Witch & Wizard 04 - The Kiss (3 page)

Okay. Good sister that I am, I’m just going to ignore the fact that my brother had a complete meltdown at a party for our friends that was supposed to be about
celebration
and
happiness
. I’m going to forget that he stormed out of the gallery without any explanation, and then refused to answer a single one of my questions when I chased after him in the street.

Yeah, right.

“If you just tell me what happened, maybe I could help,” I prod, turning the key to let us into my sweet new apartment. (The upshot to using your magical powers to save basically the whole world from a psycho villain is that your parents freak out a little bit less when you mention you’d really like to get your own place.)

“There’s nothing to tell,” my brother insists. He steps over one of the piles of stuff on the floor, and perches on a counter stool. “Wow, Wisty, you’ve really done wonders with the space.” Whit shakes his head. “Have the rats moved in yet?”

“Organized chaos,” I say, cheerfully ignoring the dig. A little mess keeps me sane, and I can do as I please here. “And you’re the one living with weaselly Byron Swain.
That’s
what I call rodent’s paradise.”

“Har har,” Whit answers dryly.

Then the doorbell rings, and we both glance toward the front door, surprised. Whit raises an eyebrow. “Visitors this late?”

I shrug. “It’s probably Janine, wondering why you acted like a total freak and just left her at the gallery.”

“Wisteria,” Whit warns, looking at me sternly. He never uses my full name.

“Whitford,” I reply mockingly, and chuck a couch cushion at his head as I walk to answer the door.

“I said, Let. It.
Go.
”

“Yeah, yeah.” I smirk and look through the peephole. I glimpse the height, the dark hair…

Oh. Em. Gee.

It’s Heath. The guy who asked me to dance at the art festival. Here. At my apartment. I totally spaz out, flattening my body against the door.

“What? Who is it?” Whit asks, standing up.

Ignoring my brooding brother, I finally pull myself together enough to open the door.

“Hi,” I say shyly.

“Hey,” Heath answers, and it’s like a little velvet purr.

Neither of us moves for a moment; we just blink at each other, not sure of our boundaries. Under the porch light, Heath’s pale eyes glow a cool shade of blue I’ve never seen.

“I was thinking maybe you had the right idea,” he says softly, finally breaking the silence. “Maybe we should just stand here. Looking at each other. Like this.” There’s no denying it: this instant connection feels even more intense than before—almost blinding.

I laugh then, shaking my head. “And I was thinking maybe it was time to
move
.”

“I’m game if you are,” he answers.

“What’s going on?” Whit opens the door farther behind me.

“Um.” I pull my gaze away from Heath. “My friend just stopped by to…”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about that magnificent fireworks display your sister put on earlier,” Heath answers cordially. Then he looks at me. “I felt like
I
might burst, too, if I didn’t see her again.”

The line is clearly extra cheesy for my brother’s benefit, but it still makes my stomach flutter.

“Okay, lover boy,” Whit says, stepping out onto the porch, frowning. “It’s late. Let’s wrap this up.”

“I wasn’t planning to take much of anyone’s time. I just wanted to show Wisty—”

“My sister isn’t interested.” Whit’s in hostile-big-brother mode now. “Wisty, let’s go. Back inside.”

“Whit!” I’m sure the humiliation and anger is written on my face, but Heath’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

“You’re going to keep Wisty locked in her own apartment? Maybe she wants a bit of freedom. Isn’t that what you two fought so hard for?”

“Maybe you don’t know what she wants.”

Heath cocks his head. “Hey, now,” he says. “There’s no need to feel threatened, big guy.”

Yikes. This isn’t going to be pretty.

Whit blinks at him. “Threatened?” he asks incredulously, crossing his arms. “By who? You?”

“Okay, okay,” I groan.
Boys.
“Relax, both of you.” I push Whit back toward the door, then turn back to my visitor, sighing. “I really should go back inside….”

Heath holds up his hands. “Of course. Didn’t mean to intrude. Good night, Firecracker.” He smiles and places a single flower on the doorstep at my feet, nods to Whit, and walks away, just like that.

I stand on the porch after he leaves, staring into the night. He called me
Firecracker
. He doesn’t even know me! I should zap him right to Shadowland, shouldn’t I? But there’s something about the way he said it—something familiar yet exciting and new. I can’t explain it, but I feel incredibly drawn to this boy with the sharp tongue and the strange eyes. The highest part of the sky is in those eyes, cool and vast, and they seem to see right inside me.

Maybe I’m afraid of what they see.
Freedom
… to do what?

I pick up the flower he left. It’s lovely. Pale silver with a bright flash of orange in the center—like nothing I’ve seen before.

“I wonder what he wants….” I mutter softly.

“I bet I can guess,” Whit says, startling me. I thought he’d gone in.

I roll my eyes and step back inside, brushing past him. “Oh, come on. He seems like a nice guy. And he’s right—it
is
my apartment.”

“Nice guy? Every guy wants something. Usually the same thing. Trust me, Wisty. You haven’t been in a foolball locker room. You learn a lot in there.” I roll my eyes at my overprotective brother.

The One Who Is The One wanted me for my power. Since the victory, politicians seem to want me for my fame. Heath said he just wanted to see me again. Not my magic, not my fire.

Me.

I feel a weird sort of vulnerability. Not fear, exactly. I know my power, hot and true, will protect me, and if that fails, my watchdog brother sure will. But with the electricity of my interaction with Heath still making my whole body hum, I’m just not sure I want to be protected.

It can’t be that Heath wants to be my
boyfriend
… could it?

Chapter 5

Wisty

I’M OUTSIDE. IT’S RAINING. The boy is there.

Heath.

The rain is in my eyes, but I can feel him.

“I just wanted to see you,” he says in that velvety voice.

“But I can’t see you,” I answer. “I can’t see anything.” I squint, but the water is coming down too hard to see my hand in front of my face.

“I can show you. Everything,” he promises. “Just don’t look down.”

He takes my hand, and I shiver at his cold touch, but I’m warm inside. Full of fire. Like my heart is filling with air, lifting up.

And then we
are
lifting up—actually rising above the City and into the clouds. I hold my breath as we break through into sunlight, eager to see what “everything” might be, but before I can turn, Heath leans toward me, and I sigh, letting him pull me into his arms….

I wake up, disoriented and clutching a pillow. Then I make a mistake: I look down.

And I almost have a heart attack.

I’m floating above my bed. Like,
five feet
above my bed, just hanging out near the ceiling. I blink and fall to the mattress, knocking the wind out of myself, and lie there, gasping.

God, my magic is weird sometimes.

And
embarrassing
, I think, chucking the pillow aside. I can only imagine the faces I must’ve been making in my sleep.

Fortunately, this is
my
place, my own apartment. For once I don’t have to deal with older brothers barging in all the time. I close my eyes again, looking forward to the end of the dream. Right about now, Whit is probably bugging someone else about clean dishes, or hogging someone else’s TV to watch foolball….

No.
My eyes fly open.
That’s not what Whit is doing at all.

I look at the clock, my stomach sinking. I’ve already messed up. Whit is where
I’m
supposed to be, right at this moment, on the most important day of our lives.

And I’m late!

I leap out of bed, yelling as I stub my toe on a guitar I left out. Clothes are strewn everywhere. I stumble through them, frantically grabbing at pants and sweaters. Nothing seems quite right for the occasion, and you never know who you’ll run into because
he just wanted to see you
….

Settling on a simple black dress, I jump in the shower, shrieking at the blast of cold water. But it’s good. No time to focus on still-lingering dreams when your brain is freezing.

Makeup time. I frown at my reflection. Special day, but same old face, with the added benefit of bags under the eyes and straggly wet hair. And no time!

I pick up a celebrity rag—a guilty pleasure that’s back now that actors and other pop idols (who aren’t The One) are no longer being exterminated—but I’m not wasting time with gossip right now. Tearing through the magazine, I find what I’m looking for: a picture of an actress who has that professional-yet-pretty look. There’s this spell I’ve been meaning to try….

I touch the face on the page and then brush my fingers across the mirror. As I watch, my eyes seem to transform into smoldering goddess peepers, a hint of rose color blooms on my cheeks, and my lips look—well, like you want to listen to what I’m saying.

I don’t have her cheekbones or her pouty lips, of course. It’s not a full morph—just a bit of spell-spiked makeup—but it’ll do in a pinch. Still Wisty Allgood in there, freckles and all, but with a touch of celebrity chic. Not bad.

I struggle to pull on my high-top sneakers as I yank open the door, and then I spot it there.

The flower.

The dream comes back to me in a rush, “everything” echoing in my head. But what does the offering of a flower say about a boy in real life? Sweet, or stalker? Walking down the steps, I twirl the stem, considering, and then I realize—

I almost forgot the most important thing!

I drop the flower and burst back into the apartment, hastily gathering up the plans Whit and I spent hours brainstorming, and now I’m
really
late. I sprint down the street with the papers clutched to my chest, wet hair streaming.

People are giving me strange looks, but that’s normal. It isn’t until I get two full blocks away that I realize my right foot is a little chilly. Sure enough, when I look down, I’m only wearing one sneaker.

I
so
don’t have time for this right now.

I turn to head back for it, then stop. Instead, I close my eyes, picturing the red high-top sneaker with its scuffs on the side, lying just inside the door.

Then I whistle, and, like a loyal pet, the shoe flies out the window and tumbles toward me down the street. Grinning, I turn and keep running as it gallops behind.

Chapter 6

Whit

WHERE IS SHE?

I watch the giant clock on the wall, the slow click of the seconds echoing in the vast chamber. My pencil mimics the beat—
tap, tap, tap
—on the long table.

Matthias Bloom, self-styled Speaker of these proceedings, clears his throat for the hundredth time. As I glance sheepishly around the wall of faces, I see that he’s not alone in his impatience.

She knows how important this day is.

The memory of last night resurfaces then, those horrible headaches and disturbing images, and for a moment I worry something’s happened to my sister. Maybe the vision was some sort of omen….

Come on, Wisty. Come on
, I plead silently, thinking if my stare drills hard enough into the door, it might creak open.

Miraculously, after an eternity, it bangs open. My sister bursts through, a ball of flustered energy with red hair hanging in her face. “Sorry!” she shouts as she hops across the room, still struggling to pull on a shoe.

I shake my head, but I’m grinning anyway, because she’s
here
. There’s no bad omen, and everything’s cool, because Wisty’s got the papers in her hand—the ideas we spent weeks developing.

With those plans and this Council, the future of our City starts
today
.

“Now that our last esteemed member has arrived…” Bloom sighs heavily, and straightens his tie.

Always the smart aleck, Wisty curtsies in response, then finally plops into the seat at my side.

“May we begin?” Bloom finishes dryly.

“Great!” I stand, eager to address the group. “Since we’re reinventing this City now, and not just fixing what was broken, it’s important that we do it right this time.” I grab the plans off the table and glance at my notes. “We were thinking, start with the City’s biggest hope: kids. School should be about creativity and fun, so kids actually want to go.”

Looking around at the faces of my fellow Council members—war heroes, rogue journalists, a former film star who survived on roaches for two years underground—my enthusiasm grows. I’m not a natural speaker like Janine, but I’m more pumped about this cause than anything, and these are the people who can make it happen.

“We also need to build a major outdoor community center, so all citizens can tell us their concerns and ideas,” I continue. “We can use The One’s old compound, and it would be great for concerts, too.” Wisty gives me an encouraging wink. “Of course, first we’ll have to redesign the streets to make room for more parks….”

Bloom clears his throat again sharply, and it’s like a crack of thunder in the chamber. “Those ideas are all charming, Mr. Allgood,” he booms. “However, this is a Council, and all members will vote on its proceedings.”

I redden. “Right. I know, Mr. Bloom. We just thought—”

“We thought that as
members
of the Council—the
members
who freed the Overworld, if we’re getting into specifics—you might want to at least hear our ideas,” Wisty blurts out.

A couple of voices shout words of encouragement, particularly the youngest of the seventeen kids on the board, who totally idolize Wisty.