The Gift

“How do you know I haven’t?” She chuckles, and I realize that this lady has a past I am definitely going to have to find out more about. “I’m talking about a very different kind of power, Wisty. That’s why it’s banned by the N.O. Didn’t you ever wonder why it’s forbidden?”

“I know why. ’Cause it’s fun, and the N.O. is antifun.”

Mrs. H. gives me a look that reminds me of my mom-her Wisty, stop being funny when you know this is serious look.

“If there is one thing I need to teach you, it’s never underestimate the power of what you or others create. Music, art, film, writing, all of this”-she waves her hand around the cluttered apartment-“there’s tremendous energy here. This is life force. Very important.”

“We’d better hide all of this from them, then,” I tell her. “You’re crazy to keep it here in the City of Progress. Maybe we can bring it to Garfunkel’s.”

“No. I need it. I can’t let it go. I’ll let them take me before they take it.”

I’m stunned. Die for kids, yeah, but die for… art? I’ll have to think about that.

She passes me a folded-up square of paper.

“Learn it. Memorize it. Use it to help others. Pass it on. And on, and on.”

I open it and see a crudely drawn musical staff with notes. It looks like a pretty simple melody.

“What does it do?”

She points to a battered guitar that looks kind of lost and abandoned in the corner of the pantry. I hadn’t even seen it in all the clutter. “That’s for you to figure out. So-go figure.”

Before I know it, I’m strumming the guitar and learning how to “beat the blues,” as Mrs. H. calls it. It’s… amazing actually.

Now I just need to figure out how to bust up the New Order, get a restraining order against Byron, and placate Whit. Then the world will be back in its proper orbit again.

Closer anyway.

“Exactly right, dearie! Now taste,” says the ancient lady, stuffing the ladle in my mouth.

Chapter 35

Wisty

’SCUSE ME as I wipe drool from my chin…

Normally, I might just be talking about the fact that I’ve ordered a cheeseburger with pickles, shoelace fries, and a black-and-white shake. But today I’m double drooling because I’m sitting with Eric, Bionics Drummer Boy. How could his five o’clock shadow at eleven thirty in the morning and deepened undereye circles make him look even more gorgeous? But they do. He simply defies all laws of nature.

We place our orders with the ridiculously efficient waitress who is typical of the help in N.O. eateries.

“Too bad you’re not as fast as she is,” Eric quips. “Where the heck were you anyway? I’m, like, on my fifth cup of coffee, here.”

“Did you miss me?” I opt to say, instead of Sorry, but I was busy playing guitar in an old witch’s kitchen.

“Actually yeah,” he says. He levels his gaze at me, and I notice a glint of vulnerability in his eyes. “How come you look so crazy beautiful? You couldn’t have had much more sleep than me.”

Crazy beautiful? Never before has Wisteria Allgood been described as such. Crazy, yes. Beautiful…?

This is so nice. I’m so not used to the attention.

“Must be the wig,” I mumble, and glance down. He’s still staring at me. I can feel it. He’s reaching across the table… toward my hand…

“Listen, Wisty,” he says. His fingers interlock with mine, and the cool metal touch of his insignia ring against my skin is exhilarating. I feel as if my spine has been replaced with an overcooked noodle.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. I look up at him, and suddenly there’s only pain in his eyes now. Poor thing, taking this drumstick incident so seriously!

“About the stick? It’s nothing -”

I’m interrupted by a commotion at the door, and we both turn to look.

Oh, kill me now. It’s my big brother with the savior complex.

“Wisty, it’s a trap! Get out of there! Now!” Whit yells as a bunch of rock star-looking dudes appear from out of nowhere-and attempt to pin him to the wall.

I try to jump to my feet, but Eric forcefully grabs my wrist.

“I’m so sorry, Wisty,” he’s whispering. “I had no choice in this.”

“What? What is this?” I demand to know.

The Bionics singer and guitarist are standing at the opening of the booth now. And they’re chewing on unlit cigars.

It can’t be. But I’m afraid it is.

“Eric?” I ask, tears starting to spill from my eyes. But Drummer Bum only shrugs and looks away. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? How could he have been so wonderful one minute, and now he’s turning me over to the New Order?

I’m wrong about people sometimes, but I’ve never been this wrong. I slump forward on the table, feeling as if I’ve just been stabbed in the chest.

What is wrong with me for walking right into this trap?

I look up into the face of my crush of five minutes ago. I’m searching for a clue, for any of the signs I missed.

But all I see is his near perfect face, and genuine-seeming contrition.

“I had to, Wisty. Don’t you see? You’re The One Who Has The Gift.”

Chapter 36

Whit

BEFORE I CAN REACH Wisty to try to help her escape, somebody hits me hard. Just about all the wind rushes out of me and my knees buckle. I’d probably fall on my face if the three of them weren’t so busy trying to pin me to the wall. They’re strong-they may look like boys, but they fight like adults. Adult professionals, maybe New Order soldiers.

I only hope I gave Wisty enough warning to help her get out; I only hope I managed to mess up their trap; I only -

Ooomf!

Another smashing blow, this one right to the middle of my face. Stars and bright colors explode everywhere. That couldn’t have been a fist. It was too hard.

I’m starting to sink to the ground, but one of these creeps is holding me up and the other is turning my head by the ears, making me look at something.

“See that, Big Brother?” the voice in my ear rings. “Not only did you fail to save your little sister, but we’re going to make you watch what the Council of Ones does to her!”

My eyes dart down the length of the diner to where Wisty is being dragged out of her booth by the Bionics and