The Gift by James Patterson Read Free Book Online Page B

I hear boot steps rolling like thunder from above. A legion of them.
    From behind me, Wisty’s mad pipe-playing music tumbles frantically like the soundtrack of some silent horror movie from long
     ago.
What is she doing?
    “This way!” yells a voice from down the hall, away from the stairwell.
Byron?
    I turn and lead the kids toward his voice, praying he’s still on his best behavior. The kids are actually pretty fast, maybe
     because they’re used to moving quickly to get their chores done and avoid swinging billy clubs.
    But they’re not faster than the New Order’s steroid-fed adult guards. The big jackbooted bullies are only about twenty yards
     away now. Fifteen? Ten?
    Zzzziiiiiiick-ping!
A stun-gun wire zips past my head and hits the metal railing next to my hand.
    Byron’s directing the kids through an alternate passageway, presumably to an underground exit. And Wisty’s still playing like
     a freaking pied piper.
    In the flashes of the strobe light, I catch sight of something surreal over my shoulder. Soldiers slowing down, swirling around
     Wisty… entranced… by the music?
    We’re going to make it,
I think, just as six stun-gun bolts hit me in the back.

Chapter 21

    “THAT’S HER,” mutters The One with a mixture of hatred and grudging respect. The security cameras in Acculturation Facility No. 73 had
     recorded the bizarre scene of guards—New Order elites, no less!—being subdued by, of all things, a mere three-octave Command
     Pipe. She was the only one who could have that kind of power.…
    The picture is quite dark and he can barely make out what is going on in the flashes of the alarm lights, but he is certain
     that Wisteria Allgood is the perpetrator of this crime. But how could she—and, presumably, her insipid brother—have gotten
     into the school?
They’re just stupid teenagers.
    The One remembers the last time he lost her, in the plaza, then the mad chase through the city. She and her brother were Curves.
     They could travel through portals. Was it therefore possible that…?
    “Bring me The One Who Commands The Portal Troops,
now!
” he yells.
    A moment later a young man with carefully combed hair, an absurd-looking goatee, and a chin so weak it might be confused for
     his Adam’s apple is escorted into the room by two burly guards. He wears a military uniform with a metallic N.O.P.E. insignia
     on his left breast—marking him as an official in the New Order Portal Elites, a squad of special commandos whose members are
     among the rare few Curves allowed in the New Order.
    “Commander,” says The One Who Is The One, “can you please tell me why I was not informed that there was a portal leading into
     the basement of the Acculturation Facility?”
    “Your Eminence,” he says, “there is no portal in the facility. It has a clean bill of health.”
    The One snorts so loudly that the portal commander actually jumps. “What you just said, those words you uttered with such
     confidence and aplomb, mean nothing to me. If I tell you there is a portal there, there
is
a portal there! Do you understand?”
    “Well, Your Eminence, the entire facility was just inspected—less than a week ago.”
    “We have recorded evidence of small portals forming in a matter of twenty-four hours or less. It must be a new portal.
Now
do you understand?”
    The commander shifts uncomfortably. “Indeed, sir.” He clears his throat. “Have you—ah—considered the possibility of magic, sir?” He chuckles nervously, realizing the word is, of course, banned, except among the highest circles—or
     in certain emergencies, such as this one.
    “Do you think that’s
funny?
” demands The One. His voice is so cool and restrained it sends wave upon wave of shivers up the portal commander’s spine.
    The One turns away and watches as the security footage replays itself, grimacing as the witch hastily climbs over a carpet
     of—dead? slumbering?—soldiers, then disappears into darkness.
    “She is