The Fire

by James Patterson

  But it doesn’t work, not without Wisty, and when I open my eyes, it’s getting worse: a frigid, unseen hand is sweeping over everything.

  Icy air blasts along the shoreline, and I follow with my eyes as the river freezes over, inch by inch. Hail tears through the sky, pelting down in sharp, relentless sheets that cut into my flesh. My breath billows in front of me, and ice crackles in my wet hair.

  The valley is a luminous masterpiece, an ice world glistening under the red clouds. It’s breathtaking.

  But the implications of The One’s power are devastating: Hell really has frozen over.

  Chapter 80

  Whit

  THEN, AS IN every situation I think is hopeless, Celia appears at my side.

  “Whit, I think I can help,” she says, her glow seeming brighter in the chaotic darkness. I feel better with her here even as we brace against the unfathomable wind and debris.

  And then I remember the power of the Half-lights. “Can you bring them? Can they defeat the darkness like they did before?” I shout over the raging weather and the screaming of the multitudes.

  “No,” she answers. “It doesn’t work like that, not against an evil so complete.”

  “What can you do, then?” I nearly wail. I’m freezing, soaked to the bone in the land of the dead, and my sister is still hovering next to the river, power surging out of her as The One holds her in his iron clutches.

  This is the definition of desperate.

  “I can’t explain,” Celia says. “This is personal, Whit. You don’t understand. He … he came into my cell late at night. He came to my bedside.”

  “What do you mean? Did he —?” I feel sick.

  “No, Whit. He’s the one who murdered me!” she yells. “He strangled me with his bare hands. He killed me — to get to the two of you.”

  I’m speechless. And angry. My hands shake with the effort of containing my fury. I understand why Celia needs her vengeance.

  Before I can ask what she’s going to do, she runs. Away from me. Toward him. It.

  “No, Celia, not like this!” I cry out. She doesn’t listen.

  She hurls herself into the eye of the storm. Into The One.

  She disappears right into his evil, swirling mass, and in seconds the storm has absorbed her like another small fleck of sand.

  I lurch forward, screaming her name.

  But she’s gone. Consumed.

  Chapter 81

  Wisty

  I WAKE UP lying on the hard, icy ground, feeling like I’ve been beaten up but oddly rejuvenated.

  The Shadowland is in utter turmoil, with dead people stumbling around screaming and hail tearing through the air.

  I spot Whit sobbing farther downstream. I make my way over to him, still kind of dazed, and when I touch his shoulder, he jumps, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. He’s staring at me like I’m a monster, and I suppose I look like one.

  “Wisty?” he croaks, touching my face, unbelieving. He envelops me in his arms and then holds me back to look at me again. “Wist, excuse me, but … how … how the heck are you still alive?”

  “Not really sure about that,” I admit. “Are you okay?” I eye his dirty, tear-stained face.

  “He took Celia,” my brother says, and his face is distorted with grief. “I mean … she sacrificed herself. I think she saved your life. It must’ve broken the connection. It’s all over …” Whit trails off, his speech disjointed with shock.

  I feel awful about Celia, but what he’s just told me makes me realize something: we still have a chance.

  “It’s not over, Whit. Not by a long shot. If I can survive prolonged electrocution and you can survive losing the person you love the most, it just proves we’re getting stronger. We’re finally ready, finally strong enough to end him.”

  “And if it doesn’t work?” Whit asks, his voice already defeated. “Are you ready for our own end as well?”

  “Yes,” I answer. What other choice do I have? This is the Prophecy; this is our purpose. And if we fail … well, life’s not going to be worth living anyway. “Are you?” I whisper.

  “If it means joining her, yeah,” Whit says, and my heart breaks for him.

  But there’s nowhere to go but forward. “One last shot?” I ask.

  “Let’s do this, little sis.” Whit nods, reliable until the very end, always willing to do anything it takes.

  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 really nothing left.

  My parents rush to Whit and me, and we’re all choking on our tears and squeezing one another tightly, just grateful we’re alive. But Whit breaks away from us.

  Finally able to have his time to grieve, my brother collapses to his knees on the gravel. “Celia!” Whit yells. “Celia, no! Celia, please!” Sobs overtake my poor, wrecked, heartbroken brother, and it feels like the end of everything.

  We’ve defeated The One, like the Prophecy said. The balance has been restored. But it doesn’t mean life will go back to the way it was. The One is gone, but many other things are gone, too. Like the parents of so many of these children. Like our homes. Like our innocence. Like our loved ones.

  “Come back!” Whit shouts, and I suppress a sob myself.

  It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

  Chapter 82

  Whit

  SEVERAL SECONDS PASS. No one says a word, and the silence shrieks in my ears like a million wailing ambulances.

  But then, as if taking a breath from a short swim, Celia emerges from a wisp of fog, glistening and spectacular. And I start breathing again.

  I stand up on shaking legs and try to take her into my arms — her light is so bright it’s almost blinding.

  I’m still sobbing. With all of that pain, all of that emotion finally unleashed, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop the torrent of tears again. In front of my parents, and my little sister, and the thousands of people in the crowd who have watched this whole spectacle and think I’m some big hero, I’m choking back hiccuping breaths like a kid.

  But I don’t care. All I can see is her.

  “I know, baby,” Celia whispers softly, her face so close to mine. “I know.”

  I can hardly feel her at all, and she’s not looking at me like she usually does. It’s like she’s still far away, less here. It’s seems like each time I see her, she’s less real.

  The One is gone, so why does everything still feel so very wrong? I don’t want to ask her why she’s different, why she’s looking at me like she’s already let us go, because my heart can’t take that right now. So instead I ask what every other soul here is wondering: How could she possibly come back from that writhing mass of One?

  “What did you do?” is all I can manage to say.

  Celia pulls back from me, slipping through my fingers. “I’m not sure. I think all of our powers were working in reverse. Magic works differently in the Shadowland. We think it passes through here to the Overworld from other realms, so —”

  “Talk to me like I’m not going crazy, Celes,” I say, groping to find a way to cup her ethereal face. “Even after all that’s happened, this is still too much to follow.”

  “You’re able to heal, so you were able to hurt,” she goes on. “Wisty can create electrical impulses, so she could shut them down, too. And I …” She pauses, trying to make sense of all of it. “You brought death to his body; Wisty brought it to his mind. And … well, I’m a Half-light, so I’m half life, half death. I think I brought death to his soul.”

  I’m still trying to process this. “I thought you’d become a part of that … monster.” My voice wavers, the sobs threatening to return.

  Celia nods slowly. “In a way, I did.” I can’t grasp that. “But I needed this, Whit. I needed to pay him back. For stealing my life. For stealing our life together.”

  Chapter 83

  Wisty

  THANKS TO MY brother’s awesome healing spells, the drawbridge across the River of Forever is back in working order, fully lowered and functional, looking like it never even encountered the wrath of the elements. And with The One’s influence gone, the crowds slowly begin to file across again.

  The Resistance — Emmet, Janine, Sasha, and the others — are standing downstream, holding hands and grinning at us. Sasha lets out a wild whoop and Emmet’s supporting a beaten but not broken Byron, who gives me a wan thumbs-up. I return the signal, and for a while we all watch as the natural order is restored, souls moving on and journeys coming to a close.

  I stand with my family, and Feffer runs up and licks my hand. After all this poor pup’s been through, she’s ready to go home. We all are.

  Someone starts softly singing one of the great Forbidden Hymns, and before long hundreds of people are singing together. The song builds and falls, and the voices are so beautiful you could almost forget we’re in the land of the dead. Hearing my mother sing again is almost too amazing for words.

  Then Dad motions for Whit to come toward him, and when he does, Dad squeezes him in a ferocious hug.

  “You take care of your sister, now, champ,” Dad says solemnly. “Like always.” He looks at me with a sparkle in his eyes. “And you. I know you’ll stay out of trouble, won’t you, Wisty? Make your old man proud. Like always.”

  Every alarm in my head goes off, and my autoimmune responses go nuts. We finally have our parents back. So why is this starting to feel like good-bye?

  “Dad?” I squeak, eyes searching and welling with tears, and when he won’t meet my gaze: “Mom?” I look to her, demanding an answer.

  She strokes my hair. “It’s our time, sweets. We’ve been here waiting, just like everybody else. It’s time to finally see what’s on the other side of that river.”

  They step forward to join the line of spirits. “To cross over,” my dad confirms.

  Chapter 84

  Wisty

  PANIC CONSTRICTS MY chest while adrenaline surges into my ears. I’m pulling at my tangled hair as angry, ugly tears stream freely down my face.

  My parents are moving toward the bridge, holding hands, brave, ready to face their fates, just like they were that day at the execution. And just like that day, I feel utterly helpless. Just like that day, I’m going to let my parents slip right through my fingers.

  And The One wins. Again.

  “Wait!” I shout, the plaintive, sharp edge of the word piercing the air.

  Mom and Dad turn, expectant. They are two tiny, anonymous silhouettes against the red gash of sky.

  “Just … wait a minute,” I whimper softly, my mind racing. “This feels wrong. This is not how it’s supposed to go.”

  “I know, I know, sweetie,” my mom coos to me, stroking my hair, trying to calm me down. Placating me.

  I brush her hand away. “No! I mean, it really feels wrong. It’s time, yes, but what if it’s time for us to go home again? All of us. Together.”

  I step between my parents and the crowds of people streaming along the River of Forever. The wind whips against me. Please, I chant to myself. Please. Please.

  “But, honey,” Mom reasons, “we’re dead. You have to understand that this is what happens next.”

  “They got it wrong. I just know that it’s all wrong,” I plead, my eyes burning from the tears. I squeeze my mother’s arms. “I can feel you. You’re not spirits, and you’re not Lost Ones. You have substance. How do you explain that?”

  My dad looks around at the spirits, at the flowing river flickering through their bodies. “It’s true, Eliza. We never lost that, not like … everybody else.”

  “But how are we still … part of the living?” Mom asks. “I felt death. I felt my breath leave my body.”

  I shake my head, uncertain. “Maybe it has to do with The One. He used that power to … vaporize you … so maybe now that he’s gone, the spell is lifted. Maybe now you can go home.”

  Dad puts his hand in Mom
’s. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe we really can go home. We can certainly try.”

  “It’ll work.” I nod vigorously, suddenly relieved, suddenly more sure of this than I’ve been of anything in my life: my parents weren’t meant to die. At least not that day.

  I’m beaming at them, so excited, but something else is wrong.

  Whit is looking at Celia with the most heartbreaking expression I’ve ever seen. Anybody can see that he’s hoping the same is true for her. He touches her arm, but it’s still flickering somewhere between here and there.

  Not solid.

  She shakes her head before he can say anything, and he interlaces his hand with hers. “It could work, Celes. You don’t know for sure if —”

  “I know,” she whispers, a single tear sneaking out of her eye. If it were just her and Whit she might break down, but with my whole family watching her guiltily, she sucks it up and takes a deep breath.

  “It’s not like with your parents, Whit. It wasn’t a mistake with me; it wasn’t a spell. I was murdered by the hands of a greedy, violent person, and I don’t get to come back. I don’t get a future. I know you don’t want me to go, but —”

  “Then why were you a Half-light? You weren’t like all of the other spirits at the river, just waiting to cross over. Why would you cross now?” Whit refuses to back down.

  “I think I’ve been stuck in the Shadowland so that I could help you, protect you like you always tried to protect me when I was alive. Having that chance to help destroy The One was my purpose. I know it sounds impossible, but … I’m ready. I’m ready to cross over, to be all light.”

  Whit shakes his head defiantly, and Celia takes his face in both of her hands.

  “Yes, baby. It’s my time.”

  Chapter 85

  Whit

  “YOU’LL SEE ME again someday, Whit. One day you’ll have to cross the river yourself.”