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 (88 page)

Ozma had informed me of the plan after we’d left the maze when we were heading back to the castle. She’d sent word to the Lion and the Tin Woodman that I was back as soon as she’d heard herself, and the Saw-Horse was already on his way to fetch them. Tomorrow, they would be here. We would all be together again, just like before.

It was all more perfect than I could have imagined. It was so perfect that, for a minute, I let myself forget that Glinda was missing. There was no use fretting about it now anyway—when my friends arrived, we’d be able to put our heads together and try to figure out what had happened to her. In the meantime, I didn’t see the harm in enjoying myself.

I may have shoved the thought of home conveniently from my mind for now, but Uncle Henry and Aunt Em weren’t going to let me forget it.

They struggled to look at each other over the folds of their enormous clothes.

“That’s a very lovely offer from Miss Ozma,” Uncle Henry said carefully. “But this has gone on long enough. It’s time we find your friend Glinda and head on home.”

At the name
Glinda
, Ozma turned sharply toward me.

“Glinda?” she asked. For the briefest of instants, I thought I saw a fire behind her green eyes.

“Well,” I said, thinking fast. “Uncle Henry and Aunt Em
do
so want to go home. And Glinda was the one who sent me home last time . . . so . . .”

“So it’s high time that we go back to the farm!” Uncle Henry said, nearly shouting. Aunt Em put a calming hand on his shoulder, but it only got him more worked up. He tugged at his collar. “Enough of this royal bull-pucky!” he barked. Then, noticing that Ozma was still standing right there, he got even more flustered. “I mean, begging your pardon, your royal Ozma.”

The princess shook her head kindly as if she would never think of being offended.

As usual, Aunt Em was slightly more diplomatic than Henry. Grasping my hands, she said, “I’m just not so sure this is the right place for us, Dorothy. We’re not cut out for palaces and fancy frocks like these. The only princess I ever knew before this was the Sunflower Princess at the state fair, and she’s not really a real princess at all, if you think about it.”

No, I thought. She most certainly was not. “I know it all seems silly to you, Dorothy,” she went on. “But the farm is all your uncle and I have. What do you suppose the poor animals are eating?”

Ozma stepped in. “Time moves differently here in Oz than it does back in your world,” she explained to my aunt and uncle patiently, even though it had already been explained to them. “It’s more than likely your animals haven’t even noticed you’ve been gone.”

“I don’t . . . ,” Uncle Henry started. But he’s old-fashioned enough that when a princess talks to him, he listens. And at this moment, Ozma was acting every bit a princess. I was starting to see that she could turn it on and off, just like that.

“You certainly wouldn’t want Dorothy to miss seeing her old companions, would you? And I know that the Tin Woodman and the Lion have been so looking forward to meeting you, too. Please, just stay for tomorrow’s dinner.”

“And then?” Uncle Henry asked.

Ozma smiled kindly. “Well,” she said. “I’m afraid Glinda can’t help you. She’s been missing for some time now, and I’ve already searched the kingdom high and low for her.” She glanced at me. “I’m sure she’s safe—nothing could possibly harm a witch as powerful as she is—but wherever she is, she’s hidden herself well.”

Ozma had been so funny and open and warm—nothing like what I’d imagined. I’d heeded the Scarecrow’s warnings not to tell her about the shoes, or to ask directly about Glinda, but I’d started to mostly dismiss the idea that she could have done anything to her.

Now I was unsure again. I had the strongest feeling she was lying to me.

“I’m not experienced with the type of magic it would take to send you all back to Kansasland,” Ozma continued. Her warm, smooth voice had just enough of a tone of authority to silence my aunt and uncle into submission, for now. “But after tomorrow, I’ll begin looking into ways to send all of you back. I’m sure I can find something.”

Uncle Henry and Aunt Em were nodding in resigned agreement, but I was surprised to feel my entire body shaking with anger, my fists clenched so tightly they hurt.

“No!” I shouted. The marble floors magnified the sound of my voice several times over, but I didn’t care. “No, no, no!”

Aunt Em and Uncle Henry’s jaws both dropped in astonishment. They’d seen me lose my temper before, of course, but never like this. Even Ozma turned and looked at me like she was seeing me for the first time.

I was surprised at myself, even. It wasn’t like me to behave this way. I just didn’t care.

“I’m not going back there,” I said. “Not now, not tomorrow, and not
ever.
I belong here.
We
belong here. I’m not making the same mistake twice—you can go home without me if you want, but I’m not leaving.”

Aunt Em’s eyes welled with tears and even Uncle Henry was speechless.

Ozma took me by the hand. “It’s been a long day for all of you,” she said. “We’ll talk about this again tomorrow. I’m sure we can work something out when our heads are cooler.”

Uncle Henry and Aunt Em stared as Ozma led me out of the parlor. Toto hesitated for a second like he was unsure whose side he was supposed to be on, but by the time Ozma and I were climbing the grand staircase toward her private chambers, he was nipping at my heels.

The princess looked at me in concern. “Dorothy,” she said. “What was that about?”

Although I was still surprised at how strong my reaction had been, it didn’t change what I had said. “I’m not going back there,” I said, summoning every bit of Kansas grit I had. “They can’t make me.”

“But I thought you loved Kansas,” she said, furrowing her brow in confusion. “You know, your story is famous here in Oz. We tell it all the time. And in the story we tell, the important part is that you wanted to go home. You could have stayed here, but you wanted to go back to Kansas. You would have done anything to get back there. Is that story wrong?”

My face flushed in shame. “It’s just . . . ,” I started. “No. The story isn’t wrong. I did want to go home. I missed it. But once I was there, nothing was the way I remembered it. Once you’ve seen a place like Oz, nowhere else is the same again. How could it be?”

“Your aunt and uncle will come around,” Ozma said with quiet confidence as we reached the top of the steps and turned down a long, dim hall that was carpeted in green velvet. She clasped my hand tightly in hers. “I’m sure of it. But for now, I think I have just the thing to cheer you up.”

The room was full of lights. Chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling, and little luminescent orbs drifted around the room. The space was stuffed with plush velvet pillows and chairs and brocade lounges, and, against the far wall, several floor-to-ceiling mirrors set in elaborate gilt frames. The air was fragrant with Ozma’s perfume—bergamot and sandalwood and something else I couldn’t place.

“Is this your bedroom?” I asked in awe, looking around the room in search of a bed. Did she sleep on a divan? Or maybe fairies didn’t need to sleep at all.

Ozma giggled. “No, silly,” she said. “It’s my closet.”

My closet back home could barely fit a coat hanger, much less all this furniture.

But if it
was
a closet, there was something strange about it. Even stranger than a bedroom with no bed. “Where are the clothes?”

Ozma smiled mischievously. Then she closed her eyes and moved her hands in the air like she was playing an invisible harp. The lights dimmed, and the air grew heavier, like we were standing in a pool of warm water. Goose bumps crept over my skin.

It was magic. Real magic.

As she moved her hands through the air, plucking unseen strings, I felt a rush of energy coursing through my body. A feeling that reminded me of the shoes. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I saw that she was working magic on
me.
On
us
.

Our hair changed first: mine began weaving itself into a complex series of braids while hers whirled itself up into an elegantly messy chignon. Next, my clothes tingled against my skin. I felt buzzy all over as my dress became shorter and more fitted, glistening with silver embroidery across the chest. Sparkling bracelets appeared on my wrists, and a glittering necklace materialized around my neck.

I stared at myself in the mirror. “It’s beautiful,” I said, truly shocked. I’d never believed I could look this
alive
before. I didn’t think I ever could back in Kansas—the gray sky and gray plains washed out everything, eventually. “I look beautiful.”

“Something funny happened when I was doing the spell, though. I tried to give you new shoes. It didn’t work.”

I looked down at my feet. The red heels I’d gotten for my birthday were still there. They looked more beautiful than ever with the stunning dress. I shrugged. “I guess it’s because they’re already perfect,” I said guiltily, hoping Ozma would buy it.

She smiled. “They
are
beautiful,” she said. “Where did you get them?”

“Birthday present.” I twirled, admiring my reflection. I couldn’t believe it was even me. Was it really just yesterday morning that I had been hauling pig slop across the field? I felt like someone brand-new. Someone better than I had been before; someone who belonged here, not there.

Ozma was still looking at my shoes. “Who gave them to you?” she asked.

“My friend Mitzi,” I said quickly.

“I see,” Ozma said with a tight smile. “Well, your friend Mitzi has wonderful taste.”

She knew something in my story wasn’t right.

But I couldn’t tell exactly what she
did
know. Could she tell that the shoes had come from Glinda? What would happen if she figured out I was lying? And, finally, why had the Scarecrow asked me to hide the truth in the first place?

I thought about telling her everything right there. She had been so nice so far, and I found it hard to believe that she was anything other than what she was presenting herself as. But my shoes were burning on my feet and their heat spread through my whole body.
No,
they seemed to be saying. So I followed the Scarecrow’s advice and kept my mouth shut.

“Can you teach me?” I asked instead.

“Teach you?” Ozma asked.

“To do
this.
” I gestured at my new clothes. “To do magic.”

Ozma looked at me long and hard, searching me like I was a puzzle to be worked out. Finally, she shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “I can’t. Magic is dangerous. Even for those of us who are native to Oz, it’s dangerous. For people who aren’t from here, it can be too much to handle. It can do . . . strange things to you.”

“Strange things like what?” I was annoyed. How did Ozma know what I could handle? How did she know anything about people from my world, when I was the first that she had ever met?

“It can twist you,” Ozma said. And then, as if she was reading my thoughts, “You know, Dorothy, you’re not the first visitor to come here from the outside world. The Wizard wasn’t the first either. There have been others, over the years.”

“Who?” I asked.

She just shook her head, like the story was too sad to tell. And then she brightened and flung herself onto one of her lounges. She threw her feet up, took off her crown, and dropped it carelessly to the floor. “It gets heavy,” she explained. “It
all
gets heavy. The crown, the scepter, this big empty palace. It’s so much responsibility. It’s so
lonely.
I’m just happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy I’m here, too,” I said. But I didn’t like the way she had changed the subject so quickly. Who were the others who had come here before me? What had happened to them? What had happened to
Glinda
? And what was Ozma keeping from me?

“I’ve
tried
,” Ozma said. “Really, I have. At first, I thought Jellia and I could be the greatest of friends. But she’s so focused on the fact that I’m the princess, and that she’s my servant. I told her to stop calling me
miss
and
Your Highness
and that I didn’t even care if she brushed my hair and brought me my breakfast in the mornings. She wouldn’t listen. After that I invited the Patchwork Girl to come stay with me for a while. She’s so much fun—she’s stuffed, like the Scarecrow, but with cotton instead of straw, you know, which might be one reason for the lack of common sense and conversational skills. You can only keep up with someone like her for so long before it wears you down. But now that you’re here, Dorothy, it’s like I’ve finally found someone who I have something in common with. I just wish you didn’t have to go home.”

“I’m not going home,” I said firmly.

Ozma twisted her lips in thought. “You really don’t want to, do you?” she said.

“I don’t want to and I’m not going to,” I said. My mind was made up. I was staying here. In Oz. In the palace. No matter what.

“Well,” the princess said after a bit. “We’ll just have to make your aunt and uncle understand, then, won’t we?” She stood up and faced me. She took my hands in hers.

I wanted to trust her. I wanted to be her friend. But as I looked back into her big, glittering eyes, she averted her gaze for just the briefest moment, and I knew that she was hiding something from me. She’d said we were friends and I believed her but something gnawed at me—and it wasn’t just Glinda, or the Scarecrow’s warnings.

The bedroom that Jellia escorted me to after dinner was everything I had dreamed. It was three times as big as my room back in Kansas, with a panoramic window that looked out over the shimmering Emerald City skyline.

There was a huge vanity and a jewelry box overflowing with earrings and bracelets and necklaces, any one of which I was sure would have cost more than Uncle Henry earned in a year back in Kansas. The ebony wardrobe in the corner was stuffed with any kind of gown I could imagine, not to mention more than a few that I never would have been able to dream up on my own.

This was what I had wanted. Sitting alone in the field back in Kansas, covered in pig slop, with Miss Millicent in my lap, I had made a wish without even realizing it, and the wish had come true.