The Fire

by James Patterson

  I cannot do this. I cannot let Celia go. Not again.

  “You don’t know that. You don’t even know what’s on the other side, or if we’ll ever see each other again. Do you really want to take that chance, Celia? Just leave all this — everything we have — and go into some unknown?”

  We walk away from the group, where Sasha is arranging a buddy system for the journey back to the Overworld. Wisty is giving me a look of utter pity, and in the moment I totally resent her for it.

  “Whit, don’t be like this,” Celia says while we’re walking. “You know I was never meant to stay here. I think everybody can agree that pale was never a good look for me.” She laughs, but it feels forced.

  I don’t even crack a smile in response, and I’m staring into her eyes solemnly. Celia looks sad but frustrated, too. She knows that, for the first time ever, I don’t want her to have what she wants. I need to be completely selfish for once in my life.

  “Come on, baby, do you really want to see me stuck here in this limbo, never able to experience The After, and instead getting weaker and more consumed by death every day?” I won’t meet her eyes. “Is that what you really want for me?” she presses.

  Yes! I want to shout. I want you within arm’s reach, always. A portal away, stuck in this hell, if it means I don’t have to lose you.

  Instead I sigh and shake my head no, feeling guilt and unbearable desire at the same time.

  “At least we get to say good-bye this time. Come here.”

  Celia pulls me close, and for a brief, exhilarating moment, we merge. I feel her light surge through me, more warm, more healing than I could’ve imagined. My head swirls with love and beauty, and when we part, I think I finally understand.

  What we had was so perfect in the world before the New Order, but that isn’t the world anymore, and we’re not the same people. I can’t keep her trapped in this prison just so she can be the idealized version of what I hoped to have.

  I’m ready to let her go.

  I inhale her sweet scent and bury my face in her curls, and then watch as she walks away from me. No good-byes. That merge was everything we needed to say.

  Janine comes up and stands by my side, her hand on the small of my back, comforting me, supporting me as Celia disappears over the bridge, light forming a bright halo around her.

  After she crosses, I look down at Janine’s face, drained and unbelievably pale. It looks like it’s all she can do to keep standing, let alone sustain me.

  “Janine!” I shout, alarmed.

  It’s okay, she mouths, and then collapses into my arms.

  Chapter 86

  Whit

  WE PULL UP to the old house, Dad and Mom in the front, me and Wisty bickering over who gets to sit closest to the one functioning window in the back, just like old times. You’d think that after conquering the world’s most evil being and restoring peace and order for all, we’d be a little more mature, but sometimes the most comforting thing in the world is being able to hold your kid sister in a headlock and beg your mom to change the radio station already.

  We sit in the van for a few minutes — it’s the old van from the Resistance days — taking in the neighborhood. The tree I crashed into on my bike, the bush next door where Wisty hid when she ran away, the porch swing where I used to kiss Celia. Mrs. Tillinghast across the street reviving her garden, Mr. Hsu taking the boards off his doors and windows. We’re not quite ready to believe we’re really here, that all of this is real, that our old lives are where we left them.

  I’m aghast. “I thought it was all gone. Wiped out by the New Order.”

  “Amazing what kind of magic can happen when good triumphs over evil,” Dad says seriously. “Never underestimate the difference it can make.”

  “Stuff actually looks pretty much the same,” Wisty quips.

  “Yep, even the same leaky pipes, same garage door that sticks, same bathroom needing a coat of paint,” Mom says wryly, looking at Dad.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” he replies, but they’re both smiling from ear to ear.

  He takes her hand, and they turn around in their seats to look at us.

  “Do you know how very, very proud of you guys we are?” Mom says, tears glistening in her eyes. “You’re the most courageous, compassionate kids — nearly adults — that any parent could ask for.”

  It sounds cheesy, but Wisty and I are seriously beaming like a couple of morons.

  “We owe you so much,” Dad continues. “Not just our freedom, or our home, but our lives, and each other. Without you we’d be —” My parents lock eyes, and Dad’s start to well up.

  “Dad, you don’t owe us anything.” My voice cracks.

  My dad shakes his head as if waving the emotion away. “All I’m saying is you did good, kids.” He squeezes my shoulder and then Wisty’s hand. Tears are streaming down my sister’s face.

  We sit like that for a minute, just thankful for one another, and then Mom starts laughing and wipes the water off her cheeks.

  “So what are we waiting for?” she asks so brightly that we all laugh, too. “Let’s get our house back.”

  Feffer barks her assent from the back, and we follow her out of the van and walk together up to the front steps. Wisty looks up at me, and I nod.

  “This is as far as we go,” I tell my parents, stopping on the porch.

  Mom looks concerned. “You’re not leaving already?”

  “We have to, Mom,” Wisty says, hugging her. “There are still things we have to do out there. Evil didn’t die just because The One did.”

  Dad frowns. “Evil is going to be there anytime you look for it. The work will never be done. Maybe you should take some time to be yourselves, to just be kids for a bit.” Wisty looks at me. We both hesitate, but we know what needs to be done.

  “It feels like we stopped being kids a long time ago, Pops,” I say gently. “You guys let us be kids for as long as you could, and we had an amazing childhood. But now we know who we are — what we are — and that we have a bigger responsibility.”

  Dad looks at Mom, who nods, pressing her lips together. I can see the anxiety on their faces, but they know we’re making the right call, and they’re proud, too. “All right, then. Come back and visit. We’ll be here this time. I know you’ll take care of each other and trust your instincts, and I hope you’ll always follow your hearts.”

  He turns to me. “And, guys?” My father gives each of us a long look filled with conflict, and I stare at him questioningly. But in the end he just shakes his head decisively and shrugs. “Come here” is all he says, enveloping Wisty and me in a fierce hug. He grips the back of my neck. “Just be careful,” he whispers.

  “Always.” I nod.

  As we walk away from our parents once again, I know that there’s so much more about this world to understand and learn. But this time, I’m ready.

  Chapter 87

  Wisty

  WHIT AND I pull out of our driveway in our rusty old van that we recovered from the local N.O. OFFICIALS ONLY lot. We may be unsure of where we’re going, but we’re positive we’ll find friends when we get there.

  Our street buzzes with activity. There is still evidence of the mass destruction caused by The One — leveled buildings and unused watchtowers casting shadows on the rubble below — but in just a few days since the collapse of the New Order, you can already feel change afoot.

  For one, there are people everywhere. Not soldiers in black boots waving automatic rifles but everyday citizens emerging from behind their blackened windows and repairing their collapsed porches. No longer looking at their neighbors from behind a veil of suspicion. Letting down their cloaks of fear inch by inch.

  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 Yout
h 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 my ear, “but I was serious about just wanting to get close to you, Wisty.”

  Then, before I know what’s happening, awkward, annoying, insufferable Byron Weasel Swain leans in for the most tender, electric kiss I could never have even imagined — especially coming from him.

  Whit gives a low whistle.

  My head spins, my stomach flips, and my heart surges. This can’t be good.

  “Now, that,” I say, dazed, when he finally pulls back, “does not bode well for your future.”

  Chapter 88

  Whit

  THE ONE MAY be gone and the New Order may be mostly wiped out, but there is still so much to do.

  I turn off the ignition, and Wisty, Byron, Emmet, and Sasha leap out of the van, stretching their legs.

  Byron’s got his arm around Wisty’s waist, and Sasha’s giving them both a hard time about it. Wisty’s blushing a deep crimson, but I notice she doesn’t shrug away from Byron’s touch. She looks … like she’s having fun. She looks happier than I’ve seen her since the New Order came and turned everything upside down.

  Janine turns to me from the front passenger seat. “By the way, I don’t think I’ve even had a chance to say thank you, for saving my life and healing me back in the Shadowland.”

  I grin. “We were just going to ditch you back by the river, but I guess I just kinda like having you around.”

  She laughs, then looks out the window at the scene awaiting us. “You ready?” she asks, squeezing my hand. I take a deep breath and squeeze back.

  “More ready than I’ve ever been,” I say, and we follow the others outside.

  The building is not as I remember it. The front door has been replaced, the holes have been patched up, and people are high on ladders, working to rebuild the blown-out upper floors.

  Holiday lights sparkle across the balcony, and shiny ornaments wink from windows. The snow globe sits in a place of honor on the porch.

  The Needermans peer out from their doorway. Not one looks to the sky for bombs. Their clothes aren’t new, but they’re newer. Their hope isn’t totally restored, but it’s being patched up. And they’ll do fine. They’ll persevere, and thrive. Because that is what survivors do every day of their lives.

  Pearl Marie wriggles out from behind Mama May and runs over to us, a goofy smile on her face. She leaps into my arms and throws her hands around my neck.

  “You did what you said you would,” she marvels. “You actually got us free, just like you promised. That’s unbelievable.”

  “You expected any less, kid? I’m a scary witch,” says Wisty, wiggling her fingers. She playfully jabs me in the ribs. “And Whit is a wise old wizard.”

  I can’t help grinning at my kid sister. “See, Pearl Marie? Didn’t we tell you we’d come back? Didn’t I promise?”

  Pearl nods and fixes me with her wide gray eyes, the eyes of a seven-year-old far too jaded for her years but moving tentatively toward trust in the good of the world.

  I’ve never been more relieved to be able to keep a promise.

  As we walk through the streets, busy with new life, I get it now. There are no endings, and there are no fairy tales. But the pages keep being written. Time soldiers on.

  Who knows if our darkest days are behind us? Or if The One will be the only person to bring them? All I know is, it was all real, every moment.

  I can close the book on this part of our history. I can start a new chapter, but it doesn’t matter.

  Because now, the magic is everywhere.

  TRADITIONS AND THE FIGUREHEADS THEREOF WHO PLACE A DEITY ABOVE THE ONE WHO IS THE ONE

  as Outlawed by The One Who Manages Traditions, Customs, Rituals, Practices, And Beliefs

  Accem (noun, proper):

  Millions of people in a pious group made a point to visit this ancient city at least once in their lifetime and to pray, neck-to-floor, five times daily toward its geographic location. The New Order has subsequently banned all compasses so that the position of the previously holy city cannot be traced.

  free will (noun):

  A delusional idea that humans are in control of their own destiny and not subject to the benevolent rule of The One Who Is The One. Because of the popularity of this disgraceful way of thinking among unenlightened previous generations, citizens today need constant reminders that submission
to the New Order is the One true way.

  miracles (noun):

  Coincidental events that promote excitement and/or belief in false powers or deities higher than The One Who Is The One. All such unexplained events must be deleted from memory straightaway.

  Mopus Day (noun, proper):

  An ancient tradition that called for the most strict and sterile lifestyle, down to its followers’ modest garments and rigid schedule. The New Order found its obstinate worship of a deity other than The One Who Is The One objectionable, and the movement was disbanded, but many of its ascetic traditions have been implemented into everyday life at the Brave New World Center.

  pray (verb):

  The curious act of acknowledging — and attempting to talk to — a being reported to rank higher than The One Who Is The One. Anyone caught with hands folded together or bowed at the waist on the floor, without reference to The One, will be subject to the most gruesome punishment possible.

  Prophecies (noun):

  Chantable verses that claim to tell the future, often in unlistenable and unlawful poetry form. Prophecies are fabricated nonsense created by rebellious teenagers looking to cause mayhem. It is against the law for such utterances to be passed on in any form, regardless of how ominous they may sound or how clever their rhyme scheme.

  The Reformed Nation (noun, proper):

  When known Resistance sympathizer Barton Ruthmer posted an excessive list of complaints against the regime on the front door to the New Order palace compound, he was promptly executed. His remaining followers, should there be any left, will be, too.

  (MORE) ESPECIALLY OFFENSIVE BOOKS THAT HAVE BEEN BANNED

  as Dictated by The One Who Bans Books

  THE ADVENTURES OF YINGYING: A silly, young self-employed detective with absurd hair travels the world with his small dog and forces his way into situations where his presence is unwanted. This book’s accounts of a common citizen’s brazen attempts to take the law into his own hands were loathsome, and the series frequently disregarded the infallible scrutiny involved in passing passport checkpoints. It has been banned from bookshelves to avoid any more fantastical errors.