“Where are you headed, Wizard?” Taavi asks, looking back at Stryker. “The left side continues to the west while the right fork takes us to Emerald City.”
“I’d rather the birds plucked my eyes from my face and ate them than set foot in that city again. However, I do have business this way.” He looks at me, unmistakable interest dancing in his golden gaze.
Whoa. This wizard dude would be pretty easy to get into bed, huh?
“Business besides us, you mean?” I ask, and he nods.
“I’m looking for my guardian, actually. He was taken by Dorothy and given to a faerie queen.” Stryker’s mouth tightens, and some of his good humor fades from his expression.
“You’re sure about this?” Taavi asks, sounding skeptical.
“I’m sure.” There’s little doubt in Stryker’s voice when he answers. He lifts up his left hand, extending his long-nailed fingers in the direction of the woods. “He’s in there, somewhere.”
“You can walk beside us for as long as your bargain to stay your hand is in place. But before the end of the three days, I want you gone.” Taavi strides forward confidently, like he has no trouble seeing into the deep violet shadows of the woods. Dogs can see in the dark, right? That must be it. I sure as hell can’t see shit, so I stick by Stryker and his glowing orbs.
“So, what’s up with you and this C.R.O.W.S organization?” I ask as we continue along the path and into the trees. Here and there, I see sparkles of light, little zips of color that remind me of fireflies. Off to the right, I see a circle of mushrooms. That’s a faerie ring, right? I decide to stay the hell away from it.
“I was a member until recently,” Stryker says as I marvel at the huge trunks of the trees. Once, my parents took all of us kids on a road trip from Seattle to Northern California, and we got to see the ancient sequoia trees—we even got to drive our car through the trunk of one.
But these trees? They’re bigger than that.
The one nearest me has a trunk the width of a fucking house. And by house, I don’t mean Aunt Em’s shitty little cottage. No, the seven bedroom/five bath place on the golf course where I used to live would fit easily inside this tree’s base.
“Why only until recently?” I ask as Stryker pauses and turns to look over his shoulder.
“Because Dorothy defeated me in her Ruby Trials, and set me on fire, that’s what. Now, is it just me or does it feel like we’re being followed?”
“We’re being followed,” Taavi says, and I notice that he’s turned around to face behind us. “Something sniffed us out at the crossroads.”
“Ah, did they? I only just noticed,” Stryker says, smiling like it’s no big fucking deal that something sniffed us out. How creepy is that?!
“Like I said, a head stuffed with straw,” Taavi growls as Stryker puts a hand to his chest.
“Ahh, it’s such an uncomfortable feeling to know one’s a fool,” he drawls sarcastically, sweeping his hand out in front of him and lining the glowing orbs up along the road. The light illuminates a cluster of scarecrows, hissing at us and baring their sharp teeth.
My stomach churns, and I take a wary step back.
Seeing those things on the other side of the fence was one thing, but now the only thing between us and them is a small, curved stretch of yellow road.
Not good.
“Every night, they came for me,” Stryker says, his eyes narrowing slightly, his mouth turning up in a sardonic smile. The humor in his expression turns dark, shadows moving in his golden eyes. His entire focus is on the scarecrows now. “Every fucking night, howling and circling my pole. If the Munchkins hadn’t used a bit of broken fence to make the base, they’d have eaten me alive.”
Stryker draws his right hand back and lifts his left arm up, so that he’s holding an arm out on either side, like he’s still nailed to that cross.
The fine hairs on my arms and neck stand up straight, and I feel that strange energy prickling across my skin. Magic.
“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Stryker asks as the scarecrows hiss and snarl at the light. It only takes a bit of circling and swiping at one another before one of them decides to brave the light, racing at the wizard with an uneven, loping gait that makes every basic instinct inside of me scream that I should run.
Stryker sweeps his hands forward and slams his palms together with a crack of sound, like a gunshot or a grumble of thunder. The bricks in front of him rise up, tearing the road to pieces and causing the charging scarecrow to stumble.
The wizard steps one foot back into a low lunge, and then swings his right hand out again, sending several of the yellow bricks flying. One of them smashes into the head of the first scarecrow, knocking it clean off. Straw comes out, sure, but so does blood.
