Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set (52 page)

Laney

R
hett tries to grab me but he’s too slow. I squirm away and stalk toward President Washington.

“Laney,” Rhett says from behind me.

I ignore him. “You tried to kill my friend,” I say to the president.

There’s the hint of a smile on the president’s lips, which really pisses me off. I’m ten feet away, then five, then standing face to face with the woman who ordered my friend’s execution.

Strong arms grab me at the elbow, holding me back, despite the fact that I had no intention of hitting this woman. More strong arms grab me from the other side, clamping down on my shoulder like a vice.

She takes a step forward, so we’re practically nose to nose, her blue eyes glittering under the glow of the security light over the gate.

“Why?” I say.

“Should we take her to lockup?” It’s Lieutenant Douchebag—I mean, Hemsworth—just over my right shoulder.

But my eyes never leave President Washington’s.

“No,” she says, unblinking. “You’ve got fight left in you. That’s good. It’s okay to be angry, even at me. You’re going to need that anger and we’re going to need your fight. I hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies for targeting your friend. From where I was sitting, it really seemed as if he was on the verge of joining the Necros. The result would’ve been disastrous, so I made a decision. Apparently I was wrong. You can thank Bil Nez for making a better decision and bringing Mr. Carter here. The three of you will be major assets in winning this war.”

She could’ve slapped me and I wouldn’t be any more shocked. Did the president just apologize to me? And admit she was wrong and that Bil Nez—
Bil freaking Nez
—made a better decision than her.

“I—I—yes,” I stammer, trying to get my mind around what just happened. “I accept your apology. Thank you. If you’re not going to kill us, then I’m here to help. But only if you help us.” If nothing else, I appreciate the woman’s honesty, something I didn’t think politicians were capable of. Politicians don’t admit when they’re wrong, not if they want to keep their careers. But I guess there won’t be any new elections anytime soon, so she doesn’t have to worry about that.

Her eyebrows go up. Have I been too bold? “Go on,” she says. Before I can speak, she flicks her eyes to either side of me. “Release her.” The rough hands withdraw from my elbows and I shake out my arms, which feel slightly bruised.

I fire a victorious look over my right shoulder at Lieutenant Douchebag, who responds with a frown. “Thanks,” I say. “We came here because we need your help. My little sister is missing.”

The president’s lips form a tight line. “I’m sorry, young lady, but there aren’t many real missing people these days. If you can’t find her, she’s probably gone.” And by gone she means dead. But she doesn’t know what Trish is. And I can’t tell her. Can I?

Then I realize who’s with us. Who knows the truth and might not be so tight-lipped. My fists clench at my sides as I dare Bil Nez to open his mouth and tell the president that my sister’s a witch.

“We think the witches took her,” Rhett blurts out, pushing around Hemsworth to stand by my side. Is he trying to take control of the situation before Bil can?

“Ah,” President Washington says, “the infamous Rhett Carter. The Resistor. I was wondering when you’d stop letting your friend do all the talking for you.”

“Well, I, uh—you see, she’s very, uh—what I mean to say is—”

“He never could get me to stop talking,” I say, winking at him.

“Yeah. What she said,” Rhett says.

“So you’ve moved on from Beth?” the president says, her eyes boring into Rhett.

Rhett looks crestfallen. I take a deep breath. Then another. Although I want to, I can’t go nose-to-nose with the president again. She already gave me one pass. She won’t surprise me with another. “With all due respect, ma’am,” I say evenly. “There’s no such thing as getting over the loss of someone you love.”

Rhett’s eyes dart to mine, then back to the president.

“No,” she says. “I suppose there’s not. And that’s a good thing for us, isn’t it? That’s why you severed ties with the Necros. Because of what they did to Beth.”

Rhett turns, looking behind him, and I follow his gaze. Bil Nez stands awkwardly, rocking from foot to foot. He refuses to meet Rhett’s eyes.

I suddenly get it. How the president seems to know so much about Rhett and Beth and his relationship with the Necros. Like she was there.

Bil. Freaking. Nez.

“You were spying on me?” Rhett says.

“Information gathering,” Bil says to his feet.

“I defended you,” Rhett says.

“I did the same for you,” Bil says.

“By spying. By telling the president all about me.”

“Did you have something to hide?” the president says, but Rhett, to his credit, ignores her, his attention firmly on Bil.

“The information you gave her made her want to kill me,” Rhett says.

“But I didn’t,” Bil says, his eyes still downcast. His voice is coming out as barely a whisper. He’s ashamed.

“Young man,” the president says more loudly, her voice commanding enough attention to draw Rhett and I back around. “He was merely giving me the facts. Not once did I ask for his opinion. In fact, he tried to offer it, but I didn’t want my judgment to be clouded by anything. And yet, he offered it anyway. He said he didn’t think you’d join the Necros. He said you’d more likely kill them than join them. But I couldn’t take the chance. We only know of three Resistors and our enemies already have one of them. I couldn’t risk them getting another.”

A shiver runs through me, because that doesn’t make sense. I glance at Rhett and I can see he’s confused, too.

“Why would
you
care about the witches getting Resistors?” he asks. “I can’t hurt you any more than any other human. I’m only a threat to the witches.”

Only one response would make any sense at all. But that can’t possibly be the answer. It’s as impossible as monkeys flying out of my butt. And yet, that’s exactly the answer President Washington gives.

“Some of the witches are helping us fight back,” she says.

I clench my buttocks, waiting for the monkeys.

Rhett

I
want to hit her, to hit her guards, to hit
someone
. Anyone. Before I can even really think about what the president just said, what it means for the world, for humanity, the anger is ripping through me, tensing my muscles, urging them to action.

But that kind of mindless action is the antithesis of who I am, who I used to be. I’ve changed a lot, but not to the point where I’ll take a swing at a woman. And not just any woman—the President of New America. If I ever reach that point, I’ll ask Laney to put me in a strait jacket.

Hemsworth must’ve seen my muscles tighten and has both my arms in a full nelson. I can’t really blame him. He doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know that I wouldn’t have done anything to the president.

Hex is growling at the soldier’s feet, ripping at his pants with his teeth. Acting like a normal dog trying to protect its owner. “I’ll break both your arms if I have to,” Hemsworth hisses in my ear. “You might be able to resist magic, but you can’t stop your bones from breaking. Call your dog off. Now.”

“Okay, okay,” I say. “Down, Hex.” I don’t expect him to listen, but he does, releasing Hemsworth’s pants. He’s still acting. My body slumps and I close my eyes, not wanting to see Laney or the president.

“I understand that you’re shocked and angry,” the president says. I open my eyes to meet her gaze. She doesn’t look angry at all. Composed. Even keel. The face of a leader. “I wasn’t so receptive to the idea either—at least not at first.” She flinches slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she’s still not fully on board with working with the witches.

I don’t trust myself to speak, so I keep silent.

“You believe there are good witches?” Laney says. I immediately realize the importance of the question to her. Trish is still out there.

“In a word—yes,” President Washington says. “Witches have been misunderstood from the beginning. Fear led to rash decisions, rash decisions led to animosity. Animosity led to war, as it does.”

“So the humans are to blame?” I say, finding my voice. The anger is gone, allowing my brain to function again. Even still, I’m aware of the edge to my question.

“In part,” the president says. “After all, they started killing witches without cause. Salem’s Return was a travesty. I lobbied against it, the president, too, but popular opinion won the day. I don’t blame the witches for fighting back.”

“How can you say that?” I ask. Millions dead. Millions. Maybe even billions, if the witch apocalypse spread across the whole of the world. The number still doesn’t seem real, even after everything I’ve seen. How can millions of souls just disappear in seemingly the blink of an eye?

The president’s eyes meet mine, and her expression is the picture of patience. “You didn’t let me finish,” she says. “Although I think the witches defending themselves is justified, the extent and methods used are not. The utter annihilation many of the gangs strive for is sickening. They’re seeking the extinction of the human race, ushering in a new age, where the magic-born rule the earth. We can’t let that happen.”

“And witches are helping you,” Laney says, as if to confirm the very words that pushed me into a rage.

“Yes,” the president says. “Some of them came to us not long after Salem’s Revenge. We were all scared, fighting for our lives, desperately taking any measures we could to protect the pocket of resistance we’d created. They surrendered; they let us take them into custody. They suffered abuse at the hands of some of the soldiers before I could put a stop to that. They didn’t fight back, not one bit.

“I didn’t trust them, not after all that had happened. I couldn’t trust them. I thought they were on a mission to gain our trust, to act as a Trojan Horse. If we let our guard down, they’d rip us apart from the inside.”

“But you don’t believe that anymore?” Laney asks. Again, I can practically see images of Trish behind her eyes.

“There was an attack on New America. There were lots of attacks in the early days, until we’d established ourselves as a threat and built up our defenses. But this particular one came after we’d taken these witches captive. A large mixed gang of Pyros, Volts, and Destroyers came at us from two sides. There was no fence then, no buffer. Our armed forces fought with everything they had, but they were pushed back. Panic swept through the survivors, who took to the streets, fleeing before the onslaught.

“I realized at that moment that we were done for. It didn’t matter whether the witches who had surrendered were the enemy. We had to trust someone.
I
had to trust someone. I had to take a risk. So I released them.”

“They fought against the invaders,” Laney says, a hint of excitement in her voice.

“More than that,” President Washington says. “They saved us. Without them, there would be no New America, no real resistance. Yeah, there would still be pockets of humans hiding from the magic-born, but they’d eventually be snuffed out as easily as melting candles. I would be dead.” There’s the heavy beat of finality in her words.

“How do you know which magic-born to trust?” Laney asks. “Are certain gangs okay?”

“No,” the president says, answering the second question first. “It’s more complicated than that. We’ve had witches and warlocks from almost all the gangs come to support us.”

“And wizards?” I ask, remembering the last wizard we fought. He definitely didn’t seem interested in sitting around the campfire and singing Kumbaya with a bunch of humans.

“One,” she says.

I take a deep breath. I can deal with one. Any more might be a struggle.

“Madam President,” Hemsworth says, cutting into our conversation. “These two are dangerous. Surely we can’t let them roam free.”

“True,” the president says. I hold my breath, waiting to hear our fate. “I think this one…” she says, gesturing to Laney.

“Laney, ma’am,” Laney says.

“Laney would be perfectly suited to join the city guard,” the president says.

“Ma’am I don’t think—” Laney starts to say.

“Madam President, she’s just a child,” Hemsworth says, cutting her off.

“Give me my Glock and we’ll see who’s a child,” Laney growls.

President Washington almost seems to enjoy the exchange, her lips curling. “There are no children these days,” she says. “And anyone capable of helping must help. Plus, you can personally keep an eye on her, Lieutenant Hemsworth. Please show her to the guards’ quarters.”

“What about my sister?” Laney says. “I’m not lifting a finger unless you’ll help me find her.”

“Do you know which gang took her?” the president asks.

“I think it was the Changelings,” Laney says. I notice how she doesn’t mention the Claires.

President Washington’s eyebrows go up. “The Changelings…” she says, trailing off, sounding as if she’s lost in thought. “What would the Changelings want with a little girl?”

“How the hell should I know?” Laney says, despite knowing exactly what they want. I stay silent.

The president gives Laney a long look, as if searching for a crack in her confident exterior, but then relaxes and says, “It just so happens that the Changelings are enemy number one now that the Necros have been neutralized. We’ll help you find your sister.”

“Great,” Laney says. “What about Rhett?”

“I’ve got other plans for your Resistor friend. He’s a powerful witch hunter, after all. He’ll join one of our upcoming missions.”

“A mission to do what?” Laney asks. I was about to ask the same thing.

“What else?” the president says. “Kill witches.”

~~~

Laney manages to give my hand a quick squeeze before Hemsworth guides her away. I wonder if I should refuse to be split apart, to insist we stay together while we’re in New Washington, but my mouth stays shut. Twice Laney shrugs off the hand that Hemsworth tries to keep on her shoulder, until he gives up, perhaps afraid she’ll bite off one of his fingers.

When she’s gone, I say, “Will I be able to see her later?”

“Of course,” President Washington says. “Friendship is one thing we still have left, and to deny it would be to deny life.”

It sounds like something she’s rehearsed. But still, her words do give me hope.

“Okay,” I say. “What next?”

“Time to meet your new team,” she says. I don’t mention that I didn’t really have an
old
team, unless you count Hex, Laney, Trish, and Bil Nez. Weirdest. Team. Ever.

“What about my dog?” I say instead. I reach down to pet his head. He licks my hand. I’ve never seen him act so…normal. He’s hiding his real talents. I wonder whether Bil has told her about what he can really do.

“We have a kennel,” she says.

“No,” I say. “He comes with me. Nonnegotiable.”

The president raises her eyebrows. “Fair enough. As long as he doesn’t get in the way of your work.”

“He won’t,” I say. I don’t say that he’ll likely make the mission a success all on his own. Despite her open-mindedness toward witches, I don’t know where she stands on magical animals.

“Follow me,” she says, turning to go, immediately surrounded by soldiers. One of them stands a head taller than the rest. His grey beard stretches all the way to his chest. A chill runs through me because I realize what he is.

A wizard.

I don’t know how I didn’t notice him earlier, especially given his professional-basketball-player height. Maybe he used magic to hide himself from me. Or maybe I was too focused on meeting the president, which isn’t exactly an everyday experience.

Whatever the case, he now turns slowly in my direction, and I gasp when I see his face.

Charles Gordon.

No. Way.

He’s a famous actor. Or at least, he was an actor. Although I only now realize that he was never really acting at all. The only roles he ever took in major Hollywood movies were that of a grey-bearded wizard, which would have been a cinch for an actual wizard to play. I loved him in
The Elf Lord
, loved to hate him in
The Dark Wizard of White Castle
, and never missed one of his interviews, in which he always described the challenges of playing such legendary types of characters.

Some challenge.

He smiles and winks and I’m torn between wanting to scream “Wizard!” or ask for his autograph. The president said there was one wizard on their side, but I never would’ve guessed it would be the wizard-actor Charles Gordon.

If I had any doubts left that the world has gone completely insane, they’ve now disappeared.

It also explains why the president looked so nonchalant, even when both Laney and I threatened to hurt her. More than threatened—tried. If Hemsworth and his soldiers hadn’t been quick enough to stop us, there’s no doubt the wizard would have.

The president is allies with a wizard. A wizard is helping the humans. I’m still trying to get my head around the last thing I expected to find when I reached New Washington (thanks for the heads up, Bil!), as we stroll through what used to be Washington D.C. Evidence of the carnage wrought by the witches during Salem’s Revenge is everywhere. Caved-in roofs on brownstone buildings, torn up sidewalks, bloody smears on the streets. I don’t know why, but it’s not what I expected. Since Bil Nez has told us about New America, I’d had this picture of a city untouched by the witches. A surviving city. But that’s all it is. Surviving doesn’t mean pristine buildings and well-maintained roads. Not anymore. Our standard of living has gone from being unable to live without smart phones and laptops and digital video recorders, to hoping we can fill our bellies and not get turned into hamsters by some witch with a cruel sense of humor.

The apartment walk-ups still standing on the left barely look livable with their missing front doors and shattered windows, and yet I’m aware of the dozens of sets of eyes watching us as we pass. One woman sits on the front steps, muttering under her breath and cradling a rifle in one arm and a baby in the other. Although she looks in our direction, her gaze almost seems to pass through us, as if we’re as intangible as ghosts.

Through the gaps in the buildings to the right, I dimly recognize that there’s a large open expanse. A highway maybe? It’s strange to think that less than a year ago the residents of these homes might’ve complained about the constant roar and commotion caused by commuter traffic; now, the silence seems much worse somehow. Are all the commuters dead? Will they ever drive to work again? And if so, will they have a greater appreciation for the mundane routine they once loathed?

I don’t notice the wizard’s presence beside me until he speaks. “The Potomac River,” he says.

I startle, my eyes flickering to his, which stand almost a foot higher than mine. I flinch and my hand instinctively goes for my sword. My scabbard is empty, my sword confiscated at the gate. If the wizard chooses to attack me, will my ability be enough to Resist his powers? I don’t know, as I’ve never really tested them for an extended period of time without relief.

I say nothing, just walk straight ahead, following the president and her entourage.

“So I see you’ve met at least a few of my kind,” Charles Gordon says with a chuckle.