“A trick …” I breathe, pushing away from him and moving over to Taavi, beyond grateful that at least he was able to … teleport, or whatever the fuck I did … with me. I can’t imagine what I’d do if he were left behind. In the book, she knocked her heels together three times. Did I do that? When I fell, my shoes bumped together once. And then I took … three steps? Is that it?
Taavi shifts back into his human form, shaking his head and pressing his fingers to his forehead.
“We need to get out of here,” he says, struggling to his feet. The collar is very clearly weighing him down. Although the shackles on my wrists seem physically heavy, I feel energized, the fine hairs on my arms sticking up with the rush of Bain’s power.
I’m not usually a fan of hard candy, but holy shit, if I had time to stop by my room during our little escape, I’d grab the rest of it to go.
“The only way we’re getting out of here,” Stryker says, tapping his knuckles against the glass wall. “Is if you can get those shoes to work again; the walls are spelled, and the guard isn’t going to open the door until Dorothy and Mannix arrive.”
He glances out the front window and cringes slightly. Without him even having to say it, I know they’re coming.
“Okay, okay,” I say, as Taavi uses the wall to stand upright, brown eyes focused on mine. “When I fell off your back …” Feeling stupid, I clack the heels of my shoes together once, twice, three times. And then close my eyes, imagining home. Seattle. My parents’ old house.
Nothing happens.
“I hate to be a stickler …” Stryker begins, and Taavi growls at him.
“You can do this, Oz,” he says, looking back at me, his face drawn and tight, but not discouraged. “What were you thinking of just now?”
“Home,” I whisper, hands shaking as I start to pace. “Seattle.” Stryker gives me a strange look, so I make sure to add, “the H.W. But maybe it needs to be somewhere closer, more accessible …”
There’s no time.
Just then, the sky opens, as if preparing to flood the arena with water. But instead of raindrops, there are crows. Thousands upon thousands of them. They sweep down and into the screaming horde of courtiers and soldiers, pecking at the green lenses of the glasses and shattering them.
The door to the skybox opens and the green-skinned servant girl appears, panting harshly, eyes wide with fear. The green-whiskered guard, on the other hand, lies dead next to her. Also, he’s missing his goddamn eyeballs.
“Come with me,” she says, turning and hiking up her skirts to step over the growing puddle of blood. Taavi, Stryker, and I exchange looks.
“I say we take our chances,” Stryker begins, the first to speak up. “You’ve seen what Dorothy and Mannix are willing to do to maintain control.” He pauses for a moment, golden eyes closing briefly before opening back up. “Dorothy’s morality police drowned my fiancée while I watched, strapped to the stake, flames licking up my skin. I’m not staying here.”
The word drowned catches in my mind, and I choke on it. It’s enough to get me to move, my hand clamping over Taavi’s before the pair of us start for the door, Stryker on our heels.
Outside, it’s a bloodbath. There are headless crows strewn across the steps, dead courtiers in glittering costumes with no eyes.
The servant girl is waiting for us at the entrance to the palace, pushing the door open and letting us inside, a flock of crows sweeping overhead and in ahead of us.
“Why are you helping us?” I ask, and she shakes her head, reaching up to point at the winged monkey clip in her hair.
“I work for Thyer,” she says, and Stryker’s eyes go wide before a smile curves across his full lips.
“I’d thought I recognized his handiwork here,” the wizard murmurs, but there’s no time to stop and chat. We need to haul ass and talk later.
“Head for the ballroom, and he’ll pick the three of you up there.”
“Pick us up?” I ask, but the girl is already pulling the door closed, blocking off the sounds from outside. Taavi wastes zero time in barring it against Dorothy’s soldiers before we take off running down the hall.
“Do we even know where the ballroom is?” I ask, panting, choking for breath and wishing I’d kept up on my swimming. I am way out of shape now.
“I do,” Stryker confirms, and I start to wonder just, who, exactly he is and what his motivations are. For all I know, Thyer, the Wicked Witch of the West, is just as awful, if not more so, than Dorothy herself. But there isn’t a lot of time to think on my decision to follow him, and I figure if Taavi hasn’t said anything against this course of action, it can’t be all bad.
