Crow (Faeries of Oz Book 2) Read online

  Crow

  Amber R. Duell & Candace Robinson

  Copyright ©2021 by Amber R. Duell & Candace Robinson

  Edited by Tracy Auerbach

  Cover Design by Covers by Juan

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  For Tracy

  Chapter One

  Crow

  Twenty-One Years Ago

  Life was full of beautiful moments, though few as precious as the birth of a daughter.

  Crow had known when Reva told him she was pregnant that his life would be permanently brighter. The small, wrinkled baby on Reva’s chest had taken a single breath and, with it, his soul.

  “What name do you think fits her?” Reva asked in a tired voice.

  Crow shifted closer on the large, four-post bed and wrapped his arm around the love of his life. Sweat coated her face, her brown hair clinging to her forehead, but she had never looked more beautiful. His gaze drifted from the baby to Reva’s emerald eyes and back again.

  “We’ll know it when it comes to us,” Crow replied, placing a kiss on her temple. They hadn’t spoken of names before—they couldn’t without seeing the child. True names needed to fit the individual, and he was too overcome with the new, euphoric love to think clearly enough for such an important task.

  The baby cooed and Reva lifted the child from her chest to stare thoughtfully at her. Crow took in their daughter’s gently pointed ears, identical to Reva’s, and the chin that resembled his own. She also had his brown eyes, though her hair was too sparse to know if it was as dark as his or brown like Reva’s. Their child seemed to have inherited the best of them both—not that Crow was biased.

  “You have no suggestions?” Reva arched a brow and tilted her head.

  When Crow took the baby’s hand, her fingers wrapped tightly around his thumb. A name began to take shape in the back of his mind, still too vague to make out. When the time was right, they would know. All parents did. “I once knew a tree spirit named Gurbera,” he offered playfully.

  “Absolutely not!” Reva hugged the child to her chest and laughed. Then cringed. “Ow.”

  “Let me hold her,” Crow said quickly. “You’ve labored for nearly a day. You should rest.”

  Reva sighed and snuggled closer into Crow’s side. “I am rather tired.”

  “Sleep, my love. I’ll have Whispa prepare something for you to eat when you wake.”

  “Let her rest too.” Reva yawned. “She was up with me the entire time.”

  The pixie had been a lifesaver. Crow had no idea how to help with the delivery of a child. Fae children were so rare—he’d never even seen one so young before this day, let alone witnessed the miracle firsthand. But Whispa had seen Reva’s family through multiple generations.

  “Of course.” Crow kissed Reva’s lips quickly and slid from the bed while cradling their sleeping daughter. She was so small. So perfect. “Leave everything to me.”

  Reva offered a faint smile, her eyes already fluttering shut. His fierce, beautiful, powerful Reva. She appeared exhausted, but content. The labor hadn’t been an easy one and it had taken almost every ounce of Reva’s energy to see it through. When she woke, she would be ravenous. Making a warm meal was the absolute least he could do.

  Crow laid his daughter down beside Reva instead of putting her into the bassinet. The smooth wooden basket hung from thick vines attached to the ceiling so it could gently rock, and the firm pillow inside was covered in the softest of furs. Reva and Whispa had spent a week weaving strands of delicate, enchanted wild flowers through the latticework. But Crow didn’t want to leave such a tiny child so far across the room. Pausing in the doorway for a lingering look, Crow watched Reva pull their baby closer and shut her eyes. He left for the kitchen, feeling he might explode from joy.

  “Oh!” Whispa gasped when they nearly collided on the staircase. Smoky gray hair skimmed her jawline and the first hint of fine lines showed near her honey-colored eyes. The red and blue patterned dress she wore was rumpled and stained after the delivery, and her thin, glimmering wings drooped with fatigue. “Is everything well with Lady Reva and the child?”

  “Everything is wonderful.” Crow lifted the four-foot pixie into a hug, and she squealed as he swung her in a circle. When he set her back down, she was blushing all the way to the tips of her ears. “They’re both asleep. You should rest too.”

  She pursed her lips as if weighing the suggestion. “After I check on the lady, perhaps.”

  “You’re too hard-working, Whispa.” Crow smiled warmly and continued down the stone stairs. He glanced back before he lost sight of her and, in a serious voice, added, “You have to take care of yourself.”

  Whispa’s good-natured tsk reached his ears as he continued his descent, followed immediately by the sound of glass exploding. Crow froze mid-step. “Whispa?” he called, hoping the pixie simply broke a vase.

  But he knew she hadn’t. The crash was far too loud for that. He bolted back to the second floor and skidded to a halt the moment he hit the landing. Whispa writhed on the floor among thousands of tiny glass shards, the large circular window at the end of the hall demolished. Her thin, crystalline wings were in tatters and blood spilled down her arms and legs from the cuts.

  Crow’s boots crunched on the glass, the sound echoing. “Whispa! What happened?” There were no trees near the house that could’ve caused this, and the weather was calm.

  “Lady… Reva…” she croaked, curling into a fetal position.

  Crow’s world slowed as his gaze shifted from the pixie to the open bedroom door. No, no, no, no, no!

  “Leave!” Reva roared from the bedroom.

  A cold, feminine chuckle sounded in response, chilling the blood in his veins. Not her. Anyone but her… Stomach churning, Crow burst into the room he had vacated moments ago to find Reva shielding their child in her arms. The Good Witch of the North, Locasta, stood at the foot of the bed. Crow knew from experience that Locasta was as wicked as they came. He’d tried to leave her so many times after he’d realized good had nothing to do with the witch. She’d given out food to her people when they were hungry, but only enough to keep them from rioting. Offered cures that contained scant amounts of poison to fix the overpopulation. Fae that defied her were secreted away to be killed—some immediately, some after torture—but the Northern Witch assured the families that her guards were searching for their lost loved ones. She had frequently gone so far as to create proof of her efforts, or sentenced innocents to death for the crimes she’d committed.

  Locasta had never accepted Crow leaving her though. The abuse had finally become so terrible that he’d fled to the West in search of help to stop Locasta. He’d found none before Reva. And now she stood in the home Crow shared with Reva on the night their child was born. That was too much of a coincidence to believe.

  “Locasta,” he barked, half in anger, half in fear. His daughter screeched in response. Hadn’t they gone deep enough into hiding? How far did Crow need to take his family for them to be safe? “What are you doing here?”

  “Ah, there you are, sweetheart.” Locasta turned with a dramatic swoosh of her ruby dress. Obsidian hair shone all the way to her narrow waist and eyes, the lightest blue, pierced him. Her full lips quirked into an angry smile. “It’s been too long.”

  Reva clutched the howling baby protectively to her chest with one hand and curled the other into a fist. Green sparks fizzled from between her clenched fingers, her energy too depleted from labor to conjure anything more. “Get her out of here, Crow. Now!”

  If he had his choice, Locasta wouldn’t only be out of their home, but banished from Oz completely. Unfortunately, she still had her claws in too many influential fae who believed her wicked lies. It would be nearly impossible to exile her through the proper channels. Forcing someone as deranged as Locasta to leave would only stoke the fire anyway, and his family was far too precious to risk her wrath. The situation was already dangerous enough.

  “Locasta,” Crow said gently, his hands outstretched. “Come with me.”

  His ex-lover laughed. “I’ve tried to get you to come with me for over a year now.”

  “I know.” Crow swallowed hard and forced himself not to look away from her icy glare. She’d found him almost everywhere he and Reva went, sending him either letters proclaiming love, or threats accompanied by bloody a
ppendages of random fae. “We can go downstairs and talk about—”

  “The time for talking is over,” Locasta seethed, her fists tightening. “You’ve offended me for the last time, hiding yourself away and breeding with this whore.”

  A wisp of green smoke streaked through the air toward Locasta, but she avoided it with a quick spin on her heels. It dissipated a moment later. Crow winced at his beloved’s attempt to channel her power—that small, harmless bit had to cost her everything she had left.

  “Reva, don’t,” he begged. She was too weak to battle Locasta right now, and his ability to transform into a crow wouldn’t do much against the Northern Witch’s magic. The best way out of this was to talk Locasta down. He would promise anything to get her to leave, even if it meant going with her. He’d escaped the North once and he could do it again if it meant protecting Reva and their baby.

  Reva’s eyes narrowed in his direction. She knew Locasta was unhinged—she knew everything Crow had suffered while he’d lived in her palace. He’d seen fae tortured on Locasta’s orders, and endured the Northern Witch’s rage multiple times. His feathers had been plucked, his blood drained until he was dizzy, and, whenever Locasta broke his skin, he’d been forced to take saltwater baths. Each punishment only ended when he was sufficiently injured. Sometimes not even then, because she would use her power to force him into his bird form and lock him in a cage. So why did it seem like Reva was angry at him for trying to protect her and their daughter? It wasn’t possible that she thought he was standing up for his former lover, was it?

  “This ends now,” Locasta announced. Blue light filled the room and a shriek came from the hallway. Whispa.

  “Stop.” Crow tried to step toward Locasta, but his feet refused to move. The planked floor had transformed around them, shackling him in place. The wood slowly circled higher and higher, past his ankles and around his legs, digging into his flesh. He bent, trying to pry it away, but it was no use. “Locasta, stop! Release me.”

  “Crow!” Reva’s desperate cry tore through his chest. When he saw the reason for her outburst, his heart nearly stopped. The bedsheets bound Reva’s limbs, strapping her down, and the child… Oh Gods… Locasta held her with one arm, blue magic flowing endlessly from the witch’s free hand.

  “Pixie,” Locasta called, chin held high, a victorious smirk on her lips.

  Whispa lumbered into the bedroom then, only she wasn’t a pixie any longer. Her willowy body seemed to have shrunk—now skeletal with thick, rubbery skin clinging to the bones. Jagged teeth protruded from tightly stretched lips, giving the illusion of a deranged smile, and her eyes had gone completely black. The worst part, however, was the change in her wings from beautiful, crystalline to black leather that hung in uneven pieces from a boney protrusion on her back.

  Fear ripped through Crow—not for himself, but for the females around him. Locasta’s power to transform anything had always unnerved him, but to see something so gruesome… She had never done anything so drastic before, and that terrified him most of all. The Good Witch seemed to have finally lost her senses completely.

  “Locasta, please,” Crow begged. “Stop this. Don’t hurt them, and I’ll go to the North with you, I swear. Just please don’t hurt them.” He would sacrifice himself for Reva and their child. Every. Single. Time.

  “I begged you not to hurt me too,” she said, spittle flying in his direction. “You”—she addressed the beast that was Whispa and held the baby out—“fly this thing North. Stop for nothing and no one. Wait for me in the highest tower and do not let it die.”

  “You stupid bitch!” Reva screamed. “If you dare take my daughter, I swear you will die a slow, painful death at my hands.”

  Crow struggled harder against the wood, now encasing his waist. Locasta couldn’t take their baby. She couldn’t. He had to stop this now before she handed her to the beastly pixie.

  “Shut your filthy mouth,” Locasta spat.

  Whispa took the child, pulled her close, and darted out the broken window before Crow could even free a single splinter.

  “No!” Crow and Reva cried in unison.

  Crow fought against Locasta’s magic with every ounce of strength he had. If he transformed into his bird form, Locasta’s magic would snap him up and hold him tighter—he’d tried flying away from her temper before. But that was his daughter. His daughter! His heart shattered inside his chest.

  “I will slaughter you for this,” Reva spat, tears sliding down her cheeks.

  “For your sake,” Locasta said to Crow, “she’ll become a changeling instead of a corpse.”

  “Give her back to me!” Reva’s hands flexed and curled, unable to create a single spark. “Give her back!”

  The floor wove up to Crow’s midsection, stopping just below his heart. “Take me, Locasta. Please.”

  “We aren’t finished yet.” With a swirl of her hands, Locasta sent her magic blasting into Reva’s chest.

  Reva screamed until her voice was raw, and Crow shouted along with her as Locasta’s magic faded from the air. The sheets released their grip on Reva and she rolled, falling to the floor, unconscious—or nearly so. Her eyes rolled beneath their lids, and her neck muscles visibly tightened as she threw her head back at an unnatural angle.

  “Reva,” Crow whispered through tears.

  “Look, sweetheart.” Locasta walked behind Crow to whisper in his ear. “Watch as your beloved disappears.”

  Green pustules bubbled over Reva’s face, popping, coloring her skin a greenish hue and leaving craters in their wake. Her nose elongated, twisted, making her look nothing like the female he knew, and the hands that had touched him with so much love extended into claws. A sickening snap filled the air as her spine arched, then curved in on itself. Finally, her body stilled as if she were sleeping. Every ounce of Reva’s outer beauty had vanished beneath Locasta’s curse, but Crow knew her heart. He knew that when she woke up again, she would still be his same fierce female, and he would love her regardless of what she’d become.

  “Wait for it,” Locasta squealed with excitement.

  Reva’s body flew upright with a gasp. Crow jerked toward her, but his restraints tightened. A weak, desperate sound escaped his throat. Reva patted her hands over her dark nightgown and looked up at Crow. Her emerald eyes, brighter than before, lifted slowly, landing on Crow with complete disinterest.

  “Dance,” Locasta ordered.

  Reva immediately twirled through the room, hands stretched to the ceiling, her head reclined all the way back.

  “Stop, Locasta. I’m begging you.” Crow’s voice cracked. Reva had just spent an entire day bringing their daughter into the world. She’d been exhausted and sore before the curse, but now… Crow felt a shadow of the pain Reva had to be experiencing deep in his bones. And she hated being told what to do. To be controlled like this, and by Locasta no less… “I’ll do anything you want. Just… please…”

  “All right,” she cooed, then commanded Reva, “Come closer so he can have a good look at you.”

  Reva was instantly in front of them. Up close, it was worse than Crow could’ve imagined. The pustules left craters in her skin that oozed just enough to make them glisten. And they smelled—Gods how they smelled. Like death and decay. Her shoulders hunched, one higher than the other, and her hands—no, claws—were crooked and bent at every knuckle with black, pointed nails.

  “Reva?” he breathed.

  Her response was a cackling laugh that was nothing like the sweet rumbling sound Crow knew so well. His chest tightened, his heart crushed all over again. This was his fault. All of it. Damn his selfishness! He’d known Locasta would come for him eventually, yet he’d still brought Reva into hiding with him. Maybe if they had separated, none of this would’ve happened. Or, if he hadn’t walked around his home unarmed, Locasta would be dead instead of Reva cursed and their daughter stolen.

  “Don’t worry.” Locasta stepped between them and took Crow’s face in her hands. The witch’s eyes softened slightly, but the way her nails dug into his cheeks only reminded him that her anger would never be satiated. “I love you still, Crow, so I will grant you the mercy of Unknowing and curse you to the cornfield.”