“Do not take those shoes off under any circumstances.” Taavi was dead serious when he told me that. I feel like, since he can't exactly speak for himself right now, that I should take all the advice he gave me and run with it.
I take a small step forward, and Dorothy's eyes blaze with excitement. Too bad that expression won't last when I tell her no.
Before I get the chance to speak, a door opens on the opposite side of the room from the ones Taavi and I came in through. Heavy footsteps precede the arrival of General Mannix, dressed in gingham that, with the glasses on my head, looks like dark green over paler green. He's wearing the same castle-shaped badge on his chest, his silver hair and eyes tainted with green.
He barely glances in my direction as he makes his way over to Dorothy's throne. She, on the other hand, never takes her eyes off of me.
“Your majesty,” the general says, his voice as cold as iron. He bends low at the waist before rising to his full height. His mouth is lush, his cheekbones glorious, his eyes framed with dark lashes, but I just can't see past the memories of blood. He killed a random faerie creature for no reason whatsoever; he murdered Stryker in front of me; he shot me through the leg. My thigh tingles as if in response to the ghostly wound, and Mannix's silver eyes swing my way. His stare is devastating. Even though it feels like weakness, I find myself looking away. “I have need of your wise and illustrious counsel.”
I glance back, relieved to see that both Mannix and Dorothy have turned away from me to stare at each other. Tuala, however, is still watching me, like I might stage some sort of surprise coup if she spends too long blinking.
“I'll be in shortly,” she says, looking down at him like he's some sort of conquest, a triumph to be celebrated. On the other hand, he seems to be looking at her with barely repressed hatred. It simmers in his eyes like so much flame. “Is it urgent?”
“It involves the West, your majesty,” he continues, his voice giving me chills that seem to seep into every limb, like frostbite. Dorothy's face tightens up slightly, but she nods, looking back to me with a slightly deflated version of her smile.
“You're excused, General.” Mannix nods, takes another bow, and lets himself out the same way he came in. The sound of the door closing behind him feels final, like a death knell foretelling my own funeral. “Now, Oz, where were we?” Dorothy asks, forcing her smile a little wider. It looks painted on, forced. “Ah, yes, the shoes.” She holds her hand out again, but already, I'm shaking my head.
“I'd rather keep them, if that's okay with you.” My voice sounds hollow, edged with fear, but it's the best I can do. General Mannix, with his pistol for a finger, is only a room away. All it would take is a single command from Dorothy, and Tuala could grab him, bring him back here. They could force me to kneel on this cold, marble floor, and blow my brains out like they did Stryker's. I swallow hard as Dorothy's smile slips into a frown. She glances Tuala's direction, and the two of them exchange a long, searching look.
“Oz, it would please me greatly if you handed over the silver shoes,” Dorothy repeats, turning back again, her eyes searching me carefully. “Then we can move on, get you registered, put you in the Trials. You'd be fighting for the glory of our great land, for the chance to march with the army against the West. It's the greatest honor that could ever be bestowed on a wizard such as yourself.”
“Look, bitch,” I snap, because even if Mannix pulled the trigger—so to speak—it was Dorothy that ordered us hunted down, ordered Stryker killed, me imprisoned, Taavi … well, whatever it is they did to Taavi. “I'm not giving you the shoes, okay? If you want them, you'll have to take them from me.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why did I just say that?! We're not back in Seattle, standing in the quad outside the school. The consequence for fucking up here isn't expulsion; it's death.
“Dorothy …” Tuala starts, and now her own voice is threaded through with a hint of fear.
Dorothy rises from her throne, coming down the steps toward me. Taavi growls, the fur along his spine lifting up in warning, but she ignores him, coming close enough to me that I can smell her perfume—it's the same scent as the fountain in my room, sweet to the point of cloying.
“I would very much like those shoes,” Dorothy repeats, making herself smile again. “They'd be a great boon to the country of Central, a boon to the whole of Oz. The Wicked Witch of the East stole them from me, and I'd appreciate it if you'd give them back.”
