Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss

by James Patterson

  The general clears his throat with a guttural hacking. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Bloom shakes his gray head sadly. “Regardless of your achievements, as magic makers, you’re subject to the recently passed sanctions. No wizard may see the sacred words, lest they twist them into spells for their own power.”

  “By whose authority do you deny us our most basic right?” I shout.

  “By the authority of this Council, elected by the people,” Bloom answers mildly. “I’m afraid that unless The Book decrees, the Council’s ruling must stand.”

  Bloom strikes a large bell and it echoes around the chamber’s high ceilings like a wail of frustration. Then he allows himself a rare, self-congratulatory grin as he says, “This meeting is adjourned.”

  Chapter 17

  Wisty

  “WISTY?” WHIT LOOKS at me with concern.

  I start to heat up. My color is rising with anger, my ears and cheeks flushing red. After all we’ve fought for, our rights as free citizens are going to be revoked in ten minutes by one well-spoken man in a room of cowards.

  And they’re ignoring us. Papers are shuffling, the doors are opening. They’re all leaving. Feeling steam gathering in my head and lava flowing through my veins, I place one of my muddy sneakers onto my chair and push myself up, rising above the Council floor.

  “Wisty,” Whit repeats, “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

  “Wait!” I yell at the dispersing officials, just as my hair bursts into flames.

  All the members stop in their tracks at that moment to stare at the burning girl in the center of City Hall. A few of the suits closest to me start to back away as beads of sweat pool on their foreheads. I even manage to singe Bloom’s eyebrows. I smirk with satisfaction… until he points a long, bony finger in my direction.

  “Fellow Council members, Ms. Allgood wishes us to consider the plight of magicians,” he crows. “But this is the face of magic—dangerous and out of control. It is the common citizen who is truly at risk.”

  “I’m perfectly under control,” I scowl, letting my flame fizzle out.

  But Whit is shaking his head at me, his jaw tight, and I see it’s too late.

  Bloom’s flinty eyes sweep the chamber, connecting with each person in turn. “Remember The One, friends. Remember how unrestricted magic makers remain in power: through trickery, intimidation, and fear!”

  I can’t believe he’s actually comparing me to The One. “Are you really listening to this lunatic?” I ask everyone. But I see few sympathizers here, and even fewer friends. No one moves, no one speaks, and even the kids on the Council won’t meet my eyes.

  “Fine,” I croak, feeling the tears start to brim. I jump off my chair and hastily grab my belongings, my fingers shaking with hurt and anger. Bloom’s mouth stays tight in a smug, thin line.

  Whit tries to put a hand on my shoulder, but I fling it away, furious he didn’t support me up there.

  “Prejudice is prejudice,” I shout as I storm out of the chamber. “No matter how you spin it.”

  I can’t believe I trusted Bloom, or any of them.

  To Shadowland with them all!

  Chapter 18

  Wisty

  I BANG THROUGH the doors of City Hall in a blind rage, papers slipping from my grasp as I try to shove them into my bag. I take the steps two at a time to get away from this corrupt place, full of liars and word twisters and bigots.

  But I don’t get out of there fast enough, because guess who I spot waiting for me, leaning against a pillar, looking suave as ever?

  Yeah: the Demon himself.

  Oh, that’s just great. I’m sure I’m looking totally stunning right now, with my face flushed with anger and my eyes puffy from tears. My hair is probably still steaming.

  I veer away from Heath, hoping he hasn’t spotted me, but luck just doesn’t seem to be on my side this week.

  “Wisty! Wait!”

  “Not now!” I yell, but I can hear the sound of his shoes on the pavement as he runs after me. He’s at risk of getting as bad as Byron. But at least I can turn Byron into a rodent to shut him up. Heath… well, I just couldn’t do that to him.

  “You dropped this.” He holds out one of the papers I dropped—where I’d doodled a cartoon of Bloom getting crushed by a book. “Nice,” he smirks.

  I snatch it out of his hands.

  “Look,” I snap. “I’m warning you, I’m seriously not in the mood for any games right now. I’ve already burned one person today, and I’m thisclose to bringing the heat again. So just—give me some space, okay?”

  “Did inflamed tempers spark debate with our cherished Speaker?”

  I’m not in the mood for stupid puns, either. I storm off toward the square, but Heath keeps pace with me, totally unfazed by my threat. He actually hasn’t stopped smiling, and I’m not sure if I want to kill him for it—or kiss him. Because I know he’s trying to make me laugh.

  “No need to get fired up, Wisty,” he says playfully. “Don’t have a meltdown.”

  I glare at him. Leaning toward kill.

  “You’re so hot when you’re mad.” He grins. “No, seriously. You’re smoking. There’s no match for you.”

  I shake my head, feeling a laugh building despite my anger. “Your puns are really awful.”

  “But accurate!” he shoots back. “You can’t argue with anything I’ve just said, can you?” He raises an eyebrow and I roll my eyes, but I can’t resist a grin.

  “See? You’re smiling.” He looks pleased with himself.

  “This is getting a little old, don’t you think? I think.” I walk even faster, not wanting to give any ground. Not yet.

  “I guess we don’t think the same way,” Heath fires back. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  I whirl around to face him, holding out my arms. “What do you want from me?” We’re in the center of the square now, as good a place as any to finally duke this out. “Seriously, what do you want?” I yell.

  Heath cocks his head to the side, studying my face. “Why do you assume I want something?” he asks.

  I purse my lips, thinking of Bloom and The Book, of The One and his power, of the guy in the band I had a crush on who sold me out to the New Order. I almost want to cry, but I’ve done enough crying today. Instead I smile and give a helpless shrug. “Because everyone wants something from me.”

  “I just like being around you,” Heath says simply, and his eyes have so much sparkle in that moment that I almost believe him. “Is that so bad?”

  Is it? I drink him in, this boy who can’t seem to get enough of me. All sharp lines and long looks. That flirty twist of his mouth that drives me crazy in the worst way… but in the best way, too. He’s not giving up.

  Maybe this is getting old, but is that because I’m finally aching to move forward? To the next level of this… thing we’ve got going?

  “Okay,” I sigh. “The Resistance is having a party tonight. I guess it would be cool if you came.” I try to say it as nonchalantly as possible, but I can feel my usual flush creeping up my neck. I shift my bag to my other arm awkwardly.

  “Perfect.” Heath gives me that blinding white grin full of perfect teeth, looking more confident than ever. He leans forward, and I hold my breath. “Are you ready to dance?” he whispers.

  I bite my lip, feeling the spark. Keep it together, Wisty. He’s just a boy.

  “I might dance.” I can’t resist my own coy smirk as I walk past him and call over my shoulder, “Who knows if it’ll be with you.”

  Chapter 19

  Wisty

  MY BROTHER’S PACING across the living room, gesturing wildly to our parents. I’ve never seen him so agitated, but he seems to be like this all the time lately.

  “You should’ve seen the deadness in their eyes as they just crucified us up there, willing to do whatever he said.”

  Mom and Dad nod at Whit from the couch, listening intently as they sip their tea, but they haven’t said a word.


  “The Council ruled that magic is forbidden,” I say. “Don’t you guys think this is serious? Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

  Our parents share a long, sad look, but they don’t exactly look alarmed.

  “Did you guys know about this?” Whit asks, and folds his arms. He looks like the sensitive little boy I remember growing up with right then, not the well-built athlete with serious magical power that he’s become.

  “We suspected…” Mom begins.

  Dad stands and touches Whit’s shoulder. “But we couldn’t confirm the rumors, or we would’ve told you.”

  “But how?” my brother asks, bewildered. “We’ve got Resistance spies all over the City, and no one had heard a word about this. How did you know?”

  “Well…” Mom looks uneasy. “Since the original development of the New Order, we’ve been meeting in secret with an underground network of magicians to share information.”

  “Since before The One?” I say, shocked. “This could’ve been really helpful a lot of the times we almost died.”

  “The group dissolved during The One’s rule,” she answers. “Mrs. Highsmith was the only magician still able to safely operate.”

  “Did you not find my services useful, Wisteria?” I hear Mrs. Highsmith sing as she suddenly materializes in the fireplace from a puff of ash.

  “Always.” I grin at her. Apart from her incredible power and the fact that she’s saved our hides a few times, this is why I love this quirky, crazy witch: our shared pyromania. Mrs. Highsmith dusts the ash off her clothes—which are as eccentric as ever, including an elaborate feathered hat and yards of fuchsia felt—and plops down into the chair beside me.

  “We’ve only begun meeting again recently because of suspicions among the magic community about Bloom,” Dad continues. “The man has a bit of a history of being reactionary….”

  “Pfft!” Mrs. Highsmith waves her sooty handkerchief at my dad. “Sweet words. Call a bean a bean, Benjamin. He is a politician, a money hoarder, and the ultimate straight-and-narrow, with no appreciation whatsoever of the arts. The One took power because of people like Matthias Bloom.”

  Whit rakes his hands through his hair in frustration. “And he’s got The Book of Truths, so people are listening to him. What are we supposed to do?”

  “The solution is simple,” Mrs. Highsmith crows. “Do what The One did.”

  “What?” I say. “Scare them into submission? That’s exactly what Bloom’s doing.”

  “I don’t mean scare them, dearie. I mean charm them.”

  I look from Mrs. H. to my parents to Whit, nodding. She’s right. The One was a dictator, but it was the people who raised him up.

  “But we don’t want power,” I say. “Ruling is pretty much the worst thing ever.”

  “Worse than school?” Dad asks, and he laughs when I nod. It wasn’t so long ago that I was just a girl doing whatever she could to cut class, and I guess some things never change.

  “So don’t seek power,” Mom says. “But if you want to help the City, find a way to make the people listen. Find a way to win them back.”

  “You already have the three of us,” my dad says, putting his arms around me and Whit.

  “And we count for more.” Mrs. Highsmith winks.

  “We love you guys,” I say, grateful for the millionth time that we’d been able to bring them back from Shadowland. “But we should go. I have to get ready to go out.”

  Whit gapes at me. “I can’t believe you’re going to the party when everything around us is falling apart.”

  “Like you played in a foolball game the day after the kidnappings?” I counter. “We all need ways to let loose, and we can’t fix it all tonight.”

  “I heartily agree with Wisteria,” Mrs. Highsmith chimes in. “Now, what about this Heath chappie, dear?” she asks pointedly, as if she can see exactly how my heart pounds inside my chest at the mention of his name. “You haven’t said a single word about him. Why is that?”

  “I…” I flush tomato red and chew my lip to shreds, but I still can’t give her a straight answer. I don’t think I know myself.

  Chapter 20

  Wisty

  THIS SHOULDN’T BE that awkward, right? Just a simple party. It’s just friends. And friends of friends. Everyone knows everyone here….

  But no one knows Heath, so they’re all staring.

  “Let’s, um, go over to the corner so we can talk.”

  But we don’t talk, because now that I’ve finally admitted to myself that I might really like him, I don’t know where to start.

  “Nice shoes,” he says, nodding at my shiny silver pumps.

  “Thanks.” I smile. But they shredded my heels so much on the way here I have to take them off. Heath watches me slip them off, amused, but holds back any obnoxious commentary. “Nice club, right?” I say, and he nods.

  We look at the DJ booth and at the red disco ball. We stare for long minutes at the floor tiles or the gum stuck to the walls… just not at each other.

  Awk. Ward.

  I’m about to call it quits and just head home, but then Heath looks at me with that familiar spark, that electricity that I’ve been missing all night.

  “Look,” he says. “We’re making this too hard. Let’s just dance.”

  Earlier today, I thought I was going to play a little more hard to get. But right now, I know that dancing is what I need.

  I start swaying back and forth, bouncing to the beat, loosening up with the occasional hip shake. The same rhythmic movements over and over, just like what everyone else is doing.

  But Heath’s doing a lot more than the rest of us. Like his Demon tearing apart the foolball field, it seems like everything he does has to be a thousand times more… electric. Powerful. Maybe even… perfect.

  While other people bob like lapping waves, he’s liquid motion. His whole body seems to writhe, but he doesn’t look stupid. He looks incredible. He merges styles, swaying to the lulls and shaking to the pickups. It’s like he anticipates the musical shifts before they happen, and his body responds instantly.

  I’m kind of inspired, watching him. I let my arms rise up and swirl around. Then my head and hips get into the gyration. We’re dancing by ourselves, doing our thing, but our eyes find each other again and again, stoking the spark.

  My hair starts swinging wildly and it whips Heath’s face. He’s laughing. I’m laughing. His arm curls around my waist and pulls me in close.

  But just then the song ends and we pull apart abruptly.

  Heath’s cheeks are flushed with the exercise, and for some reason, even the sight of his sweat makes my heart rate rise.

  “You’re an incredible dancer,” I say breathlessly as someone fumbles with choosing another song.

  “You’re pretty great yourself.”

  I shake my head. “Not like that. And on the foolball field. No one has reflexes like my brother. But you move like magic.”

  “Maybe I’m a wizard, too,” Heath whispers, his breath hot on my neck.

  I pull back, surprised. I see from his expression that there’s no maybe. He’s telling the truth. “You’re not registered,” I answer, confused. I thought I knew all the magicians in the City.

  “If you could go back and keep your power a secret, wouldn’t you?”

  I shake my head instinctively, but then I think of the sanctions Bloom is imposing on magicians. I see what Heath is saying. That kind of information is a dangerous secret these days. And he’s sharing it with me.

  I’m more intrigued by this mysterious boy than ever.

  “Now, do you want to really dance?” he asks, eyebrow raised devilishly, and I know what he’s asking.

  Whit and I have merged our power with other people a few times when we had to. Whit brought me back from near death with the help of a little girl named Pearl, and even Byron and I had a notable moment….

  But Whit and I have never merged with other magicians.

  I look down at Heath’s outst
retched hand, then up at those fearless, clear blue eyes. For being one of the most powerful witches in our world, I’m way too intimidated.

  “Don’t follow me. Follow the music,” he says. “Let it inside of you.”

  No more holding back. Time to feel it. Deep inside.

  I take his hand and instantly feel the surge of his power as it builds on mine. I feel my heart beating out a rhythm, faster and faster.

  I do as he says and let in the music. I let in the beat, the rhythm, and the pulse. I let it shake up through my bones and into my muscles. But more than that, I let in Heath’s power.

  It makes my feet feel light, my hips free. It makes me feel like I’m capable of anything and everything. It pulses hotter than fire, lifts me higher than morphed wings, is stronger than mind control. It electrifies me.

  Once again Heath’s arms find my waist and we’re drawn together by an almost magnetic force. Pretty soon it’s like our separate moves just start morphing into one pulsing, swaying animal.

  The crowd instinctively backs up around us, giving us space, and all the other people seem to fade away until it’s just him and me. We’re spinning now, shoulders shuddering, hips popping, then stopping magically at the same moment. Right now, it’s not about us. It’s not about what we want.

  It’s about the music.

  After years living under the New Order, sneaking muffled strums on a guitar and trying to keep my movements measured and meek, this is exactly what I needed. After a while, I don’t even know how long we’ve been dancing, because the hum of our energy makes it feel like forever and mere moments at the same time.

  I just know that I never want to stop.

  Chapter 21

  Wisty

  “YOU’RE NOT WELCOME HERE.”

  It’s Byron. I can hardly believe it. I should’ve left him as a weasel.

  Heath just keeps dancing. He doesn’t say anything or even acknowledge that he’s heard Byron. And why would he? It’s a ridiculous statement.