Dorothy Must Die: The Other Side of the Rainbow Collection: No Place Like Oz, Dorothy Must Die, The Witch Must Burn, The Wizard Returns, The Wicked Will Rise (14 page)

When I looked up, I saw that Gert was beside me in the water, still fully clothed, her white dress billowing around her. I wasn’t sure why the water hadn’t affected her clothes the way it had mine. I hadn’t even noticed her get in with me.

She looked concerned, too, frowning down at my wounds. “This may hurt, Amy,” she said.

“Huh?” I asked, stretching. “No—it feels wonderful.”

“Take a deep breath,” she said, her tone now serious. With no further apology—before I’d even had a chance to do as she’d told me—she put her hand on my head and shoved me under the water.

The wound on my belly throbbed now with a deep, searing pain. Instinctively, I opened my mouth to scream as I struggled against the old woman’s grip. It was no use. Invisible hands grasped me from somewhere deep below the water, holding me in place. Somehow, I knew that all of them belonged to Gert.

I was on fire. I had escaped Dorothy, escaped the Tin Woodman and his metal army, only to find someone I trusted—someone who wanted to help me—and it had all been a trick.

All she meant to do was kill me.

Why?
I screamed in my head, knowing she’d be able to hear.
Why would you do this?

Sometimes only pain can heal,
a cold, distant voice answered.

Just when I thought my lungs would burst—just as I felt consciousness beginning to leave me—the hands let go. My body floated up to the surface, where I gasped for air and found my footing on the smooth rocks lining the pool.

I spun around and faced Gert angrily. “Why?” I demanded again, this time out loud. “Why would you . . .”

“Because it was necessary,” Gert said shortly, pursing her lips. “I saved your life.”

I didn’t believe her at first, but my fingers touched smooth skin when I reached for my wound. I looked down. No gaping bloody hole. No invisible sutures. No scar. The wound had healed like it had never happened at all.

The bruises were gone, too. My skin looked dewy and softer than it had ever been, peachy-pink like all the dead skin had been sloughed off, as if every imperfection healed from the outside in.

It didn’t matter. She had saved me, okay, fine, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that it still felt like a betrayal. Gert had been one thing, and then she had become something else. I didn’t understand why. I didn’t know if I wanted to.

You had to trust me,
Gert said. Her lips didn’t move.
But you also have to learn not to trust anyone. Even me.

She sank slowly into the pool, and then she was gone.

By the edge of the water, I saw that a stack of towels and a gorgeous silk robe had been laid out for me. Had Gert put them there when I wasn’t paying attention? Or had they just appeared by magic?

I didn’t really care. I wanted to stay in here forever, but I knew that I couldn’t. When I felt the water beginning to turn lukewarm, I reluctantly stepped out and dried my newly healed body. I couldn’t help thinking that this was all another trick—something to try to lure me into a false sense of security. But my clothes were gone. I couldn’t walk around naked. The robe felt soft against my skin.

Gert reappeared as soon as I looped the belt around my waist, as if she sensed I was ready to move on to the next part of whatever fate awaited me. “They’re waiting,” she announced.

“They?” I asked, not looking at her. “Who’s they?”

I crossed my hands over my chest like a five-year-old. Gert’s face softened.

“Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for you, I see. Sometimes you have to bend so as not to break, dear.”

“You manipulated me,” I said. “I know it. You used your magic on me to make me think you were my friend.”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” Gert said. “But if I did, maybe it was for a reason? And
if
I did, then what’s stopping me from doing it again?”

I glanced suspiciously at her, and she shrugged. I guess I would have to take that as an apology.

I didn’t know where we were going or who was waiting for us, but I followed Gert obediently as she led me out of the cavern and through a series of caves. I didn’t particularly want to, but I knew by now that I didn’t really have a choice.

We walked through a room that was entirely empty except for stark silver walls, and as we moved through it, the air changed. It was heavy and humid all of a sudden.

Clouds hovered near the ceiling of the cave, spitting down raindrops on our heads. A thought suddenly occurred to me: if these witches could make weather indoors, if they could control it—could they create a tornado?

Did they bring me here?
I wondered.

“If we could do that we would have done it long ago,” Gert said curtly. “Your arrival in Oz is no coincidence. Someone—or something—sent for you. But whatever force might have brought you here is beyond even the witches’ knowledge.”

I just ignored her.

Gert paused when we reached a new tunnel. She reached up and adjusted the collar of my robe before pulling me into another room that was almost entirely taken up by an enormous table made of what looked like glittering black diamonds, surrounded by rough wooden chairs. Mombi stood at the head of the table, smiling at me, well, wickedly. At her sides were two other people I’d never met before. It wasn’t a huge leap to guess that they, too, were witches.

“Amy,” Mombi greeted me from the other side of the table. “I trust you’ve recovered from our journey. I was very pleased at the gumption you showed back in the dungeons. And we’re all happy to have you with us.”

My eyes immediately snapped to her left. Standing there was a boy with smooth olive skin who looked like he was around my age, maybe a little older. His dark hair stood on end as if he had stuck his fingers in a light socket years ago and hadn’t bothered to comb it since. He was cute, sure, but there was something arrogant in the way he looked at me with pale gray eyes. Or maybe not arrogant—maybe he looked angry. I straightened and stared right back.

Who was he? The idea of Gert or Mombi having kids just didn’t seem right. And he was a little scary, really. Which was saying a lot given the fact that he was sitting next to Mombi.

“She had a nasty slice in her side, Mombi,” Gert said, looking her in the eye. “But she didn’t much care for the healing process.”

Mombi didn’t blink. “Tin Soldiers. The cell was protected. I had to improvise.”

Gert nodded, but I didn’t think she believed her. Was she suggesting that Mombi was just testing me out?

Standing on Mombi’s other side was a curvy, statuesque woman wearing a tight purple wrap dress. A hood concealed her face—but when she pulled it away, my heart skipped a beat and then sank.

It was Glinda. Glinda the not-so-good witch. The one who was besties with Dorothy, who had made the Munchkins her slaves and was using them to mine giant holes all over Oz.

She wasn’t wearing PermaSmile, but she was smiling at me.

She spoke in a sickeningly sweet voice that scraped at the back of my spine.

“No rest for the Wicked, is there, Amy?”

A chill rushed through my body. I should never have come with Mombi, should never have trusted Gert. But what choice did I really have when I was standing in the palace dungeon, about to go on trial for a Fate Worse Than Death, the Tin Soldiers advancing? It’s not like I had a ton of options.

“She’s one of
you
?” I asked. My voice echoed through the cave.

Was this some kind of trap? Was this Dorothy’s idea of a twisted punishment? They’d rescued me, cleaned me up, and now they were just going to turn me over to Dorothy’s evil pink BFF?

Like hell.

I took a step back. And another. Then I turned toward the mouth of the cave and began to run. I’d have to navigate the weird maze of caves we’d come through, but it beat being trapped in the room full of witches with crazy superpowers behind me. And if Grandma Gert could read minds, who knew what the others could do? No, I had to get out of here.

Out of nowhere, I slammed into a cold, hard surface and then slid down awkwardly onto the stone ground. But there was nothing there. I’d run into an invisible wall.

Glinda’s laugh echoed around me. I guess it probably
was
funny. From her perspective, I mean. I must have looked like a duped Wile E. Coyote falling off a cliff.

I felt my face turn red. I wasn’t embarrassed. Or at least, I wasn’t
just
embarrassed. I was scared. And I was angry. But I couldn’t fight it as an invisible hand clawed into my shoulder, pulling me up to my feet. It set me standing again, turned me around to face my captors, and marched me back toward them.

“Amy,” Mombi said warningly. “We made a deal. Remember? You agreed to join us when you took my hand.”

“I didn’t know what I was agreeing to,” I said, twitching against Gert’s hold on me.

“Your ignorance makes no difference. The spell was cast. You’re bound to the Order now.”

“Bound?”

“When I rescued you from your cell, it was under the condition that you would join us. You agreed. The spell was cast and I couldn’t undo it if I wanted to. You’re one of us now.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at Glinda. “I know what you did to the Munchkins,” I spat at Glinda. “You may look sweet, but I know who you are.”

“Oh!” Glinda exclaimed. She laughed again, high-pitched and lilting. “I’m not who you think I am,” she said.

She didn’t so much stand as pose, seeming acutely aware that she was the pretty purple flower in a sea of gray and brown and black. “I’m not Glinda. I’m Glamora, her twin sister. She’s the Good witch; I’m the Wicked one. Of course, she’s also the one who’s turned Oz into the hellhole it is now, so it’s really all relative.”

Then that laugh again.

I eyed the witch suspiciously. A twin? That seemed like a convenient excuse. As I thought back to my first day here in Oz, it was true that she didn’t look
exactly
like the woman I’d seen in the field. Mostly, it was a matter of style. Rather than Glinda’s bouncing curls, this witch had her strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a severe bun. And though her dress was just as fancy as the one I’d seen Glinda wearing in the field that day, it was simple and elegant, nothing like the frilly nightmare Glinda had worn.

“You say
Wicked
like it’s a good thing,” I said.

“You’re getting the hang of it.” Glamora’s voice was glittering mischievously. “Down is up, up is down. Good is Wicked, Wicked is Good. The times are changing. This is what Oz has come to.”

I looked around at the faces of the Wicked, or formerly Wicked. I wanted some answers. “How did you find me?” I asked slowly. “How did Mombi know I fell from the sky? How did you know I was there in the palace?”

We have eyes within the palace. And the palace has eyes everywhere. The rest I’m afraid I had to obtain from you.

The thought popped into my head. A thought that wasn’t mine. “Amy. Sit. Let us explain,” Gert said, this time out loud. I ignored her command and her concerned gaze. I didn’t want to look at her. “Sit,” she repeated, this time a little louder. I resisted, but found I had no control over my own limbs. It hadn’t been a request.

Fighting each step as I went, I walked over and sat down in a cold metal chair.

“Oz has changed,” Gert said. “The trees don’t talk. The Pond of Truth tells lies, the Wandering Water stays put. The Land of Naught is on fire. People are starting to get old. People are forgetting how it used to be.”

“It used to be the three of us would never have imagined we’d be standing in the same room together,” Mombi said in her raspy voice. She gestured to herself, Glamora, and Gert. The boy still hadn’t said anything. He was just standing with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t really look any happier to be here than I was. “Wicked witches aren’t supposed to work together. But that was before Dorothy.”

Gert could see that I wasn’t buying it. More than see, I guessed, she could read it in my mind. I wondered if she was included in the once-Wicked, too. “We call ourselves Wicked to show that we stand against Dorothy and everything she represents,” Gert said. “Wickedness is part of Oz. It’s part of the order of things. It’s always been the Good versus the Wicked. Magic can’t exist without Goodness. Goodness can’t exist without Wickedness. And Oz can’t exist without magic.”

“No matter
what
Dorothy might think,” Mombi said. “Glamora. Show her.”

Glamora waved her hand across the stone table, and it rippled as its surface transformed into a dark pool of water. Then she waved her hand again, and a picture began to form in the pool, reflecting up from the bottom.

It was a map, and it was divided into four equal triangles, each one its own color. Blue, red, yellow, purple. At the center was an irregular blob of green.

“This is Oz,” Glamora said. One by one, she pointed at each of the quadrants. “Munchkin Country, Quadling Country, Winkie Country, Gillikin Country.” Blue, red, yellow, purple. As she pointed, their names appeared in dramatic script. “Here on the edge”—she ran her finger along the perimeter of the rectangle—“is the Deadly Desert. It protects Oz from outsiders. No living thing can cross the Deadly Desert without using powerful magic. Anyone who touches its sands will turn instantly to dust. Or, that’s how it used to be.”