The Gift

Chapter 75

Whit

One thing Wisty and I learn about looking and feeling old is that it's not only inconvenient but really problematic for prison escapees like us.

"What is up with this? I feel like I'm about ready to have a heart attack just from walking up this hill," I pant when we get a few miles outside the town where we liberated the books. "Don't tell me I'm gonna be this out of shape at age sixty-five. When will this spell wear off?"

"You're already sounding like a grumpy old fart, Whit. If you can't hack it, we can try some more sp -" Wisty breaks off when she's interrupted by the world's most terrifying screech.

And I do mean screech. A high-pitched, frenetic wail of something that I can describe only as murderous delight.

And they haven't even begun the murdering part yet, I realize as I turn my head and see a swarm of hunched shapes scampering madly after us at an incredible speed. It's pathetic that the millions of dollars spent on sports-car design seemingly can't duplicate nature's design for the insane charge of starving animals eyeing their prey.

"Run!" I grab Wisty's arm, and we run-if you can call it running, that is.

You see, running just isn't the same when you're a senior citizen. There's no way we can outpace these things, I'm thinking. They're like greyhounds from hell.

"Oh my God, Whit!" Wisty gasps as she realizes that our magic, which saved us in the last town, may actually end up being the death of us now.

The fearsome creatures let loose a terrifying group howl, and an electric shiver runs up my spine. I drag Wisty under an overpass and duck off the road, out of sight behind the rampart, but I know the creatures will be able to smell us at any moment.

"Okay, Wisty, I've got an idea." I actually don't have one. But I've got to figure something out this time. My sister's way too freaked to focus her powers right now.

I peek around the rampart and see that the… strangely shaped humans? baboons?… are still a good quarter mile away. I also spot a figure gliding along behind them on one of those two-wheeled electric scooter things.

I recognize the stiff-backed, pompous posture immediately, even at this distance. "Byron!"

"What?" Wisty spits out in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me."

"He's behind this!" I hiss.

"Whit, you don't know that. Last time we saw him, he saved us!"

"Correction: last time we saw him, he flushed us down the toilet."

"But maybe he can help -"

"Wisty, we don't have time to play guessing games. Okay?"

The howling is uncomfortably near, and I press Wisty hard against the wall of the overpass so we're as flat and as far out of sight as possible. "Listen to me. We're going to turn ourselves into birds. That's our only hope. I can't do it alone, but we can probably do it to -"

And that is as much as I get out of my mouth before the wall where we are hiding falls away. Wisty and I collapse with it, and everything goes mostly dark.