Page 7 of Ozma

There was victory in the beast’s flaming-orange eyes until it spotted Ozma across the barrier of the Sands, safe. A heavy roar escaped the creature’s mouth as it dove back into the sand, taking the dead beast with it.

She was so close to where she needed to be, so close to Jack.

Ozma rose from the ground. The tall trees surrounding her were drawn so tightly together that she couldn’t glimpse anything through the red flowers growing along the branches.

She pushed a limb out of the way, then another and another until she came across her first sign of life in Loland. Faeries with clear glittery wings sang and danced in the leaves above. Ozma smiled as she watched. The joy that radiated from them would soon spread through Oz. It would take time, and fae would need to rebuild, but the happiness would come. Ozma had experienced her share of darkness—as had Reva, Crow, Tin, and Thelia. But each of them still held hope, and she prayed others would too.

The farther she got through the trees, her heart raced more. Decaying logs full of holes were sprawled across the ground and she hopped over each one, pep blooming with each step. Her smile didn’t drop, not once.

A sprinkle of orange peeked through the trees and her smile grew wider. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and she let out a giggle.

But then her laughter caught in her throat, the smile dropping from her face when there was no flicker of blue where the barrier should have been—it wasgone. Mombi had never once let the barrier drop. Even the pumpkins seemed to be sparser than they had in the past.

Focus, Ozma.

Something was wrong, and she needed to not worry about getting to Jack first—she had to see if Mombi was still in her hut. Revenge on the witch would have to take priority, unless she wasn’t at the patch.

Her gaze settled on Mombi’s light brown home resting in the distance. Mombi’s and Jack’s huts both appeared the same, as though they remained occupied. The clay pots were still on Jack’s porch, the plants in full bloom with blue and purple hyacinths, like always. And Mombi’s rocker continued to rest beside her door with her favorite blanket thrown over its back. She hesitated for a moment to go farther, then shoved the nervousness away.

From her waist, Ozma drew out her dagger. Part one of her plan would be to kill Mombi. Part two would be to find Jack. And part three would be to kill the Wizard.

Ozma hovered along the edge of the forest, behind the row of trunks, even though she wanted to run through the field. She doubted Mombi was looking out a window, waiting for Ozma to approach, but she needed to sneak up on her for this to go smoothly.

When she reached the hut, Ozma slipped out from the trees. Mombi didn’t keep a single flower around her home. The beds in front of the hut were nothing but dirt gardens with weeds as they had been before. It fit Mombi’s personality quite well.

The porch was bare except for the single wooden rocker where Mombi used to sit and watch them work the fields. In that moment, Ozma could hear Mombi screeching at them to work faster and she shoved that aggravating voice away.

Ozma crept in front of the grime-streaked door and pushed open the entrance as quietly as possible, but a teeny squeak sounded and she froze. Gripping the dagger, Ozma stepped inside—the house still smelled of Mombi: nutmeg, ginger, and rotten eggs. The sitting room appeared unchanged, with a canary-yellow settee and a table covered in empty glass bottles and vials that Mombi would use to store antidotes for the Wizard.

Ozma’s door was open and she could see that nothing of hers remained. Her wool jacket no longer hung on the wall, her wardrobe of clothing was gone, and the blanket from her bed was now used as a curtain over the far window. It was as if she’d never lived there. But that didn’t surprise her.

Slowly, she went toward Mombi’s room, her door shut, always protected from anyone going inside. Only, like the barrier around the patch, there was no flicker of blue around it. The barrier had vanished here too. Her lungs stilled as her eyes widened. Something was wrong—Mombi would never leave her room unprotected.

Ozma took a deep swallow, turned the knob, and cracked the door open, a light creak sounding. Her eyes remained widened as she inhaled a mixture of the witch’s scent, faerie fruit innards, and lavender. She’d never seen Mombi’s room before because of the spells that had been placed around it.

The space was filled with stack after stack of books, several with loose sheaves of paper sticking out. Spellbooks. Besides those, there was only Mombi’s bed with rumpled sheets, a wardrobe, and several silver pails for her mixtures.

Jack. What if he wasn’t at the patch either? What if he’d gone somewhere else? What if she could never find him again?

The map in her veins could lead her to places, but that was all—she’d tried to feel him before and she couldn’t, just as she wouldn’t be able to locate Reva. A wounded sound escaped her as she closed the door and rushed from the room, tearing her way out of the hut, back into the heat of the day.

Leaping off the porch, she rushed toward the gray hut on the other side of the patch. Thick, curled vines from the pumpkins struck her legs as she hurried, and she ignored the slight stings at her ankles.

Ozma came to a stop at the edge of the patch, her face hot, catching her breath before she took a step onto the uneven porch. The hyacinths caught her attention again—he had to still be there.

Hand shaking, she gently opened the door in case Mombi was here. The witch had never set foot in Jack’s hut, but things seemed to have changed over the last two years and she needed to remain cautious. She gripped the dagger in her hand as she entered the tiny sitting room. The settee and small kitchen table were still in the space, but it sat empty. Paintings hung on the walls that were hers and Jack’s, of places they’d wanted to go and visit one day. They weren’t very good, but they were theirs. She couldn’t help but smile because he’d kept them.

A stirring came from the only other room in the hut, followed by muffled noises. Clenching her blade tighter, Ozma tiptoed down the tiny hallway to the open door.

She furrowed her brow and stopped in the doorway, peering inside. Orange hair, brighter than the pumpkins outside, stood out like a beacon in the room. Her heart rose with elation just as fast as it dropped to ruination the moment that she stepped inside. She couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. Jack’s naked body was atop another male with dark hair. And he was thrusting inside him.

With a sharp inhale, Ozma covered her mouth, the dagger dropping from her hand with a loud clang. She backed into the door frame instead of out of the room, making more sound than she’d wanted to. Deep down, Ozma should have known that Jack wouldn’t wait for her. She didn’t know what Mombi had told him, but she should have known either way.

Jack’s head angled over his shoulder from the commotion, his body stilling as his hazel eyes met hers. “Who the fuck are you?”

Tip. Tip. Tip.Ozma just stood there, body trembling. She couldn’t look at the male beneath him, only Jack, but anything she wanted to say was lodged in her throat.Just say who you are. “Tip’s sister,” she finally stuttered. And with those words, not waiting for him to respond, she whirled around and took off for the front door.

Her heart pounded with too many emotions as she fled out of the house and over the pumpkins. A large vine snagged her by the leg, tripping her, and ensnaring her there. Tears rushed down her cheeks while she tugged at the vine.

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