“I …” Words fail me. I have a bad fucking feeling about all of this. “She isn't charmed.” The way Tuala said that gives me the idea that I've somehow failed them both in ways I can't even imagine. My mind strays to the image of Stryker, nailed to a cross, skin burnt and painted over by the Munchkins' faerie hands.
What if they set me on fire, too?
“Send me back to Kansas,” I whisper finally, as Dorothy and her guardian study me with renewed interest. I wish they wouldn't. I don't want to be a fascinating puzzle that they'd spill blood to solve. That's how they both look right now, like they'd do whatever it took to get the shoes off my feet.
“I never grant favors without something in return,” Dorothy says, voice still pleasant but edged like a blade. Ready to cut. Taavi snarls, and Tuala snaps at the air in response. “You killed the Witch of the East and you wear the silver shoes, which bear a powerful charm. There is now but one Wicked Witch left in all this land, and when you can tell me he is dead, I will send you back to Kansas—but not before.”
“Kill the Wicked Witch of the West?” I echo, putting two and two together. Bain and Stryker both mentioned Thyer, the Witch of the West. “Dorothy and Thyer are too evenly matched. She might win, but she might not. She won’t take that risk.”
One of Dorothy's fingers traces across my lower lip, making my stomach turn, my knees tremble. I'm afraid of her. I want so badly to be like the badass heroines in my brother's books, but I'm not. I'm just Ozora Gale, a Pacific Northwesterner with a love for swimming, trashy reality TV shows, and makeup tutorials on TikTok. What am I supposed to do in a world I know nothing about? How can I play by the rules—how can I even break them—when I don't know what they are?
“Remember that the witch is wicked—tremendously wicked—and ought to be killed. Now go, and do not ask to see me again until you have completed your task.”
“How am I supposed to do that?” I choke out in desperation. Dorothy turns away from me, tugging Tuala along by the collar. She heads toward the door that General Mannix used, pausing just once to glance over her shoulder at me, gauzy wings fluttering as she smiles tightly.
“Fight in the Trials, of course. Good luck, Oz, the Great and Terrible.”In Which Bain, the Good Witch of the North, Visits–ObviouslyA tray of hot tea and green cakes waits for me back in my rooms, but I'm not hungry. Instead, I sink down to the carpet at the end of the bed, emerald skirts pooling around me, and try to remember how to breathe.
“Scary, isn't she?” a bored voice drawls from behind me. I glance back to find Bain, the self-proclaimed Good Witch of the North, lounging on my bed with his green-tinged-golden braid slung over one shoulder, witch's hat askew. The brim is tipped just low enough that I can't see those lavender eyes of his. As if he can sense my thoughts, he reaches up a glittering nail to push it up and out of the way. His expression is equal parts amused and curious. “So, tell me, how did your first meeting with Dorothy, the Small and Meek go? I told you she was a waste of life.”
“How did you get in here?” I ask, pushing up from the floor. I glance down at Taavi, but he doesn't seem concerned by our guest, lying with his head on the rug, brown-turned-green eyes gazing beseechingly up at me before flicking to the mountain of green cakes. I toss him one before moving over to stand next to the bed. I realize my hands are still trembling, so I tuck them into my skirts to keep Bain from noticing. He watches me lazily, an insouciant smile blooming on his lips. “And why aren't you wearing the stupid glasses? Everyone else is, even Dorothy's guardian.” Although General Mannix wasn't, was he?
“I have my ways in and out of the Emerald Spire,” Bain replies carefully, sitting up and then reaching out a single finger to touch the bridge of the glasses on my nose. With a whiff of ozone, the lock in the back clicks and they fall from my face, hitting the edge of the mattress and bouncing to the floor. My mouth drops open as Bain swings his legs off the bed to stand up beside me. “Do you mind if I help myself to tea and cakes? I'm starving.”
“What …” I start as he strolls past me. I'm floundering over what question to ask first; there are just too fucking many. As he passes Taavi by, Bain reaches down and taps the dog's glasses, knocking them from his muzzled face as the lock clicks open. Bending low, I pick up my own spectacles and find the golden bit in the back intact and unlocked. After a whole day of seeing green, it's a bit of an adjustment to remember how colorful the world actually is.
