Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss (2 page)

When I turn around, my stomach does a triple flip. It’s the beautiful stranger. Up close, he seems to tower over me, and his features are chiseled, strong. I’m so flustered I spill my unwanted punch.

He smiles and leans in even closer. “That smoky voice…” I inhale the leathery smell from his jacket and his aftershave, and feel dizzy. “Your flaming red hair… Everything about you
smolders
.”

Yet it’s
his
eyes that seem to blaze, even in the dim light. They’re simultaneously intense and bemused. I can’t seem to look away.

I also can’t seem to speak.

It’s the most forward thing anyone has ever said to me. Normally I’d give a guy some kind of sharp verbal slap for coming on like that, but there’s something different about this one. It’s like he knows I’d suck up anything that comes out of that perfect mouth.

“Did you really come over here just to give her a cheap line?” Whit butts in before I can think of an answer.

“Whit!” Janine elbows him and pulls him away, but I’m totally mortified.

“Sorry about my brother….” I mutter lamely.

“No, it’s okay.” The boy laughs and runs a hand through the jet-black hair that stands up wildly from his forehead. “Actually, I came over to say I enjoyed your performance. A little punk, a little blues, and the vibrato technique and tonal variations on the power chords were stellar.” He smiles at me, all easy confidence. “Even if you did rip off Smash’s shredding style a little bit.”

“Every guitar player rips off Smash a little bit!” I protest, but relent as he shrugs, amused. “You seem to know a lot about music,” I observe, impressed.

“I know a lot about a lot of things.”

“Oh, yeah?” I smirk. “What else do you know?” I’m usually pretty skeptical with boys and don’t get into a flirt, but the banter with this guy comes easily somehow.

He bends down a bit so his face is next to mine, his chin brushing against my hair. “I know… what you want.” His voice is a whisper in my ear, and he says each word like he’s tasting it, savoring it. For a fire girl, it’s pretty weird to have goose bumps.

“What’s that?” I ask when I finally find my voice.

“To dance. With me.” He’s extremely attractive—like, beyond—but it’s his unwavering gaze that unhinges me—the kind of look that could conquer the world.

I eye all the people standing in clusters, talking. “But no one is dancing.”

“You were. I saw you from across the room. Looking like you wanted to
move
. Like you wanted to break all the rules.”

“That was only swaying,” I say quickly, embarrassed by how plainly he can see the real me. “I meant no one
else
is dancing.”

Hearing that, Janine grabs Whit’s hand and drags him onto the dance floor. She gives me a wry look over her shoulder, and I glare daggers back.

The boy cocks an eyebrow, and the shadows play across his striking face. “So. How about that dance?”

It seems so easy to fall into the rhythm, to let our hips find the beat, to get closer…. But I’m not sure I’m ready. He just seems a little too gorgeous, a little too tall, a little too mature, a little too confident. A little too much
man
for me right now.

I wait a second too long, and the guy sighs, turning. “I’m Heath. Call me when you get sick of standing still, and we’ll move.” He’s walking away.

“I don’t think you could keep up,” I call after him.

“You really are a firecracker, aren’t you?” Heath grins, and his electric gaze flickers back at me. “I hope I get the chance to prove you wrong.”

Then he’s gone, and I let out a slow, measured breath. Of all the times I’ve been on fire, I’ve never felt sparks quite like that.

“Who does that guy think he is?” Byron grumbles beside me.

“What?” I look at him, startled that the rest of the world hasn’t fallen away.

“Interrupting our conversation, waltzing in here like he owns the place, and pestering you when you’ve made it clear that you’re obviously not interested.” He frowns. “He’s way too old for you, anyway.”

“Shut
up
, Byron,” I huff. I snap my fingers to work a little magic, and suddenly Byron is no longer standing in front of me. In his place, there’s a squeaking weasel. “I should just leave you like this—your true form.”

But I can never stay mad at Byron for long. I clap my hands, and he’s back.

“Feel better now that you’ve gotten that out of your system?” he snaps.

I nod, smiling. “Definitely.”

My hips start to twitch again, swaying with the music. On the dance floor, Whit and Janine are moving together under the lights. Around Whit, Janine’s serious eyes sparkle, and her laughter peals across the room. Regardless of how many girls have batted their eyelashes at him, it’s weird to think of my brother as some kind of ripped heartthrob. Janine seems to see Whit more deeply than that, though—she understands Whit the poet, and Whit the goofball.

He looks utterly smitten, too, and I have to admit, Janine is one awesome chick. I’m so glad he’s found someone special again, after losing Celia.

I sigh. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to dismiss Heath…. But there’s time. Everything feels fresh tonight. I’m surrounded by friends, family, and amazing artwork, and there are no bombs.

Just beauty.

Chapter 2

Pearl

IF ANYONE COULD have used a new beginning, it was Pearl Marie Neederman.

All she had known in her young life was the thunder of gunfire, the stench of death in the streets, and the bitter taste of poverty. Since they didn’t need to beg and steal anymore, Mama May had wanted her to stay closer to home, but Pearl had just laughed. She might’ve been only seven, but she knew the labyrinth of the capital’s alleys better than anyone.

Besides, the danger was over now.

She brushed her mop of black hair out of her eyes as she squinted into the pile of trash, looking for the perfect sparkle, the just-right shape. She wanted to impress everyone tonight at the fancy art show, but first she needed to find something to contribute.

“Isn’t it only for the rule makers?” she’d asked when Whit had invited her to the celebration.

“The
Council
. It’s different now,” he had said, smiling at her ignorance. If he were anyone else, she probably would’ve cut him for that, but the wizard held a special place in her heart. “Art Is Alive is for everyone. And the party is for all our friends.”

Pearl had turned away, a little embarrassed, but beaming with pride: she was considered a friend to the great Whit Allgood.

As she scavenged, Pearl collected bits of broken glass that sparkled in the light and scraps of metal that twisted in the craziest ways. Perfect for creating her own piece of art for the gallery. Whit had told her that with the new Council, there wasn’t going to be any garbage in the streets, but she knew that underneath a shiny new finish, there was always a layer of grime.

She was up to her arms in trash when a sudden, loud popping sound made her jump.

Pearl dropped to her knees in an instant. Silent as a shadow, she slipped behind the Dumpster among the rats, and listened. She’d been called a “gutter rat” as long as she could remember, but she never understood the insult. Rats survived, didn’t they?

There wasn’t a sound to be heard, but she saw a fizz of light coming from around the corner. Pearl stood up and let out a breath, grinning.

Had to be Razz and Eddie from down the block, who had taught Pearl to pickpocket long ago. They had seen the beautiful fireworks display this morning and had spent all day rigging up their own with fertilizer and charcoal. That explained the noise. They’d probably blown off a hand or something.

“You idiots!” Pearl yelled, walking over.

But before she could even round the corner, Pearl’s gray eyes widened with shock as a rough hand clamped over her mouth.

The men suddenly surrounding her were huge, with grizzled faces and dark clothing. They carried heavy, crude weapons—one of them even had an ax. She saw they had Razz by the collar, but Eddie was nowhere in sight.

One of the brutes started lighting the fuses on the homemade fireworks, and Razz went nuts. “Those are mine!” he yelled belligerently. As a warning, Razz’s captor dragged an edge of jagged glass across the boy’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood, but Razz clenched his teeth, refusing to scream.

The man who’d grabbed Pearl spun her around to face him, holding her off the ground, his giant hands wrapped around her throat. She was transfixed by his stare, so cold and empty. One eye was as milky as snow.

Just as she started to see spots, the man threw her into the truck like a sack of garbage. Razz came hurling in after her, and he leaped up, clawing at the door. But the bolt had already closed, and the engine was rumbling.

Pearl scrambled against the side of the truck, coughing and trying to get her breath back.

“We didn’t hear a sound,” murmured Eddie from a corner, shaking his head. “Who can sneak up on
us
? No one. These guys were like ghosts.”

There were other kids inside the truck, too—a mix of gutter rats and rich kids, some stunned into silence, others all-out shrieking.

“Shush! Stop being a baby!” Pearl hissed at one of the kids, then felt a little bad. “We got to figure this out.”

Think, Pearl. Think.

Her fingers fumbled inside her pockets, searching. They closed on something metal, and she exhaled. Her blade.

She was deft with the knife, good at picking locks with her tiny fingers. But there were no screws or seams, and she couldn’t find a single weak spot in the metal; it didn’t seem like anything an ordinary man had made. And no matter how she worked the blade, the hard bolt wouldn’t budge.

Pearl felt real panic rise inside her for the first time. These rough and weathered men were definitely not New Order—so who were they working for?

And where were they taking her?

There couldn’t be a new threat so soon. No way. Whit had said they were safe. He had promised.

Pearl squinted through the bars, the capital’s distant lights blurring a little in her vision. They were already on the outskirts of the City. Soon they would reach the boundary line, and she had no idea what lay beyond.

Chapter 3

Whit

MY TURN.

I am not an awkward person. But this is one of the most awkward moments of my life. Wisty lives for the spotlight, but me? I’d rather write the script.

I step up to the small platform where Ross, the DJ, was spinning. Wisty hoots “
Woo!
” embarrassingly loudly, and Byron follows her lead with his best off-the-cuff cheer: “Go Whit!!”

The Allgood magic has always felt kind of sacred, something not to be used lightly. I’ve used mine to escape from prison, heal the sick, and defeat the most evil dictator our world has ever known. But now that he’s gone, now that we’ve won, we all deserve a little joy. So, hey, I’ve been working on a new use for my M. I start with a poem.

“Brush the ash from your bones.”

I concentrate on the power building in me, and make it visual.

“Cast aside your red tears.”

The gathered crowd gasps in delight as a three-dimensional scene swirls behind me, morphing and changing with my words. The hologram isn’t much—just colors and energy. But it’s as beautiful as my sister’s fireworks, or the paintings on the wall. It’s a bit of performance art that has every soul in the place completely enraptured for a good five minutes. Until—

My head throbs suddenly. I double over in pain as a bright light cuts through my vision.

It feels like it’s slicing my brain.

Janine grabs my arm, a worried look on her face. “You okay?” she asks quietly.

I nod, standing up again. The hologram flickers behind me like static. I start reading the poem again, trying to get my bearings. Trying to get the energy back.

“Weep for the fallen, stand against those you fear…”

This time, as I continue, the expressions of the audience members change from concern to confusion and then shock.

Something’s wrong. Something’s
seriously
wrong.

I turn around, and the three-dimensional images playing out behind me are awful. A sea of black rats scurry over one another, attacking their own tails. Worms crawl out of an eye socket, bathing it in their milky trail. They writhe outward toward the crowd, so real in their holographic existence that a few people jerk backward, shrieking.

It’s like the movie has been switched, but it’s all in my head.

How are these things coming… out of
me
?

Just keep going, Whit. Get it back on track.

I concentrate hard, my whole body shaking with the effort, but the horrifying images keep projecting behind me.

The image flickers: now a child bangs his head against the wall, over and over, as blood pools in his eyes. A mask is removed from a face, and behind it is the chill of death. An avalanche of snow barrels outward, and members of the crowd turn away in terror.

“Whit!” Wisty yells, a look of horror on her face. “Stop it!”

But I’m utterly helpless as the darkness feeds on itself. I shake my head and jump off the stage, leaving my sister and friends and a roomful of people gawking after me.

I run, and keep running. Out of the room. Out the big double doors, knocking them against the wall on their hinges, and out into the street. I take huge gulps of the night air as I try to keep from vomiting.

Voices are calling in the distance, yelling my name, but I can’t face them, not now, not until I shake this diseased feeling. I won’t stop running until my lungs are screaming and my legs ache.

I have to escape the thing that’s in my head.

Chapter 4

Wisty

“SERIOUSLY, WHAT’S
WRONG?
”

“Let it go, Wisty,” Whit warns as I try to keep up.