Witch and Wizard - James Patterson [63]
“No. You are not going,” I said firmly. “You are not going anywhere with us. You are still a hateful, traitorous, black-hearted naysayer!”
“Nuh-uh,” said Byron, in a tone that I think confirmed my point. Someone had given him half a hot dog, and he was chomping through it. “I’ve changed. I like you guys now. I want to go with you.”
“You are so full of it,” I said. “You’re staying right here.”
In my peripheral vision I caught Janine, Margo, and Emmet violently shaking their heads.
“He has to go with you,” Janine said. “You brought him. He’s your responsibility. The weasel must go.”
“There’s something I want to say to you guys,” Byron said stiffly. “I want to apologize.” My eyes widened. “At the time, when we… met, I felt I was doing the right thing. It seemed to be the only smart thing to do, to act like I did. But after seeing the kids living in Freeland, and the Hospital where you guys were, and the Curve dog… and realizing about how maybe I could have done something different in terms of that whole thing with my sister… well… I’m just saying I feel differently,” he continued. “That’s all I wanted to say.”
Whit and I made surprised faces at each other.
“Fine,” Whit said, and sighed. “Fine. We’ll take him along.”
And then another strange thing: tears, actual tears, began to flow from the hateful weasel’s eyes.
Can people really change? I wondered. Maybe they can.
EPILOGUE
THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME
Chapter 101
Wisty
IT WAS MORE THAN a little scary to be on our own, me and Whit, in a stolen van. Well, that was the deal—just us, except for our budding pet shop: Feffer and Byron, the World’s Most Annoying Pointy-Headed Formerly Traitorous Weasel.
With our clean clothes and tidied hair—my beautiful auburn hair—we sure looked like New Order kids, so we would probably be safer. We were learning to rely on our magic more and trust in our powers. It’s harder than you would think.
Whit had been telling me about seeing his Oneness again, and hearing the prophecies about us, which didn’t include the one we saw on the wall inside Garfunkel’s. Also, poor Whit was seriously pining for Celia, hoping for a dream visit, at least. As for me, I was just enjoying the ride, blasting Stonesmack’s first album with the van’s stereo speakers turned up. Way up.
“Here. Need some help,” said Byron, bringing me the end of a large bandanna. “If you tie this to the clothes-hanger thingy, I’ll have a nice little hammock.”
I took the bandanna and turned around in my seat. He’d already somehow fastened one end to a handhold. Resigned, I slung the other end over the small clothes-hanger hook next to me, then tied a knot for him.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Byron jumped up and curled himself into his little hammock, leaving only his pointy face showing.
I sighed.
“Hey,” said Whit, “this looks familiar, doesn’t it? Check it out.”
I scanned the landscape through my window. We’d been passing fields of crops, mostly corn, with signs saying CLEAN CORN FOR CLEAN PEOPLE: WE GUARANTEE THIS PRODUCT HAS NOT BEEN SPRAYED, GENETICALLY MODIFIED, OR TAMPERED WITH BY SPELLCASTERS. BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE NEW ORDER COUNCIL OF AGRICULTURE.
Weird stuff like that, probably written by The One Who Makes Irritating Billboards.
I saw what Whit meant, though. Something about the shape of the land, the way the horizon looked—it was familiar to me too. My back and neck tensed. Familiarity breeds, I don’t know, paranoia?
“What’s that?” asked Whit, pulling the van over to the side of the highway and pointing toward a shape in the distance, something poking up out of the unending sea of orderly crops.
“A tree?” I said, and had the most horrible feeling settle in my stomach. Why would the N.O. have left a single tree standing?
We climbed out of the van and, without a word to each other, began walking toward it, Feffer in tow. We crossed a few fields and some paths that, underneath a layer of dust, we could tell were abandoned streets, with double-yellow lines