Wicked Release (Wicked 3 3)

Chapter One

It never grew easier to bear. The dying. She had been dying for so long, time had lost its meaning. There was no way to know exactly how long she’d been trapped here. Decades? Centuries? No way to know how many times she had resisted the angry mob. She wanted to say she always fought back, despite the unyielding odds. She had never been raised to admit defeat. On occasion, however, she would give into her melancholy. Simply lie down and await her death, wondering how large a portion of her soul the next execution would rip from her.

Did she have one left? A soul? Her grandmother would have told her that the question answered itself. If it were truly gone, she would not miss it.

But she did. At least, the parts of her that had known love and laughter. That had hoped and nurtured plans for the future. Those aspects had disappeared a thousand bonfires ago. And with that, the righteous rage inside her had rushed in to fill the void. It had given her back some of the strength she’d thought lost. The magic.

When, after decades of trying, she had finally succeeded in communicating with the world beyond the illusion, she was nearly overcome. Unsure of what her next step should be after so many failures.

Her power, miraculously, had sensed another Magian’s. One made of flesh and blood and not bound as she was within this cursed landscape. She had long ago learned that her only true chance at freedom hinged on someone outside the spell finding a way to release her. Praying, for his sake, that he was not connected to one of the foul witches who’d imprisoned her, she called to him.

At first, it had seemed to be working. He’d heard her and dared to reach through the doorway she had opened. But the spell soon overpowered him, drawing him into the hell created to cage her.

The poor, beautiful man. And he was beautiful. Brilliant blue eyes and dirty blond, silken curls that made him appear youthful and angelic. Her first thought when she’d seen him fall into this world to land at her feet was that this might truly be over. She might finally be dead, with her own breathtaking guide to lead her to her rest.

The instant he’d seen her, he’d reached for her. There’d been recognition in his eyes. Did he know her? Was he the guardian angel her grandmother had always promised was nearby?

The moment of shock when they touched had given her the answers she craved. No angel. The Magian she’d called for. With one touch, his magic spoke to hers in a way she’d never experienced. A spark of energy ran through her limbs and made her feel…made her feel. Something that wasn’t anger. Something that wasn’t cold and empty. In fact, the emotion was so strong she was instantly suspicious of it. This place had made her see and feel things that she’d thought were real before. After all this time, was it happening again?

He’d smiled in relief and moved his full lips as if to speak, but he’d never gotten the chance.

What would he have said if the mob hadn’t appeared and taken him away? If she hadn’t been dragged to the river for her daily punishment, only to revive once more in her small, one-room cabin. Alone. An endless circle with no escape.

She’d seen him several times from that day to this. Her angel. Her talisman. They were never allowed to speak or touch; never allowed more than glimpses of each other as the masses pursued them. Yet every thwarted attempt appeared to make the man more determined to reach her, and, strangely, gave her a sense of hope.

If they could speak she would tell him that the spell had a will of its own. Above all else, it had been made to ensure she would be denied all comfort. Forsaken. Forever.

But why was he still here? This trap was hers alone. She recalled with great clarity the handful of times she’d been visited by the one man who had enjoyed watching her suffer with a devious delight she would never understand. The man who could come and go as he pleased.

She’d discovered two doorways after endless searching, but they weren’t meant for her. Her magic, fueled by her anger, had become strong enough to open one, just a crack to send out the call, but she would never have enough power to escape through either one of them on her own.

The stranger should, with any magic in him at all, be able to leave the way he came. Why endure this torture? Each day a new world—some familiar to her, some alien landscapes filled with metal buildings and loud machines—would arise from the ashes of the old. All of them created to kill. Did he not know he could escape? There had to be some way for her to tell him. Some way to save her angel.

“Sarah Blackwood.”

She whirled around in shocked surprise, her long skirt kicking up the dust of the road she’d been walking as she waited for today’s assault. How long had it been since she’d heard her name? “Who speaks?”

There was no one there.

“Sarah Blackwood. Come closer.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Two voices now. Male and female. She sensed their compelling magic, though she still saw no one. Her heels dug in to the dirt as her body was dragged off the road against her will. One of them must be a Siren. It was, she remembered, a powerful ability. But how had their magic broken through?

This was new. Her lips murmured the long-forgotten words meant to fend off those who would compel her, but they had no effect. Proof that this was another illusion? Would she be forced into a battle with Magians now? But that was not the punishment. Hers was always to “suffer the death of a witch at human hands”. What had changed?

The voices mingled. Three. Then four joined as one. The layer of

dust that coated the ground began to swirl and twist in front of her eyes. Not yet. She hadn’t seen her angel today. She had to look into his beautiful blue eyes before death took her again.

“Not yet!” she cried.

A male voice, the Siren, came through the funnel of gravel and sand. “Step inside to gain your freedom. Now, before the way out is closed.”

Freedom. It was the only word she needed to hear. She could not allow herself to regret leaving her angel. He would understand that she had to be free. She stepped into the miniature windstorm, knowing she had nothing to lose.

It solidified around her and began to move at a rapid pace. Her blood pounded through her veins, alive with possibility. Was it heading for the doorway she had managed to temporarily wedge open? Could she be that fortunate?

If she woke in her small bed once more, discovering this was just another illusion…it might truly break her.