The Gift

Chapter 88

Whit

"You're late," Mrs. Highsmith says through the intercom, buzzing open the building's front door even before we can press her button. How did she know?

"We didn't have an appointment, did we?" I ask Wisty, still mystified as we hurry up the stairs and find her apartment door open. And, in the kitchen, there's that little old ninja lady, definitely looking more poet than ninja as she stands over a massive oil barrel that's almost as tall as she is. She's stirring something that smells pretty rank. She takes a sip and totally gags on her own brew.

This is the lady who's going to be our game changer? Who can help save us?

"So we get to talk at last, Whitford. My crystal always revealed you to be a fairly good-looking young man, but now that I can get a nice, close-up view, I see you're what they call a 'hottie' these days."

Can I just confirm for you that it's unbelievably creepy to be ogled by an old witch? I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Except you could learn to stand up a bit straighter, dear. Adds inches. Now, how did you two find the trip, by the way?" she asks as if we've just taken a little jaunt to Grandma's house.

"Um, it was sort of… like, there's a war going on out there?" I offer weakly.

Wisty sums up the hellacious journey of the last three and a half hours. "Let's just say, Mrs. H., if you ever have the opportunity to sprint for your life ahead of a curtain of bombs that explode and burn so hot that the buildings and sidewalks and streets and the very dirt itself melt into glass… well, see what your other options are and embrace them with all your being!"

"Oh, I shall, Wisteria." She laughs. "These old bones don't sprint anywhere anymore anyway." Can this lady be serious? "Yes," she says, looking at me as if to warn me she might be able to read my mind. "It showed some real chutzpah, making the decision to come here through all of that. Your parents are very proud of you."

"How do you know that?" Wisty blurts.

"Have you heard from them?" I ask at the same time.

"I have. And you are about to, my dears. I've been practicing my holographic technique and, wouldn't you know, your parents just popped up!"

Wisty and I look at each other. "Isn't that the same thing The One was talking about back at the BNW Center?" I exclaim, first with surprise, then with horror. For all we know, this strange little lady might be partners with the guy.

"But it's not… real, is it?" Wisty'd hoped that the twisted hallucination of our parents was just The One's theatrics.

"Oh, it's real, all right," Mrs. H. says, and I frown. What does "real" mean anymore anyway? "Come here, and I'll show you. Come quickly. I don't know how long my magic will last."

We weave our way around the barrel and settle down at a table cluttered with stacks of books, pens, paper, candles, matches, and the odd pot and pan.

"Now, where did it disappear to? Oh, here we go." She lifts up a dirty dishcloth to reveal-as if she's just itching to make her whole witchy image complete-something that looks like a glass ball.

This can't be where the answers to our problems lie.

"How does it work?" Wisty asks.

"Ask your brother." Mrs. H. looks at me and smiles knowingly. "Here, Whit. Put your palm on the glass." She picks up my hand and places it on the ball along with hers. The globe feels really warm, like a coffee pot that's only just starting to cool down.

There's a flash of light as soon as my hand makes contact.

"Whoa!" I say. I definitely felt something surge from me-something powerful-but I'm too freaked out to let on. I'm so not ready to accept this new gig as a fortune-teller.

"Ben? Liz? You still there?" Mrs. H. shouts as if she's yelling into a phone with a bad connection. "Your children decided to show up. I gather the bombings slowed them down a bit."

I can't believe what I'm seeing play out right under my hand. Clouds and shapes swirling and then coming together-as the faces of my parents suddenly appear.

"Mom! Dad!" Wisty and I shout together.

They still look eerily gaunt, but this time Dad's eyes are open, thank God, and they both smile when they hear our voices.

"Whit! I see you so clearly!" Mom says. "Can Wisty come a little closer? We need to talk."