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  “The squad and the mutts are on their way,” Pearce replies with cool confidence.

  The One presses his lips together. “Ah. So am I to understand that you employed demonstrably incompetent idiots to do a job that I brought you here specifically to do?”

  Pearce runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. The trouble is, the thought of getting close to Wisty Allgood stirs intensely conflicting emotions in him — and he is not one accustomed to feeling much emotion at all.

  “Couldn’t we just kill her?” Pearce suggests. The words are out before he can stop them. The One raises an eyebrow, and Pearce sees his grave blunder. “It would be easier, faster,” he explains quickly. “Without the existence of The Gift, there’s no threat. We’ll have all the power there is to have.”

  The One stands up and stares down at Pearce as if seeing him for the first time. His mouth twists into a sour grimace. Then, without a word, The One strikes Pearce hard across the face. The blow makes the boy stumble backward and leaves a deep gash where The One’s spiked ring with the New Order insignia has caught Pearce’s high, chiseled cheekbone.

  Blood is dripping onto the floor in bright, vivid exclamations, but Pearce doesn’t cry out, and his jaw is still hard, defiant. After all, in his short life he’s been dealt much worse.

  “You’ve developed a bit of a stutter, my boy. I think you mean I’ll have the power, don’t you?” The One says evenly. “And I don’t see much of a threat, really. More like an interesting little game we’re all playing.”

  Then The One turns away from Pearce dismissively and goes back to gazing at the screen. Pearce feels a familiar fury heat up his cheeks and his ears, moving all the way down into his fingertips.

  There is only one person in the world whom he hates more than the witch.

  The young soldier reaches a tentative hand toward The One. If he is strong enough, if he has it in him, he will have no better opportunity. An inch or two more, and he can touch that smooth, bald head, watch the skin peel away from the skull and the body collapse.

  Hand shaking, he hesitates.

  The One whirls around, and at the same time Pearce jerks upward, as if choked by an invisible vise.

  “Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” The One laughs maniacally. “Gunning for ‘game over’ already?”

  Pearce’s legs dangle as he’s suspended inches above the floor, and his face quickly grows crimson and bloated. “You wouldn’t,” he sputters.

  The One’s Technicolor eyes dance with wickedness as he holds Pearce aloft by an invisible noose. “As you know too well, dear boy, there is virtually nothing I wouldn’t do to educate those who don’t completely understand my authority.”

  Pearce looks past The One and thinks he can just make out the white-topped mountains in the distance, mocking him. The Wizard King’s domain. He never should have left.

  Just as he is losing consciousness, Pearce falls abruptly to the floor in a pitiful heap.

  “Now,” The One says softly, leaning over him. “Bring. Me. The. Girl.” His smoldering eyes flash a warning. “Please.”

  Pearce’s breath comes in jagged gasps as he struggles to his feet. Regaining his composure, he salutes, turns sharply, and strides as confidently as he can manage toward the door.

  “And, Pearce?” The One says when the youth is almost out of the room. Pearce stops in the doorway, his nerves buzzing. “Remember who made you what you are. If you want to go back to the mountains, I can take away every ounce of power I gave you.”

  Pearce’s body goes rigid, but he doesn’t turn around. He touches his cheek and finds it still wet with blood. Biting his tongue to keep from screaming, he straightens, wipes his hand on the doorknob, and goes out to find Wisty Allgood.

  Chapter 18

  Whit

  I’M A WANTED fugitive, a criminal of the highest order whose face is plastered on every wall, every lamppost in the capital. Considering how insane things are right now, getting up at five in the morning, tramping through a city crawling with soldiers, using a big chunk of my M to conspicuously morph my arm into an ax, and hacking down a tree in the middle of Overland Park on a banned Holiday is probably one of the riskiest, stupidest things I could do.

  It’s not even a great tree. It’s a little sparse around the back, and it leans dramatically to the left, but seeing the look on my sister’s face as she and Pearl drape scraggly tinsel over its branches makes the trip totally worth it.

  Pearl hasn’t said much to me yet, but her eyes are shining with emotion.

  She looks at Wisty and nods her chin in the direction of the fireplace.

  “Pretty good fire you’ve got burning there. Been going for almost two days now.”

  Wisty grins — coming from Pearl, this is high praise. I want to join in their moment, but at the mention of the fire, I’ve got that charred corpse in my head again. I feel nauseated.

  Wisty catches my expression and looks perplexed. As much as I want to tell her about what I witnessed in that alley, more than anything I just want to forget it and get my sister far away from the capital.

  Wisty, on the other hand, wants to draw out this Holiday for as long as possible.

  She winks at me and Pearl, and in a moment the broken ornaments, sitting crudely on the branches, transform into a rainbow of winking electrical lights, the colors glowing in the dark room.

  I whistle in appreciation, and the other Needermans gather around, the kids oohing and aahing.

  I smile at Pearl, but her tiny face is a mask.

  Mama May coughs. “Pearl Marie, honey, where are your manners? What do you say?”

  Pearl’s big gray eyes are solemn. “It’s great, really pretty and all. It’s beautiful.” She looks at both of us accusingly. “But if you’re who they say you are, if you’ve come to save us, can’t you do something more?”

  “Pearl,” Mama cuts in, anger creeping into her voice. “I’m sorry, Wisty, she’s just upset. With Ziggy’s death and all —”

  “Yeah, Mama, they’ve given us some twinkly ornaments. But I worked hard for those pieces of broken glass. What has she ever worked for?” Wisty stares at the floor, and I put an arm around her shoulders. “And the Feast Day was terrific. But we’re going to be hungry again tomorrow, and the day after that. Can they keep this whole family warm at night? Warm and safe?” Pearl asks. “Every night?”

  No one says a word; every sound has been sucked out of the room. Pearl Marie’s eyes are burning into us, holding us accountable.

  Right then there’s an earsplitting explosion of splintering wood, and the door caves in. A dizzying number of Death Squad recruits flood into the space, their black boots like rats scurrying over one another, their weapons trained on the space between our eyes.

  I was almost getting too comfortable for a second there. This is more like my life.

  I look around frantically for a weapon or a way out of this situation, but there are too many soldiers and too many guns and too many snarling, biting wolves, their mangy coats reeking of rotting flesh, bloodlust in their eyes.

  There’s a moment of silence, and nobody moves. It’s like the Death Squad didn’t really expect that it would be so easy. We are animals caught in a trap, staring into the face of our demise. Where can we go? My mind races with my pulse, and I sense my sister next to me, tensed, ready to spring on my cue.

  Pearl looks mesmerized by the wolves, her small body literally shaking. “Stick with Mama May,” I whisper. “Don’t look back, just go!”

  “Under the direct order of The One Who Is The One,” a chubby recruit reads from a ledger, “the members of this household are to be placed under arrest for the despicable deeds of harboring high-risk fugitives and practicing those forbidden acts and readings associated with what was formerly known as the Holiday, punishable by execution in Orderly Square.”

  The Needermans seem resigned through their tears. They knew this day would come.

  “Nice tree,” one soldier says flat
ly, sneering. “Sturdy wood, pine. Should work nicely for your hanging gallows.”

  They lunge forward, and chaos erupts. The Needermans seem to have disappeared, and in their place is a frenzied group of scattering mice. Some of the soldiers are stomping at the floor, and one phobic guy is shrieking in fear.

  Wisty winks at me, and in an instant I’m reminded that when it comes to morphing things, rodents are her specialty.

  In the pandemonium, we’re able to dart past the soldiers and up the crumbling staircase to the destroyed apartments above, hell’s beasts snapping at our heels. Frantic, dizzy, we circle up and up. I haven’t considered what we’ll do when we reach the top when the staircase just … ends. The next floor is bombed out, and the only thing that stands between us and the bloody, snarling jaws of the wolves is a shattered window.

  One of the men laughs as his wolf strains against the chains. “End of the line. Where else are you gonna go?”

  “Now would be the time for a hawk spell,” I say to Wisty.

  This is when we’d typically morph smoothly into graceful winged creatures, taking flight and soaring above this red-bannered city, our pursuers nothing but tiny black smudges on the landscape below.

  Yet here we still are. Human.

  Wisty sighs in frustration. “My power’s shorting out or something. It’s like it works on other people but not on us.”

  Without a spell, without a choice, I tackle Wisty and together we tumble out of the fourth-story window, falling, falling …

  And then a crushing thud.

  Chapter 19

  Wisty

  WHIT AND I stand up, coughing, panting, and a little bruised but victorious.

  I glance, bewildered, at the enormous pile of trash that broke our fall, and an old woman nods at me as she walks away down the demolished street, trying to look inconspicuous. A small sign of support and unity. We are not the only ones still battling this unjust system. The soldiers lean out the window, bellowing insults, but they can’t get to us.

  So why are these N.O. men grinning? I squint up at the window. They’ve got something small and angry squirming between them.

  They’ve got Pearl Marie.

  She struggles against them, her little face fierce with determination, but the men laugh, yanking her arms back and forth.

  “You forgot your little pet,” one jeers at us. “We could toss her down to you” — he dangles Pearl out the window as she screams — “but I think we’ll just hang on to her for now. You know, for safekeeping.”

  “You didn’t change her, too?” Whit whispers angrily at me.

  “I thought I changed them all,” I say, irritated. “There’s no way I could’ve missed her!”

  “She must’ve slipped out before then.” Whit sighs. “She was terrified of those wolves. I told her to stick with Mama May and run. We’ll have to find her after we’ve got our energy back and built up the Resistance forces.”

  He turns, and I look up to see Pearl’s distraught face at the crumbling window, struggling against the pull of her captors.

  “We’re not just going to leave her,” I demand. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Back in the days of the Resistance, we never would’ve left someone behind.

  “What choice do we have?” Whit asks, his voice strained with emotion. “You know I care about that kid, Wist. It isn’t safe here for you … for us. I just got you back, and I’m not ready to lose you again.”

  Whit looks up at little Pearl Marie. “We’ll come back for you!” he yells. “We promise. And we always keep our promises.” I catch sight of her brave nod as the guards sweep her away — and swiftly down the stairwell, I’m assuming, toward us.

  Resentfully, I dash down the alley of rubble after my brother, mice fleeing in our path. After we’ve been running for what seems like forever, I turn to Whit, still angry. “That’s not true, what you said,” I tell him.

  He looks at me, confused. “What’s not true? I didn’t say anything.”

  “That stuff you told Pearl Marie when we ran away like cowards, when we left her there at the mercy of those goons,” I say bitterly. “You said we always keep our promises. Who have we made promises to, Whit? Celia. The Resistance kids. Mom and Dad.”

  Whit’s face flushes, but he remains silent.

  “A big help we’ve been to all of them, big brother. We shouldn’t be making promises to anybody, not to a single soul, and especially not to that doomed little girl.”

  Chapter 20

  Wisty

  “GOT … TO … STOP. Going … to … barf,” I wheeze.

  I slow to a halt next to a closed fast-food joint, and my brother, who’s way ahead, jogs back to me. It’s almost nightfall, and we’re not even out of the capital, but the plague has weakened me more than I want to admit.

  There’s a huge neon sign blinking the One-Der Burger’s logo: THE ONE IS FOREVER. CONSUME HAPPILY. I’m doubled over, but I turn to cough some phlegm in its direction.

  Whit’s eyes are full of concern. “You okay, sis? I’m fine stopping for the night. You’re looking a little wrecked.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be okay. I just need to catch my breath. It’d be nice if we could just fly or something.”

  “Your M still acting up?” Whit’s frowning at me.

  I roll my eyes. “I know, okay? It was dumb to waste all that energy on a weak fire and Holiday lights so soon after being sick, and now my mojo’s weak, and blah, blah, blah …”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t think it’s the plague messing with your magic. It’s happening to me now, too, and I had trouble with spells before, when you were still unconscious. It’s the … air … out here or something that’s blocking it.”

  “Huh,” Is say, sitting down on the curb next to an appallingly expensive black car, its seats littered with One-Der Burger wrappers. “So we’re in the middle of a capital crawling with Death Squad soldiers, The One Who Is The One has a price on our heads, and neither of us has any magic to help us out of this mess? Didn’t you just whip up a whole Holiday feast and, like, cut down a tree with your arm?”

  I mime a chopping action and accidentally hit the black car. The alarm goes off, its plaintive wail cutting into the still night air. My adrenaline surges, and we sprint over to hide behind the One-Der Burger Dumpster, but there’s not a soul around to respond, and soon the repetitive howl cuts off.

  Whit shoots me an annoyed look and steps out from behind the Dumpster. Then he jumps right back into our conversation. “I felt strong in the Needermans’ basement, and I was okay if I stayed relatively close, but the farther away we get from that positive energy … it’s like a switch has been flipped and I’m about as powerful as a mosquito.”

  “Looks like our only chance is to get our power from other people,” I say.

  “What do you mean?” Whit’s looking at me like I just read his mind, and he’s not super comfortable with it. The blinking light from the One-Der Burger sign gives his face an eerie hue.

  “Strength in numbers, right?” I touch Whit’s arm, thinking aloud. “The only thing that beats One is two, and three, and four. You said we’d go back for Pearl once we built up the Resistance forces again. I vote we try to find Janine, Emmet, Sasha, Jamilla — everyone we can track down — to help out.”

  Whit shakes his head like he’s about to deliver some really bad news. “They’re all on the missing-persons list. Hewitt showed me a copy he’d somehow gotten hold of.”

  “So?” I challenge. I sound angrier than I mean to.

  “So, that means there’s no Resistance anymore.” He’s rubbing his forehead like he does when he’s frustrated and upset. He looks me in the eyes, measuring his words. “It means they’re probably all dead, Wist. We’re all that’s left.”

  My brother’s trying to control his emotion, to keep his face strong. To anyone else he’d look calm, resigned. But I’m his sister, and I can hear that slight quiver in his voice; I can see the small twitch of muscles around h
is mouth. He’s remembering them.

  I know he’s thinking of Janine and the way she took charge of the Resistance with unending compassion and capability after Margo was killed, sending in more and more rescue teams to get captured kids out of the prisons, even as the bombs rained down. Or maybe he’s remembering the look she used to give him, the intimate, adoring gaze that he pretended never to notice but that we all could see as plain as day. He’d been the only one who could crack her shell. But maybe the New Order finally broke her.

  Like me, Whit’s probably thinking of Sasha with his dark curly hair, stubborn and strong-willed but with more revolutionary fight in him than anyone. Or of kind, levelheaded Emmet, the gentle giant who my brother knew would always have my back if he wasn’t around, who said I looked awesome, even when I hacked off all my hair to stay off the radar.

  I cross my arms and walk a couple of paces, thinking of my lost friends and feeling the bubble of grief well up and lodge itself in my throat.

  Then I turn around. We owe them more than this. More than just letting them go.

  “The One controls that list, right?” I ask. Whit nods. I’m anxious, talking faster and pacing the parking lot even though I’m dead tired from running all day. “Well, just because he doesn’t know where they are doesn’t mean they’re not still alive.”

  Whit’s brow crinkles as he considers this possibility. His face struggles between hope and defeat. “But if The One can’t find them, how are we going to? They could be anywhere by now.”

  I think for a minute. “The last time we saw Emmet and Janine was in that underground steam pipe after Garfunkel’s was blown up, before we got separated, right?” Whit shrugs, but I see the doubt on his face. “So we start looking by going back there. Maybe they turned it into the new Resistance HQ.”

  It’s not likely, but it’s possible, right?

  “All right, Captain Wisteria. If you say we’ll find ’em, I guess we’ll find ’em.” Whit punches me playfully, but I know he’s trying to downplay just how much this outcome matters. “Vive la Résistance!” He does an energetic lap around the parking lot, ready to sprint to the steam pipe right now.