Being so near to them, and yet feeling so far away—it’s unbearable.
“You gave up your birthright,” he says, disbelieving.
“I told you,” I insist. “I was trying to do the right thing.”
My dad straightens his shoulders. He’s standing up as tall as he can, but he’s still five inches shorter than me. “And now we are trying to do the right thing when we say this: you’ve made your choice, and now you have to live with it. We can’t help you, Whitford. I’m sorry, but this is no longer your home.”
My mom gasps, and even Wisty looks surprised. But they don’t protest. I turn to both of them, asking without words: Are you really banishing me?
It seems the answer to that question is yes.
So I bow my head and turn to go.
As I leave behind my childhood home, I shake my head in disbelief. I thought I’d hit rock bottom, but it turns out I’m still falling.
Chapter 36
Whit
I’M RUNNING SO FAST it’s hard to think—which is the point. But somehow, bitter thoughts haunt me anyway. In the course of a single day, I’ve sprinted away from everyone who truly matters to me. And as far as I can tell, only Janine was sorry to see me go.
If I thought I felt empty before, well, that was nothing. I had a job, a girlfriend, a family. And now what? I have the clothes on my back, the money in my pocket, and the quick-moving legs now carrying me back into the City. Maybe I’ll keep running until I come to the end of the world—or drop dead. Whichever comes first; I don’t care.
I tear down street after street, my breath coming rough and fast. I pass men and women coming home from work, waving to their neighbors before climbing the steps to their warm houses. I smell dinners being cooked. Every now and again I catch a strain of music, or the sound of the evening news.
Almost in spite of myself, I slow down—as if just being here is the closest I’ll get to having a family ever again. The neighborhood seems peaceful, despite the graffiti scrawled on stoops and the surveillance cameras scanning everything. Maybe because it was never bombed under The One’s reign of terror, it feels like a sanctuary.
For everyone else, anyway.
“The sky is one whole, the water another; and between those two infinities, the soul of man is in loneliness.” Somebody said that once, but I don’t remember who.
Still running, but more sluggishly now, I glance up at the evening sky. It’s filling up with glittering points of light.
And that’s when the loneliness really hits me. Even the dumb stars have friends and family, I think. Even trees grow in clusters, and even rats run in packs. People build entire cities because they don’t want to be alone.
Maybe this is why they call it runner’s high. If you go far enough without stopping to rest, you start thinking weird things. And then maybe you even start seeing weird things, too.
Things you can’t believe.
Really.
Like, I can’t believe what I’m seeing right now.
Spilling out of every alley, and clattering up the center of the street, are horses.
Chapter 37
Whit
THEY’RE RUNNING LIKE they’re being chased—or maybe even being whipped. But they don’t have any riders. Steam curls from their nostrils, and their flanks shine with sweat and foam. Their muscular necks strain forward as their black eyes bulge.
I blink and give my head a hard shake. For a second, I’m still convinced it’s some kind of crazy hallucination, an endorphin-fueled nightmare. But then a woman starts to scream, and I know I’m not making this up.
The sound of their hooves builds to a thunderous roar, and all along the street, car alarms start to go off. A storefront window shatters, hit by a rock flung up by a horseshoe.
The last time I saw this many horses, they were carrying the evil Mountain King’s soldiers to battle. But these beasts aren’t the shaggy-coated ponies of that alpine land—they’re sleek, sinewy, and enormous. So where on earth did they come from? And where are they going so damn fast?
“What’s happening?” the woman shrieks.
But no one has an answer for her.
A stray dog who’d been nosing around in the trash makes the mistake of stepping out into the sidewalk. It yelps in terror as it tries desperately to get away from the onslaught of horses. But it’s not fast enough, and we watch in horror as it’s trampled under a stampede of pounding hooves.
The woman’s still screaming, but I can’t hear her anymore. A black horse races past, just inches away from me. As the force of the wind knocks me backward, I see its rolling eye, wild with fear.
I’m pressed against the side of a building, dumbstruck. And then I remember the dream I had—the last time my dead first love came to visit me.
You’re in terrible danger, Celia had said. I see an army of horses.
Suddenly, although I don’t know how to explain what I’m seeing yet, I know what to call it.
It’s an attack.
BOOK TWO
LOVE OR DESTRUCTION
Chapter 38
Whit
THEY’RE RACING TOWARD the City center, and I follow them. I’m not as fast as a sprinting horse, but I can pretty much keep up with the stragglers.
Above me, people lean out their windows to watch. Some are cheering like it’s the Running of the Bulls, while others look on in shock and horror. I’m the only person crazy enough to be down on the street, dodging flying hooves and steaming piles of horse poop.
Because, for one thing, I need to know what’s going on. And for another: What have I got to lose?
The City’s siren begins to sound, its wail cutting through the night like an inhuman scream. I’m trying to remember: did The Book of Truths say anything about a plague of horses? A cavalry without riders? How is it that these animals are mounting an attack? And what are they going to do? Overrun the City? Demand higher-quality hay and an end to the glue factory?
Maybe this is somehow the Family’s doing. Maybe they decided that the robberies and murders weren’t causing enough chaos, so they brainwashed an army of equines. Maybe a battalion of wolves comes next, or a squad of bears.…
But pretty soon I’m out of theories, and simply running is all I can manage. I’m falling behind the main band of horses, but I’m neck and neck with a sorrel mare that seems kind of directionless, as if she hadn’t gotten the memo about where to gallop. She’s so close I can almost touch her muscled shoulder.
Could I?
Legs pumping, lungs screaming, I reach out—and I manage to grab a fistful of her mane. I sprint beside her for a moment, my feet hammering on the pavement while my fingers tighten around the long, tangled hairs. Then, using the last ounce of adrenaline I’ve got, I launch myself into the air—and up onto her back. I land hard, and her coat’s so slick with sweat I nearly slip off the other side. I grab tighter to her mane and squeeze my legs around her heaving sides.
She bucks in response to the sudden weight, but she can’t shake me off. We pound through the streets, and the whole world rushes by in a blur. I might be on the back of an enemy mount, but it’s a ride like I’ve never experienced before.
Another ten minutes of a hard sprint and we’ve reached the City center. In the vast municipal courtyard—the one ringed by all our important government buildings—a huge barricade of police cars and army tanks has formed.
So clearly I’m not the only one worried about this riderless herd.
There are hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers, plus police officers in full-body riot gear. The Council’s new recruits stand side by side with grizzled veterans in a snaking line of defense.
All of them have their guns drawn.
The horses, instead of continuing their mad rush, pull up short at the near edge of the square—as if halted by a hard tug on invisible reins. A stallion neighs, and a few beasts paw the cobblestones with their hooves. But for a moment, a strange quiet descends as animals and people face off beneath the floodligh
ts.
I slide off my borrowed mount and duck into a nearby doorway. Whatever happens next, I’ve got no need to get shot by a poorly trained rookie cop with a nervous trigger finger.
My shelter allows me to catch my breath. It also gives me the perfect ground-level perspective when, a minute later, all hell breaks loose.
First, the horses rear up on their hind legs—and then they charge. Manes flying, they thunder across the square toward the barricades. The police on the other side hesitate: do they kill a riderless horse?
But then, in a blinding flash of amber light and a deafening rush of wind, the horses’ riders appear. Out of thin air.
They simply materialize—right onto their horses’ backs, spurs immediately biting into the straining flanks.
They shriek as one, in a language I’ve never heard before. A tongue of guttural barks and snarls, as if they’re no more human than their mounts. But they’re men: huge, bearded men, armed to the teeth with everything from cudgels to rifles. And they’re thundering down upon the City’s defenses, which suddenly look pitiful.
The first line of City soldiers stands its ground. “Fire!” shouts a voice, and bright flashes spark in the muzzles of their guns. An army tank shoots a rocket toward the enemy’s left flank, and it explodes in a bright ball of fire. I see horses stumble, men knocked from their mounts.
And for a moment, I think we have a chance.
But hundreds more riders surge forward, and as they charge, they lift their cudgels over their heads. Each weapon begins to glow with a terrible amber light.
Confused, the City forces hesitate—and then the collective glow shoots outward in lines of fire, torpedoing toward men now frozen in horror.
In another second, they’re simply gone.
Annihilated. Evaporated. Obliterated. Not even ashes left behind.
The second line of City forces had their guns lifted—but then they drop them and just run.
The riders spur their horses forward, guns blazing, cudgels glowing. The army tanks mount a brave stand, but soon they, too, are overrun.
In a matter of minutes, our battle with the magical, unknown foe is over.
Needless to say, we lost.
Chapter 39
Wisty
I WAS SURE my TV screen had broken during my fight with the Family—after all, the rest of my apartment sure got busted to smithereens—but at five o’clock in the morning, it suddenly flickers to life. First comes a shrill beeping noise, then a crackle of static, and then a familiar voice begins to speak.
I sit up, groggy and stiff from a night spent on the couch. It takes a minute for the picture to come into focus. When it does, I gasp.
It’s Darrius.
My blood chills as his golden eyes, gazing steadily out from the screen, seem to bore deep into mine. When he smiles, he shows a row of perfect white teeth.
“Greetings, citizens,” Darrius says. “I address you this morning as your new leader.”
Wait—what?
For a second, my half-asleep brain thinks he’s only on my screen. You know, so the sadistic bastard could torture me mentally as well as physically. But he’s talking to the entire City.
Which, I realize, is actually worse.
Darrius’s expression is positively serene as he goes on. “Last night, at approximately ten p.m., Terrence Rino, acting on behalf of the Council, surrendered all rights of City governance to me.”
Instantly it’s like I’ve been socked in the gut. All the air goes out of my lungs, and for a second, the room actually goes dim. I blink and rub my eyes, but when I stop, Darrius is still there.
My stomach twists into a knot of fear and dread. I can hardly believe it. Last night, while I was sleeping, Darrius somehow took over the City.
I’m almost overcome with shock—and with guilt. I could have stopped him, if only I’d acted earlier. If only I’d had help.
“Damn you, Byron,” I shout. “Why didn’t you side with me when there was still time?”
Meanwhile, on-screen, Darrius is still addressing his new constituency. “Here beside me, citizens,” he says, “you will recognize a familiar face: a former Speaker wrongfully deposed and exiled.”
The TV camera shifts to the side, and this time I nearly choke. It’s none other than that traitor General Matthias Bloom, whom I personally besieged with monkeys before banishing to the infernal desert. Bloom’s face shines greasily, and his toupee is worse than ever.
“There is no need for alarm,” Darrius goes on. “The order your City was lacking is being restored.”
“By whom?” I yell at the screen. “You? The Family? The very people who were destroying it in the first place?”
I run to the window, expecting to see black-clad, dog tag–sporting thugs policing the streets with billy clubs in their hands. Instead, though, I see no one at all. And that, too, is scary.
Darrius’s calm voice continues on the screen behind me. “This new Rule of Law will result in an atmosphere of peace and an environment of order,” he says. “We need no longer live in fear.”
But then, as I watch out the window, a truly frightening pair of bearded, heavily armed men trot up the street on horseback, silver badges flashing. A woman who’d stepped outside to get her morning paper takes one look at them and scrambles back inside, slamming the door behind her.
Is that what Darrius calls order? Scaring people into self-imprisonment? Also, who in the holy hell are those giant hairy dudes on horses? They’re definitely not from around here.
I turn back to the TV screen. Now Bloom has taken the microphone. His eyes glint—he always loved a captive audience.
“As Leader Darrius has said, now is not a time for fear,” he assures his viewers. “We will do all that we can to maintain harmony during this period of transition, and we ask that you do the same.”
“Why don’t you choke on your own tongue?” I scream at the screen. I know what Bloom means by “harmony.” He means subjugation.
But my rage can’t banish my growing sense of fear—for my City, and for myself.
Because let’s not forget that both of those men, in addition to exhibiting extremely scary sociopathic tendencies, have tried very hard to kill me.
Chapter 40
Wisty
OVERNIGHT, THE CITY CHANGED from a place of peace to a place of fear. From my childhood bedroom (yeah, I ran home to my parents—can you blame me?), I watch the armed Horsemen march up and down the street. They’re all at least six and a half feet tall, with chiseled features, cold blue eyes, and sunbaked skin; they look like they’d flay you alive if you so much as glanced at them funny.
My mom and dad are in shock, too. Every ringing hoofbeat is a reminder: the life we were living yesterday is not the one we’re living now.
Because now looks a lot more like hell.
Sometimes I close my eyes and try to pretend, just for a second, that the world isn’t falling apart around me. It almost never works.
My mom knocks lightly on the door before opening it and sticking her head in. “He’s on again,” she says.
“Again?” Darrius’s primary weapon—besides those horrifying Horsemen—seems to be the video screen. Every hour he’s back on it, orating. Cajoling. Threatening. Manipulating.
Whatever he thinks will bring people over to his side. (As if the guns and the troops and the magic weren’t enough?)
Now he’s up against a plain blue background, gazing out as if he can see each and every one of us in our homes, and he looks… well, beautiful.
Hateful, but beautiful. Unfortunately, power suits him.
“—grateful for your understanding the importance of these minor restrictions in movement,” he’s saying.
I turn to my mom. “What’s he talking about?”
She’s twisting a dish towel in her hands like she’s trying to strangle it. “No one can go anywhere without papers justifying their destination,” she says. “People might be able to go to their jobs, for instance, b
ut they can’t visit a friend.”
“You’re kidding,” I cry—though of course I know she’s not.
She shakes her head. “We’ll be given assigned times for going to the market, or the hardware store.…”
“But why?” I ask, incredulous.
And it’s almost as if Darrius can hear me. “When disobedience of the law is widespread,” he intones, “such as it was under the previous government, it is necessary to reevaluate what we might once have considered necessary freedoms.”
Then Bloom takes the microphone and flatly announces that anyone walking after dark without permission could be shot on sight.
“Holy M,” I breathe.
My dad, watching from the doorway, remarks, “You like their good-cop, bad-cop routine? Darrius explains; Bloom decrees.”
“It’s obvious that Darrius is calling the shots, though,” I say. Bastard, I think. And I can’t help but notice how Bloom wears a uniform and glowers at the camera, while Darrius smiles in a black cashmere V-neck—as if it’s important for our new overlord to rock the business casual.
“These are dark times,” my mom whispers.
“You think?” I say.
She frowns. “Honestly, Wisty, is the sarcasm necessary?”
“Sorry. Habit.”
“It’s okay.” She takes a deep breath. “We have to keep each other safe from Darrius, Bloom, and the Horsemen—whoever they are, and wherever they came from. But we also have to organize a resistance.” She pauses. “It’s so good that you’re here.”
“It is?” I ask. “I know I’ve got a reputation for being a bit fighty. But what am I supposed to do against the most powerful wizard I’ve possibly ever encountered? Tell me, Mom, because I’ve been trying to figure that out.”
“You join forces,” my mom says.
“With who?” I ask. “You, Dad, and Mrs. Highsmith? That’s not much of an army.”
Tears suddenly spring to my mom’s eyes. “I wish Whit were here,” she whispers.