Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [20]
“No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t think it’s the plague messing with your magic. It’s happening to me now, too, and I had trouble with spells before, when you were still unconscious. It’s the … air … out here or something that’s blocking it.”
“Huh,” Is say, sitting down on the curb next to an appallingly expensive black car, its seats littered with One-Der Burger wrappers. “So we’re in the middle of a capital crawling with Death Squad soldiers, The One Who Is The One has a price on our heads, and neither of us has any magic to help us out of this mess? Didn’t you just whip up a whole Holiday feast and, like, cut down a tree with your arm?”
I mime a chopping action and accidentally hit the black car. The alarm goes off, its plaintive wail cutting into the still night air. My adrenaline surges, and we sprint over to hide behind the One-Der Burger Dumpster, but there’s not a soul around to respond, and soon the repetitive howl cuts off.
Whit shoots me an annoyed look and steps out from behind the Dumpster. Then he jumps right back into our conversation. “I felt strong in the Needermans’ basement, and I was okay if I stayed relatively close, but the farther away we get from that positive energy … it’s like a switch has been flipped and I’m about as powerful as a mosquito.”
“Looks like our only chance is to get our power from other people,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Whit’s looking at me like I just read his mind, and he’s not super comfortable with it. The blinking light from the One-Der Burger sign gives his face an eerie hue.
“Strength in numbers, right?” I touch Whit’s arm, thinking aloud. “The only thing that beats One is two, and three, and four. You said we’d go back for Pearl once we built up the Resistance forces again. I vote we try to find Janine, Emmet, Sasha, Jamilla — everyone we can track down — to help out.”
Whit shakes his head like he’s about to deliver some really bad news. “They’re all on the missing-persons list. Hewitt showed me a copy he’d somehow gotten hold of.”
“So?” I challenge. I sound angrier than I mean to.
“So, that means there’s no Resistance anymore.” He’s rubbing his forehead like he does when he’s frustrated and upset. He looks me in the eyes, measuring his words. “It means they’re probably all dead, Wist. We’re all that’s left.”
My brother’s trying to control his emotion, to keep his face strong. To anyone else he’d look calm, resigned. But I’m his sister, and I can hear that slight quiver in his voice; I can see the small twitch of muscles around his mouth. He’s remembering them.
I know he’s thinking of Janine and the way she took charge of the Resistance with unending compassion and capability after Margo was killed, sending in more and more rescue teams to get captured kids out of the prisons, even as the bombs rained down. Or maybe he’s remembering the look she used to give him, the intimate, adoring gaze that he pretended never to notice but that we all could see as plain as day. He’d been the only one who could crack her shell. But maybe the New Order finally broke her.
Like me, Whit’s probably thinking of Sasha with his dark curly hair, stubborn and strong-willed but with more revolutionary fight in him than anyone. Or of kind, levelheaded Emmet, the gentle giant who my brother knew would always have my back if he wasn’t around, who said I looked awesome, even when I hacked off all my hair to stay off the radar.
I cross my arms and walk a couple of paces, thinking of my lost friends and feeling the bubble of grief well up and lodge itself in my throat.
Then I turn around. We owe them more than this. More than just letting them go.
“The One controls that list, right?” I ask. Whit nods. I’m anxious, talking faster and pacing the parking lot even though I’m dead tired from running all day. “Well, just because he doesn’t know where they are doesn’t mean they’re not still alive.”
Whit’s brow crinkles as he considers this possibility. His face struggles between hope and defeat. “But if The One can’t find them, how are we going