Page 29 of Ozma

Liar.Or, if not a lie, then she was holding something back. “Who is the baby?”

Ozma hopped into the wagon, dropped the bundle, and quickly took the note and the other spell pages from Jack’s hands. “How should I know? It also isn’t polite to go through someone’s things.” Jack watched in silence as she tucked the page away inside her satchel. “We should get some sleep.”

“Right,” he said carefully. “Sleep.”

There was no way he would be able to shut his mind off tonight, but his body begged him to try. So he followed Ozma back to his hut and nestled down in front of the fireplace so she could take his room again.

Tip.

Ozma.

Mombi and the Wizard…

He mentally tried to piece everything together as his eyelids grew impossibly heavy. None of the pieces fit—not yet. But he wouldn’t stop trying until they did.

Sleep did nothing to erase the insane thoughts running through Jack’s mind. He hoped it would bring him to his senses. Hoped that it was simply residual exhaustion from what had happened with Mombi that put strange ideas in his head. Ozma was Tip. She couldn’t be … but she was. He was almost certain of it. If he could just make her admit it…

Jack sat in a wobbly chair and watched Ozma pick through his paltry shelves for something other than his home-brewed ale, stuffing anything edible into a sack for their journey to Orkland. She moved differently than Tip had. Smoother and less awkward. And she didn’t need to stand on her toes to reach the higher shelves. Could Mombi adjust a fae’s height? He scowled. If she could change everything else about someone, was that even really a question?

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were a drunkard.” Ozma turned toward him and froze. “What’s with that look?”

Jack rapped his fingers on the tabletop. “If you didn’t know any better?” Shewouldknow. Better than anyone else.

“I’m not judging you. Living with Mombi almost required a muddled head,” she said with a shrug.

“But whywouldyou know any better? Why wouldn’t you assume Iama drunkard?” Ozma wouldn’t know if he drank once a year or every night if she’d been in Mombi’s mirror.Tipwould’ve known that Jack only drank on the really hard days, but that wasn’t exactly true anymore. Every day was a hard day since Tip had died.

Ordidn’tdie.

Was Tip stuck as Ozma, or was this her true form? Any curse Mombi placed on her should’ve broken when she died. Unless dark magic was used… So had Tip always been Ozma? The note mentioned altering a child’s identity, so the infant would have had to be born as Ozma. He chewed his bottom lip.

What a mind fuck.

“I don’t understand.” Ozma’s brows knitted together. “Are you trying to tell me that youarea drunkard? Sorry, but you need a clear head on this journey. All the jars stay.”

Jack swallowed a frustrated scream. Was she really this good at acting? He already knew she was a liar, but this was extreme. Why wouldn’t she tell him if she’d been Tip?

Because she caught you with your dick in someone else.

Shit.

Orkland was a two-day journey—one by land, another by boat—so Jack would have to pay close attention to gather proof. Ozma would slip up again like she had when she’d tugged her ear. “I don’t need to bring any,” he said as casually as possible.

Maybe one or two…

No.

He would sober his sorry ass up on this trip if it was the last thing he did. Ozma was a sly one—getting the truth would require him to have all his wits about him.

“Then I’m ready if you are,” Ozma said, hefting the sack of food over her shoulder.

Jack reached out, took the heavy bag from her, and swept an arm toward the door. “After you.”

He followed her from his hut, then took one final look around the small, worn shelter. Would he ever be back? It was the only home he’d known, so even though he’d been forced to live there, leaving felt bittersweet. Every moment he’d had with Tip had been on this farm. His eyes narrowed. But, apparently, they could keep making memories together—as Jack and Ozma. The idea of having more time together sent prickles of warmth through him, but he shut it down quickly.

He had to berightbefore he allowed hope to settle in.

After depositing the sack of food in the back of the wagon, Ozma whistled. The stag trotted from the woods and stood calmly as she hitched him up. Jack took note of her sureness as she connected the straps properly—something else she wouldn’t have learned inside the mirror. But Tip would’ve known. As very small younglings, they’d had a wretched, swayback mare to help turn the soil for a few years before it dropped dead.

---