Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss (12 page)

“We’re all sorry, Wisty girl,” Hewitt says, linking his arm in mine. “But don’t think you’re getting out of a full family visit.”

I smile, my eyes welling up as I follow him down the basement stairs.

After Whit left, I paced my apartment for days.
Was my brother okay? Did I make the wrong choice?
Seeing Heath made me hurt—it made me remember how I’d chosen someone over Whit for the first time in my life. I was paralyzed with doubt and guilt.

Somehow my feet found their way down these winding streets before my heart knew what I was doing. This was the only place I needed to be.

“We own the rest of the house now, all the way up to the top,” Hewitt says proudly. “I even repaired that burned-up staircase.”

“That’s great,” I say, seeing dozens of Pearl’s relatives milling in the small space as a throng of grubby-faced kids tear around the furniture. And there’s Mama May, laughing as she chases after a couple of them.

Hewitt shakes his gray head and laughs. “We just can’t seem to make ourselves use all those other rooms, though, all that empty space.”

“It feels better together,” Mama May agrees as she arrives at our side. “Some things never change.”

I nod. The Needermans’ basement is different than I remember, for sure. The leaks have been patched, and the walls have been painted. New couches replace piles of ragged clothing. But the
feeling
is the same.

“Pearl Marie wanted to help redecorate,” Mama May explains when she catches me admiring their new light fixture above.

Looking closer, I can see Pearl’s mark. The chandelier is haphazardly put together, with pieces of shattered glass mounted on coat hangers and other things dug from the garbage.

“She always had fancy ideas when it came to that stuff.” Mama May smiles sadly. “I’ll get a plate for those cookies you brought,” she says, hiding her face as she hurries away.

I see the candles on the wall then, right where I remember them. None of them are lit this time, though….

At least I can do
this
for them
, I think.
I can do this for Pearl.

I snap my fingers and there’s a
whoosh
of air as a hundred pale candles spark to life.

I pluck one off the wall and hold it close to me, watching the flame dance. The other Needermans follow suit, smiling at me with shining eyes as they pass the flickering fires between them, each one burning for little Pearl Marie.

“No!” Mama May shouts when she sees us. She slams the plate of cookies down as she hurries across the room, and all of us flinch with her angry footfalls. I’m so shocked by the outburst that I almost drop my candle, but I cup my palm around the fire to save it from winking out.

No matter, though, since Mama May licks her fingers and snuffs it out anyway.

“
No
. No candles,” she says firmly. Her face is blotchy with anger as she pinches the flames out one by one.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stutter, but I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.

But Mama May turns me to face her and looks at me with kind understanding. “Candles are for the dead and gone. Pearl Marie is coming back to us,” Mama May says, her voice full of unshed tears, “but we can still pray.”

She combs her fingers through my always-knotted hair, and then takes my hand and Hewitt’s in each of hers. “Lewis,” she calls across the room, “sing the old songs to bring our Pearl Marie back to us.”

A little boy begins to sing, his voice a high, clear bell, and one by one, the other voices are lifted up, and the Needermans join hands.

As I look around the circle of faces, the hazy memory of the last time I was in this house resurfaces. I was on the floor wrapped in rags. I heard the singing in a fever dream, heady and distorted, and saw the flicker of light between plague hallucinations. As I hovered between life and death, it was
me
they prayed for that time.

I won’t give up on them now.

I don’t know their religion, and I don’t know the old songs, but I might be an expert in hope at this point. I’ve rationed it out, stocked it up, and lived on it for years, and I believe sometimes, if you hope enough, then someone will listen.

My solemn prayer of hope, sent out into the universe through the clear, pure voices ringing together:

Please let Whit find her and bring every soul home safe from that Mountain.

Chapter 33

Whit

“DON’T MOVE, JANINE. Not an inch. Don’t even blink.”

The wolf has her backed into a corner of rock. Its eyes are red and terrible, and blood drips from its bared teeth. Patches of gray fur are missing from its hide, exposing bone and gristle and rot. It looks like an animal that has already died, and maybe that’s exactly what it is.

“Are you nuts? Of course I’m not going to move!” Janine says, her voice rising toward hysterics.

I’ve seen a wolf like this before—it’s some kind of zombie dog pulled straight out of Shadowland, surviving on death and remains. The New Order used to use them to hunt
people
, but even those killers were kept on chains. This thing is just roaming free. It’s horrifying, but I might be able to take it with magic if I can get it away from Janine.

Another snarl makes me whirl around, and there’s a second wolf, with foam bubbling up at its terrible mouth. Every nerve on my body is prickling with terror.

There’s no way I can take two at once.

Seeing the second wolf moving in, I take a protective step toward Janine, and both wolves look at me, panting.

I freeze, my body flooding with adrenaline.

The wolf that has Janine cornered bares its teeth, a growl of warning building in its throat. The two wolves lunge at each other threateningly, jaws snapping.

Janine cries out, terrified.

They’re fighting over us, I realize with sickening clarity. We’re fresh meat, and they’re yipping over who gets to rip us apart.

That’s it—I have to morph while they’re distracted by their greed.

What can beat a wolf?
I think, my head a fuzzy mess of panic.

“Guys…” Sasha’s voice quavers.

I take my eyes from the two wolves for a flick of a second… and almost lose it when I see three more behind us. But beyond that, there are
men
.

They’re massive figures—giants, really—with long hair and dreaded beards and leather vests wrapped around their thick chests. There are at least eight of them, but somehow we didn’t even hear them coming.

We’re completely surrounded.

The Mountain soldiers are heavily armed, all of them wielding strange metal tools, like axes and maces and knives that extend from the arm and curve into deadly points.

The Resistance kids are war veterans, but none of them are trained in hand-to-hand combat. I don’t think my skills battling foolball demons count, either. Never mind the wolves; in a battle with these men, we’re dead in our tracks.

“Whit—” Janine says nervously as the shadow wolves press in on her, the reddish saliva dripping from their jaws.

I need to morph
, I think again.
It’s the only way.

What can beat five wolves and eight men? I reconsider, just as one of the men yells some kind of war cry.

Now.

I feel my shoulders shift up, my skull expand, and my hands explode into giant paws. I scream at the men and the wolves, and what comes out makes the bark on the trees shudder. Even some pinecones are shaken from branches as the deep growl penetrates the icy air.

Grizzly.

I run at the wolves first, lunging at the two that have Janine trapped. The wolves snarl and spit, gnashing their bloodied teeth. I clamp my jaws on one’s leg, and the other backs down, whining as it slinks away.

The men come at me two at a time, yelling gruff words I can’t decipher. I rake my claws against a heavy club a soldier is trying to wield, splitting it apart like kindling. When two hairy men lunge at me with knives, I take a chunk out of one’s thigh, and the other screams as one of the wolves attacks him in the confusion.

“Break away!” I hear Janine yell. I keep fighting as I see the team scatter.

Three wolves leap on me at once, sinking in their razor teeth. I roar in anguish but manage to rip two off with my giant paws, and sink my teeth into the third’s throat.

I glance around, roaring another challenge and tasting the metal tang of blood in my mouth. But the wolves have limped away and the men are backing off to regroup.

I tear through the trees after my friends. The wind rustles my fur and I’m running faster than I imagined, but the morph is fading, and I can feel my features returning.

Sasha, Janine, and Ross are waiting for me at a river.

“Guys… I think the Mountain men are coming for another attack,” I say nervously, picking up their scent before the last of my bear senses leave me. But there doesn’t seem to be any way across the rapids, and none of us want to return the way we came. “We have to jump in and swim it.”

“It’s freezing!” Ross states the obvious.

I nod, trying to figure out how to explain my idea. “I think I can monitor your vitals and use my healing power to repair your organs as they start to fail….” All three of them are gaping at me in disbelief.

“Don’t ever say ‘organs start to fail’ to me again.” Sasha shakes his head.

“Those rapids are really fast, Whit,” Janine says uneasily. “We can’t just morph into fish like you can if it doesn’t work.”

I look into Janine’s eyes. “How much do you trust me?”

She sighs. “More than I probably should.” Janine grips my hand at the edge of the river, but the guys are still looking doubtfully at the terrifying rapids.

Unfortunately, their uncertainty lasts for just a split second too long.

Our enemies are back.

We didn’t hear them near the boulders, but this time, the giants are crashing through the forest, and it sounds like a stampede.

“There’s no time, guys!” I scream as the Mountain men round the corner screaming for blood. “This is the only way out!”

One of the biggest soldiers flings an axe and it thuds into a tree about a foot from Ross’s head. His eyes bulge, staring at the giant gash in the old tree. “So what do we do?” he asks quickly.

“Grip hands, kick your feet, and don’t let go, no matter what.”

With just one step into the ice water, the current sucks us into its freezing torrent.

I hope I know what I’m doing.

Chapter 34

Wisty

“WHIT,
LOOK OUT!”
My shriek rips me from sleep, and I take a gasping breath as the dream dies.

I can barely remember it now. Chains and cages? The One or the Wizard King? But the terror of the dream seems to echo around me even after the images have faded, making my own apartment feel hostile.

It’s over
, I think.
You’re awake, and safe.
I sink back into the pillow, closing my eyes.

Then I hear it: the click of a window as the lock shifts out of its place in the next room.

I bolt up in bed, every nerve alive, my heart thudding in my ears. I stand, gripping the bedpost as I strain to listen for sounds.

Again—a creak in the floorboards.

Someone is in my home.

For a moment, terror takes hold. But as I stand here waiting to be ambushed, anger replaces the fear.
Someone is in my home!

I feel the M heating up inside me. My confidence returns as the itch starts in my fingertips.
I’m nobody’s prey. I’m a witch.

Someone is about to get fried.

I tiptoe to the doorway, and peer around the corner. Dim light from the street stripes the floor with shadow. And as I creep across the room to inspect the open window, I see one of those shadows shift.

“Hey—!” a man starts to say, but only gets half a syllable out before I wheel around and lunge, throwing sparks.

The intruder anticipates it, though, and deftly leaps out of the way and pivots. I stumble after him, but he seems to whir past my focus. I concentrate on my power instead, the buzz of heat, but before I can go full torch mode, he tackles me in the darkness.

We bowl into the coffee table, shattering its glass top, and a raw, piercing pain shoots through my hip. I see spots.

Then he’s on me!

With his back to the light, he’s just a terrifying silhouette looming over me. We roll as I try to throw him off, but he’s got lightning reflexes and flexible joints, and every blow seems designed to inflict the most pain possible.

“Gahh,” I groan as he pins my arms.

Focus on the M, Wisty. Focus.

But all I can do is thrash wildly in his grip.

I claw across the carpet with my free arm, searching for a lifeline….

My fingers find the broken glass from the table, and I grip a shard tighter than anything as I slash. The jagged edge of the glass is an inch from his throat, maybe less, when the man catches my wrist.

“You trying to kill me?” the intruder asks—in Heath’s bemused voice.

I drop my makeshift dagger, speechless. We’re breathing heavily for a few seconds as I try to make sense of what just happened. I’m wild with rage that he nailed me to the ground like an assassin—and is now acting like it’s some
joke
—and yet strangely thrilled to have been rolling around on the floor with him.

It’s that crazy raw power that just takes over when we’re together.

Heath starts laughing, but I don’t see what’s so funny. He lets go of my arms and sits back on his heels, a patch of streetlight finally exposing his crooked smile and chiseled face.

“You could’ve said something earlier!” I say testily as I scoot out from under him. “What exactly were you trying to do?”

“Surprise you, I guess.” He shrugs. “You attacked me before I had a chance to do it right.”

“Oh, like
you’re
the victim here,” I protest, rubbing my hip where it smashed into the coffee table.