Read Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss Online
Authors: James Patterson
I’m thinking about a night spent under the stars with a girl who drives me crazy.
Janine.
“Maybe we remember the people we still have,” I whisper, and hear the desire in my voice. “Maybe we act like each day is all we have left, and go from there.”
Janine tilts her head up to me. “So, what would you do if we just had right now?”
I kiss her fiercely then, and she kisses me back, her hands pulling me closer. Even if the world is crumbling around us, tonight Janine and I will feel as completely alive as we ever have, and hold each other tight until the last star is gone from the sky.
AFTER OUR TAKEDOWN of the kidnappers’ vans, Heath makes a point I’ve been trying not to think too much about.
“Makes you wonder what else we could accomplish together, doesn’t it?” He smiles mischievously.
Something comes over me when I see that devilish grin, and I can’t
not
kiss him. I savor the taste of his sweet lips and drape my arms around his neck, inhaling him.
“Ahem,” I hear a young voice say nearby.
A dozen children are still huddled together by the abandoned truck, staring as we smooch near the still-smoking wreck.
I cough awkwardly, dropping my arms from Heath’s neck. “What are you guys doing out this late, anyway?” I scold the kids, but they just gape at me, still too shell-shocked to move.
The group is a mix of older and younger kids, ragged and well dressed, dark and fair. Whoever’s taking them seems to just want numbers.
But for what?
“Haven’t your parents told you that monsters come out after curfew?” I ask, going for a lighthearted tone. Still no one speaks.
Unless…
it’s
me
they’re afraid of
, I realize with a pang. I’m
the monster that comes out after dark
, thanks to Bloom’s antimagic rhetoric. And now they’ve just witnessed us starting an electrical fire, blowing up a car, and freezing a man. Not exactly the stuff sweet dreams are made of.
I sigh. “Go on, get out of here!” I clap my hands, and that seems to shake a few of them out of their stupor. They start to scamper in all directions. “Go home to your mamas, and tell them you saw the fire witch and her horrible spells!”
And maybe tell them how we saved your lives, too.
“Thank you, Missus Fire Witch,” a tiny girl in a pink jumper says. She kicks the frozen man as she passes. “He’s better that way.” She reminds me a bit of Pearl Neederman with her wise, old eyes.
“Hey, what’s your name?” I ask.
“Bettina Alexandra Gannon.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “My mom says you have to say your whole name if you want people to remember you. You won’t forget, will you?”
I put my hand over my heart and look at her solemnly. “I won’t forget.”
I’ll remember these kids, remember what it took to save them. Maybe we did do something good here tonight. And maybe we could do it again.
After the last kid has run home, I look at Heath, grinning. “Thanks for getting me out of the house. Even if you had to break in first.”
He’s smiling, too, but it’s a different sort of smile. He gazes at me from under those lashes, that unflinching look he first hooked me with at the celebration. He takes a few slow, deliberate steps across the cobblestones toward me, his steady, suggestive gaze making the distance feel like miles.
“Speaking of home…” Heath brings my bandaged hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles tenderly one by one, and I hold my breath. “May I show you mine? Would that be all right?”
I feel the flush on my neck as I nod. I chatter constantly as we walk. Not doing a great job of hiding my butterflies.
“So,” Heath says as we reach the steps of the building’s front porch. “Do I still frighten you, Wisty Allgood?”
“I had a shard of glass at your throat a few hours ago,” I say wryly, and Heath smirks. I stand up straighter, meeting his bold gaze. “You’ve never frightened me,” I answer.
Heath leans closer. “I wish I could say the same,” he murmurs.
Then his lips are on mine, gentle at first, then pressing hard. As Heath moves slowly backward up the porch stairs, I lean into his kisses, letting him pull me upward.
Another step. Another.
The fever spreads over me, up my legs and chest, up my neck….
Oh, no
, I think, just as I feel my hair catch fire.
Please, not now.
I start to jerk away from Heath, afraid I’ll burn him, but he only grips my body tighter, his hold firm, his lips insistent.
The fire streaks across my skin as any sense of caution I had a second ago falls away. The pale yellow flame climbs higher and hotter, roaring between us.
I don’t even care. There’s no pain. Only pleasure.
It feels like all I’ve ever wanted.
THE AIR VIBRATES with our white-hot heat, like nothing I’ve ever known. It’s like my blood itself is boiling. The sensation spreads through my body like a match to gasoline, snaking in seconds from my toes up into my feverish brain.
We stop to draw in a breath, and our eyes connect. It’s just a fleeting moment but it feels like time stops. His eyes wrap me up with a look of complete devotion.
No one has ever looked at me this way.
And there’s something else in Heath’s look, too: power.
The power of love and lust and heat, controlling my body and my brain and my magic. A power fed by every touch. It’s there between the frenzied kisses, crackling and hissing in the flames.
It’s so intense between us, like every thought, every emotion is shared and translated into the very real, very physical fire raging around us.
Getting hotter. And hotter. And hotter.
There’s a sudden
whoosh
as the roof above the porch goes up in flames.
Heath doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s still pulling me toward the doorway to his building.
But suddenly I don’t know if that’s what I want. Suddenly it feels like I can barely see through the smoke, or breathe through his kisses. And the fire is spreading, the heat choking….
My magic has never felt so totally out of control.
“Wait.” I step back abruptly, breaking the embrace.
“What’s wrong?” Heath asks, breathless.
Nothing.
I shake my head.
Everything.
My hair is still sending off sparks, betraying my desire, and I can’t explain why I don’t want to step through that doorway.
I just don’t know if I’m ready.
There’s a final swell of heat before my fire starts to sizzle out. But the front of the building is still burning.
What have I done?
Heath reaches for my hand. “It’s okay, Wisty.” There’s concern in his voice, but his touch is still too hot, and I involuntarily pull away. Even as I do it, it’s breaking my heart.
“I just can’t,” I whisper, and before he can say another word, I turn from him and—hearing that sirens are already on their way—I flee.
Tears streak down my cheeks as I run.
It’s not supposed to be like this.
Until this moment, I’d taken pride in the strength of my magic. But right now, running from a burning building because I’m afraid of what power a kiss could have, I just feel humiliated.
And angry.
Shrieking, I light up the alley with a handful of lightning bolts, and a dozen windows shatter as a frustrated sob tears out of my throat.
I throw fireballs at garbage cans, and they erupt into blazing bonfires.
With a frustrated yell, I kick one over, and the fire shoots outward as the air hits it. It blazes up a nearby building and seems to chase me down the block.
I’m aware of people watching me now—of frowning faces and wide, fearful eyes peering out of the cracks of doorways and from behind window shades.
The fire is reflected in mirrored windows on both sides of the street. It feels like it’s just getting bigger and bigger, surrounding me. My hair is still sparking, and the smoke trails after me all the way down the street.
No wonder they’re afraid of me.
“YOU PROMISED ME, WHIT!” Celia moans, distraught.
“You
promised
me you wouldn’t come up the Mountain.”
“I actually promised I wouldn’t go to the King,” I say, guiltily. “And I haven’t.”
Her withering look makes me feel like an even bigger jerk. I don’t think Celia’s ever been
really
angry with me—not like this. “I’m sorry, Celes. I didn’t have a choice. You wouldn’t believe how bad it’s gotten in the City. Someone needed to negotiate—”
“I’m telling you, the Wizard King does not negotiate!”
Celia’s not a floating head in the sky this time. Not a far-off voice. Not even a shimmering Half-light in Shadowland, capable of emotion but not of being held.
This time, she’s pacing the rocky terrain of the Mountain, right in front of our camp, and Celia looks like she did in high school that day her grandmother died, with red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. Her tears drip down skin that doesn’t even glow. This time, she’s flawed and blotchy and angry.
And she seems so, so
real
.
“Is this still a dream?” I wonder aloud.
I keep reaching out to see if her arms are solid, and if I can pinch her thick, curly hair between my fingers. The forest is weird, though. I think she’s in front of one tree, but every time I reach my hand out, I realize she’s somewhere else.
“Are you even listening to me?” she demands, turning. Even her agitation seems so… human again.
“Are you alive?” I blurt out, before I can stop myself.
The question itself seems to rattle her even more. “No, baby. I’m dead and buried.” Celia looks at me hard. “Remember?”
“I remember…” I say, uncertain, but it’s so hard to deny what’s in front of me now.
Celia shakes her head. “You’re confused. I came to warn you, but it’s too late. You can’t even see me, not really.”
The accusation makes my heart ache. “I can see you,” I protest. “You’re more beautiful than ever.” But Celia shakes her head, and my step toward her seems to take me backward again, to the other side of the boulders.
“Get back to Wisty,
now
, Whit!” she commands urgently. “She needs you.”
Her mention of Wisty makes me nervous. Hopefully Byron is looking out for her.
“I’m going back to the City soon. I just have to get Pearl first.”
“Pearl’s already lost!” Celia insists. “They’re all lost. The Mountain King takes them.”
“The kids? We can take them back, though. I saw the camp—”
“No, he
takes
them,” she repeats, eyes wild. “
Cleans
them. The children aren’t there anymore. They’re all washed away.”
I shake my head sadly, thinking maybe she means the river that the dead cross to Beyond. “I’m sorry, Celes. I don’t understand.”
“Listen to me!” she screams angrily. “I tried to warn you before. I tried to warn you because I love you!” Her shoulders heave as she starts to cry.
“You know I’ll always love you, too, Celia, right?” I tell her. But she sobs harder, burying her face in her hands. “It’s okay. Don’t cry. Look at me. Please.”
But when she looks up at me, there’s only blankness. Her face is
wiped clean
.
I recoil and jerk awake, and I’m in the same place in the forest, but still in my sleeping bag, and colder than I ever remember being.
Janine hovers over me, her head filling up my view in place of Celia’s, and I’m relieved to see her face is still there, with all its freckles and her emerald eyes, spilling over with tears.
What’s wrong?
“You were talking in your sleep.” She shakes her head. “About Celia.”
Oh, no.
“Wait,” I say, sitting up and touching her hand. “Janine, that wasn’t—”
“Even now, even after everything, you just can’t let her go,” she says, pulling her hand from my grasp and marching off through the thicket of the trees.
I’m struggling to free myself from the blankets when I hear her scream.
JANINE BURSTS BACK into the clearing, stumbling into me as she looks over her shoulder.
“What happened?” I ask urgently, looking around for the threat. “Are you okay?”
“It’s Margo,” Janine says in a thin, whimpering voice, her eyes wide.
Margo?
I frown, looking for a head wound or a sign that Janine is injured.
That makes no sense.
Feffer starts barking, and Ross blinks up at us sleepily from his rocky bed. “Who’s Margo?”
“The original Resistance badass,” the girl answers as she steps from behind the pines.
She
does
look like Wisty’s best friend, purple camo pants and all. Only there’s no ash in her blond hair, and her eyes positively sparkle with life. Which explains the shock on Janine’s face: Margo was murdered by The One.
She’s been dead for over a year.
“Hey, guys,” says the walking, talking,
breathing
Margo.
I gape at her in disbelief.
I saw the execution. I watched you go up in smoke.
Didn’t I?
The One killed a girl that day, a girl who wore Margo’s punky, star-covered sneakers. A girl whose face we never saw under the hood. It
had
to be her, though. Right?
“Hey, Margo,” I answer uneasily, not knowing where to start.
Where have you been all this time? How did you find us on this Mountain? What does dying feel like?
“What’s… up?”
“We thought it’d be fun to get the old crew back together.” She cocks her head.
We?
Sasha is walking through the trees in our direction.
“Ohhh,” Ross manages to squeak before he passes out in a dead faint.