Dorothy Must Die (27 page)

I crouched down next to her. “I’m here to get you out,” I said in the gentlest voice possible.

“Who . . . ?” she croaked wearily.

“I’m Amy. Ollie sent me.”

“Ollie?” Her eyes filled with momentary hope before clouding over again. “No,” she said. “He would never . . . why would he help me when I was so terrible to him?”

“Why
wouldn’t
he?” I asked.

“He was right about everything. I should have listened.” Her eyes rolled back into her head.

“Maude,” I said, snapping my fingers in her face. “Can you move? We need to get out of here.”

She nodded, but otherwise she didn’t budge. She was out of it; I’m pretty sure she thought I was a dream.

I started looking around for the keys to her cage, then realized I didn’t need them. The Scarecrow would know Maude had escaped, so screw it. I bashed the lock with my dagger until it broke open.

The banging seemed to wake Maude up a bit and her eyes focused on me. I leaned in and helped her out of her prison and onto the ground, but when I tried to lift her into my arms to carry her, she brushed my hands away.

“I can walk,” Maude said. As an afterthought, she reached over her shoulder and felt for her wings, like she had forgotten whether or not she still had them. As she brushed her fingers through the matted feathers, I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

She didn’t say anything—she just reached up and grabbed my hand and hobbled along beside me, past the gurneys and through the door into the main lab.

I could hear the crows outside, their mad
ka-caws
echoing down the passageway. We weren’t going to be able to leave that way.

“Is there another way out of here?” I asked.

Maude either didn’t hear my question or chose to ignore it. Her eyes had filled with rage. She was staring at the Scarecrow’s machine.

“Did he use that on you?” I asked, my voice somber.

Slowly, she nodded.

Hell with it. Why stop wrecking stuff now? I walked to the machine and shoved it over. It crashed loudly to the ground, its gears spilling out and spiraling across the floor like loose change. I looked back at Maude.

“He’ll only fix it,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “But I’d love to see the look on his stupid straw face when he finds it.”

Her cracked lips twitched, not quite smiling, but I thought I saw a spark of happiness in her tired eyes.

“What did he do to you? I asked. “What is the Scarecrow building down here?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember.”

She put a hand up to her shaved head, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. I couldn’t tell if it was physical or mental. Did it hurt to think? Or did it hurt to remember what had been done to her?

“He drained me . . .” Maude knuckled the back of her head. “He’s trying to make himself smarter.” I thought of Ozma and wondered if maybe the Scarecrow had drained her brain, too.

“But why?” I asked, looking around at all the equipment. The wall of specimens. It had to be something more than the Scarecrow having brain envy; nothing went on in this palace that didn’t somehow benefit Dorothy.

“He’s trying to . . . he’s going to . . .” She drifted off, going hazy.

And then, suddenly, the birds went silent.

“What has gotten into you? Be quiet, you dreadful beasts!” I heard the Scarecrow shouting at the ravens. He was back. The fire must’ve been put out. We were out of time.

“Oh no . . .” Maude moaned, her knees went weak, and I felt her almost collapse next to me.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me there’s another way out of here.”

She shook her head, her eyes drifting toward the staircase. “Only through there.”

Trapped. My only option was magic.

“Take my hand,” I told Maude, trying to sound confident. “I’m getting us out of here.”

I had never gotten that comfortable with the travel spell that Mombi had taught me, but at this point, I had to risk it. It was dangerous—Gert and Nox had told me time and time again that I should never travel without clearly visualizing my destination, otherwise I was liable to end up teleporting myself into the middle of a brick wall.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture the Royal Gardens. I’d never actually been out there, only glimpsed them that day when I saw the Lion pop the eye out from that guard. What did I remember?

The sunflowers. A sprawling bed of overgrown sunflowers where the Lion had been napping. I pictured the flowers, but it wouldn’t do to travel into them, not unless I wanted petals and stems sticking out of me. I imagined the space directly above the flowers; the cool night air, the moonlight, the Royal Gardens. I focused on the details that would be
below
me, imagining the empty space where we’d travel.

It would be the most powerful spell I’d ever cast. And the most important.

My dagger throbbed in my hand. It wanted to stay and fight. Not a sound strategy, but that’s the kind of instinctual advice you get from a magic object that’s primary purpose is stabbing.

Distantly, I heard the Scarecrow shuffling down the steps. He was close, but I was already imagining myself far away. . . .

“Hold on to me,” I whispered. Even my own voice sounded as if it came from down a tunnel, the magic building up within me.

I felt Maude squeeze my hand and then I let go—not of her, but of this place. I heard a wooshing in my ears, felt the magic pulling me apart, and then we were gone.

Maude and I materialized right above the sunflowers, just like I pictured, and tumbled in a heap through the petals and leaves, stems cracking beneath us. The ground was soft, the landing not too rough. We’d made it. We were alive.

I’d completed a travel spell. The most complicated magic I’d ever done. And it worked. I felt laughter bubbling up within me.

“You okay?” I asked Maude, my throat suddenly dry, like I’d been dehydrated.

“Yes,” she croaked back, and we began crawling our way out of the flowers.

I was exhausted. The spell had worked, yeah, but all my appendages had that pins-and-needles feeling, and I had the vague sense that I’d left part of myself behind, like the magic had taken a price.

Also, considering how powerful the spell was, I worried that Dorothy might have felt it or detected it somehow. There was nothing I could do about that now.

Ollie was waiting for us. All I could see of him were his eyes. They were unblinking and glowing yellow, shining down at me.

“You fell out of the sky,” he said to me, baffled.

I waved at him weakly. “No big deal.”

As I struggled back to my feet, Ollie locked eyes with Maude. I don’t know if I’d been expecting them to hug or what—the last time they’d seen each other she’d spit on him, so maybe that was pushing it—but they didn’t. It was awkward, neither one of them sure what to say, until Maude finally broke the silence.

“You came back for me,” she said softly. “After everything—”

Ollie cut her off with an embrace. He held her tight and Maude squeezed back, although I noticed her fingers brushing over the stubs where his wings used to be. I let them have a moment, looking toward the palace. The Royal Gardens were on the other end of the grounds, away from the greenhouse and the Scarecrow’s burned bedroom. The windows on this side were dark, empty. There weren’t any patrols around, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

“Sorry, guys,” I interrupted. “But you need to get moving.”

Both monkeys turned to me. Maude bit down on her lip, looking suddenly nervous about something.

“There’s just one more thing,” Ollie said, glancing surreptitiously at my dagger.

My shoulders slumped. I was already exhausted from the night’s events, I didn’t know how much more I could do.

“What is it?”

“You need to cut off my wings,” Maude replied.

I stared at her. “Uh, what?”

“The wings are tied to Dorothy’s magic,” Ollie explained somberly.

“As long as I still have them, she has power over me,” Maude finished. I noticed her flexing her wings as she spoke, as if trying to commit the feeling to memory. “I won’t be able to leave the palace grounds with them.”

Ollie had already unclipped a pouch from his belt, opening it up to reveal sutures and some clean rags. I glared at him.

“You knew we’d have to do this.”

Ollie nodded. “Yes. Sorry I didn’t tell you, but . . . you volunteered.”

I flipped the dagger around in my hand, gently clutching the still-warm blade, and held it out to him.

“You do it,” I said.

Ollie looked from me to the blade, then at Maude. I could see him trying to steel himself, to find the courage to accept my challenge. After a moment, he looked away.

“I . . . I can’t,” he said quietly. “She’s . . .”

She was his sister. Of course he couldn’t mutilate her. That job fell to me.

Maude grabbed my hand.

“Please,” she said quietly. My stomach clenched. “You’ve already opened my cage. Now set me
really
free.”

Cutting them away was the easy part; my knife was sharp and hot. The worst part, the part I worried would stick with me, was the sound they made. And how the wings began to flutter on their own.

Blood poured down my hands, so dark it was almost black. The heat of my blade cauterized the wound some. Ollie huddled beside me, staunching the blood and suturing where needed.

“I am so sorry. I am so sorry,” I kept repeating. I don’t think she heard me. I didn’t know a spell to numb the pain or I would’ve used it. Maude bore it without a scream or even a whimper, knowing that we needed to keep quiet.

Softly, almost under her breath, she hummed a strange, sad song. It sounded like a children’s song.

“Our parents used to sing that to us,” Ollie whispered. “A nursery rhyme about learning to fly. I don’t even remember the words.”

Maude wasn’t crying, so I held my tears back, too. The least I could do was be as brave as she was.

When the first wing fell to the ground, Maude lost consciousness. I checked her breath, just to make sure she was still alive, but I didn’t try to rouse her.

Ollie cleaned and bandaged the first stump while I moved on to the other. This one took longer, my arms heavy and weak.

When it was done, Ollie lifted her into his arms, cradling her like a baby. She stirred, looked at me blearily.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

I nodded and opened my mouth to say something. Instead, I found myself collapsing onto my knees. Ollie leaned close, his face now level with mine.

“Come with us,” he said urgently, and jerked his chin in the direction of the stone wall that separated the Royal Gardens from the Emerald City. “I can bring you to the Dark Jungle and the other Wingless Ones.”

I trusted the monkeys. But even though I still hadn’t heard from the Order, I knew I had to see this thing through. I shook my head. “No,” I replied, gritting my teeth and trying to pull it together. “My mission is here.”

In the darkness, I couldn’t tell whether the look on Ollie’s face was admiration or pity.

“In that case, Amy of Kansas,” he said. “You need to stand up.”

I struggled to my feet, every muscle sore and aching. I felt like I might crumble back to the ground at any second. When I was finally up, Ollie shifted Maude into one arm and held out his other hand to me.

I reached out to grip it, thinking that he was just saying good-bye. But he pressed something metal into my palm. When I looked down, I saw that it was a tiny silver arrow, no bigger than the needle on an ordinary compass.

“It will lead you to the Wingless Ones,” Ollie said. “Keep it safe. Keep it with you. Use it to find us when you need us most.”

I blinked at him, shocked. He had made no secret of how the Wingless Ones wanted nothing to do with the Wicked. He knew I was loyal to them, and he was trusting me with this anyway.

“We work for no one,” Ollie said, as if he sensed my surprise. “But you have proven yourself. You are our friend, and we will help you however we can.”

“Thank you,” was all I managed to say.

The words were barely out of my mouth and he was already on the move, carrying Maude toward the shadows of the wall. Once there, he didn’t climb over. Instead, he lifted up a flap of grass and disappeared beneath it. A tunnel, I realized. The Wingless Ones had dug a tunnel.

The silver arrow twitched in my fist in the direction of the wall. I now knew there was a way out, but I couldn’t yet take it.

I was lucky to make it back to my room, so weak I was practically crawling the whole way, without drawing any attention. At one point, I had to duck behind a curtain to avoid being spotted by a pair of palace guards. They were chatting about the freak accident in the Scarecrow’s room. Good. I hoped that meant nobody suspected foul play.

Well, at least until the Scarecrow discovered Maude missing and flipped out.

All I wanted to do was collapse into bed and sleep for a million years, but I couldn’t until I got myself cleaned up. As I washed the blood from my hands in the little basin by the cupboard, the sounds of bones cracking and feathers flapping echoed in my head. When I closed my eyes, all I saw were Maude’s twisted, injured wings falling into the grass.

I shuddered. Doing Good had been uglier than I’d expected it to be. And the price . . . the price now was feeling like I needed to always be looking over my shoulder. Maybe I’d taken too many risks.

And now, to get rid of the evidence, I needed to take one more. I felt dizzy, like I was spinning out of control, but I shoved it down, doing what needed to be done.

I pulled off my blood-crusted dress and placed it carefully on my bed. Waving my finger at it, I lit it with a magical flame. It burned quickly and noiselessly, its fabric blackening and smoking, hissing and popping. At least no one in the palace would find the smell of smoke out of place.

Though the fire danced across my sheets and mattress, the spell did its job. They remained unharmed by the flames.

I stood there, practically naked, just watching, my arms crossed across my chest until the evidence was finally disposed of. There wasn’t even a trace of ash left behind. It was as if it had never happened—the room wasn’t even hot.

But I could still see the fire burning on my retinas when I closed my eyes. Much smaller than the one I’d set outside the Scarecrow’s chambers. But with more magic. I felt weakened; an emptiness in my core like a hunger.

If Dorothy had detected my use of magic, I’d be in trouble. I needed some support. I needed someone to tell me what I’d done hadn’t been a total waste—what was one free monkey in the scheme of things? A minor victory at what cost?

Where was the Order? Why had they left me all on my own?

I turned to the mirror that I’d come somersaulting out of almost a week ago.

“Nox,” I said. My voice came out angrier than I meant it to. “Nox. I don’t know if you can see me. I don’t know if you’re listening. But I need you.”

There was no answer.