Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [78]
So, once again, Whit and I turn to face this world crumbling around us. We face our nemesis, The One Who Is The One, The One Who Wants To Play God, The One Who Disturbed The Order Of The Whole World, The One Who Must Pay.
If we go down, it’ll be in a blaze of glory.
“Ready?” I ask Whit.
“As ever,” he replies.
“Go!”
I erupt into flame, and it’s my most epic fireball yet. I feel like a small sun rolling toward the river of ice, and the hail turns to light rain as my warmth hits the air. The heat around me is more intense than any I’ve ever generated, and the crowds of spirits shield their eyes from the blinding blue-and-white flames licking at their faces. My fire rises higher and higher, vaporizing The One’s ice into sizzling clouds of effervescent beauty.
It’s awesome!
Whit uses his healing power to repair the drawbridge, the broken earth, and the mutilated bodies along the shore.
We’re doing so much, so fast, it feels like we’re unstoppable for a moment, but I can already feel our power waning as the tornado, still swirling, rakes its way toward us, driving up dirt and sand and growing by the second as it shrieks its tantrum. It towers above us, a ferocious monster pulling us with powerful magnetism into its dark depths.
Whit and I stare upward, mouths slack. We can’t even see the top.
I grip my brother’s hand, and we face our fate, but Whit’s heart isn’t in it without Celia, and I’m half afraid he’s going to throw himself into that writhing, churning mass of debris and be consumed as well. His face is crumbling, disintegrating, then his eyes shut tight as if he’s going to explode in pain.
I see the situation spiraling out of control. Without Whit, we’ll lose our edge. That I know.
“Keep fighting, Whit!” I scream at my brother over the howl of the storm. “With everything you have. For Mom’s sake, for Dad’s sake.” He’s still not hearing me. “Come on, Whit! Do it for Celia!”
His eyes fly open, his purpose renewed.
And now everyone at the river — my parents; Janine; Emmet and Sasha; all of these spirits and bent, lost souls — chants the immortal words of the Prophecy, eyes shut against the furious wind:
A boy and a girl, fated to rule all. Two will rise, and One will fall.
How can a mere poem, a chant, a Prophecy, compete with this force of evil? It seems insane.
But it’s like Whit and I are absorbing all of the strength that has been long buried in these people, and all of the old magic our parents themselves possess. Whit squeezes my hand fiercely, and we throw every ounce of M we have at the beast. The effort of the intense concentration makes my head pound and my arms ache. I feel like sobbing. We’re so close.
Then, something … magical … happens.
The tornado starts to dissolve, the water and sand and rock and ice falling to the ground as the swirling slows and the eye closes in on itself. I shield my face but focus my M even more intensely. The One’s armor falls away, the rain dries up, the raging winds cease their howling.
The One Who Is The One now stands in front of us again, nothing more than a man. He shudders, his eyes dull and unseeing.
“One will fall!” the crowds shout in unison. “One will fall!”
The throbbing at my temples becomes almost unbearable, and pain sears again behind my eyes as I focus every ounce of electrical power at him. I feel like I’m in a microwave on high, the colors vibrating all around me in hallucinogenic waves. I’m blacking out.
“ONE! WILL! FALL!”
The One’s pupils dilate, his eyes two gaping black holes, and, as if possessed, he croaks, “A single spark!”
And then he just … dissolves before our very eyes.
The crimson sky lights up with a bright blast like a bomb exploding, and the pressure lessens and lifts, the power slowly stops flowing from my fingertips, and I feel, for once, free.
It’s real.
There’s nothing left of Our Great and Noble Leader but a dark, shadowlike stain flickering on the gray-pebbled bank. And, after a moment, even the shadow disappears.
I stare at that patch of ground for a long time. There’s