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 (31 page)

The Wizard took a step toward me and tipped his hat, revealing a bald, shiny head with a horseshoe of curly gray hair. He smiled at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and gave a little bow.

I’d expected to come face-to-face with one of Dorothy’s underlings or maybe even Her Awfulness in the flesh. With some effort, I calmed the fight-or-flight reflex, especially since flight had already failed. The Wizard wasn’t one of Dorothy’s allies, but that didn’t make him one of my friends.

“Oh, excuse me, sir,” I managed to get out, trying to play it cool. “I was just dusting.”

The Wizard looked pointedly at my empty hands.

“Yes, well,” he replied thoughtfully, “spick-and-span as this whole place appears, I suppose one would need an invisible maid for the invisible dust.”

I let out a nervous laugh that was only half feigned.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” I said, and tried to walk around him. The Wizard took a step backward, getting in my way. He smiled at me again and tipped his chin, almost like we’d just accomplished some kind of fancy dance step. It took some menace out of the moment. Even so, I took a second to size the old man up.

The Wizard looked like a handsome, aging movie star. His clothes were perfectly tailored, his suit a stiff brocade like it was cut from a tapestry. Soft silk ruffles peeked out from his collar and cuff links with little silver
W
s punctuated his wrists. He touched the brim of his hat as I appraised him. Compared to the rest of his outfit, the black hat with its black band looked simple and worn, almost like it came from another time.

“It must have been a trick of the light,” the Wizard said impishly, waving at the solarium’s dozens of twinkling windows. “A sleight of body, perhaps.”

I knew he was screwing with me but I stared at him with the inoffensive blandness I’d picked up from the rest of the maids.

“If that’s all, sir, I have more chores to be done,” I said with an excess of politeness.

The Wizard fixed me with a mysterious, catlike smirk. “Ah. That’s what we like around the palace. Initiative. Gumption.
Spunk.
It seems to me that I used to know someone else like that, too.”

My mind immediately went to the most obvious person: he was talking about Dorothy.

“Of course, I’m speaking about myself,” he said. He gave me a sly wink, like he knew it wasn’t what I’d been expecting him to say. “What’s your name, child?”

“Astrid,” I said quickly. Maybe too quickly. This guy was crafty, I didn’t want to give anything else away.

Of course, I knew what everyone knew about the Wizard—that he’d come to Oz in a balloon, that he’d set himself up as its ruler in Ozma’s absence, and that he wasn’t a real wizard at all, just a guy with a lot of fancy tricks. And, of course, there was the fact that he had supposedly
left
Oz just around the same time Dorothy had, to go back to his own world.
My
world.

Clearly, some parts of the story weren’t quite accurate—for starters, he was still here in Oz. But for some reason, in all my lessons with the Order, Glamora and Gert and the rest had never brought up the Wizard at all. Had he ever really left in the first place? Did they know he was here? I wondered how it all connected.

The Wizard had turned away from me and was examining the painting. He leaned in close, like he was super-interested in the brushwork, and then stepped back and ran his finger along the edge of the gilded gold frame.

“I see you missed a spot, Astrid,” he said, holding up his index finger, which was perfectly clean. “You’ll have to be careful about that next time. You’re lucky it was me who noticed. Others around here get quite upset when things are where they don’t belong.”

“It won’t happen again, sir,” I said. I inched toward the door, but part of me wanted to stay. It seemed like the Wizard was trying to warn me, which meant maybe I could trust him. Or at least get some valuable information out of him, making this whole excursion to the solarium not a total screwup.

“How long have you been working in the palace, Astrid?” he asked, seeing me linger.

I hesitated. “Several years now,” I said finally, figuring it was a vague enough answer that it was probably safe.

“And what do you think of your job? Of the princess?”

“It’s wonderful, sir,” I said. “I’m so lucky to be able to work for someone as wise and beautiful and generous as Dorothy.”

“Ah yes,” the Wizard replied, as if we were discussing the weather. “Dorothy certainly has ways of keeping her servants smiling. After all, the minute you start grumbling, you’ll be sent off for an official Attitude Adjustment from the Scarecrow.”

“I—” I wasn’t sure how to respond. The Wizard seemed like he was tempting me to be critical of Dorothy. I wanted to trust him. But he’d already caught me doing magic and I didn’t want to give him more ammunition if he wasn’t on my side. He almost seemed to be hinting to me that he was—but just because Glinda and Dorothy hated him didn’t mean he was a good guy.

“The Scarecrow is so brilliant,” I finally said. “Without him, we wouldn’t have so many of the advances in magical technology that make Oz the place it is now.”

The Wizard smiled sadly and fiddled with his boutonniere. “Of course,” he said. “Where would Oz be if not for the Scarecrow’s great experiments? Ravens with human ears; men with bicycle wheels instead of legs—it’s a glorious world we live in now, isn’t it? It almost reminds me of the one I came from.” At that he looked back up at me. It was almost like he was trying to gauge my reaction.

I didn’t let myself react. “Yes, sir,” was all I said.

“I hear,” the Wizard mused, “that the Scarecrow is working on his greatest experiment yet.”

I perked up. This was exactly the type of information that would be valuable to the Order. I had to be careful not to seem too interested, though.

“In his lab, sir?” I asked casually.

“Oh yes,” the Wizard replied. “Day and night in his secret laboratory. Not sleeping. Probably working his fingers to the . . . well, I’m not sure if the Scarecrow actually has bones. But you get the point.”

I nodded enthusiastically and tried not to choke on my own fake sincerity. “He sacrifices so much.”

The Wizard’s face lit up.

“Those who have sacrificed always have the most to lose,” he said, watching me closely. “Ever hear that expression, Astrid?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

“Ah. You will, my dear. You will.”

What the hell did that mean?

Before I could ask, the Wizard tipped his hat and strolled out.

My heart was pounding on my way back to my room. What was the Wizard trying to tell me? Did he have some clue as to who I was or what I was here to do? It was like trying to put a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle together without the picture on the box.

Ozma. The Wizard. The palace was full of cryptic oddities that I couldn’t quite get a handle on. Who could I trust?

It was almost like the universe wanted to provide me with an answer when I opened my door to find Pete sitting on my bed.

I jumped back and gasped. I had been starting to wonder whether Pete even existed at all, and now he was sitting on my bed without a care in the world—like he belonged there.

I had to remind myself that it wasn’t my bed. It was
Astrid
’s bed. Which meant he was here to see her, not me. But why?

All I wanted to do was run over to Pete and hug him—to tell him
It’s me, Amy, and I’m okay.
I wanted to tell him about Mombi and the Order, and about Gert, and how she had died. About why I was here and what I was going to do. I couldn’t tell him any of those things, though.

I closed the door behind me just in case anyone passed by in the hallway, and then tried to get my head together.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, in the most noncommittal voice I could manage. I didn’t want to seem
too
surprised to see him. I still didn’t know why he was in Astrid’s room. What if they were friends?

A thought struck me. What if they were a
thing
? That would be awkward.

Pete stood up from the bed. His face spread into a wide grin and he stepped over to me and wrapped his wiry arms around me in a huge hug. I didn’t let myself give in to it, but I didn’t fight it either.

“You made it,” he said, sounding choked up. “You’re here.”

My entire body stiffened. I pulled myself out of his grip and pushed him away.

“Of course I’m here. It’s my room.”

“I came as soon as I could. Sometimes it’s hard for me to get away.”

I didn’t know what Pete was playing at. Yes, he had been kind to me. He had been my friend. But he’d been cagey, too, and I still didn’t know who—or what—he was. I still didn’t know if I could trust him, given what I now knew from the Order.

As much as I wanted to, I knew that I couldn’t. Nothing was safe around here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said carefully. “And I’m not supposed to have anyone in my room. You should leave.”

Pete put a soft hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Amy,” he said. “You don’t have to pretend—I know it’s you. Your secret’s safe with me. At least, it’s as safe as Star is.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out my pet rat. When her little white face peered up at me and she gave a squeak, I couldn’t hold back anymore and tears welled up in my eyes.

All the uncertainty and fear and strangeness of the last few weeks came flooding through my body at the familiar sight of her. I reached out my hands and Star crawled into them.

“How did you know?” I asked, looking up at Pete. “How did you find me?”

“You can change your face, Amy, but I’d know you anywhere,” he said. It wasn’t any kind of answer. I wiped a tear from my cheek and studied Pete. His expression was as impassive and mysterious as his words.

I clasped Star to my chest.

“Is there something wrong with my disguise?” I asked. It was something I’d been worried about since my run-in with Ozma, and if Pete could see through it, what was to stop someone like Dorothy or Glinda from realizing I wasn’t who I said I was?

“That’s not it,” Pete said. “Whoever cast the spell knew what they were doing. It will fool them all. Everyone except me.”

I suddenly remembered what they’d told me before I left the Order—that I’d have a handler in the palace, another one of the Order’s agents who would be keeping an eye on me. Someone to watch my back and, eventually, give me instructions.

I wondered if that someone could be Pete. It would make a lot of sense—he could have been the one who had led Mombi to me in the first place, when I was back in the dungeon.

But I knew that I wasn’t supposed to have any contact with my handler at all. Not unless it was totally necessary. I wasn’t even supposed to know who it
was
. If it was Pete, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be risking the plan by sneaking into my room.

“I asked some of the other maids about you,” I said. “They’d never heard of a gardener with green eyes.”

“Yeah, they don’t really know me around here,” Pete replied. He sat back down on the edge of my bed.

I stayed standing. “You told me before that you worked here.”

“I do. It’s complicated.”

Complicated.
The word thudded between us. It was my least favorite word. Dad had used it just before he left me and Mom and never came back. I felt myself getting angry again.

“How am I supposed to trust you when you won’t tell me the first thing about you?” I asked, my voice rising. I’d used up all my subtlety in my conversation with the Wizard. I was done with all this coy crap. “‘It’s
complicated
, Amy. I
can’t
tell you, Amy.’ It’s a bunch of bullshit! You need to start explaining.”

As I raged, I felt my palm open. Magic tingled my fingertips like they were itching, and I knew it was my knife. It wanted to come to me. Whether or not
I
trusted Pete, my knife didn’t. It was trying to tell me something—that he was dangerous. For now, though, I willed it to stay out of sight. I’d already slipped with my magic once today, it couldn’t happen again.

Pete sighed and looked up at me with apologetic eyes. “Look,” he said. “I don’t work in the palace, exactly. Not inside, at least. I’m not really even supposed to be in here. I work on the grounds—in the greenhouse.”

The greenhouse. I’d seen it from the window when I’d been cleaning.

I sat down next to him on the bed. It made sense—sort of. At the very least, it explained why he always smelled vaguely of flowers.

It didn’t explain
everything
, though. I knew in my gut that there was more to his story.

But wasn’t there always more to everyone’s story around here? To survive in Dorothy’s Oz, a person had to have their secrets. I would let Pete keep his.

For now.

“How did you get back here?” he asked me. “
Why
are you back here, after what almost happened? Who disguised you? Who are you working for?”

He took my hand in his and clasped it tight, but I looked away. If Pete could have his secrets, I could have mine, too.