Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [59]
“Give it to me!” he shrieks over and over, pressing, pressing. I try to twist away, but he clenches my temples even harder. I’d do anything to make him stop.
And then … I understand.
If I can control electrical impulses of the brain … can I just stop them, too? Can I shut them down? Can I … kill someone? Just by concentrating on it?
Mrs. Highsmith said in no uncertain terms that I had to “deal with” The One.
Murder, she meant. A horrible, stifling guilt chokes me, but in that second, with The One’s psychopathic eyes trained on me, I feel a lightning bolt strike between us. It lifts my feet right off the ground.
I don’t know how I got here, or what to do.
But I don’t know how to stop it either.
“No, Wisteria …,” he gasps. “Not like that.” His grip slides off, and he collapses to the floor. Panicked, I stand looking at his unconscious face, the white noise deafening in my ears.
I kneel down and slowly put my head on his chest, listening.
I’m shaking. I’m shaking and emotional and volatile, and I feel that familiar heat starting in my fingers. I stand up abruptly. I can’t be here. Taking one last look around this paradise, I run past the artwork, past the guitars and sculptures with missing arms and noses, the girl on fire racing down the long, accusing hallway of mirrors.
Chapter 65
Wisty
I DON’T KNOW where I’m going, and I’m sobbing so hard I can barely see. I tear through the hall, down the stairs, into another hall of suites, not even feeling my legs carrying me.
And then I’m hit by a bus.
Well, that’s what it feels like anyway.
Pearce has tackled me and rolled on top of me, and I hate myself for always finding him so attractive when I first see him. Luckily, every word that Pearce utters and every kid he tortures overrides that hormonal response to his bone structure pretty quickly.
“Is he dead?” Pearce shouts over me, eyes blazing. I stare into his face, unsure if he’s hoping more for a yes or a no. He shakes my shoulders, slamming me into the floor. “Tell me, witch! Is he —?”
“No!” I yell back. “He’s alive. He’s still alive.” I note his use of the word witch. “So you know that I’m …”
Pearce laughs like I’m the stupidest person in the Overworld. “Ah, yes, the infamous Wisteria Allgood, wanted fugitive.” He grips my hair, and I turn away from his touch. “Even without your precious red hair, I was on to you. That’s the weakest attempt at a disguise I’ve ever seen. I should’ve killed you when I had the chance, should’ve slaughtered you like a pig on that filthy floor.”
“Why didn’t you?” I challenge, fury building at remembering my humiliation in the barracks. “You were afraid of me, admit it.”
“I didn’t think you were worth it. But don’t worry.” His face is inches from mine, and his words drip with hatred. “I won’t miss my chance this time. Believe me when I say that I want you dead even more than The One wants your Gift.”
“The feeling is mutual, Pearce,” I say, and he smirks.
“Glad we got to have a little foreplay first, though. Did it turn you on, Ms. Allgood? Did you find it … hot?”
“That wasn’t my idea of hot … but this is!” Flames erupt from my body as if I’m doused in gasoline. I burn brightly, consumed with fury for this waste of a human being.
I shove him off me and scramble to hold him down, my fire licking at his face. He doesn’t seem to be burning. He’s not even sweating. I press in and Pearce rolls away, leaping up. I scramble after him to try to fight, but he’s physically stronger than I am and he snatches my arm away.
And in that stunned moment, I realize my fire is having absolutely no effect. He’s immune. He lunges in and grips my forehead, ready to melt my skull.
The brief second of contact is all I need.
Energy explodes between us, and I can instantly feel Pearce’s synapses begin to shut down. His eyes roll back into his head, and foam starts to form at his mouth.
I’m killing him. Tears rush down my cheeks.