Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [76]
“A mere parlor trick!” exclaims The One. At least I think it’s The One. It’s his voice, but it’s somehow deeper, bigger. And it’s coming from all around.
Where is he?
It’s like … he’s everywhere. He’s the weather itself, he’s every disaster rolled into One. Thunder, wind, earthquake, volcano … and now, as the clouds burst, the steady, stinging downpour of rain.
I’m dizzy, weakened from the M expended on the meteor, and my head is in such excruciating pain I can barely stand.
Something is changing.
I look to Whit for support, but I can’t see him. I can’t see anything but light, but I can feel the tug of the elements inside my skull, all of them pulling for one thing, one jolt of static, one frenetic spark. …
One bolt of lightning — fire. My fire.
By using the elements to create every condition to force lightning to strike, he can suck The Gift right out of me.
I feel something in me opening up, seeping out. It’s happening. It’s all happening, I think through the pain and confusion.
And then …
Chapter 79
Whit
IT HAPPENS IN seconds.
The pregnant clouds loom over us, thick and ominous, dark shadows appearing on our faces. It starts to rain.
In the next moment, my sister is no longer my sister.
Her eyes roll back into her head, and foam gathers at the corners of her lips.
Bolts of electricity light up the red sky, and Wisty’s body shakes and shudders. The lightning is coming from her — from her Gift — but she’s not controlling it.
He is.
“Wisty, no!” I shriek, lunging forward. My dad’s strong arms hold me back.
“Don’t touch her, Whit!” my mom sobs. “I can’t lose you, too!” There is nothing any of us can do except watch as my sister’s power surges into the sky, taking her with it.
But I can’t watch. I have to figure out what to do, how to stop this … thing. I turn away, stumbling over myself, but it’s all happening too fast, too certainly, too powerfully. I can’t decide what to do because all I can do is react.
Pellets of rain pound into us, along with sand and gravel kicked up by the wind.
The frothy waves of the river writhe like a bundle of snakes, the foam rising higher and higher before finally spilling over the shore and flooding the valley, carrying people away or pulling them under, even as I grab for them. The water crashes relentlessly into the bridge, finally splintering its supports and dragging it into the murky depths.
“No!” Celia shouts over the howling wind, stumbling forward, her hand outstretched. It’s too late. The plaintive cries of other souls join hers. Without that bridge, no one will ever be able to cross over again.
I turn away from her pain, unable to help her right now. Because if I don’t focus on the seam in the earth, which is getting deeper, wider, longer in mere seconds, running along the ground like an animal chasing our feet, I’ll be swallowed up.
My mother and father lurch and stumble, following the crowds to higher ground. At least there are no buildings to crush us in this forsaken place.
It’s all I can do to lock my knees against the thrashing wind and shut my eyes against the spray of water as the river churns cylindrically upward into the swirling waterspout of a tornado.
And the whole time, my sister is a trembling, electrified zombie at the whim of a madman.
Do something, Whit.
I don’t know where to go when everywhere I turn is death. I don’t even know what I’m fighting. How can you target the air, the water, the earth, all at once without ever being able to see the person who’s doing the damage?
Do something.
I guess I target the magic.
I squeeze my eyes tight against the nightmare, concentrate on fixing the damage done, on healing the wounded. On repairing the bridge. On the open gash of the earthquake closing like a slow zipper, the rocks shifting and groaning. On The One turning to smoke, hoping his reign will end the way he vaporized so many