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  “BRIBED?” WHIT CHOKED OUT, and I thought the top of his head might blow off and start spinning around. At this point I could say honestly, stranger things have happened.

  “The Visitor?!” I said. “You’ve got nothing to fear there—trust me, he’s a loyal and worthy sadist.”

  “Of course you bribed someone!” the judge yelled. “Normal? You’re the farthest thing from normal there is! Depraved is not normal. Deceitful is not normal. Dangerous to society is not normal.”

  Whit was very close to the edge. “And completely insane is not normal either! What could we bribe anyone with? Gruel? Mice droppings? Beauty tips from that freaky Matron?”

  Judge Unger’s face flushed almost purple with fury. “You don’t ask the questions, pretty boy,” he said, spewing wrath the way Italian fountains spurt water. “You answer the questions! Now, for the last time, who was it? I know it wasn’t the Matron. She’s my beloved sister.”

  There’s a shocker, I thought wearily, and made a mental note not to make any more Matron jokes today.

  “And,” he continued, “if you say another word against her, I will hold you in contempt of court. The penalty for which will make all the rest of this look like kindergarten.”

  You’re a lowly, miserable cock-a-roach, I thought.

  Meanwhile, Whit retorted, “I’m sorry. Maybe your little lackeys’ test machines weren’t working properly that day?”

  “Shut up!” screamed the judge. “You obviously did something to the testing apparatuses. You used your wizardry on them! You fixed the results!”

  Roach! You’re a roach! I shouted inside my head. If only I could turn Judge Unger into a roach, I thought. I’m a witch, right? Why can’t I do this? Why, why, why?

  Turn into a roach, I murmured silently. Turn into a roach!

  My brain began to ache with the effort. Witches cast spells. I didn’t know any spells. I remembered only a few rhymes from when I was a kid. Did I know any rhymes about roaches?

  The only chant thingy I could think of was

  Flies in the kitchen, lawsy, mawsy,

  Flies in the night, lawsy may

  Flies on the river, lawsy, mawsy

  Flies at first light, lawsy may.

  And who knew what the heck that meant?

  The judge was still screaming at Whit, and Whit’s face was stiff—he was trying so hard not to lose his temper. A sister recognizes the signs.

  Suddenly a loud buzzing distracted me, and I looked away from Whit to the air above me.

  Could it be possible?

  The sound became louder, and then one of the guards said, “What the—? Hey! My God, my Lord, my Good God!”

  The courtroom was suddenly full of enormous biting horseflies.

  I’d brought on a plague.

  Chapter 41

  Wisty

  HORSEFLIES. They were dive-bombing everywhere I looked—crazed rogues, intent on sucking our blood. I had created them. Total, total oops.

  If someone had tossed a sackful of stink bombs and some M-80s into the courtroom right then, it couldn’t have caused a bigger commotion. Tough-guy guards were frantically waving their arms over their heads and screaming like little boys who’d stumbled into a hornet’s nest.

  Judge Unger’s jaw dropped in stunned horror. He quickly shut it when several humongous flies attempted kamikaze missions down his throat.

  Whit and I ducked under a table. “What’s going on?!” he said. “Did you—”

  “Um,” I began guiltily, “sort of. Maybe. Yes.”

  “Wisty, what did you do?” Whit whispered against my ear.

  “I don’t know exactly what I did,” I answered. “There was a song about flies, and flies on the river, and lawsy, mawsy.”

  The buzzing quieted suddenly. That’s it? I thought. That’s the whole plague?

  Chapter 42

  Wisty

  I PEERED OUT from beneath the table and saw the Visitor whirling this way and that, helplessly swatting at the air with his sticklike arms. Judge Unger was peeking out from beneath his tent of robes, his eyes the size of baseballs.

  Then, “Oh God!” one of the guards screamed.

  “God, no!” yelled another. “This is worse! Much worse!”

  I couldn’t believe what I saw now. All the flies were gone. But stuck to everybody’s arms and faces—to any bare skin at all—were… small, dark splotches.

  That moved!

  “Oh man,” Whit breathed. “The flies all turned into leeches!”

  “I didn’t say anything about leeches,” I said in a defensive whisper.

  Apparently those nasty little suckers were elastic as all get-out. One guard tried to pull a bug off his lip, and it stretched and stretched until it broke in a disgusting yellowish mess. More leeches clung to walls, desks, and chairs—thousands of them, moving around like giant blood-seeking clingworms. Some were dropping from the ceiling.

  “This is probably the most repulsive thing I’ve ever seen,” Whit said. “Even given what we’ve been through at the Hospital. I kind of like it.”

  “Hey,” I said, “in case you haven’t noticed, they don’t seem to be crawling all over us.”

  Then a booming voice took over the courtroom.

  “Stop! Stop this kindergarten nonsense! No more flies, no more leeches, no more uncivil disturbances of any kind.”

  Suddenly I felt weak in the knees, numb—paralyzed, actually. I remembered the feeling—how could I forget?

  He was there, he’d just appeared, and he’d already ruined everything. The stuffy decorum, the New Order, the boring sameness… it was all back in place.

  “I am The One Who Is The One. Just in case you forgot or possibly repressed the memory.”

  He strode forward until he was right on top of Whit and me.

  “I have been observing you: here in the court, back at the Hospital. You see, youngins, I am everywhere, and obviously I am all-powerful, and you are not!”

  He looked at Whit and actually gave a wink. “I can even shut your sister up. So who can doubt my power? Now… there will be more tests, tests, tests, tests. Until we find the answer I’m looking for, until we solve the puzzle of the Allgoods. I want to know about their power! Antigravity? Healing? Immortality? Physical transformation? Telekinesis?

  “Take the prisoners back to the Hospital! And no more Mister Nice Guy tactics. Double their workload, double the tests, double the discomfort. I want answers!”

  Finally his Oneness bent toward me, stopping just inches from my chin.

  “Witcheria, is there anything you would like to say? Anything at all? Perhaps you’re offended by the phrase ‘kindergarten nonsense,’ which I used to describe your paltry tricks here today? Well, you know the famous saying—of course you do—‘TRICKS’ ARE FOR KIDS! Get them both out of my sight!”

  And then, I swear this is true, it was like a category-five hurricane was in that courtroom—and then The One Who Is The One was gone.

  With the wind?

  Chapter 43

  Wisty

  WHAT IS THAT dumb saying? What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. Well, maybe there was some truth there. I definitely felt stronger, and angrier. I was burning up inside.

  When we were returned to our cell in the Hospital, I was expecting the Matron to rush in and stun-gun us till we screamed for mercy. I was expecting the Visitor to come whip us to shreds with his riding crop. I was expecting them to throw us to the hellhounds for their supper.

  Instead, it got a little worse than that.

  They sent… Byron Swain.

  Byron Snotty Traitor Suck-up Quisling Hall Monitor Swain. I wished we were back at our school, so Whit could have pounded him into the dust.

  “Hail, prisoners,” Byron said in that snide, nasal voice that could make a statue of Jesus roll its eyes in disgust.

  “What do you want? Just couldn’t stay away?” I asked. “Or are you a little Visitor-in-training?”

  “So, we meet again,” sai
d Byron. Like before, he looked freshly dipped in antiseptic. His brown hair was just so, his eyes cold, perfect marbles. His chinos had a sharp crease down each leg.

  My eyebrows rose. “That’s the best you could come up with? ‘We meet again’? I mean, cliché much?”

  When I’d first arrived at the Hospital for the Supposedly Deranged, I’d been a scared, freaked-out kid. Now I felt like the freak-out bar had been raised pretty high. I wasn’t going to let Ferret Face get me down.

  Byron flushed and pressed his lips tightly together. “Shut up, witch!” he snapped. “Or I’ll tell the Matron to stun-gun you till you have no more attitude than a head of lettuce.”

  Byron gave me a sardonic smile that I was sure he had practiced in a mirror, probably right after one of his sterile baths. “Now hear this. You have both been designated Extremely Dangerous, which is how the New Order characterizes the most severe threats and worst enemies.”

  “Extremely Dangerous,” Whit said. “We’re honored. We’d like to thank our parents, of course. And Coach Schwietzer at the high school.”

  Byron, or the Tattling Weasel, as I decided he should henceforth be known, went on. “As it happens, it turns out to be both good news and bad news for you. The good news is that you get a pass on all of those tests you heard about at trial. And the bad news? Well, a rating of Extremely Dangerous lowers the age for execution from eighteen down to… zero. Which means, let me see… both of you can now be executed… tomorrow.”

  He smirked and smoothed his presmoothed hair. “What’s that you say? Black cat got your tongue? No wizardly wisecracks? Honestly, I’d love to know—what do you think of that hot pooping scoop?”

  Chapter 44

  Wisty

  WELL, AT LEAST SOMEBODY on this lockstep planet was happy and excited.

  But the Tattling Weasel’s snotty smile had pushed me over the edge. And Whit was right there with me.

  “You think that’s funny?” my bro said in a low voice, his fists clenched. “What if Wisty were your sister, and she was going to be executed tomorrow?”

  The Tattling Weasel looked at us smugly. “My sister was a traitor to the New Order.” He spoke slowly to drive home the point. “And… I… turned her… in.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Even back when Whit had drawn mustaches on every doll I had, and I had truly wished he’d never been born, at least I knew I wouldn’t want him condemned to death. Torture, sure—but not death.

  “So you think we’re Extremely Dangerous?” I said, tapping my drumstick against my side.

  “Yes,” said the TW. “The world will be a far better place without either of you.”

  “Because I’m a scary witch?” I sneered. “A bad, scary witch?”

  “That is correct,” said the TW. “You probably sold your soul for your demonic powers.”

  I waved the drumstick at him. I saw fear and pride have a wrestling match on his little pointy face. He glared back at me. “Put that down. I command it!”

  “Ooh, I’m a bad, scary witch,” I said in a psycho kind of voice. “I’m going to turn you into a pumpkin! Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!”

  Then I brandished my drumstick as if it were actually a magic wand.

  To my complete and utter astonishment, we heard a real live crack of electricity, and actual sparks flew out of the end of the stick. The TW gave a startled cry, and then there was a boom like a jet had just broken the sound barrier.

  When the smoke in the room cleared, Whit and I were standing there, looking at… well, an honest mistake.

  But a very bad mistake all the same.

  Chapter 45

  Wisty

  I COULD HAVE SWORN I said “pumpkin.” Didn’t I say “pumpkin”?

  “Um, I think I just turned the Tattling Weasel into a lion,” I said weakly.

  “That seems fairly obvious” was all Whit could say.

  The lion coughed, putting one paw on its chest. “Ahem,” it spoke in a scratchy voice. Then the very large cat opened its mouth wider and tried a practice roar.

  “Change him back,” Whit said as he pulled us up against the nearest wall. “Do it now! Quick, quick, quick! Before the weasel realizes he’s changed into a man-eating carnivore! Try saying something other than ‘pumpkin’!”

  The lion roared again—even louder. It seemed to be warming up to the idea of being a lion. Then it sort of smiled at me. Mostly what I saw, though, were really long, sharp teeth.

  “Change him back,” Whit repeated, not taking his eyes off the king of beasts.

  The lion opened its mouth again and let out a huge roar. It blew my hair back, filling the room and reverberating off the walls.

  I raised my drumstick. “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!” I said firmly.

  Nothing happened. Of course, right?

  I concentrated. Funny thing about concentration—you don’t realize how little you do it until you finally do it. Fact is, I don’t think I’d ever truly concentrated on anything until that moment with the very big lion in the very small room.

  “Turn into your natural form!” I wielded the drumstick again. “Do it! DO IT—I’M SERIOUS!”

  Boom! Lightning, sparks, acrid smell, et cetera, and lots of smoke.

  I waved my hand in front of my face so I could see, and it became clear that there was no more lion. But there was no Byron, Disgrace to Kids Everywhere, either.

  Whit and I looked at each other in amazement but also utter confusion.

  Then I heard low-volume scuffling and squeaking sounds over by the door.

  “Hmm,” I said.

  “Hmm,” said Whit.

  I don’t know if my saying “natural form” translated into magicspeak the way “pumpkin” had translated into “lion,” but clearly this was closer to the mark.

  Because Byron “Tattling Weasel” Swain was now an actual weasel.

  Chapter 46

  Whit

  “MY SISTER—WOW! Dang, you’re good,” I told her.

  “Yep,” she agreed. “I’m a bad, scary witch, all right.”

  “I’m so glad you didn’t discover these powers earlier, like when you were a little kid and I used to tease you about your hair,” I said, and she grinned like she’d just won the lottery.

  As we peered down, the Little Beastie Formerly Known as Byron reared up on its hind feet and hissed angrily.

  “He liked being a lion better,” I guessed.

  Just then the door to our cell crashed open, and the Matron stood there with two of her nastiest, beefiest armed guards. Call ’em Joe and Schmo. We did.

  “What was that awful, terrible noise?” she shouted, raking the room with her eyes.

  “Uh… what noise?” I asked with the innocence of a Scout at jamboree.

  “It sounded like… a lion roaring,” she said, her corpse-white skin turning self-consciously pink.

  “Okay…,” I said, frowning slightly and arching my eyebrows. “A lion? Here? In our cell?”

  The two guards looked at each other. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the weasel slink through the open door, keeping to the shadows.

  “Where is Junior Informant Swain?” the Matron demanded.

  “I’m sorry, but he left, Matron,” I said, forcing myself to sound respectful. “He only stayed a minute. Read us the abridged riot act, though. He’s tough.”

  “You’re lying!” Her cavernous nostrils flared wide, making white lines on either side of her formidable nose. The next thing I knew, she lunged forward, jabbing the stun gun against the small of my back.

  Chapter 47

  Whit

  I FROZE—fully expecting to drop with excruciating pain as I had before, maybe pass out—but all I felt was a little… tickling sensation.

  At first I thought maybe she hadn’t charged the stun gun properly, but I looked down and saw the evil blue sparks and smelled the ozone, just like before, yet there was no terrible pain. Nada.

  The Matron glared, waiting for me to fall down, so I obligingly groaned and sank to my kne
es, dragging my hands along the wall as if I didn’t have the strength to keep upright. I flashed a quick wink at Wisty so she’d know I was faking.

  In the meantime, the guards took their posts just outside the door while the Matron scrutinized the tiny air-shaft window. It was clearly too small for us to have thrown Byron out of, at least in his former shape.

  She investigated the bathroom for what seemed like an eternity, like maybe we had flushed him down the john and she’d find his hair gel for evidence.

  Then it hit me that the Matron and her lackeys had left the door to the hallway open. I glanced at Wisty and saw she’d noticed too. We started to slink toward it, but we could see the guards’ arms outside, holding stun guns at the ready. Was there any way we could take them? Maybe Wisty could turn them into toads?

  I saw something dart into the room then. A shadow. It instantly blended with the deep gloom along the far wall. Wisty’s eyes widened—she’d seen it too. We exchanged puzzled, worried glances.

  The Matron glared at us suspiciously. “I’ll be back.” Then she stomped out.

  As she was passing one of the guards, she had a last-minute idea and tapped her stun gun against his chest. Instantly “Joe” screamed and dropped like a sack of hot potatoes. We all stared at his muscular body, twitching on the ground like a monster eel.

  The Matron looked at him, looked at the stun gun, then slammed our door, locking it.

  “So,” Wisty asked, “stun guns not so effective on you any longer?”

  I couldn’t help chuckling. “Apparently not,” I said, peering into the shadows again. I was sure I had seen something moving….

  “Either I’ve developed some serious tolerance, or our powers are growing—”

  I broke off as I saw one shadow separating from another. A person-shaped shadow. It moved toward us.

  “Oh my God, Whit,” Wisty said. “Now I’m seeing fairies.”