Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [29]
I flex my fingers in response, and then he starts to laugh — deep, rolling peals of laughter that are incredibly unsettling coming out of that stern, cruel face. The rest of us stand around awkwardly, not really sure what’s so hilarious, but Pearce just keeps right on cackling. The guy is seriously unhinged.
“Mano a mano,” he snorts. “How about mojo a mojo?” And then out of that wide, gaping mouth of his bursts a powerful gust of wind.
Next thing I know I’m on the ground, coughing, confused, and breathless, my feet knocked clear out from under me. He blew me right over. Like I was a blade of grass.
As I’m trying to get my breath back, Pearce’s face becomes serious.
“Your M doesn’t work so well in the city anymore, does it, Golden Boy?” he purrs. “Unfortunately for you, mine does.”
Chapter 28
Wisty
“WHIT!” I YELL, struggling against the three big goons who’ve now got my arms wrenched behind my back.
My brother holds up a hand, telling me to chill, like he’s got this whole nightmarish scene under control, but he’s on his knees, already down. Blood from his nose is making awful, bright patterns on the asphalt.
Whit can’t expect me to just stand here and watch as Pearce does his face-melting trick on him, too, can he? After I’ve already watched my parents die, and my friend Margo, and countless innocent kids, now I’m just supposed to do nothing as my brother takes on this complete sociopath?
Pearce smirks at me with the look of a person who enjoys torturing small animals, and something in me snaps. Now that the glamour has worn off, my M is coming back. My fingers start to tingle, my face gets hot, my temper boils over, and then …
I … just … explode.
The guys holding me drop my arms, wincing as if they’ve been singed, and suddenly there are three-foot flames reaching out from my body, white-hot and roaring.
I start to move toward Pearce, my wall of fire reaching for him, but he doesn’t budge.
He doesn’t even look frightened.
Unfortunately, before I can scorch anyone in a blaze of glory, I’m tackled by at least ten of the seven-footers, who proceed to stop, drop, and roll all over me.
So much for the New Order freak roast.
Chapter 29
Whit
“BRAVO. BRAV-O!”
Pearce claps slowly in mock appreciation. He’s licking his lips and circling Wisty closely, that predatory smile playing across his face.
“I must say, Wisteria,” he taunts, his lips nearly brushing her ear, “if I didn’t hate you so much, I might be in love.”
Wisty scowls, and I lurch at him. I’m immediately restrained by the giants. “If you even touch her, I’ll —”
Pearce’s icy eyes twinkle with amusement. “You’ll … what? Write a poem about it?”
“Absolutely. It’ll be called ‘Ode to a Smashed Face,’ ” I quip lamely, trying to hide my alarm.
“Ah, yes. ‘Mano a mano,’ ” Pearce says mockingly, making air quotes with his hands, then pauses. “What do you say, Whitford, still up for a little fight to the death?”
“Uh …,” I stall. A breeze wafts in the smell of the sea-water behind us, but I can think only of the giant’s skull grinning up from the bottom of the harbor, and it makes me queasy.
Wisty shoots me a look of alarm and disapproval. This is so not what we’re into, but I feel backed into a corner here. And, though I’m ashamed to admit it, there’s a tiny, dark, sick part of me that wonders if I could actually do it.
I nod at Pearce uneasily.
“Whit!” Wisty protests, and I try to convey What else am I supposed to do? with my eyes. I glance around at the eerie setting — the demolished buildings, the abandoned path, the waves crashing against the shore again and again like they have for millions of years. Apart from homeless plague sufferers squatting in the doorways of half-fallen buildings, there’s no one around. No one else to bear witness. No one to hear me beg for mercy.
Maybe I can just knock him unconscious long enough to get out of here.
“Brilliant. Rency …?” Pearce looks behind him.
The biggest goon of the bunch steps forward