The Gift

Chapter 89

Whit

Great! We're trying to fight a war, our parents are scheduled to be executed, and they're having a "we need to talk" moment. Here's the thing: you never grow up in your parents' eyes.

Wisty pushes me to the side a little. "I'm here. Mom! Dad! Are you okay? We're so worried about you," she says in a burst of words and emotion.

"Don't worry about us," Dad says firmly, avoiding Wisty's question. "We don't have much time, but we wanted to let you know how you're doing."

I'm more confused now than I was even a second ago. "Shouldn't we be telling you how we're doing?"

Mom shakes her head. "You've been so brave-both of you. We're very proud of your strength and spirit. It's been tough going, we know, but you're really getting the hang of the magic. And you're starting to understand how to share it, which is extremely important."

"The thing is," Dad jumps in, "time is starting to run a little bit short. So… we wanted to suggest that you… pick up the pace a bit."

"Dad! Pick up the pace?" Wisty's a little indignant now. Good old Dad, always trying to get us to be the first and the fastest.

"You may have to do some things that don't feel… right to you. Things outside of your comfort zone. Whit knows all about that, right, Whit? 'No pain, no gain.' You'll need to be counterintuitive at times."

Wisty looks troubled, but I can't help hearing Celia's voice in my head. "Do you mean, like… turning ourselves in?" I ask.

Wisty shakes her head and butts in. "But, Mom, we've had so much pain! We've got blood and scars all over ourselves to prove it." Her voice is trembling now. "You're our parents! Don't you want us to be safe?"

"Doing important things isn't always safe, sweetie," Mom says with a pained look. "It's the hardest lesson for a parent to teach, or for some kids to learn. But that's what the Allgoods were born for. You've found your Gifts. Now give them away."

"Give them away?" I exclaim. "What's that mean? To who? The One?"

"That's insane!" Wisty shouts, and I'm instantly reminded of her wild ways back in school.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but that's about all we can tell you right now," Dad says. "Because it's all we know. We love you and miss you both…"

Our parents' faces begin to fade. And they're both smiling bravely.

"Don't go yet! Mom! Dad!" Wisty is still shouting. "Please don't go!"

Mrs. Highsmith shushes her. "My neighbors cause me trouble enough without them complaining about somebody yelling in my kitchen," she says.

"But we need to talk to them some more," Wisty argues. "We really do."

Mrs. H. is already up and back at her freaking cauldron-thingy.

"The important thing is that your parents are safe for the moment, even if they're in a little trouble, shall we say."

"'A little trouble'? Listen, lady," I tell her, ignoring the fact that it's probably a bad idea to insult a crazy witch, "we risked our lives coming here to get advice. Our parents are on death row. Our friends are trapped in a steam pipe under a war zone. The New Order has nearly completed their total occupation of the Overworld. And we don't have any clues about what The One wants from Wisty or how we're supposed to win against these egomaniacal wackjobs."

She stops stirring her pot and looks at us, rather amused. It's enough to drive me insane when a grown-up does that. And they do it all the time.

"Heavens, children. The clues are all there in front of you. You just have to look harder. And as for what The One wants with your sister, well, it's perfectly obvious what you have, my dear, that he doesn't have."

It's the worst possible moment for a gale-force wind to crash through the apartment windows and virtually demolish the apartment. And us.

The One has found us!

"You told him we were here!" Wisty shouts at the old witch.