Witch and Wizard - James Patterson [42]
Janine blinked. “The weasel is a spy? It’s a talking weasel?”
“Long story,” I said. “But I don’t trust this weasel as far as I can throw him, which I guess would be about thirty feet,” I mused, looking at him. “How much do you weigh now?”
“I’m not a spy!” Byron said. “You think I could go back to them? Looking like this? I could have the secret of the universe, and they would still execute me in half a sec.”
“All the same, you go out there. Go!” I said firmly, pointing to the hallway.
Looking insulted and hurt, Byron huffed and scuttled across the floor.
I turned back to the jail schematic. “Okay, what’s the plan to save those kids again? You do have a plan?”
Chapter 68
Wisty
“FIRST, AS BACKGROUND, we need to give you a quick tour of the New Order’s first stronghold,” said Janine. “They call it the City of Progress because it’s their ideal community. It’s kind of the floor model for what they want to carpet the entire planet with. The place is full of erlenmeyers.”
She put two fingers in her mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. A couple of guys came running.
Janine nodded to the tall, skinny, very clean-cut one. “Jonathan will take you on the tour. But first, Emmet will help with your disguises.”
“Disguises?” Whit said.
“Absolutely,” Janine insisted. “You need to blend in—you can’t look too pukka. Otherwise, you know—off with your heads!”
Emmet, a very good-looking blond guy, said, “Come on! First, we go to Cosmetics. I’ll do your makeup. Don’t worry—I’m very good.”
An hour or so later, my totally uncontrollable hair was shiny and brushed, and kept off my face with an ingeniously placed hair bow and about two dozen hidden bobby pins. My clothes were country-club pink and lime green, rather than the usual black and grays that I favor.
Byron Unctuous Weasel had climbed on the filing cabinet. Now he looked me up and down with his beady little eyes.
“You look very nice,” he said. “Actually, I approve.”
I stuck my tongue out at him as Whit came strolling up to me. His face was pinkish and scrubbed, his hair was cut short—shorter than usual, even—and he looked cleaner than he had in a long time. If I weren’t his sister, I might have even called him handsome. But since I am his sister, I said, “Why, hello, sir, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Wisty the Wicked Witch. And you?”
“Um, poster boy for the National Guard.”
Feffer came over and sniffed around to make sure I was still me, and Whit was really Whit. We both passed and got licks.
“Okay,” said Jonathan, coming up to us. He really was tall, several inches over even Whit. But he probably weighed about as much as I did. With his pale skin and fair, sandy hair, he resembled a bar of white chocolate.
“A few key things to remember: First and foremost, no cantrips. Don’t talk to anyone unless you must. If you have to speak, remember to smile and say ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir.’ Do not cross the street against the light, do not snap gum in public, and for God’s sake, do not let that dog do her business. All dogs in the City of Progress are trained to use litter boxes indoors, like cats.”
“Sounds like a neat place,” Whit muttered. “And what’s a ‘cantrip’?”
“No funny witchy stuff,” Jonathan declared. “Okay, let’s go meet the enemy!”
Chapter 69
Wisty
WHAT I NOTICED most about the City of Progress was that The One Who Is The One was, quite literally, everywhere—on posters, paintings, videos, front pages of newspapers, murals. Who was this wackjob? I thought people like him came to power only in other places, in history books, in fantasy stories.
Until now, I never noticed how much fantasy had to do with reality.
What I noticed next about the City of Progress was fresh paint. You couldn’t get away from the smell. Everything was so tidy and perfect. There weren’t many kids around either, and when we saw grown-ups, they checked us out. Whit and I learned to copy Jonathan’s quick smile.
We saw signs of the new regime everywhere: bumper stickers on the bright, shiny SUVs and minivans saying things like SAY YES TO THE N.O. and