Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [18]
Wisty, on the other hand, wants to draw out this Holiday for as long as possible.
She winks at me and Pearl, and in a moment the broken ornaments, sitting crudely on the branches, transform into a rainbow of winking electrical lights, the colors glowing in the dark room.
I whistle in appreciation, and the other Needermans gather around, the kids oohing and aahing.
I smile at Pearl, but her tiny face is a mask.
Mama May coughs. “Pearl Marie, honey, where are your manners? What do you say?”
Pearl’s big gray eyes are solemn. “It’s great, really pretty and all. It’s beautiful.” She looks at both of us accusingly. “But if you’re who they say you are, if you’ve come to save us, can’t you do something more?”
“Pearl,” Mama cuts in, anger creeping into her voice. “I’m sorry, Wisty, she’s just upset. With Ziggy’s death and all —”
“Yeah, Mama, they’ve given us some twinkly ornaments. But I worked hard for those pieces of broken glass. What has she ever worked for?” Wisty stares at the floor, and I put an arm around her shoulders. “And the Feast Day was terrific. But we’re going to be hungry again tomorrow, and the day after that. Can they keep this whole family warm at night? Warm and safe?” Pearl asks. “Every night?”
No one says a word; every sound has been sucked out of the room. Pearl Marie’s eyes are burning into us, holding us accountable.
Right then there’s an earsplitting explosion of splintering wood, and the door caves in. A dizzying number of Death Squad recruits flood into the space, their black boots like rats scurrying over one another, their weapons trained on the space between our eyes.
I was almost getting too comfortable for a second there. This is more like my life.
I look around frantically for a weapon or a way out of this situation, but there are too many soldiers and too many guns and too many snarling, biting wolves, their mangy coats reeking of rotting flesh, bloodlust in their eyes.
There’s a moment of silence, and nobody moves. It’s like the Death Squad didn’t really expect that it would be so easy. We are animals caught in a trap, staring into the face of our demise. Where can we go? My mind races with my pulse, and I sense my sister next to me, tensed, ready to spring on my cue.
Pearl looks mesmerized by the wolves, her small body literally shaking. “Stick with Mama May,” I whisper. “Don’t look back, just go!”
“Under the direct order of The One Who Is The One,” a chubby recruit reads from a ledger, “the members of this household are to be placed under arrest for the despicable deeds of harboring high-risk fugitives and practicing those forbidden acts and readings associated with what was formerly known as the Holiday, punishable by execution in Orderly Square.”
The Needermans seem resigned through their tears. They knew this day would come.
“Nice tree,” one soldier says flatly, sneering. “Sturdy wood, pine. Should work nicely for your hanging gallows.”
They lunge forward, and chaos erupts. The Needermans seem to have disappeared, and in their place is a frenzied group of scattering mice. Some of the soldiers are stomping at the floor, and one phobic guy is shrieking in fear.
Wisty winks at me, and in an instant I’m reminded that when it comes to morphing things, rodents are her specialty.
In the pandemonium, we’re able to dart past the soldiers and up the crumbling staircase to the destroyed apartments above, hell’s beasts snapping at our heels. Frantic, dizzy, we circle up and up. I haven’t considered what we’ll do when we reach the top when the staircase just … ends. The next floor is bombed out, and the only thing that stands between us and the bloody, snarling jaws of the wolves is a shattered window.
One of the men laughs as his wolf strains against the chains. “End of the line. Where else are you gonna go?”
“Now would be the time for a hawk spell,” I say to Wisty.
This is when we’d typically morph smoothly into graceful winged creatures,