“She has his heart?” I ask, wondering what, exactly, that means. Under a glass dome implies there’s something physical that Dorothy might’ve taken. How can I be surprised though? Sure, she could take his physical heart from his chest and put it on display. Why not? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen since I’ve been here. Bain doesn’t answer, assuming it’s a rhetorical question. “What does she want with me?”
“She wants you to fight in the Trials, to win, to kill Thyer.” Bain turns lavender eyes toward me, studying me carefully. “Or, at least, that’s what she wanted. Now that she knows you can’t be charmed, I’m sure her plans have changed. That’s why I’m here. You can’t do this alone.”
“She seemed surprised that you’d give me your mark,” I say, pointing to the glittery star on my forehead. My mouth twitches in irritation at the memory of Bain’s lips on mine. “Why?”
“Oh, well,” he says, his smile twisting into a more bemused expression, “that’s because she can’t kill you.” My eyes widen as Bain throws his head back in mocking laughter. He must really hate Dorothy; I can practically feel his disdain in the sound. “I should clarify: she can’t kill you while I’m still alive. Stryker wears Thyer’s mark, if you hadn’t noticed. That’s why, even after he was set aflame, he lived.”
“Stryker’s still alive?” I clarify, because even though Dorothy told me that, I didn’t believe her. I’m not sure that I believe either of them now. I want to see him in person.
“Assuming Thyer is, then, yes.” Bain sits up and crosses one leg, letting the other dangle off the edge of the mattress. “You think because you saw Mannix shoot him in the head, that it’s an impossibility?”
“How do you know about that?” My eyes narrow in suspicion and Taavi growls low, ears flattening against his skull as I dig my fingers into his ebony fur. Bain just smiles sweetly at me, as innocuous as one of those honeyed cakes. Sweet enough on the lips, but likely to give me a stomachache later.
“Oz, the Great and Terrible,” he says, reaching out to take my hands in his. My skin tingles strangely, energy crackling across my knuckles. It’s faint, more like a whisper than a scream, but it’s there. It’s back. My breath hitches as Bain rubs his thumb across my skin, bringing the taste of magic along with it. “Your mother, Ozma, promised that one day, you’d return to the land after which you were named. She told this to my father who told it to me. As soon as your ugly gray house fell and murdered the Witch of the East, I knew it was you.” He leans in, close enough to kiss. He better fucking not. Last time, I was a bit … off-balance, you know, considering the whole sent to another world, accidentally killed somebody thing. This time, I will punch him in his glittery gold good witch nuts.
“What does any of that have to do with you helping me?” I ask as his lavender eyes sparkle with mischief. “I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”
“I’m a good witch, Ozora. I want only for the betterment of Oz.” Bain yawns, releasing my hands and stretching his arms above his head. The white sleeves of his robes fall to his shoulders, and I see that his skin is covered in lines of glittering gold, tattoos that stretch all the way down to his wrists.
“Right,” I say, frowning hard. I’m not convinced, but do I really care what his motives are? Does it matter, if he’s willing to help me get out of here? “That’s why you followed us on the Y.B.R.?” Bain drops his arms and shrugs, looking around like he’s already tired of our conversation and ready to move onto another.
“I followed you, but I didn’t interfere. Mannix is far too powerful for me to handle, even with Stryker and that furry guardian of yours helping out.” He looks at me again, interest sparking in his gaze as he smiles. “But you, you could certainly take him—eventually, I mean. Not now. Now … you’ll be lucky to survive the first round of the Ruby Trials.” Bain pulls his long braid over his shoulder, untying several tiny charms and then holding them out to me. “Open your hand,” he commands, and, because I have nothing better to do, I obey.
The charms spark against my palm, as alive with magic as my own fingers.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” I ask, looking at the colorful objects in my hand. They look like little hard candies, round and shiny and faintly sweet-smelling. Each one has a tiny hole drilled through it and threaded with colorful ribbon that was used to braid it into Bain’s pretty hair.
“Each morning, before the guards come to escort you to the Trials, eat one of these. Don’t chew; swallow it whole. And whatever you do, don’t let Dorothy or her guards discover them.” Bain slides off the bed, tipping his hat to me. “Most especially, don’t let on that I’ve been here. If Dorothy finds me in her palace of horrors, it won’t end well for either of us.”
“What if there are cameras in here?” I say, realizing that I’m grasping at straws, but desperate not to be left alone. I have so many more questions. Hundreds. Thousands. And not just about Dorothy and the Trials, but everything. All of Oz is a mystery to me, and I need to find out everything I can in order to survive.
In order to go home.
Because I sure as shit am not staying in this crazy place a second longer than I have to.
“Cameras?” Bain asks, and it occurs to me that he might not even know what a camera is. I haven’t seen anyone with a cellphone here. No TVs. No computers. Pretty sure they don’t have the sort of technology that we do back home. “They have scrying orbs, certainly, but I’ve planted an enchantment in your room. Anyone who looks in on you will only see what they want to see.” A small smile quirks his lips. “That should prove interesting.” Bain unties a golden key from his braid and tosses that onto the bed. “You can put the glasses back on using this, but try to wear them as little as possible.”
“Wait!” I call out, before he can do that spinning thing and disappear again. “Why not just take me with you?”
“Oh, little wizard,” he says with a sad smile, pulling his hat off briefly and holding it against his chest. The little glowing fairy inside it flitters out, circling my head a few times before alighting on Taavi’s back. It’s hard for me to see what she’s doing through the orb-like glow around her, but she manages to snap off an extra dog tag that I hadn’t noticed before. There are the one he’s always worn—a black matte skull with the name Toto engraved on one side as well as a rabies tag—and the one the fairy’s just removed. “Don’t despair. We’ll meet again.”
Bain smirks as the fairy drops the tag on the bed. It’s in the shape of a green emerald, and a true testament to how tired and freaked-out I’ve been that I hadn’t noticed it before.
As soon as the tag comes off, Taavi lets out a long, low groan, his body shifting into that of a naked man as I sit there gaping.
“You could’ve fixed him this whole time?!” I snap as I waver between wanting to rub Taavi’s back and wanting to get as far away from his muscular form as possible. He lifts his head up, but with great effort, like he’s got the hangover of the century or something.
“You manic witch,” he snarls as Bain’s smirk turns into light laughter.
The fairy fiddles around with the tag before flying back up and diving into Bain’s hat. He replaces it on his head and then points a golden nail at the tag.
“You’ll be able to remove and replace that tag, as needed. I don’t know how many times I need to stress this, but do not let Dorothy discover it. Don’t let her or her minions discover any of my tricks. If she knows I’ve been here, I’ll have a hell of a time coming back.”
Bain spins on his heel three times before disappearing as if he’d never been.
Taavi sits up fully, looking like he’s torn between passing out and vomiting. The old leather collar my dad splurged on hangs around his neck, the skull tag hanging in front of his pale throat. He blinks blurry eyes and turns to look at me, his expression puzzled as he tries to put together our situation.
“What was the witch doing here?” he growls, his voice more animal than human. As if he’s just realized h
ow he sounds, Taavi clears his throat and tries again. “How long have I been … out?” The way he says that last part makes me wonder if he doesn’t have at least some memories of the last few days.
“I’m not sure,” I say, standing up and using a fresh teacup to pour some jasmine-scented liquid for Taavi. Four pots of tea came on my tray, with a cup for each. There are plenty of cakes, too, and I decide to grab the whole platter rather than put any on a plate. I hand the cup to Taavi and set the cakes down on the bed. “I woke up last night, got summoned to see Dorothy this morning.”
Taavi stares at me for a long moment, searching my face for … something. He growls again and turns back to his tea, sniffing it and then downing the cup in one swallow. I get him another.
“I thought I was dreaming,” he says, his voice deep and rough, on the edge of a growl, but most definitely human this time. As he sips the second cup—more slowly now—I wrap the candies Bain gave me in a shift I find in the top drawer of the dresser. His brown eyes watch me curiously as I slip into the bathroom and stick them behind the toilet, wedging them between the tank and the wall.
“How much do you remember?” I ask as I sit back down on the bed, sweeping loose strands of brown away from my face. Taavi looks me over, taking in the voluminous mountain of green skirts, the tightly cinched bodice, and the string of emeralds around my neck. I fiddle with them, rubbing my thumb across the surface of one. Unlike the stones outside the castle walls, these ones feel real.
“Everything,” he says, grabbing a cake from the plate and sniffing it carefully. Like me, I bet he’s wondering if the food is poisoned. After a few good inhales, he seems satisfied and bites into it. I pretend not to notice that he’s naked, but … his cock is in direct view. I find myself staring at it on accident, forcing myself to snap my gaze to his face. “But the edges of my memory are blurred.”
“You bit Dorothy,” I remind him, and he nods.
“I’d have done worse, given the chance.” Taavi finishes the cake off and then rises from the bed, fingering the dog tag around his neck. He looks out the window, his dark hair mussed up, black ears perked up. One swivels back as he stares out at the Emerald City, listening for any sounds from beyond the door.
Instead of doing something productive, like asking one of the thousand questions I had for Bain, I stare at the spot where Taavi’s tail connects to his lower back. You’d think it’d be weird, having a furred tail just above that tight ass of his, but it’s not.
My fingers itch to touch it.
The tail, not the ass.
Or … I’m lying to myself and really, I’d like to touch both.
On impulse, I reach out and stroke my hand along the fluff of his tail.
The thunderous look that Taavi turns on me makes my heart stop in my chest. It never occurred to me that he could turn on me, make my life a living hell. From moment one, I just sort of assumed he was on my side. Then again, what might he have done on that first day, by the creek, if Bain hadn’t stopped him?
The way he’s looking at me now makes me seriously reconsider my position.
I draw my hand back, eyes wide as he drops the curtain and turns to me.
“Do. Not. Touch. My. Tail.” He grinds out each word between his teeth, his pointed canines flashing as he glares down at me. “Ever.”
“I’ve stroked it plenty of times before,” I protest when, really, I should just shut the fuck up and let it go. We both know that my stroking his tail before was not the same as it is now.
There’s a tension between us that I don’t quite understand, one that almost hurts. It’s hot and sticky and achy, and I find myself curling my hands into fists in my skirts to keep from touching him again.
Taavi growls something low under his breath, in a language I’ve never heard before, and swipes his hand over his face. My gaze flicks over to his crotch, finding that his previously flaccid cock is now rock-hard. I swallow and turn my eyes up to his, but he just ignores me, stalking away to grab a silken robe in a deep jade, swinging it over his shoulders and belting it at the waist.
The weirdness of the moment passes, but I won’t forget it, not even if Taavi seems to want to.
“The witch,” he says again, moving slowly around the room, running his fingers over surfaces, like he’s looking for something in particular. “What did he want?”
“To help me, apparently,” I say with careful neutrality. It’s obvious that Taavi doesn’t like Bain, and vice versa. “He saved you, didn’t he?”
Taavi’s brown eyes flick back to me, but he turns away again, continuing his inspection of the room, trying the doors, the windows, checking inside the wardrobes like he’s trying to find a way to fuckin’ Narnia.
“What else?” Taavi finishes his routine and then stops in front of me, his tail tenting the back of the robe just slightly. It’s almost enough to make me smile. Almost. But then, I remember that I’m trapped inside a place that Bain referred to as a palace of horrors, playing a game where death is the punishment for failure, and where I don’t know any of the rules.
“He took the horrible glasses off”—I point at the discarded goggles—”and gave me some weird candies that were braided into his hair. Apparently, I’m supposed to take one in the morning before the Trials.”
“The Trials …” Taavi starts, looking down at me with an expression I can only assume is pity. “Oz, you’re not ready for the Trials. I assumed when I brought you here that we’d find another wizard willing to teach you. It’s clear that the Land of Oz has changed quite a bit from when I was a child.”
“What do the candies do?” I ask, because I’m not eating any unless Taavi tells me it’s okay. I’m not sure what Bain’s true motivation is, or what he wants, but I do know this: Taavi has been around for as long as I can remember. He protected our family; he saved my life. Whatever he says, I’m going to listen to.
“Likely, they’re full of his magic,” Taavi spits out, looking toward the toilet where I hid the candies. “As much as I don’t like it, as much as I’m loath to accept his help, I don’t see how to get you out of this without it.”
“Stryker’s still alive,” I say, just to test Taavi’s reaction. He turns to look at me, the expression on his face grim, the emotions in his brown eyes swirling like the storm that carried us here.
“Probably,” he agrees, but then he glances toward the doors, frowning. “But I bet he wishes he wasn’t.”
The Ruby Trials, Because Emeralds Are Not the Color of Blood
The Ruby Trials are being held in an emerald-shaped arena that used to be a courtyard. At least, according to the girl with the winged monkey clip in her hair. She’s the only servant I’ve seen, bringing me and Taavi our breakfast and a fresh pair of clothes for me to wear to the event.
I adjust the green military jacket draped over my shoulders, the front lined with dark buttons and gold stripes. I’ve got on black slacks and, of course, the sparkling silver Vans on my feet. The servant girl brought Tuala to my room after I was dressed, the gold skeleton key swinging from her neck. She removed the glasses, but did nothing about the emerald tag on Taavi’s collar. As soon as she left, I snapped it off and tucked it into my pocket.
One of Bain’s candies sits on the back of my tongue, buzzing and fizzing like a live thing. It tastes like honey and coconuts, and when I exhale, I smell gardenias on my breath.
My fingers crackle as I squeeze my hands into fists at my sides, magic zinging across my skin like static electricity. When I touch my hand to Taavi’s ruff, his fur sticks up, clinging to my fingertips.
“This is insane,” I whisper, trying to swallow back a cold lump of fear. Last night, Taavi and I sat up until a dawn blush colored the sky and discussed what I should expect today.
None of it was comforting.
Taavi turns his dark head my direction, brown eyes sparkling with limitless intelligence. I keep expecting someone to grab his collar and shout out a warning to Dorothy’s soldiers, to let them know what Ba
in and his little fairy friend did to release him from his bonds. How anyone could look at him and not realize that he’s no longer bound in the brain of a canine is beyond me.
“Wait here, miss,” the servant girl—who, surprisingly, even without the glasses still has green skin—says as she shows me to a glass skybox overlooking the stadium. The green-whiskered guard with her closes the door and locks it, leaving me alone in a sea of gold furniture with green cushions. There’s a table laden with strange fruits and wine, but I’m not about to touch any of it.
Even if it wasn’t poisoned—that doesn’t seem to be the goal of my captors—I’m too nervous. I’d just throw it all up.
I move toward the front of the box, putting my palms up against the glass. Down below, the emerald-shaped arena sits empty, the soft grass cover at the bottom of it swaying gently in the breeze. It’s bright and sunny today, golden light glinting off the green lenses of the gathered crowd, but there’s a dangerous edge in the air that makes me nervous.
I’m supposed to fight other wizards today.
With magic.
And since I’ve had exactly zero lessons on how to do that, I don’t see how I’m supposed to survive this.
“Each battle is to the death,” Taavi told me last night, his brown eyes dark with worry. “Dorothy doesn’t just want to find someone to battle the Witch of the West; she wants to see the population of wizards in Oz reduced to nothing.”
To the death.
I have to kill or be killed. As much as I’ve always disliked humanity in general, the thought of murdering someone doesn’t exactly sit high on my bucket list. On the other hand, I like the idea of dying even less.
There’s a knock on the door, but clearly I have no choice in whether it’s opened or not. It’s just pretend courtesy. Propriety theater, if you will.
The door swings open … and in walks Stryker, the Vain and Arrogant.
My eyes widen as he smiles dopily in my direction, his own golden gaze dim and glassy as he stumbles into the room and trips over a fancy tufted footstool.
Very Bad Wizards Page 14