“That’s … interesting. Creepy, but interesting. Still, it doesn’t answer my question,” I quip, squeezing the bottom of my shirt to get out some of the excess water. I’m going to have to find a change of clothes inside. That is, if there’s anything left. Most of the drawers on my dresser are hanging out, and the clothes are nowhere to be seen.
“We should get going. We can’t stay here: when a witch dies, the other cardinal witches always know. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Wicked Witch of the West were to show up. Then again, the land of Oz after dark …” Taavi Toto or whatever the fuck his name is, shakes his head and continues inside.
“If what you’re saying is true, then you came from here then? From Oz?” I question, unwilling to let this go. “Well then, how did Mom get here and why the hell would she think I’d need a guardian? And what’s that mean anyway? I figure my mind is just adjusting your presence of guard dog to—”
“Your mind?” Taavi asks, looking over at me like I’ve lost all control over my mental faculties. “You don’t believe any of this is real, do you?”
I shrug my shoulders loosely, holding my hands out in a placating gesture.
“Would you, if you were me?” He doesn’t answer, opening the hall closet and yanking out my gym bag. I’m surprised it’s still in there, considering the state of the rest of the house. Back in Seattle, I used to be on the swim team.
Fat load of good that did me. When my family was drowning, where was I to help?
I’ll never swim again, I swear it.
And yet, I couldn’t bear to get rid of the bag.
Taavi digs out a few of my old metal and glass water bottles, in varying colors and designs. Mom was big on sustainability; we only ever used reusable water bottles. I have dozens of them.
My throat gets tight, and I find myself struggling to take another breath.
“You need to take this seriously, Ozora,” Taavi scolds, like he’s not just a dog, but a parental figure of some sort. How annoying. “Wizards who play games don’t last long in Oz.”
“And this is what I’m talking about. This land is named Oz? My name is Oz? This is all some sort of narcissistic delusion I’ve cooked up to escape the trauma of whatever it is that Henry did to me and Aunt Em.”
“Henry is likely dead,” Taavi says, his voice never changing in pitch or tone, “but Emily is missing. That’s concerning. As far as I’m aware, she’s nothing but human. She won’t last long, if she’s wandered out into Oz by herself.”
“Can’t you sniff her out or something?” I ask, forgetting about the whole mom/guardian thing in light of my aunt’s disappearance.
“What does it matter? This is all in your head. Surely, you can just imagine Emily back into existence.” Taavi fills all the water bottles with the bucket, barely spilling a drop, and then zips them back into the duffel bag.
“Touché,” I growl out, crossing my arms over my chest as he stands up and moves back over to Aunt Em’s darning chest, finding another pair of jeans to put on. I consider asking him to don a shirt, but what’s the point, if he’s going to just spaz-out and rip them when he changes shape? “So, can we please try to find her before we leave for Emerald City?”
“I’ll see if I can’t pick up her trail,” Taavi says, looking me over in my wet clothes and grimacing slightly. We’re clearly not going to talk about the mate thing just yet. Fine by me. I’d rather not talk about that at all. Clearly, I must have some repressed sexual desires floating around in my crazy brain. “You should change. Pick something comfortable. We’re going to be doing a lot of walking.”
Taavi sets the duffel bag on the floor near the front door, and then heads outside, leaving me in the ruined cottage I’ve hated since the moment I first saw it. With a sigh of frustration, I head up to my room.
There’s a sock here, a pair of panties there, a bra dangling from the edge of my bed frame, but as far as actual clothing? Most of it is gone. I drag open the stuck drawer on the bottom of my dresser, the only one still left in place. But there aren’t any of my clothes in here.
Instead, there are some of Mom’s old things.
After my family passed, I was allowed two suitcases to take to Kansas. Two. So the remnants of my old life are few and far between.
“Mom.” The word feels stilted and strange in the chaos of the attic bedroom, like a joke told to the wrong audience. I don’t get to say Mom anymore. I have no Mom. I’m an orphan. My teeth clench as I drag out a blue and white gingham dress. I remember Mom wearing this every year, on her wedding anniversary with Dad. Even though the fabric was faded from so many washings, this was the one she always wore.
