Witch & Wizard (20 page)

Where you presently dwell,

It is now with great pleasuren

We send you off to—

We all waited with bated breath… and fear, I must admit, and trembling. I almost didn’t want to hear her complete the curse.

“Um,
Roachland,
” Wisty finished. “Where you will be judged a heinous criminal even under the laws of roaches!”

She snapped her hands at Judge Unger, who actually cowered.

“I give you all my power,” I whispered to my sister. “You speak for both of us.”

It was as if lightning were moving within me, a feeling of quicksilver warmth that raced through my hands and into Wisty.

Again, she snapped her hands at Judge Unger. This time, he shrieked, and a crackling burst of white light surrounded him, engulfing the monster from his head to the tips of his black riding boots.

We all waited, hearts in our throats, and then, when the smoke cleared, the biggest, ugliest roach I’d ever seen lay trembling on the pavement.

The Matron stared at the hideous creature, appalled.

“You’re next,” Wisty told her.

The Matron shot a glance at the security specialists, and they shook their heads. Whirling, they ran through the crowd as fast as they could. Jonathan too.

The last I saw of the Matron, she was lumbering away, shrieking like a banshee. She had gotten our message; now she would help spread it—right up to the Council of Ones.
The fight is on!

Wisty’s eyes grew very large. “I think… we did it!” she said, her voice raspy and weak. Her eyes were turning back to blue again.

“Eww!”
I heard a kid squeal. I looked down to see a large rat darting through everyone’s legs. Suddenly, it seized the roach—and bit off its head.

It struck me as being one of the top five grossest things I’d ever seen, but Wisty was having a laugh attack.

“What’s so funny?” I asked her.

“Now that’s justice!” she said as the rat skittered away with the rest of Ezekiel Unger’s roach body in its mouth.

“You know,” she continued, “I like rats
much
better when they’re not bigger than me. They’re almost cute, don’t you think?”

And then she fainted again.

Yeah, my sister’s weird.

Mostly in a good way.

NOW HERE’S WHAT my sister missed: I turned and saw that several of the prison kids were crying, bawling their little eyes out, shivering, cowering.

The One Who Is The One had appeared—this time with no strong winds, no warning of any kind.

He stood directly over Wisty and declared, “She’s good. She’s
very good,
Whitford. You both are. Of course, you must know that I had no intention of letting either of you be seriously harmed. No, no, no.”

I finally found my voice. “I’ll bet you didn’t.”

“I absolutely didn’t. That isn’t one of the prophecies. Even I can’t change those.”

The One looked hard at me then, almost stared right through me. “You do know the prophecies about you and your sister, don’t you? That’s what all the fuss is about. Your parents didn’t tell you? You mean,
no one
has?
You don’t know?
”

I wished I could hurt him, but all I could do was dumbly mutter, “What prophecies?”

“Oh Whit, Whit, poor Whit…. All right then, I’ll have to be the bearer of legend and myth. Listen well.

“
Prophecy One: a boy and girl, brother and sister, shall be born to Wiccans and shall achieve powers heretofore unrealized by any other Wiccans.
That much is obviously true.

“
Prophecy Two: the boy and girl shall lead an army of children to victory
…. Well, look around. You won the Battle of the New Order Reformatory, didn’t you?

“
Three: the brother and sister shall know great sadness, suffering, and terrible betrayal.
Hope not. Think so.

“
Four: they must visit all five Levels of Reality, which no one before them has done, and learn the lessons of each level.
Sounds even worse than middle school and high school.

“
Prophecy Five:
well, I’ll come back to that one.

“
Six: ultimately, the brother and sister shall combine with an even greater power for the goodness and prosperity of all.
Sounds exciting, no?”

The One stared deeply into my eyes, and it was almost as if he were trying to know me better, to understand something about me.

“So, Whitford, what do you think of all this? Am I friend or foe—or a little of each? Are the important things in life black and white, or maybe a little gray? Do fairies, elves, and gremlins exist? And will you ever see Celia again? I leave you with those weighty thoughts and questions.

“And this one last prophecy, sweet prince:
the Allgoods shall be executed.
That is Prophecy Five. I’m sure that you and your sister will sort it all out. Give her my very best. Wake her gently.”

“WHAT HAPPENED?” I asked dreamily when I opened my eyes and caught sight of Whit.

“You just had a bad dream, Wisty. You’ve been sick for days. Mom and Dad and I have been really worried about you.”

This is what I
hoped
to hear, anyway.

Then I caught sight of Margo, Sasha, and Emmet in the background. There was a moment of letdown, sure, but then I felt huge relief, knowing they were okay and they were there for me. Even that hateful weasel, Byron Swain, actually seemed concerned about me.

“Don’t you remember?” Whit said. “The prison, Judge Unger, the Matron, all the kids who escaped?”

“I do!” I said, trying to sit up. “Actually, I do. Most of it anyway.”

“You missed The One Who Is The One,” Whit said then.

“I did? How? When?”

“I’ll tell you later. What about Mom and Dad?” Whit asked suddenly, his face lit with concern when he saw mine fall. “What happened? Where are they? Wisty? What’s wrong?”

My eyes went from face to face until they came to Sasha’s. “Ask
him,
” I said. “He’s the one who lied to us. Mom and Dad were never in the prison. Sasha lied to get us to help.” Bitterness rose in my throat. “I’ll never forgive you!” I spat out.

It took a moment for Whit to process the betrayal. In a flash his expression morphed from disbelief to dismay to disgust.

“No,” Whit growled, his fists clenched. “Neither will I!”

Sasha never flinched. “Worse things have happened to me. Far worse. We needed you guys. This is a war against true evil. The ends justify any effective means.” Then Sasha gave us that cheery smile of his, and it was so, so sad. And creepy.

Then and there, I vowed never to let the “war” or anything else do that to me. “I should turn you into a slug!” I shouted at Sasha. “You used our friendship, and ruined it forever.”

“Take it easy!” Whit cautioned. “You’ve been out for hours. He’s not worth it.”

“She’s awake!” someone shouted, and I suddenly realized that all around me were hundreds of kids wearing, like, party hats and blowing noisemakers. Tattered paper streamers were draped everywhere. We were back at Garfunkel’s.

Feffer was sitting on a couch, eating what looked like cake off a paper plate. When she heard my voice, she jumped off and came to me, licking my face.

I got to my feet, shaky, starving, and a little light-headed. Janine, our leader of the week, pushed through the crowd, holding a soda and a plate of chocolate cake.
Real cake!
Totally pukka. I hadn’t had any in… it felt like a lifetime. I didn’t even use a fork. I dug into it, icing first.

“To the Liberators!” Janine shouted. Everyone around me echoed her words.

My face flushed as I tried to smile and shove more cake into my mouth at the same time.

“Everyone helped,” Whit said. “Here’s to all of you!”

Margo, the commando, was staring at Whit, who did look very heroic. “You two did the most.”

“So, for today, enjoy being heroes!” Janine said, but her eyes shone only on Whit. I knew he didn’t notice that she was totally crushing on him. My bro was clueless, as usual. That’s one thing I love about him.

Someone handed me a foot-long hot dog with everything slopped all over it, and I began to wolf down the frank right on top of the cake. Yuck, but also delish.

“Emphasis being on ‘today,’ ” Emmet clarified with a heart-stopping grin. “We don’t let anybody be heroes for more than one day, because it goes to their heads. Hero worship tends to corrupt. Or at least turn you into an erlenmeyer.”

“Understood,” said Whit.

“However,” Janine went on, “for going above and beyond the call of duty, you are hereby promoted to official rescue mission driver. We stashed the van in a secret hideout behind enemy lines, and it’s waiting for you next time we go raiding.”

“
That
death trap?” Whit said.

“That
rescue vehicle,
” said Janine. “We just heard from another group of kids in an abandoned mall. They need help badly.”

“Wha—?” I blurted, my mouth still full.

“They need help,” Janine repeated, as if that explained all of life’s complex mysteries… and maybe it did.

“Another mission?” Whit said, but I could see the gears in his mind turning. His eyes met mine, and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing: our parents were out there too.

“Well, okay,” I said finally, and Whit nodded.

Feffer nudged my leg, and I patted her. “Of course you’re going,” I assured her.

“And me,” said a voice up close to my ear.

I TURNED TO SEE Byron Traitor Suck-up Weasel perched on a shelf near my head, curled into a snaky little S.

“No. You are
not
going,” I said firmly. “You are not going anywhere with us. You are still a hateful, traitorous, black-hearted
naysayer!
”

“Nuh-uh,” said Byron, in a tone that I think confirmed my point. Someone had given him half a hot dog, and he was chomping through it. “I’ve changed. I like you guys now. I want to go with you.”

“You are so full of it,” I said. “You’re staying right here.”

In my peripheral vision I caught Janine, Margo, and Emmet violently shaking their heads.

“He has to go with you,” Janine said. “You brought him. He’s your responsibility. The weasel
must go.
”

“There’s something I want to say to you guys,” Byron said stiffly. “I want to apologize.” My eyes widened. “At the time, when we…
met,
I felt I was doing the right thing. It seemed to be the only smart thing to do, to act like I did. But after seeing the kids living in Freeland, and the Hospital where you guys were, and the Curve dog… and realizing about how maybe I could have done something different in terms of that whole thing with my sister… well… I’m just saying I feel
differently,
” he continued. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

Whit and I made surprised faces at each other.

“Fine,” Whit said, and sighed. “Fine. We’ll take him along.”

And then another strange thing: tears, actual tears, began to flow from the hateful weasel’s eyes.

Can people really change?
I wondered.
Maybe they can.

THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

IT WAS MORE THAN a little scary to be on our own, me and Whit, in a stolen van. Well, that was the deal—just us, except for our budding pet shop: Feffer and Byron, the World’s Most Annoying Pointy-Headed Formerly Traitorous Weasel.

With our clean clothes and tidied hair—my beautiful
auburn
hair—we sure looked like New Order kids, so we would probably be safer. We were learning to rely on our magic more and trust in our powers. It’s harder than you would think.

Whit had been telling me about seeing his Oneness again, and hearing the prophecies about us, which didn’t include the one we saw on the wall inside Garfunkel’s. Also, poor Whit was seriously pining for Celia, hoping for a dream visit, at least. As for me, I was just enjoying the ride, blasting Stonesmack’s first album with the van’s stereo speakers turned up. Way up.

“Here. Need some help,” said Byron, bringing me the end of a large bandanna. “If you tie this to the clothes-hanger thingy, I’ll have a nice little hammock.”

I took the bandanna and turned around in my seat. He’d already somehow fastened one end to a handhold. Resigned, I slung the other end over the small clothes-hanger hook next to me, then tied a knot for him.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Byron jumped up and curled himself into his little hammock, leaving only his pointy face showing.

I sighed.

“Hey,” said Whit, “this looks familiar, doesn’t it? Check it out.”

I scanned the landscape through my window. We’d been passing fields of crops, mostly corn, with signs saying
CLEAN CORN FOR CLEAN PEOPLE: WE GUARANTEE THIS PRODUCT HAS NOT BEEN SPRAYED, GENETICALLY MODIFIED, OR TAMPERED WITH BY SPELLCASTERS. BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE NEW ORDER COUNCIL OF AGRICULTURE
.

Weird stuff like that, probably written by The One Who Makes Irritating Billboards.

I saw what Whit meant, though. Something about the shape of the land, the way the horizon looked—it was familiar to me too. My back and neck tensed. Familiarity breeds, I don’t know,
paranoia?

“What’s that?” asked Whit, pulling the van over to the side of the highway and pointing toward a shape in the distance, something poking up out of the unending sea of orderly crops.

“A tree?” I said, and had the most horrible feeling settle in my stomach. Why would the N.O. have left a single tree standing?

We climbed out of the van and, without a word to each other, began walking toward it, Feffer in tow. We crossed a few fields and some paths that, underneath a layer of dust, we could tell were abandoned streets, with double-yellow lines down the middle.

It took us half an hour or so to walk to it, and all the while the pit of my stomach dropped farther and farther.