Page 20 of Ozma

“Don’t go getting ahead of yourself, Blossom. This is still foolish.”

“Say that again when she’s dead.” Ozma gripped Jack’s hand and steered him in the right direction as the tunnel curved.

“Let’s make a deal.” Jack squeezed her hand, feeling a little more comfortable touching her when he couldn’t see a fucking thing. Her skin was smooth, though callouses dotted the pads of her palm. They were smaller than his but no less prevalent. “If she dies and we don’t, I’ll take back what I said.”

“Which part?”

Was … that hurt in her voice? He had been angry with her and lashed out, but he hadn’t meant what he said. Not really. His mind was being pulled in a million directions. Believe her, or don’t? Trust her, or don’t? Help her or…No.That one he was certain of. He was helping her whether she wanted him to or not. But he wished that it didn’t feel as if she were keeping something important from him. Wished she would lay everything out—her motive, how she knew her way around the farm so well…

“All of it, Blossom,” he answered.

“Good. Because she’s there.”

Jack jerked, expecting the witch to be standing directly in front of them, but instead noticed a faint trickle of sunlight. They were almost at the other end of the tunnel now—completely unscathed, physically. Having unseen fae hissing and growling at him from the darkness had his hand shaking around the branch. The knife in his boot would only be helpful if something was close enough for him to use it, though he didn’t want to wield either weapon if he could help it.

Nothing attacked. Just threatened to. It felt impossible. There were creatures in there and the two of them were practically defenseless. Something didn’t feel right, but nothing involving dark magic ever did.

Still, he followed Ozma through the last bit of tunnel and out into the light once more. Though,lightwas a stretch. The sun was half obscured by land with night hot on its heels, and the realization that they would be stuck out there hit Jack for the first time. He’d never spent an entire evening away from the farm before.

Ozma gave a hard yank on Jack’s hand and they tumbled into the prickly brush.

“Shit,” he mumbled as a particularly pointy thorn scratched his arm. Blood welled on his skin. “Why did you do that?”

“There,” Ozma whispered, pointing overhead at a large overhang made from rock. “We have to climb.”

As if going through the tunnel wasn’t bad enough, now they had to climb over it?Fuck… He held back a groan as he stood, hands on his hips, watching Ozma hike effortlessly up the steep hillside. It was only when she disappeared onto the overhang that he scrambled up after her, dropping his branch. When he reached her side, hunched behind a fallen log, they both peered wordlessly over the bark as the soft padding of hooves struck the ground.

A familiar blue and maroon wagon, the wood curved in an arc over the bed of it, came around a bend with a gray stag pulling it. And, holding onto the reins, was Mombi, wearing the same clothes she’d left in. Jack swallowed hard at the sight of her. What were they thinking, confronting her? Both he and Ozma ducked down when the wagon neared. As it passed their hiding place, Jack caught a whiff of the smokey scent of burning wood mixed with the acrid odor of burning hair.

Up to your dark magic, as always, you horrid bitch.

The wagon creaked to a stop and Jack held his breath, peeking out again, sure she’d seen them. But Mombi didn’t seem at all fazed. She hummed off-tune as she leapt down from the seat with all the grace of a newborn foal, nearly falling. The witch caught herself on the spokes of the mud-slicked wheel and shifted a small woven basket over her arm. With her other hand, she removed her cloak and placed it on the bench where she had been sitting.

Each of her steps came with a grunt as if it pained her to move. It probably did. She’d left the farm to help the Wizard, which meant she was using her magic more often. Probably daily. By seeing her again, it hit Jack just how much of a fool he’d been to stay at the farm. Money could be made anywhere—not just from pumpkins.

Setting her basket down on the steps leading into the rear of the wagon, she pulled a large cleaver from her skirts. “Yes, yes,” she mumbled to herself, trailing her thumb over the blade. “Sharp enough. Now…”

The witch turned her gaze to the top of the wagon. Jack’s eyes traveled upward to see what was so interesting and froze. Sprites in cages. Dozens of them hung along the sides of the wagon like decorations. As if sensing Jack’s stare, the sprites started screaming, their weak voices somehow still sounding like a crack of thunder across the small clearing.

“Help! Please, sir, help us!”

A chorus of cries, all directed at him.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Mombi looked over her shoulder and her beady stare landed directly on him where he still watched over the fallen tree. “Jack!” she screeched so loud it hurt his ears. “How did you get off the farm?”

She hadn’t realized the barrier fell?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu—

“Get over here, you disobedient little bastard!”

As Jack stood, resigned to the witch’s wrath, a rock flew through the air and pelted Mombi right in the temple. She flailed about for a moment before using her powers to balance herself. Regaining her composure, she blasted her magic in the direction the rock had come from.

And hit the empty ground.

“Time to go,” he said quickly while Mombi was distracted by some miracle attack. He glanced down to hurry Ozma back the way they’d come … only to find himself alone.

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