Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [41]
“I —” I swallow. What do you say to a powerful fascist murderer?
“No matter,” he says, striding to the window and thrusting it open. “We don’t need to talk. I’m happy to just sit back and take in the sweet sounds of Orderly conduct. Leaps and bounds better than all of that horribly distracting music we used to have around, don’t you agree?”
His office window overlooks both the exercise yard, where we can hear the New Order Youth practicing drills, and the detainment area, from which pitiful shrieks and sobs erupt to punctuate the grimness of it all.
I am terrified of this man and his complete lack of empathy. I am terrified of his capacity for torture and his enjoyment of suffering. I am terrified of anyone unperturbed at the prospect of genocide.
But right now I have to be the model of New Order Youth, eager to usher in an age of death and destruction. High on horror.
“Sir, there’s been a terrible mistake,” I say to his back, my voice animated and full of conviction. “All I want — all I’ve ever wanted — is to serve the New Order with honor. I approached the Youth Troop because I was stirred by their conviction, but they mistook me for one of those despicable Resistance fighters.”
He turns around again and fixes me with his fake eye, twisting the ends of his mustache.
“I’ll do anything to join the N.O., sir. I particularly excel at torture and obeying authority.”
The general perches on the edge of his desk and methodically works the tip of a pencil through the eye of a teddy bear. “Save your lies for someone who’s interested,” he says. “I know exactly who you are, Wisteria Allgood, and you’re about to have a very interesting last few hours of your life.”
I swallow hard, imagining the gruesome acts that can be achieved with a sick mind and a few sharp instruments, but a nagging part of me is wondering how he knew.
Did Byron give me up — again?
Chapter 44
Wisty
“IF YOU KNOW who I am” — I try to keep my voice strong, try not to plead —“you know how valuable I am to The One Who Is The One. He’s your boss, right? As in, you answer to him?” I hate myself for using a man I loathe as a shield, but I feel trapped.
The general doesn’t say anything but takes out a slip of blue paper and calmly starts writing.
“If you harm even one hair on my head,” I press, “it will dilute my Gift. Maybe even ruin it. You can’t hurt me.”
“Level-five prisoner,” he reads, his pen poised above the paper. “Traitor to the people. Scheduled for confession of her crimes against the New Order.” He looks up at me, and his glass eye stares, unwavering. I feel a tight knot of panic in my chest. “Confession to be obtained by any means necessary.”
He knows who I am, and he’s not afraid. This man enjoys the screams of small children. Just what exactly might he have planned for me?
“You c-c-can’t do this,” I stammer. “You’ll pay for it! When The One finds out what you’ve done to my Gift, he’ll —”
The general’s face is a mask, his good eye seeming bored. “And where, pray tell, is this Gift of yours now, Ms. Allgood?”
I start to sweat, and my throat goes dry. He’s right. Where’s the fireball? Why aren’t I flaming out?
Why does my magic keep short-circuiting when I need it most?
I think about what Mrs. Highsmith said about my potential to control electrical impulses in the brain. I don’t quite believe it’s possible, but The One sure does. And if I ever get out of this office, I’m going to have to take him on. Maybe it’s worth finding out if I even possess this Gift that he so desperately covets.
I look at the general, his head bent over his desk, and imagine the evil thoughts flitting through that warped brain of his, imagine the unspeakable deeds he has in mind. I imagine those thoughts dissipating … evolving …
I concentrate every ounce of power I can muster into the effort, like a laser beam zeroing in on the head of a pin. Then I feel white-hot electrical energy sparking through my body, and just as I think my brain might explode, the general suddenly looks up from his writing.
“You know, Wisteria,” he says seriously,