Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss

by James Patterson

  “Byron…” I start, but thankfully, he’s walking away.

  Or not. He pulls the plug to the amp, and the music dies. Complaints erupt around the room, but Byron ignores them all and stands in front of Heath, arms crossed over his chest.

  “You’re upset. I understand,” Heath says, his voice thick with amusement. “But I’m not the problem here. Wisty knows what she wants”—I see where this is going; I start to open my mouth to object, but he’s too fast—“and she didn’t choose you, friend.”

  Byron gives Heath a sudden hard shove. “I’m not your friend,” he spits.

  “Whoa,” I gasp. “Byron!”

  Heath takes a step back, still smiling, but from the tilt of his head, I’m guessing he’s not going to give Byron another shot. From what we all saw during the foolball game, Byron would have to have a death wish to attempt it.

  Of course, he tries to push forward again anyway.

  “I said, enough!” I yell, stepping between them. I throw a spark in warning, and the lights flicker. Everyone in the club is watching us now, eyes round. “Just leave us alone, okay?” I say, lowering my voice.

  “How could you be with him, Wisty?” Byron pleads, his voice cracking, and I feel totally awful. “After everything we’ve been through, making magic together.”

  That was nothing like this. “Byron,” I say gently, touching his arm. The heat is gone from my fingers now. “We were never… I—”

  “I mean, how can you even touch a New Order Youth like Heath?” He shrugs off my hand with disgust.

  I stare back at him, agape. Is he serious? Half the citizens in the City are former N.O…. including Byron.

  Heath cocks an eyebrow. “Think you better quit while you’re behind, friend.” His voice is smooth as silk, but there’s an undeniable edge to it now.

  Byron’s hair has fallen across his brow. His face is blotchy with fury and his mouth is pressed tight with suppressed insults, but he knows he’s beaten.

  Giving me a final, withering look, he slinks off.

  “What’d you do to Byron?” Whit says accusingly from behind me.

  I wheel around, anger flashing. This just gets better and better. Is everyone against me today?

  The onlookers start to whisper, which makes me more furious. Yes, let’s have the famous witch and wizard air out their dirty laundry at what was supposed to be the best dance party of the new era. I drag my brother over to a darkened corner for more privacy.

  “I didn’t do anything to Byron!” I say irritably. “And neither did Heath.”

  Whit’s brow furrows. “Weird. I’ve never seen him pick a fight before. Why would Byron do something like that, do you think?” He crosses his arms and eyes Heath, who’s stayed by my side.

  “Because he’s acting like some jealous child,” I say. “Obviously.”

  Whit sits down on a bar stool and studies me. “Or maybe because he’s really worried about the decisions you’re making, and how they’re going to affect your future?”

  I narrow my eyes. Whit’s talking to me like Bloom does, all patronizing rationale, and I don’t appreciate it.

  “Maybe you should ask Byron yourself.” Heath looks at Whit coolly.

  Ignoring him, Whit continues on his controlling big-brother tirade. “Wisty, do you really trust this guy?”

  This is totally about the foolball rivalry. Just because Whit lost a stupid game…

  “Because I don’t trust him,” Whit goes on, not even giving me time to answer. “And maybe if you just came out of your little bubble for a second and listened to the people who care about you—”

  “I can take care of myself!” I explode at him.

  “I hope so.” Whit nods, but manages to look extremely doubtful at the same time, and it’s all I can do to control my flame and fury. He walks toward the door. “I really hope so.”

  Chapter 22

  Wisty

  WHIT LEAVES THE CLUB, slamming the door behind him, and it’s like the magic has been sucked out of this night with a vacuum.

  The music starts up again, and the party rages on, but the Resistance kids are looking at me curiously from across the room, and while I know what they’re thinking, I can’t help what Byron feels. I can’t help what I feel.

  I watch Heath move in brilliant sequences and sigh. I feel a lot.

  I want to keep dancing with him, feeling that electric jolt of connection again and again, but I can’t seem to get my rhythm back, and the music just sounds like deafening static in my ears.

  “I think I’m going to head out,” I shout over the bass.

  “Can I at least walk you home?”

  We take the back route to my apartment, through the winding alleyways of what was once the Gutter. It’s a thrill to be alone with him, to hear the sound of just our feet on the cobblestones, to feel that pulse of attraction growing even stronger since we used our power together.

  But I can’t quite give in, can’t get that awful scene with Whit and Byron out of my head.

  “You look like you could use some cheering up.” Heath opens his palm, and a flower grows right up out of it. “A gift from my hometown.”

  It looks like the one he gave me before, with the bright orange center and papery, silver petals. I swallow, remembering the rush of emotions I felt then.

  “It’s pretty, right? It might look all delicate and sweet, but if you get too close…” He touches the center of the flower, and quick as a flash, the petals pull closed, and stinging nettles shoot out of the stem and into his skin. Heath flinches and drops the plant.

  “You didn’t have to actually show me.” I laugh. “Does it hurt?”

  He shrugs, sucking at his finger. “I kind of like the burn.”

  “Me, too,” I whisper.

  Our eyes lock with smoldering intensity under the streetlight, and he pulls me to him, inhaling me in a reckless kiss that takes me by surprise.

  It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. My face and chest suddenly feel like they’ve exploded with my fire, and I don’t even care. When he suddenly pulls back, I’m breathless.

  I hadn’t flamed out. It was all passion. Pure, simple, true passion.

  “Sorry,” Heath says quickly, stepping back. “I, uh, didn’t mean to…” His confidence seems to flicker for the first time since I’ve known him. I don’t get it.

  “You didn’t mean to kiss me?”

  Heath leans against the alley wall and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I promised myself I’d never do that until you asked me to,” he sighs.

  He waited for me to choose. He waited on doorsteps and next to bleachers and outside City Hall. He waited until I was ready.

  Byron and Whit were so wrong about him. In every way.

  “Well, don’t be sorry. I liked it.” I like everything about you. I step toward him and stand on my tiptoes to lean close to his face, now hidden in shadow.

  “So now I’m asking you.” My voice comes out raspy, full of hope and need and everything that’s been leading up to this moment. I take the leap. “Please do it again.”

  Chapter 23

  Whit

  “I’M GOING TO VOMIT.” Byron groans as Wisty closes the door behind her.

  I know the feeling. Crouching behind someone’s porch and watching my little sister make out with a creep in a dark alley isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, either. Heath is whistling as he strides away from the apartment, a swagger in his step, and I grind my teeth.

  Why did I let Byron talk me into following them?

  I look over at him resentfully and notice that he’s prying off a rotting wooden board from the porch steps.

  “What are you doing, Swain?”

  Byron slaps the board against his palm a few times as if testing its weight. “Let’s get him,” he says, taking a few purposeful steps down the street after Heath.

  I yank Byron backward by his collar.

  “Are you insane?” I demand in the quietest voice I can manage. “First you
push Heath in the club, and now you’re going to jump him in the alley? Wisty’s right—you’ve lost it. What happened to Byron Swain, the coward I used to know?”

  “I was never a coward,” he says irritably, struggling out of my grasp. “I was just sensible.”

  “And where’s your sense now? Heath would crush you. Did you see him on the foolball field?”

  “And did you see him just now?” Byron challenges, but he can’t quite keep the whine out of his voice.

  “It was just a kiss, Byron. Look, I don’t like the guy any more than you do, but it’s Wisty’s choice.”

  “He needs to know that if he hurts her…” Byron shakes his head and steps out into the street again, right under the streetlight, determination on his face. If I don’t go with him, he’s going to get himself killed.

  “Put the board down.” I sigh, knowing this is a bad idea. “We’re just going to talk to him, and I’ll do the talking.”

  But by the time we catch up, someone else has found him first.

  We spot Heath as we round a corner. He’s backed up against a car, a massive figure looming darkly over him. I freeze and yank Byron back behind the building before they see us. We flatten ourselves against the wall, straining to understand their low whispers.

  It’s Heath’s voice I pick out first, though his usual snide bemusement is tinged with a hint of desperation. “Everything is in place. If I can convince the witch—”

  “My lord is getting impatient,” the figure says gruffly, in an accent I can’t place. “It’s time. He wants the girl out of the way.”

  Byron looks up at me, eyes wide. “Do you think they’re talking about Wisty?” he hisses, and I wave him quiet.

  “Tell him to stay out of it.” Heath’s voice again, agitated. “I’ve earned this.”

  “Then take what is ours by rights. Bring them home. Your father failed in his mission. Don’t you fail, too.”

  I crane my neck around the corner to try to get a better look at the man. A ragged cloak is draped around him, a hood hiding half of his face.

  “My father was weak,” Heath snaps angrily, his voice carrying down the dark street. But pressed against the car, he looks far from the arrogant heartthrob; he looks like a nervous, insolent boy trying to prove himself.

  I’ve played sports long enough to know that a kid like that is the most dangerous.

  “Who’s his father?” Byron wonders, and I flinch, wondering if they heard us—the kid couldn’t whisper if his life depended on it. “Bring who home? What mission? What do you think they’re planning? I told you Heath couldn’t be trusted.”

  “Shh!” I snap, sending a jolt of power in his direction to seal his lips together temporarily. It’s as simple as closing a wound. I’m not as practiced at turning Byron into a weasel as my sister is, but my healing powers do come in handy.

  I’ve already missed the end of the conversation, though. I curse under my breath as I watch the cloaked giant walking away, a million thoughts racing through my head, most of them similar to Byron’s.

  What are they planning?

  Heath stands alone against the car, and even from here I can see his chest rising and falling in the dim light. Something the man said scared him, and scared him bad. What could scare someone as cocky as Heath?

  “And remember,” the hooded messenger calls over his shoulder as a last warning, “don’t get too close to that fetching witch, either. A witch and wizard can never be together—you know the danger.”

  My chest tightens at the mention of my sister, and though Byron’s lips are still sealed, I can see from his expression that we’re thinking the same thing: Heath is a wizard!

  My breath quickens as I hear the click of boots on the cobblestones, headed toward us. We hold our breath as Heath nears the corner, but he doesn’t even see us.

  “The danger is what I love,” Heath mutters as he walks past.

  Chapter 24

  Heath

  HE STOOD IN the darkness of his empty apartment, pulling off his boots and trying to stop his heart from racing. The merge had been strong—dizzying—and the ghost of Wisty’s power still tingled on his fingertips hours later.

  She made him want to create.

  Not another flower, though—something that wouldn’t wilt. She had told him she loved dogs. He laughed to himself, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe he was sitting here thinking about what she’d like as a gift. It was so… normal. Simple. Just boyfriend trying to make his girlfriend smile. It made him almost… giddy.

  With his mind reeling, Heath sank into the couch—the only piece of furniture in his apartment. He held open his palm and felt the trace of her spark burning within him, melting away all the coldness he was used to, that had been forced on him since he was a child.

  Now, he thought only of warmth, and he smiled as he watched a puppy grow from a speck in his hand to fill his fist and then playfully spill out over his two hands as he lowered it to the floor. It leaped at him moments later, now a huge Labrador with a lolling tongue and eager eyes.

  When it licked his face, the weird thing was, he actually liked it. He liked the way it felt to scratch the dog’s ears, too, and the way it nipped at his fingers happily. When he chased it around the room and it skidded across the floor on clumsy paws, it was like he could almost feel Wisty in the room with him, and hear her giggling at him.

  He made another puppy, and another, addicted to the warmth in her power, the life. The dogs bowled into him, tails wagging, and now he was the one laughing as they jumped happily around him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had laughed for real. And he’d probably never laugh again after tonight.

  The smile fell from his lips as his thoughts drifted back to the dark messenger who had visited him in the alley. His orders were clear: “Bring them home in chains.”

  Home. After all he’d been through, all he’d worked for, it was finally happening.

  Of course, if he went through with the plan, he’d never see Wisty again. He cradled his head in his hands, the conflict eating him up inside.

  He could still remember the first time he saw her, when she’d infiltrated The One’s New Order camp where he’d been working. Even though she was dressed like everyone else in the Youth Brigade, the red shimmered in her hair and the fire danced in her eyes. It was right before she’d openly challenged The One. He’d felt her pull even then.

  She did what she wanted, and that’s what he loved about her.

  As he rubbed the dogs’ big heads, Heath suddenly felt disgusted by their blind loyalty. Just like him. Always listening to orders—his mother, his grandfather, The One. All telling him to control himself.

  To stay away from witches.

  Never again.

  The prophecy said a witch and wizard’s power was limitless. He just hadn’t expected to actually fall for her.

  Such a love would destroy the world, his mother claimed.

  Touching his own cheek, he was surprised to feel the wetness. He hadn’t cried in years—since he had lived with his grandfather. In the moonlight, his fingers glistened with the tears, and he wasn’t surprised to see they were as red as before. Some things would never change.

  He laughed harshly as the dogs licked at his face, their slobbery tongues washing over his tears of blood.

  “Of course you have a taste for blood,” he told them. “You’re part of me.”

  Chapter 25

  Wisty

  I’M HOLDING MY toothbrush like a microphone, rocking out to some superhappy, loud music and feeling like I’m walking on air. I look up in the mirror and see that, actually, I am levitating a little��that’s how fluttery I’m still feeling.

  Then the door to my apartment bangs open on its hinges, and my feet slam to the floor. Could it be him? My hair’s frizzed out and my ratty pajamas aren’t exactly flattering, but I still can’t help feeling a little pang of hope as I peek over my shoulder with wide eyes….

  But it’s only my brother.

/>   “You really know how to make an entrance,” I say through a mouthful of toothpaste. I spit in the sink and resume hip shaking in my pajamas, trying to remember exactly how it felt with Heath on the dance floor.

  Whit’s still all worked up from earlier. “Wisty, listen, I really don’t trust this guy,” he starts in immediately. “Byron and I did some digging, and I need you to listen to me this time.”

  I roll my eyes. “You guys just don’t know him,” I say, walking past him to close the front door, since he didn’t bother to. “Heath’s actually a total gentleman. Tonight was the best night of my life, despite you and Byron trying to ruin it. There was magic in everything—the dancing, the flower, the walk home….”

  I sigh, flopping backward onto the couch, remembering the suddenness of the kiss, the wanting burning through every part of me.

  “Wisty, forget about the stupid kiss. I’m trying to warn you—”

  Wait, did I say that out loud? No, I didn’t even mention the kiss. Did Whit’s power turn telepathic or… I sit up, understanding finally breaking through my blissed-out state.

  “Wait.” I narrow my eyes at my brother. “You were spying on me?”

  “I was protecting you!” Whit’s eyes fly open defensively. He walks over and clicks off the loud, happy music, and the sudden silence seems to press in on me from everywhere. “When Byron and I saw Heath leaving your apartment, we trailed him. And it’s a good thing we did, because—”

  “Byron was with you?” I gape.

  “He was worried about you, too!” Whit says angrily, but he’s looking a little guilty now. “Actually, Byron wanted to come back here with me. You should be grateful I sent him home.” His eyes soften, but I’m still feeling full of sharp edges.

  “Gr-grateful?” I stutter, my eyes bugging with disbelief. “You followed me out of the club with my date, watched us kissing, and then barged into my apartment, shouting accusations….” I can feel my color rising with my voice. “And I should be grateful?!”

  “He’s a wizard, Wist. The messenger said—oof!” Whit glares after the pillow I throw clocks him in the head.