Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [83]
And as we wave good-bye to Mom and Dad, knowing they’ll still be here when we get back, knowing they’re not in danger, and knowing how proud they are of their two determined children who just happen to be a witch and a wizard, it feels incredible to roll down the windows, rock out hard to the music blasting on the Free Youth Radio, and breathe in the just-a-little-bit-cleaner air, saturated with a new sense of hope.
Whit turns down the radio and looks at me, all seriousness. “So what’s next, Wist? The Prophecies said that we’re supposed to lead a new generation, that kids will rule the world …”
I nod, feeling not for the first time the crushing responsibility that has been placed on our shoulders. We dealt with The One, and now we’re supposed to just lead the whole world?
Whit continues, “What do you think that means for us now? There are all these former New Order zombies walking around dazed, like they don’t know what their purpose in life is without The One. If we’re not careful, all these drifters are going to turn to anarchic violence.”
Though the scenario is completely feasible, I’m still on an optimistic high. For once, Wisty the cynic is preaching about how great things are.
“You’re looking at this all wrong, though, Whit. All these people being confused and directionless isn’t a bad thing. It leaves the door wide open for the Resistance to get organized, focused, and strong.”
“You mean take advantage of the situation like The One did.”
I give Whit an eye roll that only a little sister can perfect.
“Except we’re not The One and we don’t have an evil agenda. This is a chance to step up and rehabilitate the land, and to make the people count.”
Whit nods and stares out at the people on the streets coming together, working to help their neighbors. I smile at a group of children playing in an alley. No N.O. uniforms. No guns. Almost no remnants of the Blood Plague.
“Okay but, Wisty, we really do need more of a plan here if we’re going to get anything done. What does ‘rehabilitating the land and making the people count’ mean for us today? What’s the first step? How do we make this happen?”
My brother, always the practical one.
I shrug. “Maybe it’s through music,” I suggest, cranking the radio back up. Whit sighs as I bang my head to the beat, but he’s grinning, too.
“I think Wisty makes a good point,” Byron pipes up out of nowhere from the backseat. I nearly jump out of my skin, and Whit swerves the van.
“Byron! What the —?” I smack his arm, but Swain just keeps right on inserting his unsolicited opinion as if he’s been part of the conversation all along.
“Historically, music has been really successful in uniting groups of people for a common cause. And remember how many kids came out in support of the Resistance at the Stockwood Music Festival? It was … incredible.”
His voice takes on a dreamy tone, and I know he’s thinking about the electric moment when my power flowed through him and we rocked a stadium packed full of screaming fans. Best night of my life. I’m getting chills thinking of it, too.
But as usual my annoyance with Byron Swain seems to override any other feeling. If he’s in the van now, it means he was in here before with Mom and Dad, too.
“You were here the whole time?” I demand. “You spied on our family’s most intimate moment?”
Byron nods, and without even hesitating, I zap him right back into weasel form.
“Aw, come on, Wist,” the critter squeaks at me, perched on the back of my seat. “You know I only did it because I wanted to get closer to you, learn more about your crazy witchy ways.”
“Yeah, keep talking, Byron. Hope you’re looking forward to a diet of birds’ eggs and mice, because you’re going to be a weasel for a very long time.”
The weasel makes some pathetic squeaking noises, and I start to feel bad for him. His little twitching nose tugs at my heartstrings. I change him back on a whim.
“Thanks,” he whispers in