Chapter Seven. Dorothy
SEVEN
Dorothy
It’s not time to panic … yet.
No, actually, I am on the verge of panicking.
I just killed someone.
Who attacked me.
In my own house.
I can hear Aunt Em’s voice in my head. Deep breath. In and out.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then push it back out again.
I had my first panic attack the summer I turned thirteen. It was Em who talked me through it. I didn’t know what to do with that rising vibration in my throat, or the hot buzz up my spine, the way my head swam and my thoughts swirled and my body cramped up.
There was the overwhelming urge to run, but nowhere to run to.
Em took my hand and her warmth spread through me and she said, Right here. Focus on me and your breaths. I’ve got you. You’re safe.
Sometimes I would have nightmares where I was running, trying to get home, but home was always just out of my reach. I’d wake up shouting and Em would be there.
I thought I’d outgrown panic attacks. It’s been years.
Breathe.
You’re safe.
Am I though?
I take a few steps away from the body of the woman who attacked me.
I can’t look at her yet.
I can’t face what I’ve done.
I’m okay. For now.
I want to run.
I don’t know where to run to.
Get your bearings, Em would say.
I’m in the middle of a field with a picket fence running its length.
I can see across the distance as if it’s daylight even though the sky is dark.
There is a quiet hush to the world that reminds me of slowly falling snow, as if the thick darkness overhead has swallowed up all sound or pressed it down so low it can barely be heard.
My breathing slowly returns to a normal cadence. My heart stops drumming in my ears.
One thing at a time.
“What kind of darkness is this?”
One of the men steps forward. He has short black hair and, deep brown eyes, and wears overalls with stitched-on patches in a rainbow of colors. “It’s the Great and Terrible Curse. It’s a dark cloud that settled over the land many years ago.”
“Is it daytime then?” I glance over at him and he gives me a nod.
Just how far did the cyclone carry me and how do I get back home to Em and Henry?
I turn to the crowd. Another man comes forward and the others go quiet.
This one is close to six feet with dark stubble along his jaw and a run of tattoos on his left hand.
They look like letters, but if they are, they’re a language I’m not familiar with.
With the tattooed hand, he rakes his hair back, but the ends curl up, defying him.
He’s wearing a denim shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a flash of chest hair. His shoulders are broad, arms thick and strong.
“Hello,” I start. “Could you tell me—”
He sinks to one knee.
The crowd assembled behind him follows until they’re all on the ground.
“Why are you bowing? What is going on?”
“O Great Sorceress,” the man says. “You’ve liberated us from the Witch of the East. She has subjugated us since the Great and Terrible War, and we owe you our lives and our thanks. My name is Mathian and I am a proud citizen of the East End.”
A second man bows beside Mathian. He’s taller, skin darker, hair shorn close to his scalp. He’s wearing a decorated tunic, the fabric soft linen, the collar adorned with embroidered flowers. “I am Aakin and I too am a proud citizen of the Ends. We owe you much thanks.”
That dull ache behind my eyes returns and I press at the bridge of my nose trying to drive it away.
None of this makes sense.
“I’m no sorceress,” I answer. “And I don’t believe in witches.”
“There,” Aakin says and gestures with a nod of his head at the bloodied woman behind me. “That is a witch. Your house landed on her.”
“And then you killed her.” The soft, quiet voice comes from behind me. I turn around and look down at the short, curvy woman. Her dark hair is cut to her chin. Bright blue eyes gaze up at me from beneath long, fringed lashes.
She has yet to bend to her knees. I’m not sure what to make of that. Does she hold a higher position here than the farmers?
She’s wearing a simple cotton dress with delicate buttons up the bodice. The collar is stiff, not unlike her body language.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Cleo, O Great Sorceress.”
“You really must stop calling me that.”
Mathian stands up. “But you’ve killed the witch, Sorc—miss. They are unkillable.”
I take my first look at the body nestled in the grass, edged in silver light. She looks pretty dead to me. Killing her was easy. It’s this part, the aftermath, that’s hard.
I cried the first time I helped slaughter a pig. I’d already named him Sylvester. He’d only been on the farm a few months, but it’d felt like years.
The sound of his squealing haunted my dreams for more than a year. Life on a farm is brutal and unforgiving.
“I didn’t mean to kill her,” I tell the crowd. “She attacked me. I was just trying to defend myself.”
“Of course, Sorceress—”
“Dorothy,” I correct.
“Sorceress Dorothy,” Aakin adds. “The Witch of the East never made it easy to like her.”
Mathian gives a nervous laugh. “Wouldn’t have said that while she was alive.”
“Certainly not.” Aakin adjusts the belt over his tunic, chuckling with his friend.
I’m a little shocked at how celebratory these people are about the body resting behind me. Was she truly that awful?
She did attack me, I suppose. And she wouldn’t listen to a word I said, almost like a feral animal out for blood, with no logic to her actions. Maybe if she’d stopped for one minute and let me speak, we could have come to an understanding. She’d be alive and I wouldn’t be a murderer.
But then again … these people would not be celebrating their freedom from an unkillable witch.
What have I stepped into?
Or rather, dropped into.
I glance up at the darkened sky. There isn’t much to see other than rolling blackness edged in blue silver. There’s nothing about it that will help orient myself. I could be in Kansas or Missouri or California.
“Take the slippers!” a voice calls out from the crowd.
I turn back to the crowd.
“Yes!” several agree. “The magic slippers!”
“What slippers?” I ask.
Mathian goes over to the witch and yanks the shoes from her feet. Her dead legs thud back to the ground. And as soon as the shoes are off, her body shrinks in on itself and turns to dust.
I blink several times, clearing my vision, but the pile of ash remains. None of the Enders seem bothered by the body literally bursting into ash.
I’ve never been to California, or Missouri for that matter, but something tells me I’ve gone much, much farther.
“They are yours now, Sorceress Dorothy.” Mathian bows his head and holds the slippers aloft to me.
The cut of them reminds me of ballet slippers with a small heel. They appear to be constructed of soft leather, but even without sunlight, they shimmer like silver.
They’re the kind of slippers meant for a Halloween costume. Or a theater show.
I’ve never owned anything so elegant.
“I’m not taking the shoes of a dead woman.”
“These are no ordinary shoes,” Aakin says.
“They are powerful slippers,” Mathian adds. “Charmed with magic.”
I laugh. “Magic. Really.”
“Yes.” Mathian shifts his grip and the slippers sparkle.
“What kind of magic?” I ask.
They all share a look.
Mathian frowns. “Well … we don’t know.”
Of course they don’t.
“I think I’m losing my mind.”
“Fear not.” Aakin claps once. “You’ve done a great deed this day. May the Cardinal Gods bless you, should they return to us.”
I scrub at my face, forgetting I’m still covered in blood. Some of it smears across my cheeks. Grumbling, I use the sleeve of my nightgown to swipe it away, but I’m not sure it’s done much good. My nightgown is also covered in blood.
“I need to get home to my aunt and uncle,” I tell them and glance around, looking for something that might be familiar. “How do I get there?”
“Where’s home?” Mathian asks.
“Kansas.”
Aakin shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and gives me a reluctant shrug. “Oz is surrounded on all sides by an impassable desert. If your Kansas is beyond the desert, we know of no way to reach it.”
“What is Oz?”
“This is Oz, Sorceress.” With his free hand, Mathian spreads out his arm, gesturing with a flourish. “All of this is Oz. You’re standing in it.”
“I’ve never heard of Oz. Is it in Oklahoma?”
They blink at me.
“Nebraska maybe?”
Mathian shakes his head. “There is only Oz.”
Hands on my hips, I walk off to think. Aunt Em will be sick with worry. Uncle Henry won’t sleep until he’s found me. And if either of them were hurt in the storm …
If the house tore away from its foundation, there’s likely damage to the barn too. The animals will need to be checked, repairs made.
I need to get home.
“Is there anyone else here that might know a thing or two about geography?” I turn back to the farmers and find Cleo standing just a few inches behind me.
I jump back, startled. She didn’t make a sound.
“Best you take the slippers. The power is yours by right.”
Curses and witches and wands and magical slippers.
“What is this place, Cleo?” I hear the anxiety in my voice, the wobbling plea. I want her to give me an answer that makes sense.
“You truly don’t know?” Her dark brows furrow over her eyes. She’s studying me like a mystery, one she desperately wants to understand. “Take the slippers. Hurry.”
It’s the urgency in her voice that finally gets me to move. I reach out for the shoes and just as my fingers brush against the soft, shiny leather, the air pops beside me and pale hands reach out through a shimmer of light.
“I’ll have those,” a voice says, and the slippers are snatched from Mathian.