“She seemed surprised that you’d give me your mark,” I say, pointing to the glittery star on my forehead. My mouth twitches in irritation at the memory of Bain’s lips on mine. “Why?”
“Oh, well,” he says, his smile twisting into a more bemused expression, “that’s because she can’t kill you.” My eyes widen as Bain throws his head back in mocking laughter. He must really hate Dorothy; I can practically feel his disdain in the sound. “I should clarify: she can’t kill you while I’m still alive. Stryker wears Thyer’s mark, if you hadn’t noticed. That’s why, even after he was set aflame, he lived.”
“Stryker’s still alive?” I clarify, because even though Dorothy told me that, I didn’t believe her. I’m not sure that I believe either of them now. I want to see him in person.
“Assuming Thyer is, then, yes.” Bain sits up and crosses one leg, letting the other dangle off the edge of the mattress. “You think because you saw Mannix shoot him in the head, that it’s an impossibility?”
“How do you know about that?” My eyes narrow in suspicion and Taavi growls low, ears flattening against his skull as I dig my fingers into his ebony fur. Bain just smiles sweetly at me, as innocuous as one of those honeyed cakes. Sweet enough on the lips, but likely to give me a stomachache later.
“Oz, the Great and Terrible,” he says, reaching out to take my hands in his. My skin tingles strangely, energy crackling across my knuckles. It’s faint, more like a whisper than a scream, but it’s there. It’s back. My breath hitches as Bain rubs his thumb across my skin, bringing the taste of magic along with it. “Your mother, Ozma, promised that one day, you’d return to the land after which you were named. She told this to my father who told it to me. As soon as your ugly gray house fell and murdered the Witch of the East, I knew it was you.” He leans in, close enough to kiss. He better fucking not. Last time, I was a bit … off-balance, you know, considering the whole sent to another world, accidentally killed somebody thing. This time, I will punch him in his glittery gold good witch nuts.
“What does any of that have to do with you helping me?” I ask as his lavender eyes sparkle with mischief. “I don’t get it. What’s in it for you?”
“I’m a good witch, Ozora. I want only for the betterment of Oz.” Bain yawns, releasing my hands and stretching his arms above his head. The white sleeves of his robes fall to his shoulders, and I see that his skin is covered in lines of glittering gold, tattoos that stretch all the way down to his wrists.
“Right,” I say, frowning hard. I’m not convinced, but do I really care what his motives are? Does it matter, if he’s willing to help me get out of here? “That’s why you followed us on the Y.B.R.?” Bain drops his arms and shrugs, looking around like he’s already tired of our conversation and ready to move onto another.
“I followed you, but I didn’t interfere. Mannix is far too powerful for me to handle, even with Stryker and that furry guardian of yours helping out.” He looks at me again, interest sparking in his gaze as he smiles. “But you, you could certainly take him—eventually, I mean. Not now. Now … you’ll be lucky to survive the first round of the Ruby Trials.” Bain pulls his long braid over his shoulder, untying several tiny charms and then holding them out to me. “Open your hand,” he commands, and, because I have nothing better to do, I obey.
The charms spark against my palm, as alive with magic as my own fingers.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” I ask, looking at the colorful objects in my hand. They look like little hard candies, round and shiny and faintly sweet-smelling. Each one has a tiny hole drilled through it and threaded with colorful ribbon that was used to braid it into Bain’s pretty hair.
“Each morning, before the guards come to escort you to the Trials, eat one of these. Don’t chew; swallow it whole. And whatever you do, don’t let Dorothy or her guards discover them.” Bain slides off the bed, tipping his hat to me. “Most especially, don’t let on that I’ve been here. If Dorothy finds me in her palace of horrors, it won’t end well for either of us.”
“What if there are cameras in here?” I say, realizing that I’m grasping at straws, but desperate not to be left alone. I have so many more questions. Hundreds. Thousands. And not just about Dorothy and the Trials, but everything. All of Oz is a mystery to me, and I need to find out everything I can in order to survive.
