Into a Wicked World

Chapter 16

Sixteen

Nick’s fingers cramped, rusty sweat dripping from his brow, his back a mountain range of increasingly agonizing peaks that had nothing to do with his Curse. He’d been hunched over for hours, his arm rhythmically passing back and forth like a loom. His shoulder had gone completely numb—a tiny silver lining.

“Is he going to be okay?” Dorothy asked, as she’d done on the minute, every minute, since the group had arrived at a dustbowl village off the yellow brick road, just before sunset, and thrown themselves at the mercy and generosity of the residents.

Rather, Lional had thrown his imperial weight around a little bit, not making demands but making toothy, pointed requests. This was his part of Oz, after all, and though Zolesha had nabbed his castle for herself, no one had forgotten their prince.

“You’re standing in my light,” Nick replied, mopping his brow with the back of his sleeve. By “light,” he meant a single oil lamp, for the sun had set an eternity ago, and though dawn couldn’t be far away now, he couldn’t wait for it.

Dorothy stepped away, mumbling an apology under her breath. She returned to the wide doorway of the tumbledown storage barn where she’d paced for much of the night, leaning against the jamb with her back to him.

He paused to look at her, watching the heaving rise and fall of her shoulders. Sighing or crying, he didn’t know, and it killed him that he couldn’t walk to her and offer comfort. He needed his arthritic-feeling fingers as flexible as possible, and the pressure of sewing up and restuffing their friend, not knowing if it would bring him back, was making it hard enough.

Lional appeared, a dark silhouette against an even darker night. A lump of solder welded Nick’s throat closed as the lionman opened his powerful arms, and Dorothy walked into them, disappearing into that furry embrace.

Someone should, Nick told himself. If I can’t, someone should.

As hard as it was for him to fall in love while under his Curse, it was harder still when the love was for someone who couldn’t stay. Every footfall was another step away from his time with Dorothy, and he still couldn’t get off his backside and walk to her. Maybe staying back, putting distance between them, was for the best.

He turned back to his painstaking task, snipping his latest thread and observing his handiwork. A patch of his own shirt covered a hole over the spot where a heart should have been. He touched it lightly.

“You’re only supposed to pretend to sleep,” he whispered to the inanimate scarecrow. “We’ve got places to be, Straw. Dot needs you to wake up. We have to make sure we reach Zolesha in line with the Summer Solstoz, buddy, and this napping act is really hacking into the time we’ve got left.”

Straw was full again, limbs and body and head stuffed with the spare straw and hay, plus the innards of some old teddies that had been donated by the people of this stripped-bare village. Nick had felt a little guilty about gutting the teddy bears, he couldn’t deny it.

Still, Straw hadn’t reanimated, his triangular eyes staring blankly upward, his canvas mouth still curved in his final grin of victory.

Nick pulled Straw’s floppy hat onto his freshly puffed-up head and eased his repaired flannel shirt onto his limp body, before laying him back down.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Nick took hold of Straw’s gloved hand. “You proved you could scare crows,” he murmured. “So, prove you can guide Dorothy the rest of the way to where she needs to go. You’re not done here. She won’t keep going if you don’t get to your feet and lead the way.” He paused, remembering something. “It’s wrong without five.”

Finally, and kicking himself slightly, he understood the scarecrow’s “riddle.”

His gaze returned to the doorway. Lional had released Dorothy, but they were now sitting together on old apple crates. They were talking, but Nick couldn’t quite hear what they were saying.

He strained his ears.

“He said we’d have to carry him in a bucket,” Dorothy said quietly. “I think he forgot we didn’t have a bucket.”

In reality, they’d taken turns carrying him like a travel pack, while making use of Dorothy’s strange rain covering, turning it into a bale, crammed with all the scattered stuffing they’d been able to gather up before the wind whipped it away. At a tinsmith village on the way, they’d been given a nice wheelbarrow as a consolation for them having no straw or hay to offer, though it had not been much of a consolation.

“It tickles,” a voice said.

Nick frowned, confused. It didn’t sound like Lional, nor did it make sense in the context of the conversation. His head snapped down to the scarecrow, who grinned back up at him.

“Are we holding hands for a reason?” Straw asked, slapping his forehead with the other palm. “What a silly thing to say! No one needs a reason to hold hands!”

Dorothy screamed, hurtling across the barn. “Straw! You’re awake!”

“Did I sleep?” Straw seemed surprised and delighted in equal measure. “Am I human? Is that what happened? Did Glinda make me human?”

Dorothy threw herself at him, hugging him tight. “You’re better than a human, Straw—you’re a hero. You saved us.” She pulled back sharply, gasping with tears in her eyes. “Don’t you remember?”

“Oh… that.” The scarecrow waved an “it was nothing” hand. “I scared them good, didn’t I? They pinged away so fast I saw them dent Nick’s back.”

Nick had a few dull, bruise-like aches from the first barrage of fleeing crows, before his skin had caught up to his emotions and given him a metal tortoise shell against the beaks and terror, but he’d have taken a thousand hits with no steel shield at all if it meant keeping Dorothy safe.

“You sure did,” Dorothy told the scarecrow, hugging him again.

Hugs for everyone but me… Nick distracted himself with his sewing supplies, putting them away. It would take him years to forget the feeling of holding her in his arms, years to loosen the barbed wire knot that the embrace had tangled in his chest. So, perhaps it was better not to add to it.

“Welcome back, Scourge of the Crows,” Lional said with a sad smile. “I am sorry that some perished in their fear, but I am glad you were not among them. A hero indeed.”

Nick got to his feet, attempting to stretch out his merciless limbs. It did no good—his legs, arms, back, hips, shoulders, all of him seized up like a barrel bolt in winter. “We should rest.”

“I have done,” Straw replied merrily. “Let’s continue to Lional’s castle, fetch the wand, and get Dorothy home. That is my purpose, Mr. Nick, and there’s not a moment to waste.”

Nick clenched his jaw. “I know that, but we”—he gestured to the others—“have to rest. We’ve been up all night.”

With Lional’s help, Straw got up… and immediately crumpled back down. “While you rest… I think I’ll learn how to walk again. It might take me some time.”

Nick resisted the urge to say something snappish about him getting distracted by a million other things and nodded instead. “Good idea.” He pointed to a lump of oat sacks in the far corner. “I’ll take the king size bed with the lake view.”

He proceeded to the darkened corner and lay down, pulling a couple of poignantly empty sacks over him. Closing his eyes, he listened to the chatter of his companions, letting the excited babble—Dorothy’s excited babble—send him off to sleep.

Zolesha’s crowattack had worked in the end, not in taking their little adventuring party out, but delaying them just long enough to keep them from arriving at Wicker Castle—Lional’s former seat—during the Summer Solstoz. Between sewing and willing Straw back to life, getting some much-needed sleep, the scarecrow insisting on walking though he fell every twenty steps or so, and the wheelbarrow breaking when Straw finally relented on being pushed to their destination, plus a couple wrong turns that felt witchy, they were out of time.

It was Summer Solstoz Eve when they finally arrived at the village of Scwarf—according to Lional, the last settlement before Wicker Castle, now almost two days’ walk away.

“Regrettably, the climb will be steep, but the good news is that there is a road up,” Lional had added, pointing a glinting claw up at the snowcapped peak of a mountain, high above. It was too dark to see the castle, but he insisted it was up there, “close to that magnificent glitter of spindrifts.” He had swallowed a sob, dabbing the torn hem of his cape to his eyes.

Nick could’ve cried too, when he’d heard where they were headed.

Reaching Scwarf had been struggle enough, the village nesting in a dip between two smaller mountains among the spiky range, some of the houses and shops hollowed directly out of the sheer rock face that provided the backdrop to the settlement. Other houses and buildings protruded from the rock face, built on stilts or suspended by ropes in crooked rows. For the sake of space-saving, presumably, allowing people to walk underneath.

It was the threat of the climb up to Wicker Castle, and their bad timing, that had ultimately given the deciding vote on them stopping at Scwarf for the night, at the only inn in the village.

“Now, this is what I was talking about!” Dorothy said, raising a tankard of brimbleberry juice—sourer than its blushing cousin. “Buxom lasses, torches, tankards. No jolly landlady, but I’ll take the grizzled landlord with the jagged scar. Did you see the double-sided axe on the wall? Perfection!”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Buxom lasses?”

“I thought you’d be more bothered that I was eyeing up someone else’s axe,” she teased, sipping her drink.

A little shiver of excitement ran up his spine as he cradled his own tankard. He couldn’t smile or laugh the way he wanted to, but come tomorrow, he would.

On some warped level, Nick was pleased the timing had worked out this way. When the sun rose, he would be free of the Curse and could share it all with Dorothy, telling her everything he had longed to tell her. Maybe even reach out to her and touch her, at last, without having to strangle the joy to keep from hurting himself. Or worse, her.

The downside was that they were now going to have to take on the Wicked Witch the day after the Solstoz, while she had power. Less power than normal, of course, as the day would still be long and the Wicked Witches worked best in the dark, but she would not be defenseless.

“Well, well, look what dragged the cat in,” a dry voice interrupted.

Lional froze and thawed in a heartbeat, bowing his head. “Mademoiselle Bellina.”

A young woman, no older than Dorothy, stood at the edge of the group’s sticky table at the back of the inn. She sipped her drink and held it in her cheek for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to spit it at Lional. Clearly, the lionman had done something to offend her, which puzzled Nick.

“That’s what you have to say to me?” the woman, Bellina presumably, replied.

“I would apologize again, but you would not accept it,” Lional said evenly. “Nor would I blame you.”

Bellina bristled. “Never thought I’d see you back here after you ran off with your shiny new tail between your legs. What’s going on, kitten? Worried we’d forgotten about you? Thought you’d come back for Solstoz to remind us?”

“We’re here to take the Wicked Witch’s wand,” Dorothy jumped in, sticking out her hand. “Dorothy Gale. Nice to meet you.”

Bellina stared at Dorothy’s hand. Then, very slowly, reached out and shook it. “Her wand?” She looked to Lional, who nodded in confirmation. “For him, or for something else?”

“For me, for him, maybe for all of Oz,” Dorothy replied with a nervous smile. It was one of Nick’s favorites. “Depends how many wands we can pluck off her cold, dea—uh… out of her stash.” She flashed an apologetic look at Lional, but his attention was fixed on Bellina, sorrow in his feline eyes.

What did you do? Nick was dying to know, but he held back the questions, letting Dorothy take the lead.

Bellina pursed her lips. “Come with me.”

“Pardon?” Dorothy tilted her head.

“Come with me,” Bellina repeated, walking off.

Lional got up first, and where he went, Toto followed. In turn, Dorothy went wherever Toto went, and Nick would tail her anywhere. Straw, not wanting to be left out, tottered after them, bumping into a few patrons as if he’d had more than a few tankards of brimbleberry juice. In the end, Nick grabbed the scarecrow’s arm and draped it over his shoulder, if only to avoid a brawl from breaking out.

They walked through the drafty streets of the mountain village, wind whistling through the stilt structures, flapping shutters that hadn’t been secured. There weren’t too many people about, but through a few windows, Nick saw glowing scenes by firelight of people preparing for tomorrow’s Solstoz: children whispering wishes up the chimney, grandmothers setting out the special, yellow-glazed Solstoz buns for breakfast, families and friends gathered together to light the Solstoz candles, setting them on the windowsills and doorsteps, a symbol of bringing the dawn quicker.

At length, they came to a cabin that jutted out from the precipice of the mountain. Half of Bellina’s house was on solid rock, the other half balanced on nothing but a few diagonal beams, a sheer drop below. If a floorboard came loose in there, it’d be the last time she skimped on a carpenter.

“Don’t mind the mess,” Bellina said, letting them in. Lional went last, but as he tried to step through, she put out her arm. “Not you. You can stay out here with the rest of the strays.”

Lional dropped his chin to his chest and glided backward. “Of course.”

For once, Nick didn’t step in to stand up for the lionman. This wasn’t a matter of his beastliness; this was something else. Something he had no business getting in the middle of. The others seemed to agree, saying nothing as Bellina closed the door on Lional.

“My dad got turned into an apple tree because of him, and if I can’t fix it by Winter Solstoz, he’ll stay a tree,” she said abruptly, moving through the warm cabin.

Everyone halted, shocked.

“Your dad was a servant up at the castle?” Dorothy was the first to speak, reminding Nick about Lional’s story.

Bellina searched through a hefty bookcase, unwisely placed on the far half of her cabin. “The coward told you, then?”

“He’s not a coward,” Straw replied. “He’s very brave and strong. He’s a lion, after all.”

Bellina scowled at the scarecrow. “He is a coward. He had the chance to kill the Wicked Witch of the West, but he didn’t, and my dad and countless others paid the price. If that’s not cowardly, then I need a new dictionary.”

She returned her attention to the bookcase, moving aside several ceramic chickens to tease out a book. In fact, Nick noticed there were a lot of chickens in the cabin: wooden carvings, a canvas doorstop, stained-glass cutouts attached to the windows, ceramic and metal ornaments covering every available space; even the wallpaper was adorned with plump hens. And the fireguard appeared to be a rendering of a chicken coop, with iron chickens in a permanent pecking position between the fireplace and the bars.

“I study wands,” Bellina moved on, gesturing for the group to sit. “Wicked wands, to be exact.”

Nick stayed standing, while Straw wandered off to gaze at the chicken wallpaper and Toto sniffed warily at the doorstop. But Dorothy perched on a footstool shaped like the plumed rear end of a bantam, Bellina sitting opposite on a plain couch.

“You need me,” Bellina said, “and I need you.”

Dorothy tilted her head to one side. “How so?”

“I’ve dedicated my life to wands, trying to figure out how to identify which wand the Wicked Witch of the West used to change the servants into an orchard,” Bellina explained. “I haven’t been able to gain access to the wands, as of yet, but I’ve been hoping to meet someone who might do it. I worked in the hatchery, barely going inside, but no one knows all the hidey-holes that castle has better than Lional. Of course, I’m not asking him to help me.”

Nick leaned against the wall, his heart heavy as he asked, “Could you identify which wand did what immediately, or would we need to bring it back to you?”

A selfish part of him didn’t want them to find the wand at all.

“I’m coming with you,” Bellina said, as if it should’ve been obvious. “But sure, I’m… pretty confident I can tell which wand did what. I’ve spent a long, long time deciphering the system Zolesha uses to mark her wands. Sort of resembles the ramblings of a madwoman, but I’ve more or less cracked her code.”

She dragged a trunk out from the side of the couch and flipped the lid. Nick stretched his neck out, tortoise like, to see inside. About thirty wands were dumped inside, alongside thin notebooks bound in a familiar, garnet-red leather.

“I thought you said you haven’t been able to access any wands,” Nick pointed out.

Bellina shrugged. “I have a friend. The Wizard. He shipped these to me.” She picked one out, the shaft snapped in half. “They’re all broken, and he’s done all his tests on them, so he didn’t mind letting me borrow them for a while.”

Friends with the Wizard? Bellina was becoming more interesting by the second, and not just because of her taste in decoration.

She sighed, staring strangely at the broken wand. “Whatever these things did, the Curse is already permanent, so it’s not like I’m harboring a box of someone else’s hopes.” She looked over at Dorothy, eyes shining. “It’s meant to be the most beautiful time of the year, but I can’t even bring myself to light candles.”

“But you’ll get to see him tomorrow, won’t you?” Dorothy said gently, and Nick wished he could smile at how quickly she was getting the hang of Oz. Her soft, apologetic gasp followed. “Oh… you won’t get there in time.”

Bellina shook her head. “I could’ve hiked up there yesterday. I’ve tried before, but the gates are locked tight, and I’m not exactly gifted when it comes to scaling walls. I reckon I’ve almost broken every bone in my body at this point.” She smiled at Nick. “But you’ve got company. An axe-man, and yes, that cowardly little kitty licking his bits outside. I won’t make it in time for the Solstoz, but it might not matter, now that you’re all here.”

“Hey, we’re going the same way—wouldn’t be right for us to go separately. Teamwork, dreamwork, and all that,” Dorothy said, speaking for all of them.

Bellina furrowed her brow. “You speak weirdly. Where are you from?”

Dorothy looked back at Nick, who nodded in agreement. “I’m from Earth.”

“Like the Wizard?” Bellina leaned forward, clapping her hands together. “You have to stay here tonight! We can stay up late and talk. I’ve got ten thousand questions for someone from Earth. I’ve annoyed Isaac to death about it, to the point where any time I ask in our letters, he ignores me.”

A ton weight dropped from Nick’s throat to his stomach. He had hoped to stay up late and talk with Dorothy, maybe until the sun came up, so he could conclude with the truth.

“Sounds better than camping out in the fields and praying for no rain,” Nick responded as politely as he could. “We might have to strap Straw down—if he wanders round here, I don’t have it in me to stuff and stitch him again.”

The scarecrow wasn’t listening; he was too busy trying to tell his crane joke to a life-size ceramic of a mother hen with a trailing gaggle of five chicks.

“But what about Lional?” Nick asked.

Bellina’s pleasant nature instantly evaporated.

“What about that coward?” she shot back. “Is he too afraid to stay outside with the other animals?”

Nick sucked in a breath to defend his friend, at least a little bit, and prepared for the tight-skin and metal-weight that came with it, but Dorothy beat him to it.

“Maybe we shouldn’t stay,” she said flatly, but not unkindly. “I’d hate it if our association with Lional ended up making you uncomfortable. Then again, he is part of our team, and he will be helping you. I’d say that might be reason enough to set differences aside for a night, but it’s up to you.”

The mild reprimand wasn’t exactly hidden between the lines, but it wasn’t so outrageous as to insult Bellina. More proof that Dorothy was worth the pain the journey had inflicted on Nick’s worn out, Cursed body.

Bellina tilted her head and lowered it for a second. When she looked up, her words were not what Nick had expected.

“Perhaps it for the best if you find a place to bunk with Lional somewhere, then.” Her tone was as blank as Dorothy’s had been. “Since my father is no longer here, it might not be wise for me to have a man staying in the house after dark.” With a small nod of dismissal, their host stood up from the red patchwork couch and gestured toward the door. “And I suppose I should also stay behind in the village as you continue on your quest for now, as well. Father would not want me endangering myself by joining the cowardly Lional.”

“If you think that best,” Dorothy replied curtly.

“If you end up defeating Zolesha,” Bellina added as she gathered up the books on the tea table next to the chair, “reach out to me. I’ll make the journey to Wicked Castle and help sort out the wands. If the one that brought you here, Dorothy, and the one that Cursed you, Nick, are there, I’ll find them.” She held the slanted stack of books with one arm and stepped to the front door, opening it and letting Dorothy and Nick out into the late evening air, Straw and Toto following behind.

Nick couldn’t help feeling like they’d just lost a valuable asset.

“Was the information useful?”Lional asked. He had been waiting patiently a short distance from the cabin, at the crossroads that led into town, and though he was obviously frustrated with what had occurred between him and Bellina, he was too regal to let it show.

“Useful, yes,” Nick said. “Worth it? Remains to be seen.”

“Do not hold anything against her, friends,” Lional said, adjusting cuff that had long ago lost their links. Perhaps his cat ears had heard enough, even at a distance. “She lost her father to Zolesha’s curse when the witch stole my castle and ran me from it. Many like her blame me for not ending it when I could have.”

“She hinted about something like that but didn’t go into details,” Nick said.

“I hope you forgive me if I do not go into the painful details, either,” the prince replied. “But suffice it to say, I had an opportunity to end things with Zolesha once and for all. Permanently end them, if you understand my meaning. I refused to take it, as I did not wish to harm any living thing at the time.”

Nick noticed the lionman used the words “at the time.” Perhaps Cursing him into having to kill to survive and eat had finally taken its toll and was going to backfire on the Wicked Witch, pushing him to use that “clause for his claws” that he hadn’t deployed yet.

The still-air quiet that followed his words sank into Nick. How much trouble had Zolesha caused over the past years since her rise to power? How many lives ruined? How many lives ended? And how many more to come? Someone did need to stop her. Whatever it took.

Dorothy spoke up into the quiet night. “We’ll need a place to stay the night. Looks like another camp setup is called for. I’ll start putting together my tent.”

“Actually,” Lional raised a paw to stop her, “I have secured us a modest place to stay. It is only a half hour’s walk along a mountain stream.”

Nick’s legs protested, but he didn’t. A half hour walk was better than dying of exposure.

The lionman led them to a hunting lodge that his grandfather had built fifty years earlier. The word “modest” needed rechecking in Lional’s dictionary, as it was easily three times bigger than the whole of Nick’s family home. Grand once, it was fraying about the edges with disuse, and the forest line had grown up right to the door; the repercussions of being handed down to a prince who would never be one to hunt an animal. Not until he’d been Cursed to do so, anyway.

“Excuse the untidiness,” Lional said, echoing Bellina’s earlier words.

But where Bellina’s cottage had been chaotic, other than a light bit of dust, Lional’s hunting lodge was close to pristine, as if it had been waiting for him. He went around lighting lanterns, until a warm glow spilled across the main room, where dried flowers hung upon the wall in place of hunting trophies.

And with an unstoppable energy and entirely under his own steam, Straw took up a broom, asked if it was a distant cousin, and began to sweep like a scarecrow possessed.

He was sweeping the webs out of the ceiling corners—apologizing to the displaced spiders along the way, of course—when he gestured to a basket of goodies that had been left just inside the door.

“A Solstoz feast! I have never been more jealous of you eaters,” the scarecrow happily said as he moved to a new corner of the ceiling and swept down the webs. “I’m going to make your room ready as soon as I’m done on my web hunt.”

“You mean rooms,” Nick corrected him. “Plural.”

“Oh,” the scarecrow said. “I thought you and Dorothy would want to sleep together again.”

He was obviously referring to the time they had shared in Farmer Jahn’s house, but his word choice left something to be desired.

Nick felt the heat rise to his cheeks, hardening his whole face at the same time.

“I will be staying in the old horse barn tonight,” the beastly prince said, saving Nick from further embarrassment. “I am unsure what will happen with my Curse in the morning. It will be my first Summer Solstoz, after all. If I should lose control of the beast within me in the waning hours, I do not wish to be trapped inside with you.” He went to the basket, sniffing it. “Do eat. It is safe. The villagers of Scwarf have always left a basket here on Solstoz Eve, for anyone traveling up to the castle for the celebrations I once organized. It appears they have kept the tradition alive.”

With that, he bowed and headed out, only to reappear a second later.

“One more thing,” he said. “Though I do not wish to sound ominous, do be so kind as to lock me out. Just in case.”

He closed the thick oak doors, padding past frost-breathed windows. Nick walked over to the door and threw the bolt closed.

“Just in case,” he repeated Lional’s words.

After dinner—warilynibbled at first, before Nick and Dorothy threw caution to the wind and devoured the lot—Straw excused himself to “watch for pesky crows.” They all knew he was going to sit outside the horse barn to watch over Lional—well, until something else distracted him.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Nick had said, nearly choking on a glazed pastry with gooseberry filling.

Dorothy had looked up from carefully feeding Toto a chicken leg, so he wouldn’t snatch the bone. “What isn’t?”

“Sitting outside,” he’d replied, swallowing. “It’s what folks do on Solstoz Eve. Stay up and watch the sunrise.”

“Oh…” Dorothy had discarded the chicken bone. “Well, if it’s what you Ozians do, it’d be rude not to.”

It wasn’t a total lie. He and his family used to have that tradition, along with most of the village, everyone going up to the highest point nearby to share a breakfast of sun buns, cloudberry juice, and platters of every treat and fruit that had a vaguely yellow hue. As for what other Ozians did? Everyone had their own customs.

But he couldn’t tell her why he wanted to uphold his village’s tradition, when he hadn’t in eight years. Not until dawn.

That was how they came to be sitting on a thumb-shaped bluff, overlooking what felt like all of Oz, waiting for the sun to chase away night’s lingering raiments. There were lights still aglow in the village of Scwarf: a speck on the distorted shapes of the mountain range, like the glitter of snow.

They’d spoken of everything and nothing for hours, settling into easy conversation: about life in Oz and Kansas—the differences and similarities; what a marine biologist was and what being a woodsman actually entailed; how much the vibe in Scwarf had reminded her of Christmas Eve, whatever that was; and they’d mentioned, over and over, how beautiful it was, how nice the food had been, picking safe topics.

At least, Nick had assumed that was what they were doing, until she said:

“Nervous much?”

Nick blinked. “What?”

“You, with all those ants in your pants.” She laughed, sounding a little nervous too. “The king of stoic stillness can’t stay in one position for more than two seconds. Surprised you don’t have scrapes on your backside.”

He let his bent knees flop down, proving her point. “Creaky bones.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” she replied with a sad smile. “I think you’re looking forward to the sun coming up, like all the kids making wishes up the chimney. I think… you were Cursed by Zolesha, and that’s why you get sore, and why you’re human but silver, and why you put your hand on me when that crow threatened us. I think you know what she’s capable of, because you’re one of her victims.”

He gaped at her. “I can’t even tell you if you’re right or not.”

“And that’s part two of the Curse,” she replied. “Or that’s part of my Curse, anyway.”

“Your Curse?”

She grinned. “Always being right. A Blessing and a Curse, really.”

“I can tell.” He flashed her a wry look, wishing he could just blurt everything out instead, applauding her for being so very close to the mark.

“Honestly, I’m looking forward to getting these cursed shoes off for a bit,” she said with a sigh.

Nick cringed inwardly. “Unfortunately, Glinda did that magic. Good magic is actually at its most powerful starting tomorrow morning. And since Glinda cast it, that makes it a Blessing and not a Curse.”

“You’re kidding?” Dorothy groaned. “Despite them being magically comfortable, I really wanted to give my toes and heels a long soak in the lodge’s tub. That would be a Blessing.”

“Blessings and Curses don’t always do what you want the way you want it,” he explained.

“Curse with a capital C and Blessing with a capital B, I assume? Got to respect the power?” Dorothy muttered, hurling a pebble at the shoes. It bounced away as if it had been launched by a Fighting Tree.

“Exactly,” Nick replied, feeling sorrier for her than for himself.

“So either I get Glinda to take them off, or I wait until Winter Solstoz?”

“You’re getting it,” Nick said with a nod in place of a smile. He couldn’t bring himself to point out that she wouldn’t be here when the Winter Solstoz came. Maybe she was having second thoughts. Maybe those second thoughts would become concrete thoughts once he spilled his tin heart to her.

“I got it, alright, and I sure don’t want it.” Dorothy tapped the silver toe of her left shoe to her right and shook her head.

For a second, Nick was confused and a little wounded, before realizing that he hadn’t spoken his own thoughts aloud. It was the shoes she didn’t want.

He intended to say something encouraging, but his mind was still stuck on the excitement of the sunrise. He turned the words he wanted to say to Dorothy over and over in his mind. Reordering them from explaining about his Curse first, to just blurting out how much he had fallen for her during their journey. And then changing his mind and wanting to just let out all the happy laughs he’d been holding from all the funny things she’d said along the way.

“Does the sun have to be all the way up?” Dorothy asked suddenly.

He cast her a sideways glance. “Above the horizon. Why?”

“The sky is getting lighter,” she murmured.

He looked back out at the stretching landscape of Oz, realizing that shapes and gradients, hills and valleys, streams and rivers, woodland and fields, and smudges of settlements were beginning to emerge.

There was nothing he could do about his racing heart, no amount of deep breathing or distractions helping with the clattering thud. A dull ache throbbed in his joints, his neck stiff, his legs a dead weight, but the pain was a mere pinch compared to the usual agony. The strength of the Wicked Witch’s magic was already fading, with each new coppice or brook or village that solidified into view under the dawn’s rising light.

He had Dorothy’s hand in his before he could stop himself, a thrill buzzing inside him as if the poppy bees were dancing their language in every vein, every cell of his being.

“You’re changing,” Dorothy gasped, eyes wide as she stared at him, gripping his hand tighter, his excitement transferring into her.

He patted his face, his shoulders, his chest with his free hand, but the increasing light hadn’t yet touched the parts that he could see. Nevertheless, he felt what she was seeing—a warm, honey-slow sensation beginning a washing descent from the crown of his head to his tiptoes. At that moment, it had reached his shoulders, sinking down while the sun rose up.

Be patient… he told himself. If he rushed into the truth, into his confessions of fledgling love, into the hope of a kiss to seal it all if she felt the same way, he still risked being in too much pain to get it all out the way he wanted to. Or worse, immobile for a few minutes.

“Nick, I—” she began to say, as the sun finally crested the horizon, an upside-down curve smiling down on the star-crossed pair, as Dorothy had grinned down on Jomeo and Ruliet.

He shook his head as the silver sapped away from his fingers. He couldn’t wait anymore. “No, let me go first. I?—”

As the first rays of light touched Dorothy’s silver shoes and crossed knees, a terrible gust of wind howled across the mountaintops, sending every snowy peak into wild spindrifts. Nick frowned, squeezing her hand, his fingers curving into his own palm.

He glanced down, no more than a split second, to find his flesh-and-blood hand empty. And when his eyes snapped back up, he was alone.

Dorothy had gone, before Nick had been able to say a single word of his badly rehearsed monologue. Not even “goodbye.”