The Last Witch of Oz: The Ozma Chronicles by Mae Holloway

Author:Mae Holloway [Holloway, Mae]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

twenty-three

The blackness dripped away to reveal jade skin, a floor-length, form-fitting ebony dress that glistened with onyx beads, and an enormous and pointed wide-brimmed hat.

The woman, who appeared to be several years older than both Rye and I, grinned the instant her molten orange eyes settled on the king. Terrifyingly beautiful with painted violet lips and hair the hue of burning embers, she put her hands on her hips.

“You?” she asked, her voice echoing through the domed room. “They made you king?”

Throwing her head back, she laughed.

Rye moved—faster even than I would have thought possible—his cloak flying out behind him as he closed the distance between himself and the woman—the witch—into whom he thrust his sword.

My shrill scream rose with the woman’s laughter, which continued to reverberate through the orrery even as the impaled witch dissolved, her form spilling into the same black muck as before. The sticky essence took hold of Rye’s blade before wrenching the weapon free of his grasp. The murk then flung the sword to the floor. It spun once as it careened toward the hole beneath the planets—then it fell into the pit where it clattered out of sight.

“Run!” Rye shouted, wheeling on me with a snap of his cloak.

He had seen what I hadn’t. The blackness rushing along the floor, weaving its way toward me like a serpent through water.

I extended a hand toward it, willing the muck to stay back. I should have done as Rye had said, however. I should have run because the blackness did not stop. Not even at my mental command. Instead, it sprouted vines that wrapped my ankles and lashed my wrists.

My breathing came quick and panicked as the blackness climbed my legs and then vined my arms before sinking into my skin, invading my veins—taking over.

“Rye!” I shrieked.

Jack called for me again, but his voice had grown far off, becoming garbled.

Within me, the blackness stiffened, taking hold—commandeering. Gasping, I fell to my knees, fingernails raking at my throat where my skin began to burn while, above me, the star-dotted ceiling started to churn, my vision clouding as black liquid filled my eyes, spilling over in the form of dark tears.

Then someone came to kneel in front of me. His mottled and blurred face drifted into view; one of cloth split by stitches.

“Fight her, Tip,” Rye commanded. “You must.”

My form rigid with searing pain, my skin on fire, I tried to speak, to reply, to tell him I didn’t know how, but the darkness had me by the throat, squeezing like a fist.

That’s when Rye’s hand drew Sebastian’s dagger—my dagger—from its sheath.

I tried again to give voice to words—this time to question what he was doing. But all that I could utter were unintelligible rasps.

The answer became clear, however, when Rye guided the tip of the blade to a spot just below my ribcage, the point digging in, poised to puncture fabric, skin, and undoubtedly something vital.

“I’ll have to,” he said, his voice strangled, strained with tension—and regret. “If you can’t fight her off, Tip, I’ll have to.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.