Witch & Wizard Read Online Free

realized that barreling our way to safety probably wasn’t going to work out so great.
Ten
more guards—these in black uniforms—came out the front, joined the two drivers, and formed a semi-circle around the rear of the van.
    “Okay, now watch ’em closely,” I heard one say. “You know, they’re—”
    “Yeah, we know,” said another cranky voice, one of the drivers. “I got the burns to prove it.”
    I didn’t even bother struggling as those brainless storm troopers hauled us forward, then dragged us through the tall barbed-wire gate.
    I’m pretty big—six feet one, 190 pounds—but these guys acted like I was a sack of popcorn. Wisty and I tried to stay on our feet, but they kept yanking us off balance.
    “We can walk!” Wisty yelled. “We’re still conscious!”
    “We can change all that,” said one of the thug guards.
    I tried, “Listen, listen, you’ve got the wrong—”
    The guard next to me raised his billy club, and I shut up midsquawk. They pushed us up the concrete steps, through the heavy steel doors, and into a brightly lit foyer. It looked like a prison, with a burly guard behind a thick glass window, a locked gate, and another guard with a billy club at the ready.
    I heard a loud buzz, and the gate opened.
    “Don’t you guys feel kind of dumb?” I said. “I mean, a dozen giant men, just for us two kids—it’s kind of embarrassing. Wouldn’t you—
ow!
” A guard had jabbed my ribs, hard, with his wooden baton.
    “Start thinking about your upcoming interrogation,” the guard said. “Talk, or die. Your choice, kiddies.”

Wisty
    IT WAS BEGINNING TO FEEL like this sickening nightmare was for real, and now I wasn’t even going to be allowed the small comfort of going through it in my old pink PJs. They made us change into gray-striped prison jumpsuits that looked like something out of World War II. Whit’s jumpsuit fit him—guess he was standard-prisoner size—but mine hung on me like a sail on a windless day.
    My funky PJs had been my last connection to home. Without them, the only thing I had from my former life was the drumstick.
    The drumstick.
Why a drumstick, Mom?
I missed her already and felt a deep anxiety creep in when I wondered what they’d done with her and Dad.
    “Don’t pull her arm like that!” Whit snapped at my guard. He was right. It felt like my arm was about to pop out of its socket.
    “Shut up, wizard,” growled the surly guard, dragging us through yet another electronic gate marked PROPERTY OF THE NEW ORDER . Then we were in an enormous hall, five stories high, surrounded on all sides by cages and barred cells.
    For criminals.
    And us. Me and my brother. Can you imagine? No—you probably can’t. How could anybody in their right mind imagine this?
    One of the cell doors slid open, and the guards threw me inside. I fell, hitting my knees and hands hard on the cement floor.
    “Wisty!”
Whit shouted as they hauled him past my door, which immediately slid shut. I pressed my face against the bars, trying to see where they were taking Whit. They shoved him in the cell next to mine.
    “Wisty, you okay?” Whit called over right away.
    “Sort of,” I said, examining my scraped knees. “If I’m allowed to totally change what ‘okay’ means.”
    “We’ll get out of here,” he said. I could hear the braveness and anger in his voice. “This is all just a stupid mistake.”
    “Au contraire, my naive amigo,” said a voice from the cell on the other side of Whit.
    “What? Who are you?”
Whit asked.
    I strained to hear his words.
    “I’m prisoner number 450209A,” said the voice. “Trust me, there’s been no mistake. And they didn’t forget to read you your rights. And they aren’t going to give you a lawyer or a phone call. And your mama and papa aren’t coming to get you.
Ever.
And that’s a long, long time.”
    “What do you know about it?” I shouted.
    “Look, how old are you?” said the voice.
    “I’m almost eighteen,” Whit