The Gift Read Free

myself. “You’re just jealous!” And Whit starts pumping
     his arms into a sprint, back in football mode.
    “No fair!” I call after him. He’s bigger and older, and of course he can run faster. A lot faster.
    For just a few minutes, we let ourselves be kids again. A brother and sister racing along the train tracks. Pretending that
     one of their best friends hadn’t just been murdered, that they weren’t on the run from half the world.
    With a burst of enthusiasm, maybe even fun, we run those last few miles to our destination—a little brick building that appears
     on the map with an X and the instruction: GO THROUGH SIGNAL HUT.
    “You have
keys?
” I yell to Whit, noting the chain and padlock on the door.
    “You have
spells?
” he calls back.
    Oh yeah—that’s right. I’m a witch. And Whit’s a wizard.
    Sometimes it’s hard to remember things like that when you’re busy running for your life. But I
do
have spells—and they do seem to occasionally work on chains and padlocks.
    And pretty soon we’ve actually escaped from the fiends of the N.O.
    For the moment anyway.

Chapter 7

    HE IS SURROUNDED BY a dozen or more famous works of art that he’s had confiscated—works by the likes of Pepe Pompano, Pondrian, Cezonne, Feynoir—the
     best of the best. All banned and forbidden. All his now.
    “Bring me The One Who Commands The Hunt,” bellows The One. He can’t take much more of this incompetence, this stupidity, this
     repeated
almost
capturing of Wisteria Allgood and the very, very potent
Gift
that she possesses.
    As if on cue, the hunt commander appears in the doorway, looking—despite his gray hair and middle-aged paunch—like a dim student
     who has just arrived for a midterm he hasn’t studied for.
    “You failed to capture Wisteria Allgood. Is that correct? Is that true?”
    The commander nervously clears his throat.
    “Yes, sir,” he agrees. He’s heard unsettling stories of citizens who have tried to defend themselves in similar situations with The One.
    “And would you say today’s spectacle was anything short of a public relations disaster? I honestly want to hear your opinion.”
    “Well, you did execute the other witch in a most decisive fashion, Your Excellency. The citizenry was uplifted by —”
    “
She wasn’t a witch!
She was just a friend of the witch. Actually she was
bait
for the real witch.”
    “Well, but… still… she was a valued member of the Resistance, and your destruction of her was magnificent and uplifting to
     the public in its awe-inspir —”
    “The One Who Makes Up The News is going to have her work cut out with tonight’s broadcast. Do you have any good ideas about
     that? How we explain that we executed Wisteria Allgood and then, moments later, we suddenly happened to be chasing another
     red-haired teenage witch through the city plaza? Be honest. Be forthright. Be quick.”
    “Umm, well —”
    “Silence!” yells The One in a stentorian voice that seems to make the building shake.
    The next pause is deadly, truly deadly, and seems to suck all the air out of the room.
    Now The One sighs and finally smiles, if you can call it that. “Well, I suppose it could have been worse.” His suddenly bright
     tone entirely belies the anger from justseconds before. “Tell me, Commander, do I recall that all you huntsmen enjoy cigars? I’m sure that’s correct. Is it correct?”
    “Why, um, yes, thank you,” stammers the commander. He briefly wonders how he so suddenly has stumbled into his leader’s good
     graces. He accepts a very fine cigar. And then—a light.
    “I’ve always been fascinated with fire, Commander.… Have
you?
”
    But the soldier doesn’t have a chance to answer.
    The glowing red ember at the tip of his cigar quickly expands. It runs up the entire length, then across the man’s face, over
     the back of his skull, and down his neck. Then the bright red, smoldering line races around and around his torso and arms,
     down to the