Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [49]
I bite my tongue, studying him. A single exposed lightbulb swings from the ceiling, and the sense of being in an interrogation room isn’t lost on me. He could have the place bugged. Who knows who he’s working for? This could be a trap —
Deep breath. You have to trust someone, Wisty. This could be your last chance.
“Look, Byron,” I say calmly, rationally, “I know we haven’t always been on the best of terms, but this is serious. This is the big time. Everything before this was just training leading up to this moment. I’m going to get him this time. I’m going to take on the greediest, most corrupt tyrant the world’s ever known.” I put a hand on Byron’s and summon my revolutionary voice. “Don’t you want to be part of that?”
He perches on the table in the corner and crosses his arms, unmoved. He purses his lips as if waiting for a better offer. My patience? Out the window.
Time for a different approach.
“Would you like to be a rodent, Swain?” I ask. “Because it’s been a long time since I turned you back from a weasel, and frankly I think the look really worked for you, really meshed with your personality type.”
Byron takes out some new techie gadget and waves it threateningly. “And would you like me to call in the New Order officials right now and have you thrown back behind bars? It would just take the touch of a button. You forget that I’m the one who has power here, Wisty. That it’s you asking me for help.”
I roll my eyes. “Are we still playing that game? Hello — I’m trying to get closer to The One. The One, who was going to fry you up as soon as he was done with you. And you’re going to … what? Just swing back to the traitorous side and send in the troops?”
Byron shrugs, vague as ever. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Something’s off, even for smarmy Byron. “Why are you being so weird?” I demand. “You seemed almost, well, normal last time I saw you, and now you’re back to this passive-aggressive charade. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Byron shrugs, silent. Something is seriously up if the weasel doesn’t have a grating comeback.
“Byron?”
“You’re acting as if you care about my well-being,” he whines.
I sigh. It’s so easy to forget that the weasel has human emotions. “I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s not a lot of time. Forgive me if I’m not coming off as warm and fuzzy as I usually do.” I roll my eyes to emphasize the irony.
Silence.
“Come on, B. You and I have been through hell and back together. You know I care.”
A cloud passes over his face. “I heard about your little lip-locking session with Pearce,” Byron mumbles.
“You mean when that snake assaulted me?” I’m incredulous. “Yeah, Swain, I’m really drooling over that baby killer and his creepy cold hands. He attacked me, but I see that that part of the gossip didn’t make it through to you.” Byron doesn’t answer, which just makes me fume. “Why do you care anyway?” I challenge.
“I guess I just thought we had something, Wisty,” he says quietly, his pride clearly wounded.
Oh. That. “We’re talking about life and death here, Byron, and you’re telling me you’re jealous?”
Byron’s face immediately shuts down, and he strides over to the shelves, grabbing armfuls of stun devices, ropes, and a megaphone for the next round of drills.
I keep my distance on the other side of the small room, watching his agitated, jerky movements with guilt. I don’t want to hurt Byron, but I don’t want to like him either. That intense connection we had playing onstage together at the Stockwood Music Festival frankly still freaks me out.
“Byron, don’t take it personally, I just —” “
Whatever,” he says, back to his clipped New Order demeanor. He turns to go.
“Hey,” I call after him, “just get me in the palace, okay?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he says noncommittally. Then he turns back around. “And, Wisty …?” Byron’s face looks suddenly grave, and dread settles in the pit of my stomach.