Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [43]
I sit, leaning against one of the unmoving kids as the stupidity of what I’m about to attempt really hits me. I’m not ready for this.
All I want to do is run from this place, and keep running until I’m free: run into my mother’s arms, back into my childhood, to a place where the New Order never existed, and where I was never a witch, where I was never the one people were counting on.
But that’s not how it is, and it’s not how it’s ever going to be again.
So I ignore every warning screaming through my body, every flight response my nerves are sending out in alert. Instead, I stand back up. Instead, I walk toward my fate, head held high. I am going to find the most powerful being in our universe, and, though it seems like suicide, I’m going to fight him.
Because I’m the only one who can.
I shoo the little dogs away and creep across the courtyard. I’m not sure if my immobilization spell affected everyone or just the trainees, and I’m not taking chances.
I inch my way to the edge of the building and stealthily peer around the corner.
And immediately pull back in fear and drop to a crouch.
Because there, across the grounds on his way into an imposing red building, I see him.
The One Who Is The One.
The clouds part in front of him, and his bald head gleams in the sunlight. He strides along confidently with a New Order comrade, and he radiates power — a ruthlessness that makes my resolve crack and shatter.
As they get closer, I can see him more vividly, his handsome face hard, his Technicolor eyes hypnotic.
My breath is virtually knocked out of me as I realize who’s with him: none other than the weasel, Byron Swain. I look at the gravel rocks around my feet and consider lobbing one at his rodenty, traitorous little head.
That, or a lightning bolt.
Chapter 46
Whit
THE LOST ONES are preparing for dinner.
The valley is abuzz with activity as the zombie-eyed undead stroll back and forth to the forest, gathering bones for the fire.
Lost Children add brush; Lost Men, a tower of skulls. Do bones really burn? Apparently. An older Lost Woman gnashes her teeth at us and positions a long spear, sharpened at both ends, over the pile. A spit.
The only thing they have left to add is the meat.
Us.
Janine is with the Resistance kids on the other side of the fire pit, her hands wrapped tightly along a section of rope. A steady stream of tears is leaking out of her eyes, and she’s no longer making a move to brush them away. The kids look shell-shocked and paralyzed, and I don’t blame them.
How do you prepare to be eaten alive?
They’ve separated me from the others and bound me with twice the rope, so I can only assume I’ll be the first to burn.
Feffer lies at my feet, her legs bound together and sticking straight up in the air. The dog howls, and the sound is full of despair; she had guessed at the Lost Ones’ plans long before we did.
Shouts from the forest add to the din, and another chain of kids is dragged into the camp, a couple of them struggling hard against the ropes and passionately demanding justice. I sigh with relief to see that it’s Sasha yelling, with Emmet on his heels. They’re alive —
But not for long. My relief is immediately followed by an overwhelming queasiness. This is going to be the end of the entire Resistance.
“You’re not really planning to eat us, are you?” I say to a passing Lost One, who looks around my age. Despite Celia’s warnings, despite the feasting preparations, I can’t really make myself believe it.
“Of course,” the Lost One says, licking his scabby lips. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because these are people!” I scream, near hysterics. “Because these people have emotions, and lives. You can’t just go around eating them!”
“No?” he cocks his head, surveying the fire pit and the prey with the innocence of a child. Lost Ones obviously have no moral compass.
“I wish you were next,” the Lost Girl with the low, haunting voice says, tracing her decaying fingers