Witch and Wizard - James Patterson [13]
The guards removed us from the cage—sort of clumsily, I might add, since Whit was thrashing like a rabid animal. “You’re making a terrible mistake!” he yelled. “This is insane! You’ll be disbarred! This isn’t legal!”
“Shut up, wizard!” the judge screamed, and suddenly hurled his gavel at Whit.
Whit held up his cuffed hands, and then—
The gavel just hung there in midair for a good five seconds—maybe six inches from Whit’s face—then dropped heavily to the floor.
The courtroom was completely silent for a moment. Then chaos took over. Angry voices howled, “Witch! Wizard! Put them to death! Execute them both!”
And they really did mean us, didn’t they? Wisty and Whit. The witch and wizard.
Chapter 20
Wisty
THE ANGRY CHANTING and taunting of the courtroom crowd filled our ears as Whit and I were dragged and shoved down a long, narrow hallway and through throngs of perfect strangers, all thirsty for blood—our blood.
Talk about a way to kill your faith in humanity.
A few days ago, it seemed like the worst thing that could happen to me was waking up with a giant zit during school-picture day. How could life as I’d known it change so quickly and bizarrely? My brother and I had just been sentenced to death.
The horrid word “execution” kept bouncing around inside my head, sending me into a daze as Whit and I were shoved into another van.
I thought of all the people I’d learned about in school who’d been executed or assassinated. I came up with almost a dozen. But they were all political or religious leaders. And I was just Wisteria Allgood. I wasn’t powerful enough to scare people. Was I? I was not a hero, a prophet, a saint, or a leader of any kind. It made no sense.
And then, another horrible thing. Stunning. Something that changed my mind about the worst thing that could ever happen to me.
As we rode through the city, we kept our faces pressed against a tiny window in the foul-smelling van—desperate for sunlight, if nothing else—watching the city streets go by, watching soldiers, soldiers everywhere.
Until we saw a new sign being constructed by workmen.
WANTED FOR TREASON
AND CRIMINAL PRACTICE OF FOUL ARTS
Underneath the words were black-and-white photographs of Mom and Dad.
And then the kicker:
DEAD OR ALIVE!
“They got away,” Whit whispered. “They’re out there somewhere. Somehow, we’ll find them.”
BOOK TWO
VERY DICKENSIAN
Chapter 21
Wisty
WHEN THE UGLY BLACK NEW ORDER VAN finally stopped, it was raining hard outside and the wind howled. We were parked in front of another large building, this one with high stone walls that looked charred, kind of like an old factory. Stains over the doorway revealed where foot-high letters used to be. They had read GENERAL BOWEN STATE PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL.
For a moment, I got the idea this nightmare might actually make sense. That’s it! I thought with a breath of hope. I’m psychotic! Everything that’s just happened has been a clever collection of my own delusions.
That would explain the fire… the strange and random appearance of Byron Swain… the death sentence for being a witch.
The good doctors’ll treat me here, Mom and Dad will come get me when I’m well, and everything will be fine again. I’m just psychotic, is all. No biggie.
I smiled involuntarily at the thought. Whit looked over at me like I was—not surprisingly—certifiably insane. I sure hoped so.
“What’s with you? You’re half smiling. Why? This looks like a hellhouse.” He grimaced.
“Well, what were you expecting?” I said with a titter. “Warm and fuzzy?”
We were whisked out of the van and past the stone walls. “Move it!” The guard jabbed me in the back with his baton, pushing me into a wide, dark hallway. One faint fluorescent light flickered at its distant end. A light at the end of the tunnel? I doubted that.
“Will I be treated here?” I took the chance of asking. “When can I meet with the doctor?”
Whit twisted his head around and gave me another confused look.
“This is a jail of the New Order, girlie,” one of the guards said, sounding