Page 29 of Witch Queens: Tales from Oz

CHAPTER 11

The muffled soundsof yelling woke me from my sleep and I quickly realized that Scarecrow was still dreaming. I had never seen him like this before. His brow furrowed, eyes clenched tight as he muttered something about not taking it anymore.

His deeply tanned skin had a light sheen of sweat on it despite the cool temperature of the room. Carefully, I leaned over and placed a gentle hand on his arm. No sooner had I done so, that he grabbed my wrist in a punishing grip and flipped us over so that he was on top of me.

His other hand was around my throat, crushing my windpipe to the point that I was starting to see spots.

Scarecrow seemed to come fully awake at that moment. He flew off of me, recoiling in horror.

He held his hands in front of his face as if he couldn’t quite believe that they belonged to him.

“Indy,” raspy and broken, “What have I done?”

“I’m okay,” I wanted to soothe him. I wanted to take away the tortured look in his eyes. It was heartbreaking, and I never wanted that for him. I had only wanted to help.

His hands covered his face, “I’m a fool. I should never have allowed this to go so far. You shouldn’t be with a monster like me.”

“You aren’t a monster!”

He looked up, his dark eyes haunted, “You don’t know everything, Indy.”

I tentatively scooted closer to him, praying all the while that he wouldn’t push me away. “Then tell me, Scarecrow, tell me what you are hiding. Tell me who you are.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, “My name was Adam Walker.”

“Adam,” I repeated, letting the letters roll around my tongue.

He nodded with a ghost of a smile, “I am not from here. My mother was from a land called Trinidad. It is a beautiful island. My father was a wealthy businessman who swept her off her feet.”

“Was it love at first sight?”

He blew out a breath, “For her, perhaps. For the bastard that fathered me, I doubt he felt a moment of love beyond the pleasure he stole from an innocent girl. There were promises of marriage, promises that he would take care of us. But it was all lies, as it often turns out it be.”

“Scarecrow,” I swallowed, “That is terrible, I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be, it was a long time ago. My mother worked many jobs to try and raise me. Her parents had disowned her.”

“Because she was pregnant?” I breathed.

He let out a harsh laugh, “Because she had lowered herself to become pregnant with a white man. There were stringent lines back then, and her village would not tolerate a mixed-race child.”

My hand reached out. I needed to touch him. “What happened?”

“The usual shit. My upbringing was no different from anyone else’s. I was spat upon, kicked, sworn, and cussed at regularly. I couldn’t attend public school, and because my mother was working, I often fell in with the wrong crowd.”

“Scarecrow, that is not the usual shit,” I breathed.

He looked over at me, “Hell, Indy, I didn’t tell you this to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying!” I said indignantly, and I reached up and felt damp cheeks. “What year was this anyway?”

His dark eyes focused on me, “1838.”

“What? How is that even possible? And how did you end up in Oz? I don’t understand?”

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