Page 4 of Ozma

The lump in his throat worked furiously as he gulped down an entire jar. Jack’s blood instantly warmed. The ale tasted like shit as it slid over his tongue, but it was oh-so wonderful. It made him forget there was a Tip-sized hole in his heart.

Almost.

With a low, pained scream, he hurled the clay jar across the hut. It hit the wall over his bed,cracked, and shattered. Shards scattered over the thin woven blanket on his bed. The bed he and Tip would fuck in when Mombi went to town alone, or when she was holed up in her hut working on potions.

“Why?” he mumbled to himself as he slid down the wall. “Why did you have to die? Why did you leave me here all alone?”

Why did you make me love you?

Jack didn’t voice the last question because it was unfair. Tip hadn’tmadehim fall in love—he’d simply been himself. Kind and funny and generous. If Tip lived in town, everyone would’ve loved him. Jack felt beyond lucky to have had Tip love him back, even if it was only for a little while. Butdamn.It hurt. It hurt so much he thought he would die too. Day after day after fucking day. For two years. He thought the pain would lessen over time, but it hadn’t.

So why did youleaveme?

Maybe Jack was the problem. His parents had left him too, after all. They’d placed him beneath a tree on the side of the road and told him to wait there. Three days later, Mombi had found him. Stolen him away to be herthing. The only affection he’d ever received was from Tip, but they were the same in that way. Mombi loathed them both. If he and Jack hadn’t loved each other, no one would have. Perhaps that was why Tip left. To find someone to love for more than convenience. Could Jack blame him for that?

No.

Yes.

It was easier to drown out the question with his ale than decide which answer was true. Ale and fae. Whores, mostly. Whoever he could find with dark hair and blue eyes when he finished with Mombi’s errands. Males or females, tall or short, horned or covered in scales. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered as long as they resembled Tip. But none of them werehim. They were each simply a way to forget for a moment—now that Mombi no longer made Jack forget his life on the farm when he left, compelled. There was no reason to keep Tip a secret now that he was dead—not that he understood the reasoning when his lover was alive.

Fucking heartless bitch.

“Jack!” Mombi screeched outside, pulling him from his thoughts. “I see your bucket—I know you’re in there.”

He sighed and rested his head against the wall behind him. There was no point hiding from the witch. The barrier trapped him on the farm unless Mombi sent him out to do her bidding—selling pumpkin pies and cakes and soups. Buying bread and seeds and eggs. Acquiring herbs for potions and bottles to put them in. But without her intentionally letting Jack out, there was nowhere for him to go.

“Get out here!”

I’ll come out there and bash you over the head with a pumpkin, you evil bitch.

Jack shoved himself off the ground and stumbled. Perhaps drinking the entire jar in one go was a bad idea … but today was a bad day. Not that any of them weregoodanymore. Sometimes he just woke up feeling worse than others. Perhaps it had something to do with the dreams he had—if they included Tip or not.

“What?” he snapped, pushing through his door.

Mombi leaned on her cane at the edge of the pumpkin patch. Her hair had turned from gray to white over the last two years and thinned considerably. The wrinkles deepened around her mouth, and her back had become so hunched that she appeared nearly bent in half. If only her magic had withered as much as her body had, then maybe Jack could’ve escaped her barrier. There was no reason to stay—nothing keeping him there except for Mombi’s barrier. By the looks of her, she wouldn’t live much longer if she continued dabbling in dark spells.

Old hag.

Sharp pain lanced across Jack’s chest and he yelped. A red welt swelled from his right shoulder down to his left hip where her magic struck.

“Watch your tone,” Mombi warned. “Go finish those weeds, slave, or I’ll slice off a patch of skin.”

Ooh, more threats. What the hell else is new?

But even the alcohol couldn’t bring Jack to say that aloud. The punishment would be far too severe. So, he bit his tongue and stumbled over to pick up his bucket.

“You’re good for nothing,” she mumbled. “Tip never gave me these problems.”

Jack blanched at the mention of Tip’s name. Mombi brought it up just to be a bitch and it never failed to give her the reaction she wanted. Tip had always been one to follow the rules… To keep him in line. It felt nearly impossible to do on his own. Everything did. He sighed silently and turned away from her.

“When you’re finished, come to my hut,” Mombi said to his back.

Jack’s shoulders stiffened. That was never good. “Why?”

The wooden cane cracked against his lower leg and he winced at the pain.

“Don’t question me.”

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