“Dorothy isn’t going to suddenly spare us all because you’ve slain me,” Stryker argues, but the old man has clearly set his intentions in stone. He’s not going to give up.
“It’s worth a try,” the man—Isaac, I think was his name—says with a tired sounding sigh. “I’m sorry, Stryker.”
When Isaac moves, he’s nothing but a blur, closing the distance between him and Stryker in the span of a single blink. Their blades meet with a clash of sparks, sending the hair on my arms standing up again. It’s there in the air, that wild energy, that magic.
“Oz,” Taavi begins again, looking over at me. “Isaac is the leader of C.R.O.W.S. It’s one of the oldest organizations in all of Oz, a collective of sorcerers run by wizards. If we fight for Stryker, we fight against them.” He turns to me, putting his hands on my shoulders and sending a jolt of energy through me. “I know you don’t understand this world, and I know you think you’re stuck in a dream, but make this decision as if your life depends on it—because it does.”
I look back to see Stryker and Isaac sidestepping carefully around one another, beads of sweat collecting on the former’s bronzed forehead.
“If I wanted to stop him … how would I even go about doing that?” I ask, feeling my breathing quicken, my vision sharpening to a single point, focused on the two men facing off in the middle of the dark woods.
“Isaac is a wizard—a powerful one. I wouldn’t be able to do much but slow him down. If you wanted to intervene on Stryker’s behalf, you’d have to use your magic.”
“My magic …” I start, thinking of the tingling I felt when I kissed Taavi yesterday.
“You called the cyclone that brought us to Oz; it shouldn’t be hard for you. I always knew you’d be a powerful wizard.” Taavi exhales, his black ears swiveling toward me as my mouth drops open and my eyes widen.
“I called the cyclone?” I ask, blinking stupidly back at him. I mean, this is all a dream, so of course I didn’t actually summon one. But I guess in my own narrative I did, and that’s pretty damn shocking, too.
“The power to control storms sleeps in your fingertips,” Taavi says, a bit of awe coloring his words. “If you wanted to stop Isaac, you could. But it’s a bold move. I’ve never liked the C.R.O.W.S., but we’re not exactly in a place to wage war against them either.”
Looking back at Stryker, I see that he’s playing this exchange carefully, as if a single swipe could end him.
“She killed my fiancée. What else could I do?”
I bite my lip.
You only live an epic fantasy coma delusion once though, right?
I hold my arms out to either side of me, like Stryker did, and then bring my palms together hard enough to crack.
The still forest air begins to stir, making branches and fern fronds sway in a sudden breeze. Energy crackles across my skin, making my lips tingle, and my chest ache.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” I whisper, and Taavi nods, leaning down next to me, his brown eyes both startlingly familiar and enticingly foreign, all at once.
“Trust yourself, Oz,” he says, and I grit my teeth, stepping one foot back, again imitating Stryker. For all I know, these movements have little to do with actual magic, but it’s all I’ve got.
Here goes nothing.
I fling my right arm wide, not totally sure what to expect.
I most definitely don’t expect the crack of lightning that flashes between the trees, smashing into the space where Isaac was just standing. He manages to roll out of the way, leaving the yellowed bricks blackened and smoking. When he looks up at me, his blue eyes are wide with shock.
“What in this hell we call Oz are you doing?!” he snaps as Stryker pauses to look at me, a surprised smile curving his lips.
“Well, well, this is a bit of a game changer, isn’t it?” He sweeps a low bow, his long black hair touching the bricks for just a moment before he stands up straight. “You forever have my gratitude, Mistress Oz.”
“Wizard, are you certain you want to do this? I act on behalf of the regiment.” Isaac stands up straight, lifting his chin in a way that reminds me of Uncle Henry. The edge of my lip curves up in a smirk.
This is like, badass video game shit. My older brother, Norm, would’ve flipped his lid to see this.
He also would’ve expected a clever one-liner.
“Fuck off, bro.”
Okay, so that wasn’t clever, like, at all, but it works. I mean, it’s succinct and to the point, right?
Swinging my left arm out, I send another bolt of lightning down, just narrowly missing Isaac.
Stryker takes several steps back, absorbing his blades of light into his hands, seemingly content to watch the moment play out.
