic nightmare of being flushed through the sewer (in fish form) not so very long ago. Great - I'm sure this will be a thrill a minute.

"If I can handle The One, I think I can manage a little aqua," I say mildly, but I feel a chill at his words. "The sun's starting to come up. Can we just get going already?"

We run for a few more blocks through the rubble of the streets, the cement buildings towering around us like vultures closing in. Byron signals left, and when we turn, a river is just up ahead of us, bisecting the City of Progress.

Dawn breaks over the water as we approach, and the pink glow makes our ravaged capital look almost beautiful. If I didn't expect to be shot at any second, if I were a normal girl in normal circ.u.mstances, I'd sit right down on this curb and watch as the sun edged up over the horizon.

"The portal." Byron nods at the river, snapping me back to reality. I am not a normal girl, after all. Not anymore.

I want to immediately take off toward the portal and find my brother, but something makes me hesitate - something more than just paranoia about the water. There's an uncomfortable eeriness that I can't pinpoint. There are no people out anymore, and the bean-picker children have disappeared completely. No birds, no wind, and the river is barely stirring. The air is still.

Too still.

"B., does something feel off to you?"

He eyes the clouds looming above us, unmoving, jaundiced yellow and pregnant with threat. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."

A strong wind is already picking back up, and the sky is going dark in a hurry. Byron grabs my hand and we dash forward toward the portal, but the once calm streets turn swiftly into a nightmare of flying debris, and the river's waves become cras.h.i.+ng, deadly rapids. It's like a hurricane spinning into a tornado.

Amid the chaos, waves of soldiers start to pour in from the side streets with the wind at their backs. I freeze. It's not possible: Pearce, racing at the helm, his strong jaw set with determination, his fair, wavy hair trailing behind him in the violent wind.

And - worse - The One by his side, his face wild with power, l.u.s.t, and something else. Fury.

How have they healed so quickly? I left them both weak and wounded, but now Pearce and The One take command of the swirling skies, a mega-power looms large above us, and nothing has ever felt stronger.

Including my fear.

Byron is tugging on my arm, s.h.i.+elding his eyes from the wreckage, but I just stand there, mouth gaping, utterly overwhelmed. The wind whips my long hair and rain batters my face, but I can't seem to move an inch.

Both The One's and Pearce's eyes are burning white-hot, united with a particular, undisguised hatred for The Fire Girl, The One With The Gift.

The girl who tried to kill them and might have succeeded.

The girl who will pay dearly for her sins.

A ma.s.s of dread forms in my stomach, and my body is shaking all over. This is surely my worst nightmare come for me at last.

Chapter 68.

Whit THE SHARP, METALLIC scent of blood hangs in the air, and the hill is crowded with human and animal bodies.

I spot Ragan picking over the injured, desperation on his face. He looks okay, but as he kneels next to a silent, unmoving form, gathering it up into his arms, I know we haven't made it through without any losses. The smallest of Ragan's two charges is next to him, crying. Celia joins them and wraps her arms around the boy, rocking him as he weeps for his brother.

I feel something harden inside me, and tears don't come. I've seen it all before - orphaned, trusting kids hacked out of existence while trying to find their way home. I think of Pearl Marie's voice as she talked about Ziggy, and guilt lodges in my gut like a stone. What was I doing making promises to that kid?

Janine looks at Ragan and then turns her face against my chest, shutting out the scene. Her arm hangs limply at her side, red blooming through her s.h.i.+rt.

Holding her here on this eerily lush, green hillside surrounded by the macabre reality, I feel like a character on a page ripped from a book, where there's no time and no ending, no way to move forward.

I look over Janine's head into the valley below, seeing the ghostly beings moving around down there, watching us. Expecting what? Then, just beyond the ambling dead, where the red haze has dissipated the tiniest bit, something sparkles. I put a hand up to s.h.i.+eld my eyes, squinting, and think I can make out a thin gray line moving, reflecting the light.

The river, I mouth, realization dawning on me. The very same river from the vision at Mrs. Highsmith's apartment - the one where I saw my parents. I motion to the others, pointing. I know we should be celebrating; we finally made it. But when Ragan looks over at me, his eyes swollen and his face bitter, I can only think, At what cost?

Celia comes up behind us. She puts her hand on my back and rests her head on my shoulder.

"You think my mom and dad are down there, Celia?" I ask, squinting at the crowd.

She smiles sadly, still shaken. "I don't know for sure, but I'll help you look. Come on."

Celia takes my hand, and Janine's as well. She turns to the others, scattered on the hillside. Sasha and Emmet nod and start across the uneven ground toward us, shoulders heavy, but most of the kids aren't budging.

"I know it's hard, and I know you're all hurting, but we can't stop now," I call.

"Another battle?" Sasha says, limping over. "Haven't we been through enough? No offense, but I'm sick of being dragged along and almost killed for your sake. I just want to get us all out of here."

Some of the other kids nod in agreement, but Janine speaks up.

"Whit is one of us," she says sharply, cradling her arm. "We're fighting for him, but we're fighting for the Resistance, too. Have you forgotten why we ended up here in the first place? There's no safe haven in the Overworld until we face the battles in the Underworld. Would you rather just give up now after coming this far?"

Sasha sighs, the public scolding obviously stinging him a bit.

My heart swells with respect for Janine. I know the pain from her shoulder is worse than she's letting on, but she always has a fighting spirit.

The rest of the kids reluctantly join the group. The only way out of this nightmare is through it, it seems. Together we look toward the thin river of hope calling to us, promising salvation.

Chapter 69.

Wisty "THIS WILL BE the end of you, girl," The One howls over the wind, his arms spread out like a maestro directing the scene as he levitates above the violent eye of the storm. "I can promise you that much. Are you ready to be nothing but a memory - and then not even that?"

Pearce has instructed the troops to block all exit routes, and he strides toward me along the bank, pretentiously flanked on either side by elite N.O. guards, the whites of his wicked eyes flas.h.i.+ng furiously at me.

"I think so," I whisper numbly. Maybe I am ready to be done with all of this.

The clouds race across the heavens faster, and the ma.s.sive, whirling twister towers above me, just a slight girl battling the whole sky. I open my arms, palms up, a lamb offered for the slaughter, and a deafening clap of thunder bellows its response.

I concentrate on the last sensations I will possibly ever experience, feel the hard rain tearing across my face and sense the cold wind on my eyelids, my tangled hair whipped in the raging gale. I hear the roar of the storm as it grows in strength, but my ears strain to hear something else as well.

Byron. I'd forgotten him.

"Wisty, come right now! You can get away!" he bellows.

I snap open my eyes to see a spectacular flash of lightning strike nearby, and in a magical dance of luck, timing, and sheer adrenaline, I'm able to instantaneously send all my electrical energy into manipulating it.

Debris swirls around us as I hurl the supercharge at The One and his soldiers. The flas.h.i.+ng crackle flies from my fingers and finds its target: the river, with the New Order troops all wading through the shallow water. The connection lights up the sky, and for a moment hundreds of men convulse like marionettes as electricity shoots through their bodies.

I feel nauseous. Those were men with families, with hopes. But they were also men who'd done unspeakable things, I remind myself, who'd performed experiments on children and executed their parents.

But is there ever an excuse for ma.s.s murder?

I glimpse The One's face, distorted with anger and what else? Admiration? And I hear Pearce's enraged yelling behind him, but then I turn away from them, toward the turbulent river. Toward the Shadowland, and my parents.

Now is the moment when terror finally grips my heart. But there's no time to think of drowning, to imagine my lungs exploding.

Instead I inhale a giant gulp of air, and Byron grabs my hand as we plunge into the deep, swirling frenzy of water. I kick my feet fiercely and don't stop until we push through a portal and deep into the Shadowland.

Chapter 70.

Whit THE RIVER OF Forever is not the serene, clear-blue comfort that you'd hope to greet your soul after you've exhaled your last breath in the Overworld. Instead it's a gray ma.s.s of angry, roiling waves, ominous and forbidding, surrounded by the anarchy of the dead.

But it's as if the water has a magnetic pull, too; I stumble toward it as if hypnotized. As I near, I can see an ancient-looking drawbridge firmly locked in a raised position. Who knows how long it's been that way? There's a ma.s.s of acc.u.mulated souls throwing themselves into those furious waters, but they can't cross. Instead, the river rolls them violently about, tossing them like limp fish back onto the bank. I feel an overwhelming need to jump, too, along with a vague panic at the thought of not being able to control that urge. Celia puts her hand on my arm, shaking her head in warning.

Sasha has taken Ragan and some of the others to rest away from the crowds, but a few of us, including Janine and Celia, have started elbowing through the ma.s.ses along the bank, trying to find the spot on the river where I remember seeing my parents, in the vision at Mrs. Highsmith's.

It's chaotic, with lines snaking back and forth and mobs of the newly dead wandering aimlessly through this antechamber of the afterlife, and no one seems to be able to help us. Some people are weeping, but most are dazed and in shock, nearly unresponsive.

"They don't get that they're dead," Celia explains, nodding at a group of older people huddled together near us, confused and terrified. "They're not like the Half-lights - not like me. They don't have unfinished business." She smiles sadly. "But until they cross the River of Forever, a lot of them just don't understand what's going on."

"And is it always like this?" I can't believe that this frenzied ma.s.s of people is always so immense and confused. This can't be how it's supposed to go.

Celia's brow creases. "I don't know, Whit. You expect me to know everything about this place, and I just don't!" I'm momentarily stunned by her anger. Celia never snaps - at me or anyone.

I try to squeeze her hand, wanting rea.s.surance that it's fine; we're fine. I forgot I wouldn't be able to feel it. It's like grasping at air. It seems like now that we're physically the closest we've been since she disappeared from the Overworld, strangely she feels farthest away. How can we truly understand each other when we've had such intense experiences on our own?

She sighs. "I'm sorry, okay? It's just that I've been trying to get across that river just like everyone else for as long as I've been here. You can feel it pulling, can't you?"

I nod. It's an effort to keep myself on solid ground.

"I feel that pull every second, all the time."

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "It must be hard."

She presses her lips together and looks out at the gray waves. "I don't think this is the way it's supposed to be, but this is all I know: Some of the other Half-lights have heard rumors that The One's power has leaked into the Shadowland and it's just s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with everything, but we're all guessing. The only thing I know for sure is that until balance is restored, we're stuck on this side, and the dead just keep coming."

"Maybe that means that it's not final, then," Janine suggests. "That the dead aren't really dead yet."

"But they are," Celia says testily. "Just look at them."

I peer at the bewildered faces of those around us. In their frightened, yearning eyes, the spark has unmistakably been extinguished. There is no light here, no life. Which means that if my parents are here, they really are just like these people.

Dead.

The thought takes my breath away, and the ground whirls under me. I sit down abruptly, head in my hands.

"Whit!" Celia crouches next to me, alarmed. She probably wants to see me as the guy I used to be, too - this big-shot quarterback, invulnerable and easygoing. But I can't be that guy for her right now. Not anymore.

Not in this world.

"I just " I search her face, my head swimming. "I never believed it. I always held out the hope that they'd be alive somewhere, somehow. But if my parents are here, then they're "

Celia nods, rubbing my back, though I can't feel it. "Then they're like me."