Witch & Wizard Read Online Free Page A

said, “and my sister’s fifteen.”
    “Well, I’m thirteen,” he offered, “so you’ll fit right in here.”
    And then I looked across at all the cells on the other side of the block. I saw face after face, one scared kid after another. All wearing too-big prison jumpsuits.
    It looked like this whole jail was full of
kids,
nothing but kids.

Wisty
    “YUP, IT’S PRETTY much just us kids around here these days,” said the voice from the far cell. “I’ve been here nine days—I was one of the first. But in the last three days, this rat hole has really filled up.”
    “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Whit asked softly, so as not to attract a guard’s attention.
    “Not a whole lot, jefe. But I heard some of the guards talking about a clean sweep,” the voice said quietly, close to the bars. “You remember hearing about the New Order?”
    “Yeah,” I joined in, “but I wasn’t really paying attention.”
    “Okay, so you’ve been living inside your head… somewhere dark and nasty,” said the voice. “But, if it’s any consolation, so was most of the rest of the country. See, the New Order is the political party that’s been winning all the elections. They’re in charge now. In just a few months they’ve gutted the old government and instituted the Council of Ones. Heard of them? The One In Command, The One Who Judges, The One Who Imprisons, The One Who Assigns Numbers, The One Who Is The One, blah, blah.”
    “Okay, so, the New Order. Politics,” said Whit. “What’s that got to do with us?”
    “They’re the Law
and
they’re the Order, amigos. They’re The Ones who put us here, and they’re The Ones who decide what to do with us.”
    “But why are they doing these unspeakable things to
kids?
” I spoke up again.
    “Because we talk back? Because we’re hard to control? Because we have an
imagination?
Because we’re not brain-washed yet? Who knows? Why don’t you ask The One Who Judges…
at your trial!
”
    I squished myself against the bars as hard as I could, trying to see through to Whit. “
Trial?
What trial?” I asked. “We’re going to trial? For what?”
    Wham!
    A guard had sneaked up, grabbed my arm through the bars, and twisted it the wrong way. “If you keep talking to the other prisoners, I’ll put you all in solitary!” he growled.
    He gave my arm another hard, agonizing twist and laughed like some crazy old cartoon villain. I was so mad I wanted to tear the bars down and kick him in the throat—and all of a sudden an electric rush traveled up my body.
    Uh-oh.
    The next thing I knew, I was watching the guard through a sheet of flames. Flames that were coming from… me.
Again.
    “Agh!” the guard shouted as the sleeve and pants leg of his uniform caught fire. He ran and grabbed an extinguisher, spraying himself as a team of his buddies converged on my cell.
    “Wisty!” Whit yelled. “Duck!”
    I threw my hands up to cover my face as I was drenched with flame-smothering foam. Correction:
Wisty-smothering
foam. Then suddenly the flames were out and I looked like a flocked Christmas tree, a lemon-meringue pie, a red-haired zombie snowman, risen from the dead.
    “No more tricks,” said the guard hoarsely. “You’re coming with me.”
    Four New Order guards with bats and stun guns stomped in and grabbed my arms, hauling me out to the walkway. Four more creeps were opening Whit’s cell.
    By the time the guards shoved us into a room marked INTERROGATION, I was ready to show The One Who Interrogates just why I had two weeks of detention racked up at my school.
    But when the door opened, it was just that spud, Byron Swain, followed by a pair of guards. “Miss me?” he asked with a sickening grin.

Whit
    BYRON’S INSURANCE-SALESMAN HAIRCUT, colorful polo shirts, and ironed chinos—but most of all his know-it-all attitude—had marked him as a major kiss-up back at school. This close, his face looked pinched and mean, like that of a pet ferret with