“Like I said, I’m pretty sure I’m lying passed out on the floor at Aunt Em’s. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ve been flown by helicopter to a less crappy hospital than the one in town, and I’m under the supervised care of some very talented doctors.”
Taavi sighs and hefts the duffel bag to his muscled shoulder, the tags on his collar jingling.
“Mistress, you really should adjust your thinking if you want to survive in Oz.”
“Look, I’m onboard for all of this,” I say, putting a hand to my chest and smirking. “Tell me what I need to know. I’ll go to Emerald City, talk to Dorothy, fight the good fight. I’m just not going to freak out about it because it isn’t real.”
“Mistress Ozora …” Taavi starts again, but I shake my head.
“Oz. It’s just Oz, okay?” I turn to look at him, but he doesn’t seem convinced. I wonder … “Taavi, I command you to refer to me as Oz and only Oz.” His face scrunches up, one edge of his lip curling up into a bit of a snarl.
“Oz,” he says after a while, exhaling sharply. “We should talk about my role as your guardian.”
“That’s what you think we should talk about?” I ask, reaching out to run my hand along the blue length of the fence beside us. Taavi snatches my wrist away at the last second and gives me a dark look.
“You’re right: maybe there are better things to discuss right about now. First and foremost, do not touch anything without asking me first.” I raise my brows up, his fingers burning a circle around my wrist. As abruptly as he grabbed me, Taavi lets me go.
“Duly noted,” I say, rubbing at my wrist. “I’m guessing I’m not allowed to pet you anymore then?”
The look he throws me then is cold hell. Apparently my dog doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.
“It’s best if you touch me as little as possible,” he agrees, and then he’s back to scanning the horizon for danger. With a sigh, I tuck my hands in my pockets and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. We have a long way to go, I imagine. “No public transportation in Oz, huh?”
“There are no cars here, not as such,” he says finally. “And a carriage would only bring us extra trouble on the Y.B.R. If we see any bandits, we’ll slip into the woods to hide. Until you can control your magic, it’s best that we stay low.”
“My magic,” I murmur, lifting my head up at the sound of music in the distance. Taavi stiffens up as we round a bend on the road, coming up to another one of those domed houses. Only this one’s a good ten times bigger than the others, with several interconnected buildings.
Five fiddlers play their instruments while other Munchkins laugh and sing along. There’s a long, wooden table laden with fruits and nuts, pies and cakes, and assorted roasts and sliced meats.
My mouth waters immediately, my feet itching to join in the dance.
As soon as they see us, the Munchkins call out a greeting.
“Join us, Wizard!” they call out, gesturing to their dance circle, gossamer wings catching the orange glow of the sinking sun.
“Oh, hell yes,” I murmur, starting forward.
Taavi steps in front of me, his nostrils flared with anger, eyes narrowed into dark slits.
“Do not touch anything without asking me first,” he growls out. “You don’t understand this world; it does not operate under the same parameters as the H.W.”
“Food and dance aren’t the same here?” I ask, quirking a brow. “Because it smells delicious, and maybe I don’t recognize the exact steps, but moving the body to music is pretty universal.”
“You might be a Wizard, but you’re also half-human. I know for a fact that your mother read you fairy stories as a child.” I lift my brows up. “What happens to humans who drink, dance, and make merry with the fae?”
“They … get stuck in faerie forever? Or is it that they dance until they die? Something like that, right?”
“And there’s your answer: nothing good. Nothing good ever happens. So, we will politely decline the invitation.” Taavi pauses and drops his arms to his side as one of the Munchkins opens up the gate and steps out to greet us with a deep bow.
“You must be a great sorceress,” he says, lifting his head up and adjusting his pointed hat.
“Why’s that?” I ask, glancing over at Taavi to make sure I’m not breaking any stupid rule. Pretty sure I’ve read that you should never bargain with the fae, or give them your name, but that’s about all I remember.
“Because you wear the silver shoes and have killed the Wicked Witch. Besides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and sorceresses wear white.” The fae stands up to his full height—which is, as Bain might say, obviously not very tall at all.
