Crow (Faeries of Oz Book 2) Read online

  Crow’s eyes widened and he gripped her wrists. The Curse of Unknowing didn’t only make a fae forget something—it jumbled every tiny thought in their brain until they were little more than a slobbering creature. “Locasta, don’t,” he pleaded in a broken voice. He couldn’t fix any of this if she took his mind.

  Locasta simply smiled, her hands warm on his skin, blue light glowing in his peripheral vision. “One day you will be mine again.”

  The last clear thought in Crow’s mind was how utterly sorry he was for everything.

  Chapter Two

  Reva

  This still didn’t feel completely real. Reva was out of the dark place—because of her daughter’s magic. Thelia had believed she was a human named Dorothy but, before killing Langwidere, discovered who she truly was: a fae.

  Reva took off her late sister’s frilly pink dress and slid on the only other clothing in Glinda’s wardrobe that wasn’t a garish gown. It was a one-piece: pale pink—still hideous—with poofy sleeves and loose pants that clutched at her ankles. Losing her sister to Langwidere’s horrific obsession with heads had wounded Reva deep down, but she knew Glinda would want her to mend the Land of Oz, to end the wickedness. And that was exactly what she would do—keep her chin up like she always had before.

  “Ozma, are you ready?” Reva turned and asked her friend, who had swapped her own tattered blue dress for one of Langwidere’s white gowns. This dress wasn’t as seductive as the other choices but still had a sheer diagonal v in the back that went from neck to waist, highlighting the raised scar where Ozma’s wings had once been.

  The one-piece itched at Reva’s skin, but it was the only damn thing with pants that her sister seemed to own. Fortunately, it wouldn’t be necessary for too long. She would swap it out for something else once they hit the brick road. Besides, she didn’t want the distraction of Glinda to haunt her the whole journey. They may not have been thick as thieves, but they had loved and respected each other.

  “Yes, I’m ready.” Ozma ran a finger along her jawline, her bright blue eyes meeting Reva’s emerald ones. “But I think you need to tell him you’re leaving.”

  Reva clenched her jaw, trying not to bring herself to think about him. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Reva peered down at Ozma’s bare feet. “Still no shoes?”

  Ozma wiggled all ten toes in the morning light spilling through the window. “Never.” She handed Reva a leather satchel and placed another over her shoulder. Then she swiped her long blonde locks behind her back. “Plenty of goodies in there for the journey.”

  Reva pulled on her dark black boots—the one thing she still had left at Glinda’s from the last time she’d stayed so long ago. She couldn’t believe they were still here.

  Reaching down by her waist, Ozma adjusted the dagger at her hip. Reva didn’t need any weapon—she was her own weapon.

  Reva walked to the door and quietly opened it, her eyes adjusting to the new lighting after being away from it so long. She halted as her gaze fell to a male body on the carpeted floor, curled on his side, asleep. Midnight locks, with dark feathers entwined, cascaded over his shoulders. Crow. He had always slept through anything.

  Her heart didn’t leap at the sight of him—she made sure of that. Reva narrowed her eyes, her magic beginning to crackle inside of her—a soft sound that only she could hear and feel. While down in the dark place, among trees that could move their limbs to rip one apart, and beasts that could do the same, she’d imagined hundreds of ways she would murder Crow when she saw him again. One of those ways was by her blasting lightning into his chest. Her magic had been gone then, but it wasn’t any longer. Looking at him now, she thought of Thelia, and she could never follow through with it. Even though it was his fault Thelia had become Dorothy, his fault Reva herself had been turned into a cursed monster, his fault for not killing Locasta when he’d found out she was truly wicked.

  Ozma pressed a hand to Reva’s shoulder and cocked her head at Crow to wake him. With a quick motion, Reva placed a finger over her lips and waved her on. Ozma gave her a look that told Reva she disagreed with the choice she was making. She didn’t give a fuck, not when the memory of Crow telling Reva not to use her powers against Locasta slipped into her mind.

  Staying silent, they padded their way down the hall to the staircase and descended the wooden steps. At the bottom of the stairs, light shone down from the domed ceiling, casting its hue across a chaise and four chairs with white cushions. The room no longer contained Langwidere’s dead body, Glinda’s head, dead Wheelers, or the crack that had split the palace into two because of Thelia’s magic. The palace’s own magic, courtesy of Glinda, had mended the house, but Crow had done everything else. Cleaned the blood. Buried Reva’s sister, Langwidere’s heads, and the bitch’s body.

  A subtle movement caught Reva’s attention. Waiting at the door with her arms crossed was Thelia. Her daughter. Her beautiful and caring daughter. Brown eyes—like Crow’s. She was the spitting image of him, aside from Reva’s ears and chestnut-colored hair. Even though Thelia’s overalls were stained after a rinse, she was still wearing them. She had promised to go to one of the abandoned shops to find some new garments soon.

  “So, you really are leaving without telling him?” Thelia whispered.

  Reva had asked her to meet them here for a temporary farewell, but she should have known questions would ensue. If anyone could make her turn around right now, it was Thelia, but Reva had to do this. If she didn’t, their fates—Thelia’s fate—could be destroyed by Locasta and Oz. The Wizard had the silver slippers and Ozma was going to make sure to get them back while Reva took care of Locasta.

  “Yes,” Reva finally said, “though I know you’re going to tell him. At least give us a head start.” That was all she needed, and she would make sure he couldn’t catch up.

  “I will stay silent until he asks.” Thelia gnawed at her lower lip. “Which I can guarantee won’t be long.”

  “I’ll take it.” He would sleep in if no one disturbed him.

  Before Reva could say anything else, Thelia threw her arms around her, surprising Reva. She never would have expected for Thelia to embrace her so soon, but her daughter was different: more caring, more human. And she knew Thelia was this way, even from the little time they’d had with each other. Reva hugged her daughter in return, holding back the tears that were aching to come. But there would be no crying yet, not until they were tears of happiness after the Land of Oz was safe and free from the wicked. Then their world could prosper again.

  “Take care of the South,” Reva murmured in Thelia’s ear.

  “Tin and I will.”

  Tin… Reva didn’t know him well. She only recalled him through her memories as the Wicked Witch of the West. The ones where she’d tried to murder him, murder them all.

  A thrum to kill rocked through her, but not for the innocent—for another witch in the North, sitting daintily on her throne. Locasta would die for everything she’d done. Reva’s lightning would burst the wicked one’s heart to bloody pieces.

  “I love you, Thelia,” Reva whispered as she pulled back, calming herself with the knowledge that her daughter was safe, alive. For ten years within the dark place, she hadn’t known. That uncertainty was part of what had made the hate for Crow fester. “When all of this is over, and Oz is safe, I look forward to getting to know you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Ozma came closer and brought her arms around Thelia. “You will be a great ruler. I can feel the kindness of your heart.” Thelia wasn’t the only caring fae—Ozma had a tender heart as well.

  Releasing Thelia, Ozma stepped back and allowed Thelia to open the door to the morning sunlight. She winced at the brightness.

  Reva expected Crow to rush down the stairs, sliding his palm across the ornate banister to stop them. He didn’t. And she was relieved.

  Outside, the sun bore down on them, its heated rays making Glinda’s clothing itchier against her flesh. In the distance, past the ivory and lilac flowers, the freshly turned dirt, where the heads of Langwidere were buried, stood out from the rest of the ground. She remembered the bitch, remembered how she’d changed Oz from a selfish human Wizard into a greedy, deranged Wizard. Langwidere had deserved to die. Oz would eventually be dead too—by Ozma’s hand. The silver slippers would then be returned to their rightful owner.

  “Calm down, my good witch,” Ozma soothed in a low whisper. “I can practically see the smoke rolling off you.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Reva could see light gray steam rising from her skin. She managed to hold it in before the lightning and thunder followed.

  As they walked out the gate, Reva tried not to look at the pale pink statue of her sister. She gave Glinda a silent, final goodbye.

  Reva and Ozma started down the yellow brick road. They took sugary pastries from their satchels and ate and drank their canteens of water along the way, only stopping to find a new dress for Ozma: a pale blue one with a rope belt around the waist. There was nothing in the shop dark enough in color for Reva, and most appeared even more uncomfortable than what she was already wearing. She would deal with the pink and the itchiness a little longer.

  While heading north along the yellow brick road, Ozma stared, mouth agape, at the world around them. The colorful trees, the cottages shaped like mushrooms, the winged bugs buzzing by.

  Reva smiled to herself. She’d been trapped alone in that dark place for so long, for years, before a ray of light had fallen in—Ozma—illuminating the place with her words and her kindness. Seeing Ozma happy, free, after living in fear for so long, seeming like a completely different fae now that she was cleaned up, made her think back to how they’d met.

  A loud crash sounded in the dark from no
t too far away. It was always dark here, but not to the point where Reva felt she were blind. It was in between the night and sunset. A rustle came from behind a blackened bush. Her magic still did not rise up to protect her, but she didn’t care. She moved a branch to the side, spotting a blonde fae, her hair a tangled mess. The female’s feet were bare, and a shredded tunic and pants covered the rest of her. Both garments appeared too small for her tall frame.

  “Who the hell are you?” Reva snapped.

  “I-I don’t know,” the fae stammered, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

  Perhaps this was an illusion, or a beast in disguise. But it couldn’t be so, because a beast would have already tried to attack. They didn’t trick here, and they didn’t play nice or fair—they just wanted to tear one apart. No need for manipulation. “You don’t know? Did you lose your memory or something?”

  “No.” The fae paused, staring down at her trembling hands. “I don’t know. I was him and now I’m her. And I feel like her but I miss him.”

  Reva arched an eyebrow and took a step back. She had once been a fae who would’ve helped anyone in her territory of the West. But after the curse—the murders—she was hesitant to trust anyone in this nothingness of a place. She wouldn’t have a problem killing this fae if she needed to. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m Tip.” The female opened her eyes. “But I’m not Tip. I’m Ozma, the true ruler of Oz.”

  Reva scowled, studying the fae. “If what you say is true, you’re not a ruler anymore. Not in this place.”

  “I didn’t know. Not until Mombi. Not until Oz used the silver slippers…” Ozma turned away from Reva.

  Reva didn’t give a fuck about rulers, or Oz, or anything besides getting back to Thelia. She’d almost murdered her own daughter and Crow... Even if she hadn’t killed them, she had slaughtered others. Lots and lots of fae. She could remember her claws digging deep into the flesh of innocents, then feeding the bloody pieces to her flying minions. But that hadn’t been the true her. The transgression she couldn’t get over though, was how she’d almost murdered her daughter. It was her one haunting regret.

  Her gaze fell to Ozma’s back, where the dress was ripped, and even in the barely-there light, a raised patch of skin caught her attention. From the wound, bright blood oozed over her skin, as if whatever used to be there had been cut off. Wings. Reva knew right away, and perhaps she’d been too harsh.

  In the distance, a low, fierce growl reverberated through the trees. “You’re going to have to get ready to run,” Reva said.

  “Why?” Ozma stood on her tiptoes and peered around a large tree trunk.

  “The beasts will be coming, and they’ll smell your blood. Not only them. Beware the trees covered in thorns—their limbs can move and capture you.”

  Ozma stared again at her hands, furrowing her brow. “My magic is gone.”

  “So is mine.” It had been gone for years now. Some days she was grateful, some days she was angry, and some days she just wanted the repetitive cycle to end.

  “We’ll protect each other then?” Ozma asked, stepping toward Reva.

  “Perhaps. It could be our best chance to survive.” Reva wasn’t sure how long she’d been in this place, but she knew it had been years.

  The sounds drew closer, trees groaning, everything around them ravenous with hunger. Reva yanked Ozma forward, and they both took off at a sprint.

  Reva shrugged off the memory as a new sound stirred from all directions. Squeak. Unfamiliar. No. Not unfamiliar. She just hadn’t heard it in years. They’d been followed.

  “Seems like you’ll see a living Wheeler for the first time.” She should have known they would come, in need of a new master now that Langwidere was gone. The wheeled bastards should have returned to the edge of the Deadly Desert where they belonged, because she wasn’t going to take care of them.

  “Do you believe they’re worth saving?” Ozma asked as the squeaking drew closer.

  “No.” She would have given them mercy if they’d chosen to leave the South already, but they didn’t deserve to live now.

  The squeals echoed from the forest on the sides of the brick road. Wheeler after Wheeler rolled out from behind the trees, their arms and legs too long for their bodies. Most were covered in dried blood and dirt, leaves in their rumpled hair. White ribbon stained with crimson blood sewed their lips shut. They arched their curving spines in an animalistic manner as they edged closer.

  A female Wheeler with matted auburn locks of hair shot toward Ozma. The minion lifted a spiked wheel, the speed increasing, turning and turning. Ozma leapt up and caught a branch, easily scaling the tree. In the dark place, they’d both grown used to climbing up boulders and trees that weren’t murderous to make an escape. Ozma may not have her full magic back yet, but Reva did.

  Reva smirked as she easily dodged a male Wheeler who charged at her. A raised scar ran from a missing eye to the side of his head where a mangled ear hung. “You should have gone straight to the Desert,” she said, clapping her hands together, creating a thunderous boom that not only vibrated within her but shook the ground.

  Not taking her eyes from the Wheelers—who no longer moved toward her, their expressions startled—she sparked a bit of green light in the center of her palm. It crackled, sang, and began to ignite. Some of the Wheelers started to turn, but it was too late for any of them. A blast of lightning shot forward, electrifying the world around her.

  Everything was green, green, green—like her skin had once been—until the color dissipated and only a flicker of yellowish light remained. Then there was nothing but smoke surrounding her and the scent of charred bodies.

  Reva’s gaze flicked up to Ozma who sat safely in the tree, staring down at her with her head tilted to the side.

  “What?” Reva chuckled.

  A frown formed on Ozma’s face as she jumped from the branch. She swiftly pulled out the dagger from her hip and jolted toward a tree. A twitching Wheeler was pushing herself up at its roots. Ozma lifted the dagger and plunged it through the Wheeler’s chest, directly into her heart. The Wheeler collapsed to her side, unmoving, crimson pooling from the wound as she stared blankly toward the trees.

  “Missed one,” Ozma said, daintily cleaning the blood from the blade with another Wheeler’s tunic.

  “I suppose you were tired of hiding in the tree and had to steal my thunder,” Reva teased, but she was also satisfied that Thelia and Tin would be safer with many of the Wheelers gone. Another male, with obsidian feathers laced in his hair, crept into her mind, but she pushed the bastard away.

  “I’m going to miss your sarcasm when we have to go our separate ways.”

  “I’ll miss you too.” Reva didn’t want to think about Ozma not being by her side just yet. “Let’s continue before we lose light.”

  Chapter Three

  Crow

  Crow stretched his stiff back, letting out a quiet groan. Sleeping on the floor wasn’t what had left him feeling so sore—he’d done that hundreds of times when there weren’t any trees available to hang his hammock from. It was from sleeping on the floor after being knocked out of a tree by Wheelers, transforming into a broken bird, shifting back, cleaning up after Langwidere’s death, burying her and dozens of heads, then waiting anxiously for Reva to open the damn door. Which she still hadn’t done yet.

  A million questions swirled through his mind. The most pressing one was where Reva had been all this time. Trapped in darkness was so vague, but Dorothy hadn’t been told more than that. Surely, with more information, he could figure out what had happened when Dorothy broke the curse. It had been an extra advantage to her killing Langwidere, but the sudden appearance of Reva and her friend, Ozma, threw him off his game.

  Crow would stick to questions about what had happened when Reva finally came out of her sister’s old bedroom—even if it killed him not to make more personal inquiries. He hoped Reva was comfortable surrounded by Glinda’s things after learning about her death. Crow hadn’t seen the Good Witch since before Dorothy was born—she hadn’t known Crow and Reva were together, and he’d had no other reason to visit—but time doesn’t break familial bonds.