Dorothy Must Die Novella #2 (5 page)

Glinda was in her chambers, in a terrible temper—I could only guess because of the way things had gone that morning with the Wizard. She'd torn through her closet in a fit of pique, and the floor of her room was strewn with ball gowns and high-heeled shoes and gem-studded necklaces. “Pick that up,” she said as soon as I materialized in her room, dizzy and nauseous from the spell she'd used to transport me through the palace. She sat on her bed huffily and watched as I obediently collected the dresses off the floor and hung them carefully in her huge closet.

She was wearing a revealing gown that plunged deeply, showing a considerable amount of cleavage, and her soft strawberry-blond hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her pretty features had a childish set to them, and she looked more like a sulky teenager than a terrifying witch.

I wondered what it was like being Glinda. She had outlasted all of Oz's other witches, and from what she'd told the Wizard in the garden, she was the real power behind Oz. When I was growing up in Oz, she'd always had a reputation for being the Good Witch, but I had a more than sneaking suspicion that she was responsible for whatever had transformed Ozma from our regal, powerful, beloved princess to the vacant shell she was now. But in a strange way, as much as I hated Glinda, I also felt sorry for her. There was something deep in those blue eyes that looked almost like loneliness.

“You know,” she said conversationally, “we'll be having another guest soon, Jellia.” My back was to her; I could feel her eyes boring into me as I gathered up her scattered jewelry.

“Is that so, Your Eminence,” I said politely.

“An old friend of yours, I believe. The Scarecrow.”

“The Scarecrow is coming here?” I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice, and I could tell Glinda was pleased to have caught me off guard.

“Of course, Jellia. Who do you think invented the magic-mining machine?” I flinched involuntarily, remembering the nightmare of my journey to her palace. She examined her nails, a tiny frown marring her perfect features. “I really don't think magic makes for the best manicures,” she mused. “Why don't you try, Jellia?”

“As you wish, Your Eminence,” I said. She summoned a tray of nail polish out of the air with a snap of her fingers and leaned back against her pillows.

“You pick,” she said. “I don't care anymore.” There was something in her voice that was so genuine and vulnerable that I looked up at her in surprise. I examined the bottles of polish—all pink, of course—and selected a vibrant coral. She held out one delicate hand and closed her eyes, and I went to work. The repetitive motion of brushing on the polish was almost soothing, and Glinda's silence was a relief. My mind wandered, taking me back to the Emerald City, to the days when Ozma ruled Oz and my life had been much less complicated—and filled with much more joy. Ozma had taken me once to the Rainbow Falls, and I remembered now the feel of the spray on my face as we stood on a rocky promontory overlooking the majestic, vibrant colors of the falls. The air had been cool and gentle, the breeze scented with Ozma's heady perfume of bergamot and sandalwood; the cobalt and crimson and deepest emerald of the falls glowing vividly underneath a clear blue sky.

“My goodness, Jellia,” Glinda murmured, her words snapping me back to myself. “What a talent you have.” I looked down at her nails and saw that somehow, without realizing it, I'd painted a perfectly detailed series of tiny pictures on each nail: Ozma looking out over the Rainbow Falls, the Lion bounding across a field, his heavy golden mane so perfectly rendered that I could almost see it moving as he leapt; the periwinkle field where Glinda had set up her terrible machine . . . Each image was impossibly lifelike. My hands tingled. Glinda was regarding me with an expression I couldn't quite read: triumph, but something else, too, something sadder. “You have real power, Jellia,” she said quietly. “You have the very magic of Oz itself moving through you. Did you really never know?”

“I don't—I don't understand,” I said, dazed. What had I just done?

“You will,” Glinda said. “When the time is right, Jellia, you will.” Her tone was gentle, but her words sent a chill all the way through me. I couldn't meet her eyes.

“You've done very well, Jellia,” she said. “You may go back to the kitchen for now. But I think perhaps it's time for you to take on more . . . responsibility. The Scarecrow and I have much to discuss.” I couldn't control my shudder, and Glinda chuckled, all trace of her vulnerability gone. “Sleep well tonight, Jellia,” she murmured.

That evening, I could barely finish my dinner. My stomach was knotted in fear, and my head was a jumble of conflicting thoughts. Finally, the meal was mercifully over. When I was sure no one was paying attention, I slipped out a side door into the gardens. There was Nox under the same tree I'd hid behind to eavesdrop on the Wizard and Glinda that morning. His back was to me as he scanned the garden, on the lookout for anyone who might see us.

He heard my footsteps and turned as I approached the tree. “We have to be quick,” he said in a low voice. “If we're both gone for too long at the same time, someone will put two and two together. It's not safe for us to be seen together like this.”

“Why would Glinda suspect you of anything? What exactly is going on here? Who are you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You know who I am. You seem to know more about my magic than I do. You know more than you should about what Glinda's doing. You haven't told me the truth about anything since the moment I came here. And if Glinda has some plan for me, and you know what it is—”

He cut me off. “Jellia, I know how difficult this must be for you. And believe me, I'm not trying to lie to you—it's just that the less you know about some things, the better. For your own safety.”

“What do you mean, ‘about some things'?” I asked, my fear and confusion turning to anger. “Nox, what are you
talking
about?”

He took a deep breath. “I'm talking about defeating Glinda,” he said quietly. “About sending Dorothy back to the Other Place. About restoring Oz to what it once was—and what it should be.”

Defeat Glinda. Get rid of Dorothy. I couldn't believe he'd said it out loud. We weren't just meeting to swap secrets—Nox was openly talking treason. But if Nox was serious, he couldn't be acting on his own.

“Nox, what are you planning? And how does it involve me?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Jellia. There's so much I can't tell you—not yet. Glinda brought you here because she knows your magic is special. And she wants to keep an eye on you because she knows we'll reach out to you—and she can use you to find us.”

“Who's ‘we'?” I asked. “What aren't you telling me?”

“You'll find out when it's time,” he said. “But not now. I'm sorry. I know it's a lot to ask of you, but it's for your own safety.”

I shook my head. “A lot to ask doesn't begin to cover it.” But for some reason, I was willing to give him a chance. And if he truly knew of a way to bring the real Ozma back, I would do whatever it took to help him.

I thought again of being at the falls with Ozma. Of what my life had been like when she ruled Oz. Of how everything had been different—and better. “Promise me you'll tell me everything,” I said. “Not now—fine. I understand that. But soon.”

“I promise,” he said instantly. “When the time is right, you'll know. Now tell me everything you saw this morning in the garden. If the Wizard is back—if he's allied with Glinda—we have to know.”

“I'm not sure, but I don't think they're working together,” I said. I quickly told him everything I'd overheard of Glinda and the Wizard's conversation. Nox's frown deepened as I talked, and when I was done he let out his breath in a deep sigh.

“I wish I knew what it all meant,” he mused. “But it sounds like the Wizard is refusing to forge an alliance with Glinda. At least for now. And that's good news, I think.”

“What do you know about the Wizard?”

“Nobody knows anything about the Wizard, except that he's from the Other Place. Dorothy's world.”

“And he can send Dorothy back?”

“I don't know for sure. If Glinda brought her here, she might be the only one with the power to return her. But if he isn't helping Glinda, he might be willing to help us—and that could make all the difference.” He paused, thinking. “Just keep doing what you're doing,” he said finally. “Glinda wants you close to her for now, and I don't think she'll do anything to hurt you until she knows more about your magic.”

That wasn't exactly comforting. “And then what?”

“For now, you'll have to wait. Listen, we have to go back inside. They'll miss us soon. Wait a few minutes before you follow me.” And with that, he turned around and walked off through the twilit garden.

I sighed and watched him go, my head spinning. Revolutionary conspiracies, bargains with wizards, all these secrets—it was going to be hard to find my way through all of this to the truth. But Nox was right—I didn't have much of a choice. If he was willing to tell me that he was part of some secret group planning to send Dorothy back to the Other Place, that meant he was putting his life in my hands. I had no other option but to return the favor.

A few days after Glinda brought up his visit, the Scarecrow arrived. He constructed a makeshift laboratory on the palace grounds and shut himself away as soon as it was completed. Glinda spent long afternoons holed up with him there, and sinister sounds of clanking and hissing emitted from the hastily constructed shack at all hours.

The Scarecrow never slept. He didn't need to. The servants took turns bringing him his meals at his lab. One of the girls didn't come back until the next morning—that night, we heard terrible screams from the Scarecrow's laboratory, and at breakfast the servant girl was dead-eyed and silent. Nox sent her to her room to rest, but when he asked her what had happened in the laboratory, she just shook her head and refused to talk. I knew Nox was as curious as I was, but there was nothing we could do without putting ourselves at risk, and so we went about our duties and kept our eyes open.

My days at Glinda's palace stretched into weeks, and slowly I relaxed. Nox was right: Glinda kept me close. After the day when I'd painted her nails, she declared that I was “indispensable.” She demoted her previous personal maid, and now every morning she summoned me to her pink chambers and demanded I help her with her hair and makeup, lace her into her tight corsets, and offer her advice on which of her endless dresses to wear. Her obsession with fashion and her looks was even bigger than Dorothy's, but she didn't need my help. She had more innate fashion sense than Dorothy and she always picked out the perfect ensemble on her first attempt. After just a few days of composing obsequious compliments and picking up after her as she discarded clothes on her bedroom floor, I was exhausted—but I couldn't let her see it, and so I made my face into a mask of good cheer. Sometimes I'd see flashes of the other, secret Glinda—the lonely witch who'd let me paint her nails—but they were few and far between; and she kept the powerful witch who'd strapped me into her terrifying machine well hidden, too. I had to remind myself not to be lulled into a false sense of security. I met Nox again in the garden a few more times, but I had nothing to report. Other than the Scarecrow's secret project, there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in the palace.

If Glinda was somehow pulling Dorothy's strings, she was careful not to let me see it. She spent her afternoons in the garden, or holding court in her elaborate throne room, where she lounged on an immense, overstuffed pink chaise longue and nibbled pink bonbons off a pink tray. Messengers flitted back and forth between her palace and the Emerald City, reporting on the daily doings of the metropolis—Dorothy's elaborate banquets and balls, her increasing number of new decrees, another statue erected in her honor. Once, as yet another messenger delivered yet another flowery speech on Dorothy's magnificence, I saw the muscles of Glinda's jaw tighten, and I wondered if she regretted her choice of a puppet. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Glinda and I had at least one thing in common: we both thought Dorothy was insufferable.

And then, one morning one of the Tin Woodman's soldiers arrived at the palace carrying an elaborate scroll, which he unfurled dramatically and read from in a deep, mechanical voice. “By order of Her Majesty, the Regally Benevolent and Eternally Beautiful Dorothy, Rightful Ruler of Oz and Mistress of the Deadly Desert—”

“The introduction is unnecessary,” Glinda interrupted smoothly.

The soldier sputtered and cleared his throat with a noise like a teakettle whistling. “Dorothy demands that her maid be returned to her,” he said in a more subdued tone.

Glinda raised one elegant eyebrow. “Dorothy
demands
?”

The soldier shifted his weight from one metal foot to the other, clanking nervously. “That's what it says here, Your Eminence,” he said.

Glinda's nostrils flared and she lifted one delicate hand from her couch. For a moment, I thought she might blow the soldier to smithereens. But then her expression cleared, and she smiled. “Of course,” she said. “It's been so wonderful to have Jellia here that I'd simply gotten used to her. She's been tremendously helpful.” The soldier and I exchanged glances, both of us unsure if we were expected to respond to this. “I don't know what I'll do without her,” Glinda continued, “but you may tell Dorothy I'll send her home tomorrow.”

My heart leapt in my chest, and then sank again. I'd done it—I'd survived, and it was finally time to go back. But what about Nox and his secret plans to restore order to Oz? What could I do from the Emerald City, if he was here? And what did I have waiting for me with Dorothy when I got back?

Word of my pending departure traveled quickly through the palace, and that night he pulled me aside after dinner. I expected him to give me instructions, or some kind of message, but all he said was, “Stay safe. I'm worried she has something else up her sleeve.”

“Wonderful,” I muttered. “That's comforting.”

“I'm looking out for you,” he insisted. “Don't do anything foolish. But don't worry.”

I nodded, but all I could do was worry.