Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [17]
Blood is dripping onto the floor in bright, vivid exclamations, but Pearce doesn’t cry out, and his jaw is still hard, defiant. After all, in his short life he’s been dealt much worse.
“You’ve developed a bit of a stutter, my boy. I think you mean I’ll have the power, don’t you?” The One says evenly. “And I don’t see much of a threat, really. More like an interesting little game we’re all playing.”
Then The One turns away from Pearce dismissively and goes back to gazing at the screen. Pearce feels a familiar fury heat up his cheeks and his ears, moving all the way down into his fingertips.
There is only one person in the world whom he hates more than the witch.
The young soldier reaches a tentative hand toward The One. If he is strong enough, if he has it in him, he will have no better opportunity. An inch or two more, and he can touch that smooth, bald head, watch the skin peel away from the skull and the body collapse.
Hand shaking, he hesitates.
The One whirls around, and at the same time Pearce jerks upward, as if choked by an invisible vise.
“Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” The One laughs maniacally. “Gunning for ‘game over’ already?”
Pearce’s legs dangle as he’s suspended inches above the floor, and his face quickly grows crimson and bloated. “You wouldn’t,” he sputters.
The One’s Technicolor eyes dance with wickedness as he holds Pearce aloft by an invisible noose. “As you know too well, dear boy, there is virtually nothing I wouldn’t do to educate those who don’t completely understand my authority.”
Pearce looks past The One and thinks he can just make out the white-topped mountains in the distance, mocking him. The Wizard King’s domain. He never should have left.
Just as he is losing consciousness, Pearce falls abruptly to the floor in a pitiful heap.
“Now,” The One says softly, leaning over him. “Bring. Me. The. Girl.” His smoldering eyes flash a warning. “Please.”
Pearce’s breath comes in jagged gasps as he struggles to his feet. Regaining his composure, he salutes, turns sharply, and strides as confidently as he can manage toward the door.
“And, Pearce?” The One says when the youth is almost out of the room. Pearce stops in the doorway, his nerves buzzing. “Remember who made you what you are. If you want to go back to the mountains, I can take away every ounce of power I gave you.”
Pearce’s body goes rigid, but he doesn’t turn around. He touches his cheek and finds it still wet with blood. Biting his tongue to keep from screaming, he straightens, wipes his hand on the doorknob, and goes out to find Wisty Allgood.
Chapter 18
Whit
I’M A WANTED fugitive, a criminal of the highest order whose face is plastered on every wall, every lamppost in the capital. Considering how insane things are right now, getting up at five in the morning, tramping through a city crawling with soldiers, using a big chunk of my M to conspicuously morph my arm into an ax, and hacking down a tree in the middle of Overland Park on a banned Holiday is probably one of the riskiest, stupidest things I could do.
It’s not even a great tree. It’s a little sparse around the back, and it leans dramatically to the left, but seeing the look on my sister’s face as she and Pearl drape scraggly tinsel over its branches makes the trip totally worth it.
Pearl hasn’t said much to me yet, but her eyes are shining with emotion.
She looks at Wisty and nods her chin in the direction of the fireplace.
“Pretty good fire you’ve got burning there. Been going for almost two days now.”
Wisty grins — coming from Pearl, this is high praise. I want to join in their moment, but at the mention of the fire, I’ve got that charred corpse in my head again. I feel nauseated.
Wisty catches my expression and looks perplexed. As much as I