Eventually, I collapse in a clearing of dew-covered grass, panting and clutching my wounded arm against my chest.
“We must be far enough away to rest?” I ask, taking deep, panting breaths as I look up at Taavi pleadingly. “Five minutes, that’s all I need.”
“I could use a bit of a rest as well,” Stryker hedges, his face twisted with emotion. While I’ve been chanting mantras to myself for the last several hours, he’s been lost in a haze of memory. That was the first thing I noticed when he laid eyes on the Emerald Corps.
Pain.
And fury.
If I had to hazard a guess, I’d put money on the morality police having something to do with his fiancée’s death.
“Five minutes,” Taavi agrees, offering up one of the water bottles to me, and another to Stryker. He takes one himself and finishes it off in two big gulps, sweat beading on his bare chest and arms.
I stare into my own water bottle, and try not to freak out. There are moments where freaking out is acceptable. This is not one of them.
A small sound draws Taavi’s attention to the edge of the clearing, where the little bit of sunlight that warms the area is cut off by shadows. It was getting late yesterday, when we ran into the Emerald Corps. My guess is that we’ve been running all night, and it’s now morning again.
Out from the shadows steps a little black dog, with eyes like pitch, and long silky hair. A Scottish Terrier, I think, is the name of the breed.
The very same dog that Dorothy has in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
“Taavi …” I start, fear lighting up my limbs with adrenaline as I rise to my feet.
The dog stares at us for a moment, and then it smiles. And I don’t mean that it simply pulls its lips back from its teeth in a pant or a snarl. No, it fucking grins.
And then it attacks.
The dog shifts mid-lunge, into the same massive, black beast that Taavi became when he fought the kelpie.
“Oz!” Taavi shouts, grabbing my arm and yanking me out of the way just in time to avoid the swipe of the monster’s claws as it rakes the green grass where I was just sitting. Without having to ask, I know what to do. I throw myself against Taavi and kiss him as hard as I can, with tongue and everything.
It only lasts a second, and then he’s throwing me out of the way and morphing into the horse-sized dog creature with the horns and the tail that looks like the feathered train of a dress. He’s bigger than the other beast, but when they come together in a frenzy of snarls, teeth, and claws, it’s pretty obvious that they’re an even match.
Fights that are evenly matched don’t often end well for either party.
“Stryke—” I start, and then trail off as I glance in the wizard’s direction, hoping for some magical back-up for Taavi. Instead, I find him on his knees with the gray-eyed man behind him.
General Mannix.
I swallow hard, noting that his pointer finger—the one that acts like a gun—is pressed against the back of Stryker’s head. Magical cuffs glow silver on Stryker’s wrists as he lifts gold eyes to me and tries his best to smile.
“Well, it was pleasant while it lasted. Farewell, Oz, the Great—”
Before Stryker can finish his sentence, Mannix fires off another shot that goes straight through the wizard’s skull, splattering me in blood. The projectile flies through Stryker and into me, burying itself in my right thigh before it explodes out the other side, lodging once again in the trunk of a tree.
The wizard’s body slumps over into a pool of blood as I feel myself collapsing to my knees. My ears are ringing and I’m numb with shock as Mannix makes his way over to me, twisting the metal tip of his finger back into place, and then carefully replacing his glove.
“That’s it?” he asks, looking down at me like I’m dog shit on the bottom of his boots. “That’s all you have to offer? A great storm wizard like yourself.” I open my mouth to respond, but no words will come.
I’m bleeding. Again.
Only this is so much worse, and I wish like hell that I still believed this was a dream.
Because now that I know that it’s real? It’s a fucking nightmare.
“What a shame.” General Mannix bends down low next to me. He’s a lot younger than he first looked, but that doesn’t make his empty eyes and indifferent expression any easier to deal with. He’s not angry, just cold and cruel, like staring death straight in the face. “We were hoping for more.”
He glances back at Taavi, still entangled with the other barghest. The man doesn’t seem at all concerned for his ally’s wellbeing, turning back to me and rising to his feet as I look down at the blood welling from the wound in my leg. My vision is already blurring as I struggle to stay sitting upright.
