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 (60 page)

Lulu jerked a thumb toward Ozma.

“Seriously? How can you forgive him?” I couldn’t decide if I admired her willingness to put the past behind her or if I thought it just made her seem a little bit weak.

“Forgive him? I didn’t say I forgave him. Didn’t say I didn’t either, though. It’s not the point. Don’t worry about
me
, hon. No need to go poking your beak into my birdseed. But I want to tell
you
something and I want you to listen like I’m talking
real
quiet. You need to be worried about yourself. I heard all about what you did with the Lion. Heard you scared the fur off half the monkeys.”

“I did what I had to do,” I said. “He was a monster. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him. I probably should have.”

“It’s not what you did. It’s how you did it. Something came over you. Something not quite kosher. You have to be careful—magic doesn’t always sit well with people from the Other Place. You think you’re the one using it, then one day you wake up and realize it’s using you.”

“That won’t happen to me,” I said emphatically. “I’m careful.”

“Most of the monkeys didn’t want to let you in, to tell the truth,” Lulu went on. “Too dangerous, they said. Someone like you—too unpredictable. Just the unsavory type of broad we don’t want to get involved with. Lots of people around here think you’re like
her.
Meet the new witch, same as the old bitch. We monkeys have dinged enough dongs to know. But I saw what you did for Ollie and Maude, and I had a feeling. I went out on a limb for you. Me, I said,
Nah, she’s different.
I said
We’ll give her a chance
. Just a feeling, like I told you. I trust my gut.”

“I’m not like her,” I said, feeling my spine straighten. “I’m nothing like her. I could never become her.”

“Prove me right, okay? Keep ahold of yourself. People are on your side. I hope you’re on theirs.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I said firmly, wishing as I said it that I could be as sure as I was trying to sound. “Come with us,” I said, on impulse. “You know this part of Oz better than anyone. You can keep us safe.”

But she was already shaking her head. “No can do, babe,” she said. “Whether I like it or not, I’m not a nursemaid anymore. I’m the queen, string bean. I have my subjects to take care of. I need to stick around with them for whatever’s coming down. Anyway, the kid’s better off with you than she would be with me. I’m no one, really. I’m brave, but I’m just a monkey. Not much use unless you need someone to peel a banana with their feet. You? You’re something else—it’s just too soon to say
what.
But I know you can keep her safe. Because you
want
to.”

Lulu reached into the black bustier that I guess counted as undercover gear among the monkeys and pulled out a pink, lacy handkerchief. I thought she was going to use it to wipe her still-lingering tears, but instead, she folded it neatly into a little square and handed it to me. “Here,” she said gruffly. “Take it.”

I took the cloth from her and looked down at it. “Um,” I said. “Thanks?” I was a little confused about why she was giving me a hanky. I mean, I had been crying, but if anyone needed it, it was her.

“Magic is against the laws of the Wingless Ones,” Lulu explained, “but when you’re the queen, you have to have a
few
tricks up your sleeve, don’t you think? I ‘borrowed’ that one
from Glinda way back when; it comes in handy sometimes. Throw it on the ground when you need to rest. It will keep you safe—hidden.” She paused. “Well,
mostly
hidden. Cozy, too. Glinda travels in style.”

I didn’t ask any questions. It didn’t seem like the right time for it. “Thanks,” I said again.

Lulu made a move like she was turning to go, and then stopped. Ozma still had her back to us, but Lulu decided to talk to her anyway.

“I know you don’t really understand what’s happening, hon. You don’t even understand what I’m saying, most likely. Maybe it’s better that you don’t. If you did—if you could—you’d probably give me a piece of your mind. I don’t even know you, really, do I? When you were in diapers doesn’t count. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see you grow up. Get to find out what you’re like. First I let you get kidnapped, then, when you were back where you belonged, I missed my chance. Coulda come back and visited when you were living it up in the palace, if I hadn’t been too proud. Maybe it will make sense to you someday.”

Slowly, Ozma turned around to face us, casting her eyes to the ground. I could see Queen Lulu struggling; I could see that all she wanted was to reach out and hold the girl she’d once thought of as a daughter. But she held back.

“Somewhere inside you, I hope you know who you are. I hope you know what you are. I hope you know that you’re powerful. We need you.”

Ozma looked up.

“And I want you to know that I love you, even if I haven’t done the grandest job of showing it. Somewhere in there, I hope you can hear me.”

Ozma’s shoulders twitched. Was she listening? Could she understand what Lulu was saying?

Lulu turned to me. “Keep her safe. I don’t care how. It’s the least you could do, dollface. Help her get better. Help all of us.”

At that, Her Highness Queen Lulu of the Monkeys, royal nanny and loyal protector to the rightful queen of the Land of Oz, born a scullery maid and an outcast, now a wise, and only slightly silly ruler, grabbed on to a thick vine and shimmied up, into the vast, unknowable wild, and out of sight.

Just as I was wondering if I would ever see her again, I heard her funny, foolish cartoon voice echoing down from somewhere high above us: “Remember—don’t be wicked. Unless you really have to!” Parting words, I guess. It was good advice. I promised myself that I would try to follow it.

ELEVEN

I smiled to myself and glanced at Ozma out of the corner of my eye. Through the darkness, I could see that she was looking at me, too. We were alone again.

We just stood there for a minute, catching our breath together. Somehow I knew that she had heard everything Lulu had said. Somehow I could tell that it had mattered, too. That, in some small way, Ozma was different now than she had been yesterday.

I put my knife away, and cast a flame again to light the dark. “Are you okay?” I asked. Not necessarily because I thought Ozma would answer me, but only because it seemed important to say.

But she did answer. “No, thank you,” she said. I got the gist: she didn’t want to talk about it.

She started walking again. This time, she moved forward in a straight, undeviating line, carelessly pushing aside anything in her way. I followed after her, and then she started running,
throwing herself through the brush.

I ran, too. After all my training with the Order, I’m in pretty decent shape. When you’ve spent several months of your life in twenty-four-hour training to be a witch assassin it’s hard not to be. I don’t tire out easily, but now, after a few minutes of trying to keep up with Ozma, my feet flying over everything in my way, I was struggling. Ozma, meanwhile, seemed to have totally forgotten about me and was getting farther and farther ahead, her white dress streaming behind her. She was going so fast that I was starting to lose sight of her.

I couldn’t let her get away. I was panting and sweating, and my legs felt like they could give out from under me at any second. I wanted to stop and catch my breath, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have a choice except to dig deep.

So I dug deep. I pushed past the pain and exhaustion, just kept my legs moving as fast as I possibly could, and then faster. I wasn’t even trying to use magic. It just sort of happened. My body began to course with a tingling, now familiar warmth, and the trees were blurring by faster and faster until it was like they weren’t even there at all. The only thing that stayed in focus was Ozma ahead of me, the bright red flowers that she always wore at her temples glowing in the dark and leaving a smudgy crimson streak in her wake.

We ran, and everything melted away: the pain in my legs, the ache in my chest. Home, and Oz, and the rest of the world. Even the sadness and loneliness that had been with me for as long as I remembered—not just since I’d come to Oz, but before that,
too, for most of my life. It was just gone. All that was left was the wind on my face and in my hair, my feet thumping in the dirt, the magic rippling through my veins.

I felt more like an animal than like a person. Like a dog chasing a ball that had been tossed out into a field, or a wild horse that runs for no reason at all, except because it can. I understood why Ozma had started running in the first place. Because it was a relief.

I had no idea how far we ran, but when I finally broke through the trees, I stopped.

The sun was rising on the horizon, peeking up over a hazy, faraway mountain range. I was standing at the edge of a purple field, and Ozma was alone in the middle of it, her arms across her chest, staring at the sky.

We had made it out of the woods.

I didn’t care that it was technically morning, or that there might be people nearby. Lulu had told me that the handkerchief she’d given me would protect us while we rested, and rest was exactly what I needed.

I tossed it in the grass in front of me, just like she’d told me to do, and watched to see what would happen. Before my eyes, it began to unfold itself into a huge sheet. The sheet floated up into the air and the gauzy material began to thicken, changing color, and it began to take on a shape.

A minute later, l was standing next to a modest canvas camping tent, festooned in jaunty pink and white stripes. At its peak, a miniature flag bearing the royal insignia of Oz—a golden,
ornate
Z
inside a larger
O
—fluttered in the breeze.

After spending some time in a fairy kingdom, it’s not hard to get a little jaded about the whole magic thing, especially when most people, including you, are basically just using it to try to kill each other. But then it impresses you when you least expect it. And when I crawled inside, I remembered, with a gasp, that appearances in Oz are often deceptive.

From the outside the tent had looked like a normal camping tent, barely big enough for two people in sleeping bags, and only if they didn’t mind getting a little cozy. But the inside was easily twice as big as the rooms at the Best Western that my mom and I had sometimes stayed in when we’d gone on vacation—back when we sometimes used to go on vacation.

Several lanterns hung from the peaked ceiling, burning with soft, pink flames and lighting the space with a rosy, homey glow. On either side of the room were two impeccably made-up beds that looked straight out of a department store display; in the corner, a small sitting area housed an armchair and ottoman upholstered in pink and gold brocade. In the middle of the room, a table with crisp, white linens, flickering votive candles, and an arrangement of pink roses had been laid out for us with a lavish spread and two bubbling flutes of champagne. The remainder of the bottle was chilling in a standing ice bucket next to the table.

Well, Lulu
had
mentioned that she had “borrowed” the handkerchief from Glinda. And it
figured
that Glinda wasn’t going to sleep in the dirt in some ratty old sleeping bag.

Ozma had crept in behind me, and made a beeline for the
champagne, which she downed in one gulp before moving on to some cheese.

The delicious-looking spread was tempting, but even more tempting were the beds. I was out before I could even crawl under the covers.

I woke up to the smell of freshly cooked bacon. And . . . wait. Was that coffee? Mom must have been in a great mood. Maybe she’d won bingo night with Tawny down at the bar. No, it was more likely I was dreaming.

I rolled over, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and then remembered: I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I was in a plush bed in a magical tent in the Land of Oz. I blinked away the sleep and pushed away the sudden, raw feeling in my chest from believing for half a second that my mom might have cooked me breakfast. That’s when I saw that the table that had welcomed me and Ozma the night before delicious food and champagne was now overflowing with a truly sumptuous breakfast feast. Bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, glass carafes of juice and sparkling water—I’d barely had a decent meal the entire time I’d been in Oz, and now I was looking at a World Series-winning grand slam breakfast.

I had seen a lot of incredible things in Oz, but this took the coffee cake. My mouth dropped open.

Just as I was about to jump from the bed to pig out, I saw a small movement out of the corner of my eye, in the tent’s sitting area. I turned, expecting to see Ozma already awake and
wandering around the way she always did.

It wasn’t Ozma.

Instead, sitting in the armchair was none other than Dorothy’s coconspirator and right-hand woman, Glinda the Good.

TWELVE

“Well, someone’s a sleepyhead,” Glinda said brightly. For a split second, I wondered if it could be Glamora, Glinda’s twin sister. But no: I’d spent enough time with Glamora when I’d been training with the Order to know that this wasn’t her. The differences were subtle and obvious at the same time. The tightness of her chignon, the shade of her lipstick, the way her eyebrows were overplucked until they were barely there. The hardness in her gaze and the muscles twitching in her clenched jaw.

But it was also the fact that she had a thick, jagged scar stretching from her chin to the bridge of her nose—the chunk that Mombi had talked about taking out of her face had been stitched up, but the evidence was there to stay.

I jolted straight up, and felt my knife materialize in my hand, which was under the covers and out of sight.

My head was spinning, still numb and heavy from sleep. Was it too much to ask to wait until
after
I’d had my first cup of coffee
in ages to tangle with a psychotic sorceress? I inched backward in bed as I tried to size up the situation.

“Oh, darling,
relax
,” she said. “I come in peace. Really.” She raised her perfectly manicured hands in the air as if to say
See
?