The Gift

Chapter 29

Whit

"WHAT'S GOING ON?" Wisty asks me as she pivots away from Byron's pathetic clutches. Normally I'd be ready to teach him a lesson for putting his creepy claws on my sister, but now I'm just relieved to see that he's not one of the fake rockers who were nosing around at Garfunkel's.

I'm pretty sure they're here somewhere-and they're definitely looking for my sister. It's becoming increasingly clear to me that she has something that they want. Badly.

"New Order spies," I tell her. "And they're after you, Wist. So next time you decide to take the stage at a packed concert, will you give me a heads-up? You know, so I can tell you that it's a totally boneheaded idea."

"Huh? What spies?" she asks, looking only mildly distressed. Meanwhile her eyes are darting over to some of the rock-star types being swamped by chirping groupies and whatnot on the other side of the room.

"Wisty, listen to me. Closely. Some guys came by Garfunkel's asking after you and the concert. They were dressed like some old person's idea of a rock band. They were obviously New Order Citizen Patrol, or worse."

Her head drifts off toward the fan herd again, so I put my hands on either side of her face and swivel it back toward me.

"Oh, okay." My sister blinks several times, finally processing what I'm saying. "Are they here? Should I be worried?"

"I gave them the wrong directions, but I don't think I fooled them. We'd better get out of here." I grab her hand, but she shakes me off.

"Whit, I'm okay! This is probably the safest place in the city. We're surrounded by, like, a jillion Freelanders hopped-up on New Order hate. Not to mention half of them are packing weapons -"

"Plastic weapons," I remind her, frowning. "They're in costume, for God's sake."

Wisty shrugs. "Costumes, whatever, doesn't matter. We're practically indestructible down here. Can't you feel it? It's the most amazing thing." Her eyes are still glazed over with some sort of euphoria I don't understand. I have a future flash: Wisty, rock star, being interviewed twenty-five years after her career goes south. They slipped something into my drink that night, she insists. I didn't know it. But after that, I was an addict.

I'm shaking my sister now, and her head swings like that of a bobblehead doll. "Wisty, snap out of it! I know you don't believe me, but I've got this feeling we're on the verge of something really bad happening."

"You mean something bad 'like a rabid mad dog, poisoning me,'" sings Byron, inserting his unwelcome presence as usual, "'while the fire inside me glows, the fire outside you grows.'"

Holy freaking crap, what did the weasel just say? Those are my words. From my journal.

"What the -?" My eyes feel as if they're going to pop out of my head. "You were reading my journal, you jerk?"

I can't help it-I grab him by the neck. I've had just about enough of our so-called leader of the week.

Wisty finally comes out of her haze. "Whit!" she shouts, trying to pull me off Byron. It's the first time ever that she defends him! Didn't I tell you the world's turned upside down? "Byron only knows those words from the song I just sung. Up on the stage."

Huh? I don't know how I couldn't have heard the lyrics on my way in. I was so focused on making sure she was safe. Wait a minute…

Wisty was reading my journal? WTH?

I release Byron but give him an extra shove for good measure. I look at Wisty, hoping I heard her wrong. "That's what you were singing up there? Words from my journal?"

"You weren't even listening?" she says, then softens her voice. "It was a tribute to your genius, Whit. I love what you wrote."

Wisty reaches for me, but I'm already stomping out of the room. "You two deserve each other!" I yell back at her and the traitor.