Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [22]
She places the object in my hand, and I can actually feel it. It’s a fountain pen — sleek, shiny, perfectly crafted — just like Celia. I’ve never used one of these, but I can’t wait to try it.
“Celia, it’s … this is beautiful,” I say, turning over the pen in my hands.
She smiles, pleased. “It’s not as old-school as it seems. Really. You can write with it anywhere, on any surface, and it’ll record your words wherever you want. You can write your story, no matter where The One forces you to run.”
“I’ll write your story, too,” I vow.
But suddenly Celia’s eyes look far away, like she’s reading from a letter. “And, Whit? There’s something else I have for you. A message. From your parents.”
My heart seizes up. If my parents can still contact us through Celia, if we can still communicate, it’s as if they’re not really gone. “My parents? You’ve seen them?” I manage.
“Your dad said to remind you: You and Wisty need to share your Gifts if you’re going to get anywhere. And your mom said to be brave, and not to be afraid to let go.” Celia smiles sadly. “But you and I both know you’re not very good at letting go, right, baby?”
The air around her is cold, way colder than it should be.
She’s leaving. She’s always leaving.
I jerk awake and bump my head against the metal of the Dumpster. My hand, still reaching for Celia, is thrown over the side and is freezing in the night air.
Hopelessness floods through me. I love her so freaking much — but what’s the use in loving someone so fiercely who is dead?
I’m clutching something in my other hand, clutching it for dear life.
The pen.
I must’ve created it from the dream. Apparently I’ve got some M left after all.
Chapter 22
Whit
“WHIT, WAIT UP,” Wisty whines.
We’re on the outskirts of the City of Progress, and I’m barreling ahead of my sister on streets where New Order–confiscated middle-class homes jockey for space among abandoned, dilapidated buildings. I know neither Wisty nor I got the best night’s sleep behind One-Der Barfer, but sometimes when an idea strikes you just gotta move on it.
There are few armed soldiers this far out, but I can still hear the shrill howls of dogs scrabbling in the distance. Dogs that have been trained on our scent. Mobs probably lurking in every alleyway, eager to burn us to ashes. We have to keep moving, and now that I have a destination in mind, I want to get there as soon as possible.
Wisty jogs to catch up. “I thought we agreed we were going to head to the steam pipe. You’re going the wrong way.”
“I know, but I was thinking we’d take a little detour first.” Wisty stops and crosses her arms, and I clear my throat. “A short trip to the clinic where you volunteered with those sick kids, for example?”
Wisty doesn’t say anything. She’s probably thinking of her still-healing scabs and the terrifying fever-induced delusions she endured when she almost died just a few days ago.
I don’t blame her. It’s just that I can’t get that “message from our parents,” from Celia, out of my head, even if it was all a dream. “Don’t kill me! Listen, when I used my M to heal you, I felt this amazing relief to have you back, but there was something else, too. It felt right, like healing was exactly what my magic was meant for.”
“Hmm.” She leans against a rusting chain-link fence and examines the blister on her heel. She looks up, eyebrows raised, impatient.
“Then I had this crazy dream, and … I’m just starting to get this feeling that we should be doing more, and if I can help a few sick kids to get better and grow up to keep fighting against The One, that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.”
I expect Wisty to protest at least a little, but she nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. After what Pearl said about fulfilling the Prophecy, I’ve been thinking about what we can do to help, too. I do want to find the Resistance members if there’s a chance. But the steam-pipe area is likely toxic, heavily guarded, or both. Who knows? Maybe someone at the clinic has heard something about our friends.”
“Great,” I say, relieved.