Witch and Wizard - James Patterson [19]
I crashed against a wall, but I kept my focus—Victory, victory, victory!—and surged forward through the growls and snarls.
Seeing Wisty’s face ahead supercharged me for the last few paces. I practically flew into her arms, and she hugged me hard.
“You’re awesome!” she gushed. “You did great, Whit.”
The Matron was striding toward us, holding her stun gun at eye level. “Foul!” she called out. Foul? Without warning, she hit me with a jolt.
I barely knew what had happened as I collapsed and the pails tumbled and rolled.
“Four minutes, six seconds!” the Matron shrieked. “No food. No water!”
She snatched the pails away as I drooled on the floor.
Chapter 31
Whit
AS THE DAYS PASSED, my sister and I managed to stave off death by dehydration by locating a drip of what we hoped was rainwater or condensation just outside our ventilation-shaft window. By snaking a piece of wire for it to run along and then planting at the other end a crumpled paper cup we’d found, we got a few mouthfuls every three or four hours. It tasted like drywall dust, but it was a total lifesaver.
The whole thing was so backward. Last week a bad day was getting busted for exercising my right not to do trigonometry homework and having to face two hours after school with some of my best friends in detention.
This week, if only from the sheer boredom and depression of this place, I would have faced my trig textbook like it was The Ultimate Book of Hot Cars.
Then one afternoon, I was lying on our mattress and thinking about Celia, hoping she would come back, even in another dream, when my sister exclaimed, “Whit! Whit! WHIT! Will you look at me, please? WHITFORD!”
Wisty’s voice brought me back to the totally screwed-up here and now. I kept my eyes closed, wanting to sink right back into my Celia thoughts.
“Whit!” Her stupid drumstick whacked my leg. “Open your eyes right now!”
“Ow! What is so important?” I griped, sitting up and snatching away the drumstick with irritation. “The pizza’s here?”
My sister stood in front of me, holding out the journal. “Look at this!” she said, shaking the dusty book in my face.
I took the tome and examined the cover. Seemed the same to me.
“So what? It’s old, it’s musty, it’s useless.”
“Flip through the pages. Do it, Whit. Humor me.”
Then I saw the impossible. Suddenly the journal was filled with words, pictures, illustrations. And handwriting that looked like my father’s.
“Holy—” I stood up. “It’s the next book in the Percival Johnson series. That’s not supposed to come out until next year,” I said. “That’s interesting. The Thunder Stealer was one of my all-time favorite books.”
“What?” Wisty said. “Are you seeing the same thing I am?”
I turned pages. “Holy crap.” I thumbed forward. “The Ultimate Book of Hot Cars!”
“Hold on. I didn’t see that!” Wisty snatched the book back. “No, no, it’s got the History of World Art! And prints by my favorite artists, Pepe Pompano and Margie O’Greeffe. And it’s got all my favorite novels too!” She quickly riffled through the pages. “See?” She held the journal under my nose, its pages open. “Look, everything by my favorite writer, K. J. Meyers. And it’s got The Blueprints of Bruno Genet. And The Firegirl Saga. Right here!”
I looked. This time I saw The Swimsuit Issue Deluxe Compendium.
“Whit… I think I get it,” Wisty said with a hushed kind of awe. “The book shows each of us what we want to see.” Then her eyes got huge and she stared at me. “It’s magic. That’s why Dad gave it to you.”
I took the journal back from Wisty. “Show me where Celia is,” I tried halfheartedly, but then actually held my breath like I was expecting something.
Nothing. Unless The Ultimate Book of Hot Cars was supposed to somehow take me to Celia.
“We have to figure out how all this works,” Wisty said tensely. “I know you think I’m crazy, but I’m starting to really believe in us. Our magic. We just have to practice, Whit. We have to work harder. Maybe you are a wizard. Maybe I am a witch.”
Chapter 32
Wisty
I HAD A REALLY