Witch and Wizard - James Patterson [65]
I nodded and held up my drumstick. Whit pulled his journal out from his waistband. We’d gone to ridiculous lengths to keep these things safe, but for what reason? Because I was destined to be a musician? Because Whit—Whit?—was going to be an important writer? Who had time for writers and musicians in these dark days?
Mom held out a hand toward my beat-up, dirty drumstick. “Okay, Wisty, you’ve proven you’re ready to do this. Transform that stick into its true form.”
At this point, I was used to failing, but I really hated to fail in front of my parents. “Mom,” I stalled, “you know I’ve got, like, a C-minus track record in that department.”
“The difference is that now, I’m right here. You can look into my eyes. All of the secrets are in there.”
When is the last time you really, really looked deep into your parents’ eyes? I bet you don’t even remember the last time. Like, maybe since you were a baby and making stupid googly eyes at each other. Well, you’d be surprised at what happens when you go in there. It’s kind of scary, actually—but in a good way. I’m not going to tell you any more. Just try it yourself someday.
“Speak love, you may enter,” Mom murmured. And I did.
And when I looked at the drumstick, it had turned into a dark, slender wand. You heard me. A witch’s magic wand.
Like me, you probably thought a wand was just a fantastical figment of legends and fairy tales. Well, we were both wrong. For one of the few times in my life, I was speechless.
“Now, you do it, Whit. Open the journal and look at me.” Dad held his hands above Whit’s shoulders and, as Mom and I watched them speak wordlessly to each other, the journal filled in with lessons, explanations, magic spells—everything a witch and wizard would need to know.
Whit whispered to me, “I’m glad I didn’t leave it in prison.”
“We adore you both,” Mom told us. “But we have to say good-bye for now.”
“We love you,” called Dad. “Good-bye. For a while anyway.”
“No! Stay!” I cried, but Mom and Dad had already started to fade. “Mom! I love you! Come back! Please don’t leave us already. Please!” I cried.
Then suddenly my parents were gone. Our house was gone too. Even the birdhouse.
I sank to my knees in the sun. Feffer licked my face. Dogs just know what to do, don’t they?
Finally, I struggled to my feet, and Whit hugged me and hugged me.
“This book is amazing,” he said, obviously trying to cheer me up. “Look—this is what I’m talking about.”
He held the book open under my nose. I sniffled and looked at it. Actually, it was amazing.
How to De-weasel Someone, the page read in fancy letters. I frowned and read on: If you’ve accidentally turned someone into a weasel, and you don’t wish them to remain a weasel, first you must…
I looked at him. “Shred that page, please, will you?”
“I dunno. The weasel might come in handy as a human at some point. You never know. Anyway,” he said, tugging at my sleeve, “we’ve got things to do, kids to save, a New Order to crush… witch.”
“Okay, wizard.” I sighed and followed Whit back through the cornfields to our battered blue van.
I was ready for whatever came our way—at least I thought so. After all, I was a bad, scary witch. And Whit was a supercool wizard.
Then the weirdness continued—emerging out of the corn from the same way we had come, Byron Swain appeared, de-weaseled.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “Your mom did it. She said I should watch over you two.”
And off we went to crush the New Order.
Except things didn’t go exactly according to plan.
Just according to the prophecies.
EPILOGUE
THE LAST…
Chapter 104
Wisty
WHICH, OF COURSE, brings us back to where we began: waiting to be hung until dead in a stadium filled past capacity with craven looky-loos, and presided over by a fiend in black robes who scares the snot out of me.
Seriously, The One Who Is The One radiates like he’s some sort of bad-energy power plant.
And the most unnerving part isn’t just the obvious power he has over the people in this stadium,