Taavi growls briefly at Bain, but as soon as the witch tosses another cake to the floor, he seems to forget what he was angry about in the first place.
“The glasses leech magical energy from the wearer,” Bain explains, adding three cubes of white sugar to his tea and then turning to face me. He balances the cup and saucer—delicately painted with tiny green birds—on his palm while the spoon stirs itself. Magic is all-too real here, isn't it? I think as I watch him put a strawberry cake to his lips with the other hand. “And the earth around the wearer. It's a doubly useful trick: Dorothy takes the power from the people and uses it to reinforce the walls of the city without wasting her own magic. As an added bonus, it keeps a witch such as myself from drawing any power out of the land.”
“If that's the case then how did you get here?” I ask, skirting around him to pour myself a cup of tea. I'm still shaking, but for some odd reason, Bain's presence here is helping me to calm down. Maybe it's because he looks so confident, so unafraid of Dorothy and her palace on the hill. He certainly didn't seem afraid of her when we first met, when he called her a … what was it? … a loudmouthed goody-goody?
“Oh, me?” Bain asks, feigning surprise and blinking long lashes at me. I'm pretty sure he's a faerie of some sort. What kind, I have no idea, but I feel like it's an important distinction to take note of. “I'm a crafty, little witch, that's how.” He tosses his fishtail braid over his shoulder, the end of it nearly brushing the floor, and then points to beads, gems, ribbons, and bits of what look like bones that are woven in. “Trinkets, charms, cantrips, that sort of thing. Wizards are so arrogant; sometimes they forget what we witches can do. I've bound plenty of magic to carry with me from the North.”
“I'm sorry, but it's been a long fucking day,” I say as I grab a lemony cake with white icing. “What's the difference between a witch and a wizard?”
Bain sighs dramatically and moves back over to the bed, carefully setting his tea on the nightstand, a plate piled with pretty cakes beside it. He turns back to look at me, crossing his arms over his chest, white robes swaying around the toes of his white boots. The contrast of that pretty white fabric against his skin helps to highlight the gold shimmer of it, like he's been brushed with a hint of glitter.
“Witches use the magic of the land; wizards have their own magic.” He nods, as if he's made his point, and then makes himself comfortable on my bed again, boots and all. I look down at Taavi, sans glasses but still nowhere near his usual self, and then move over to sit beside Bain. As much as I want to play the rebellious prisoner, I need to eat, so I take the tea and cakes with me. There must not be any poison in them, if Bain is eating them. Besides, if Dorothy could kill me and just take the shoes, she would've done it in the throne room. The fact that she didn't is very telling.
“Is that why you all have … like, regions?” I ask, thinking of their cardinal titles: witch of the north, of the south, of the east, of the west. Bain nods, delicately sucking honey from the tips of his long fingers.
“There are ley lines—that is, veins of magical energy that run through the land of Oz—that cut across the world in just such a way that they feed power into five territories. North, South, East, West, and Central. As you can see, Dorothy's already stolen Central for herself, stripped the land of its power with her ridiculous green goggles. If a new witch doesn't step up to claim the east, she'll get her charmed hands on that, too, I'm sure. Although the Witch of the East was a monster worthy of Dorothy's cruelty; the Munchkins won't notice much difference if she does claim the land.” Bain sips his tea, looking thoughtfully up at the green silk canopy above our heads.
I might not be wearing the glasses anymore, but most everything here is still green: the rug, the bedspread, the perfume pouring out of the fountain. My lips turn down into a frown as Taavi hops up on the bed beside me. I'm guessing that if Bain had the power to fix him, he'd do it. He seems to be on my side anyway. “How did you ever convince a cardinal witch to give you his mark?”
“Why do they make everything green anyway?” I ask, knowing that it's a stupid question, compared to all the others I could ask. And yet, I can't help myself. As the old adage goes: curiosity killed the cat. I'm going to wind up dead here in Oz; I can feel it. “What's the sense in that?”
