Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss

by James Patterson

  I drop my hands. “You said you could get us there!” I accuse as the tunnel evaporates. “We’re not even moving. What good is it to see what already happened?”

  “Look, I’m just as new at this as you are, Firecracker,” Heath says. “Do you want to try again, or would you rather walk?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I say irritably. But he’s right. I shake out my shoulders and take a deep breath. Once again, I place my hands against his.

  “Think of trees. Think of snow and cold,” Heath whispers. “Think of the flower I made you.” The heat starts to build between us.

  Think of Whit, I tell myself, closing my eyes.

  Sparks crackle between our fingers.

  We have to get to the Mountain. Have to. Get there.

  Then there’s a surge of power so strong that my body starts to convulse with the insane pressure and my eyes fly open, but my vision is a blur.

  I think we’re spinning. Or is it everything else that’s moving? My hair whips against my face and I slide my grip up to Heath’s forearms, holding on for dear life.

  The streets warp and change. It’s almost like going through a portal, except instead of feeling my cells dissolve and reform, the whole world seems to rearrange itself around us, and when it finally settles, we’re someplace else.

  Someplace with dark trees and white snow and cold, cold air.

  “We actually did it!” I say breathlessly. I focus on the rocks at my feet, still fighting the dizziness and nausea.

  “What’d I tell you?” Heath asks, but his voice sounds uneasy. “Oh, no…” he murmurs.

  I look up, and the wind whips my face so hard it blurs my eyes and steals my breath. Heath’s looking out across the ridge of the Mountain, and my eyes follow.

  We’re looking at the scene of distress that we saw in the tunnel.

  Whit and Janine are a hundred yards to our right, running up and away from us out of the valley. They’re wearing fur vests, and they’re both obviously weakened; Whit is almost dragging Janine as he stumbles forward. I still can’t see what might be chasing them.

  “Hey!” I yell, trying to reassure my brother. “I’m here!”

  He stops in his tracks and turns his head to look at me, confusion written on his face.

  “Wisty?” He squints, wrinkling his brow.

  The smile of relief starts to spread across his face, and that’s when I see it: the enormous spotted cat on the boulder above him, pouncing for the kill.

  There’s no way I can get there in time.

  “Whit!” I scream, and point desperately. But he doesn’t see the threat, doesn’t understand. “Whit, look out!”

  Chapter 58

  Whit

  WE’RE RUNNING FOR OUR LIVES, but suddenly, my vision is a series of images that don’t make any sense:

  Wisty, somehow here, on the Mountain.

  Janine, darting in front of me, shoving me out of the way.

  The leopard, falling from the sky.

  And then the blood.

  Everything comes back into sharp focus with the blood. That, and the sound of Janine’s screams.

  The snow leopard’s paws are wrapped around Janine’s body, its teeth sunk deep in her side. It shakes her violently back and forth, and blood sprays from another gash in her neck, soaking the snow.

  It’s killing her.

  I’m on my feet now, charging at the animal. But with Janine limp in its jaws, it turns and bolts toward a tree. Once it drags her up there, there’s no hope.

  With supernatural speed and instinct taking over, I leap forward before it can start to climb. As I slam into the leopard from behind, it yowls its protest, losing its grip on Janine. In that brief millisecond of opportunity, I fling the creature away from her, and she collapses to the ground like she’s boneless.

  I don’t know what her wounds are, or if she’s conscious. I don’t even know if she’s alive. And it’s killing me that I can’t tend to her. Not yet.

  The other leopards are crouching just overhead, and the first is already moving in again.

  Now I’ve come between the predator and its prey. I stand over Janine defiantly, and the cat flattens its ears and puffs out its nostrils, snarling.

  It leaps, but I’m ready.

  We clash midair, and then tumble to the ground. I wrestle with the writhing beast, gouging at its eyes and pulling its tail, and somehow I manage to work my arms around its neck. It swipes at me furiously, but my arms stay locked in a viselike grip, and it’s not long before I’ve beaten it.

  I’m breathing heavily already, but the other leopards are on me now, too. Faced with such horrible odds, something takes hold of me and I just… snap.

  Forgetting the cold, forgetting the exhaustion, and forgetting that I’m not immortal, I go at them with everything I have. I don’t even morph. I attack with my bare hands, fighting for my life and Janine’s, hitting and punching with furious abandon.

  Before long, my arms are shredded with deep scratches, but incredibly, I find strength I didn’t know I had, and I know I can take them. I slam one cat against the rocks, throw another out over the cliff. It sickens me to do it, but I don’t have a choice.

  When the last leopard hisses and slinks away, I sink to my knees next to Janine. I stare at her gouged flesh, her open wounds, and it doesn’t seem real. A cold numbness is spreading over me, and my brain clouds with static.

  The soldiers are coming, I realize vaguely, as arrows start to bury themselves in the trees around us with low thunks. I’m pretty sure someone is screaming, too, but the white noise in my head is so deafening, I barely register anything else.

  Nothing matters without her.

  I swallow hard and move closer. I touch Janine’s broken body with shaking hands, feeling for a pulse, but I’m too late.

  She’s not breathing.

  BOOK THREE

  THE THIRD TRUTH: KNOW LIGHT FROM DARK

  Chapter 59

  Wisty

  IT’S A WAR ZONE.

  Giants gallop toward us on huge horses. Arrows whiz past my ears. Somewhere, wolves are howling.

  And my brother’s there, in the middle of it all, kneeling over Janine.

  I look around wildly. It’s complete and utter chaos, and the attackers are almost upon us. The ground shakes under my feet and small rocks start to fall down on us from the rock walls above as they thunder down the path. It already feels like we’re surrounded, with no escape.

  I can see their faces now, their mouths contorting with hatred as they scream for our blood. And their weapons, held out from their arms, with the sharp ends aimed toward us.

  Whit has his back to them all, though. He’s concentrating hard, trying to heal Janine after that horror show with the leopards. His hands are on her shoulders, and they’re covered in blood. Tears stream down his face, but I’ve never seen him look so determined.

  I’m thankful—the thought of losing Janine is devastating.

  But Whit’s so vulnerable himself now, so exposed, and that makes me panicky. I couldn’t scramble across the rocky ridge fast enough earlier, and I thought I was going to have to watch him get eaten by those monsters. Now that he’s in danger again…

  I have to defend him this time.

  The strong, defensive feeling makes my M boil over. With an angry yell, I thrust my arms toward the charging warriors, lighting sparks around their horses’ feet and sending jolts through arms holding weapons. A few axes clatter onto the rocks, and some of the horses rear up.

  But more come, and more.

  The black dots keep pouring down the pass into the valley. I can protect myself and lash out before they get to me, but some of the men are shooting arrows now, and they’re coming closer and closer to Whit. There are just too many to attack one by one.

  I need something bigger.

  “Give me your hand!” Heath shouts, as if he heard my thoughts.

  I frown uncertainly. Can I trust him now? Here, on his home turf?

  �
�Wisty, now!”

  I nod finally, and grasp his fingers with all my strength. It’s the only way.

  We turn to face the onslaught, and the power explodes out of us full force. Streams of fire cut across the forest like shooting stars. The brush begins to smoke and catch, and soon the trees in front of us are blazing, creating a terrifying barrier for our attackers.

  This power—our power—is stronger than anything, I realize. It has me in its grip, and it is a terrible force to behold. It destroys a century-old forest in minutes. It flattens a whole line of men when a tree falls with a deafening crack. It eats up plants, and animals, and air, and all it spits out is falling ash. There’s no dulling it or taming it as it burns a path of total destruction.

  But I don’t want to tame it, anyway. My brother is in serious danger, Janine is probably dead, and my fury has no bounds. I’m done hesitating or negotiating.

  I want to make everyone pay.

  Chapter 60

  Whit

  WISTY HAS SET the whole world on fire, and I don’t even care.

  My eyes stream from the smoke, I’m coughing uncontrollably, and the heat is so intense I feel like I’m roasting from the inside out.

  But somehow, Janine’s still getting colder.

  Her lips are blue and her hands are icy. Life is draining right out of her.

  “Come on, Janine,” I say through gritted teeth. “Come on, come on.”

  I might be able to heal, but I haven’t conquered death. My power can fail, and I keep forgetting that. And right now, it’s not working, and Janine’s not waking up.

  It’s just like with Sasha.

  “No!” The scream rips through me with the thought. I can’t go through that again. Not with her.

  Men are screaming all around me, running for their lives. We’re still in range of a few archers, though, and for a moment, I want their arrows to hit me. I want to feel the pain, to curl up next to Janine and go to sleep with her forever so I don’t have to deal with this loss. It already hurts so much I want to tear out my own heart.

  Because I don’t know how to fix this.

  Janine is the clearheaded one. What would she do? She always seems to have the answers, but I can’t ask her now.

  Stop the blood, I can almost hear her saying. Keep her warm, get her conscious, and stop the bleeding.

  I tear off my rough vest and press the mangy fur against her, but the bleeding is too widespread and the cuts are too deep. I need to stitch them up, or cauterize the wounds—something I’ve only read about and have no idea how to do. For a healer, I’m totally useless when it comes to these basic skills. I don’t have any supplies anyway.

  All I have is my magic.

  And it’s failing me. Again.

  No. I bite down hard on my tongue, controlling a sob. The flames climb around us and I can feel the heat pressing in dangerously, but I can’t turn away from her. Not yet.

  It doesn’t have to be like with Sasha. I healed Wisty from worse. And Njar, who seemed so lost when I first saw him. He came back, didn’t he?

  He came back for love, I remember.

  I do love Janine, I realize with crushing agony. I love her so much I can’t imagine leaving this Mountain without her.

  I kiss her cheek and taste her blood, and think of the first time I felt the beginnings of that love. Even though I couldn’t admit it to myself at the time, it started with that first poem. I recited it just for her, and her bold smile made me blush.

  Poems used to turn into spells for me, before I could call the magic on my own. They used to have so much power….

  I prop Janine up in my lap one more time.

  You can control this. You can stop it, I tell myself. This is what you were made to do.

  I concentrate intensely as I touch her shoulders, and even though I thought I barely had anything left, the M feels alive on my fingers again.

  “Methought that joy and health alone could be / Where I was not…” I start, surprised I remember it after so long.

  The poem becomes a spell as I say the words, and I think of Janine’s intelligent eyes, her sharp laughter. I hover my hands over her torn neck and her exposed ribs.

  The air around us moves with the force of my magic, and the heat from my sister’s fire seems to help fuel it. I clench my hands into fists next to Janine’s head, urging the power out, shaking with the incredible effort.

  At first I can barely see it, but it’s there. It’s happening. The wounds are mending. Before my eyes, the fibers of the muscle are weaving together; the cells are regenerating; the skin is covering the bone.

  She’s healing.

  I pull her body toward me, rocking her. Please, please.

  Janine’s eyes flutter, and I inhale sharply, so afraid to hope—so afraid I imagined it.

  Then I feel her hand twitch. Her fingers squeeze mine weakly, and I totally lose it. Before she can speak, I’m laughing and sobbing and kissing her all over her face—her eyelids and her cheeks and her teeth and her hair.

  I don’t stop until she starts to cough, and then I help her sit up, still holding her as she spits out blood.

  I’m weeping openly now. “I thought I lost you,” I sputter. “I thought you…” Even now, the word feels too terrible. “Died.”

  “I did for a minute, I think,” Janine murmurs. “I saw Celia, wherever I was. She told me to come back here. She told me I would never find a better person than Whit Allgood. She—” Her eyes fill with grateful tears. “She told me to love you with all my heart. And I do.”

  I cradle her against me. “I love you, too, Janine,” I choke out. “I love you so much.”

  “I get it now, Whit,” she says. “It’s our time to be together.”

  Chapter 61

  Wisty

  THE SMELL OF burning wood is intoxicating. Our fire rages on, a wall of orange spreading from tree to tree, and with each second it blazes, I feel stronger.

  It’s the horses that run first. With white eyes bulging, they throw their riders as they flee.

  There are screams and warnings in a rough, guttural language as Mountain People stumble through the smoke. The arrows keep coming for a long time, but eventually, even the bravest turn in terror.

  All but a strange woman dressed in white, walking right through the flames.

  “Stay back!” I yell.

  I raise my fist to throw a lightning bolt, but Heath stops my arm, breaking our connection abruptly. Something’s wrong here: Heath, a powerful wizard at his most fearsome and unforgiving seconds ago, seems to shrink as the wispy figure glides toward us across the snow, closer and closer.

  Who is this mysterious woman?

  Close up, she’s tall and elegant, with milky, ageless skin and a severity to her gaze. My eyes flick to Heath uncertainly. I stay on my guard, ready to attack, but I won’t make a move until he does.

  She studies me with glittering eyes. “So this is who all the fuss is about.”

  I feel awkward under her gaze, but Heath looks even more uncomfortable. He looks guilty. And almost, almost… apologetic.

  “Mother, this is Wisty,” he mumbles.

  I stare at him, shocked. This is his mom?

  “Who could forget Wisty Allgood, the volatile, hot-headed girl who’s destroying the world?” she says.

  “Excuse me?” I bristle. Not exactly the warm welcome you envision when you meet your boyfriend’s mom.

  Heath’s mother gestures at the blackened trees. “You come to our home and burn down the forest?”

  “We were attacked,” I protest, my cheeks reddening.

  “Tell me, would you burn your people, too?”

  “That’s enough, Mother,” Heath warns.

  “Have I taught you nothing?” she snaps at him. “A witch and a wizard must never be together.”

  “Those were your rules. Old rules, from a different time.”

  “And I play by my own rules,” I say defiantly, and snatch up his hand again. I don’t know exactly how I feel
about Heath right now, but I know I don’t appreciate being told I can’t date someone.

  The woman in white purses her lips. “The magic is sweet, isn’t it?” she asks, and her voice is softer, nostalgic. “It gets in your blood. It makes your heart race and rage with its power.” She nods knowingly. “And then it drives you mad.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” Heath says tersely. “I’m in control.”

  “Your father thought he was in control, too.”

  Heath grinds his teeth. “I’m not my father.”

  “The power warped his mind,” she continues. “He wanted more and more. He needed another witch whose magic he could harness and exploit. I can see why he was obsessed with this one.” She looks me up and down, and frowns. “He always had a thing for the color red. I thought you knew better, son.”

  “What are you talking about?” I interrupt. “I didn’t even know his dad.”

  She stares at Heath. “You didn’t tell her?”

  When he doesn’t answer, the woman looks at me with pity.

  “Tell me what?” I ask Heath with growing unease.

  He scowls at his mother but won’t meet my eyes.

  “Tell me what?” I’m almost shouting now. “Heath, who was your father?”

  Chapter 62

  Wisty

  “THE ONE,” HEATH says quietly, and my skin crawls like a thousand spiders are swarming over me.

  I’m not sure if I heard him right, though, because I feel like my head is in a vise all of a sudden. The pines are closing in on me, and the ground is rising upward.

  “I’m sorry—what ?” I manage to choke out, steadying myself against a tree trunk. It’s the only thing my brain seems to be able to come up with right now: WHATWHATWHATWHATWHAT, filling up my skull and pushing out my ears.

  “My father was The One Who Is The One,” Heath says again. He has the decency to look me in the face while he stabs me in the back, at least.

  I may vomit. Repeatedly.

  “She doesn’t seem to be taking it well,” his mother observes. “Maybe you should sit down, child.”