Chapter Twenty. Dorothy
TWENTY
Dorothy
“East Enders? You mean people?”
“Yes.” Ana clutches at the handle of her mug.
“Enders would just disappear. It took us a while to figure it out. We’ve always known Delphine’s source of magic was living things, but we thought it was limited to plants.
But as the years went on, her paranoia grew and so did her thirst for power.
That’s when we learned she could also use people. ”
I let all this sink in. I don’t believe in magic.
Or rather, I didn’t, until I woke up in a distant land covered in darkness and witnessed, with my own eyes, a dead body turn to dust, silver slippers disappear from thin air and reappear in an onion cabinet, and a woman literally step out of a cloud of light.
“If Delphine’s source of magic is people, maybe that’s why Rook was beaten and tied to a pole.”
“Who?” Ana says.
“My friend. The one at the doctor?”
“Oh, right. I suppose it’s possible, but why wouldn’t she just kill him?”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s a good point.” I take another drink from my ale, welcoming the warmth of the spice. “So, what are the powers of the other witches? Or what sources do they use?”
Ana thinks. “Well … let’s start with the South. Because her power is very similar to Delphine’s. Hers also comes from living things. The West gets her power from fire. The North gets hers from metal.”
“You don’t think the Witch of the South would do this?”
“Glinda the Good? Oh no! Never! She’s sworn off killing. It’s why her power has weakened. Besides, her source, while living, is limited to the animal kingdom. But again, she would never. Never.”
The Witch of the North mentioned she was also good, but the label certainly means more when someone else uses it to describe you.
Is Glinda truly that virtuous?
The silver slippers are suddenly hot on my feet. Cleo insisted I take them, but now I’m doubting that decision. Stealing shoes off a dead woman would certainly not earn me the moniker Dorothy the Good.
“Now that the Witch of the East is dead, who will take her place?”
Ana shrugs again and drains the last of her ale. “It’s not for the Enders to concern themselves with the business of witches.”
“Do you think … the other witches … Will they seek revenge? Against me? For killing one of their own?”
Ana laughs. “For killing Delphine? Absolutely not. She was the least liked. None of them held any allegiance to her. You’ll be fine.”
I sigh with relief. I hadn’t considered that possibility until just now.
“Thank god.”
“Speaking of the gods!” someone shouts. It’s one of the council members, a woman with short black hair tied back in a stubby ponytail. “We should toast to them!”
“Oh, good idea, Lu!” Ana says and waggles her fingers at the server behind the bar.
In the hour or so Ana and I have been chatting and eating some of the patrons of the tavern have thinned out, and the council members leave their tables in the back to gather around us, making room where they can.
The server comes over with a tray with eight shot glasses set out on it. Each glass has a few inches of a dark amber liquid inside.
“Ozrum,” Ana explains. “Remy, can we have an empty glass so I can show Dorothy how to toast the gods?”
Remy comes around from the counter with an empty shot glass and hands it to Ana.
Ana takes it and places it in front of her on the table.
“Start here,” she says. “In the north position, like on a compass. And you say, ‘North,’ and tap the glass. Then down, and you say, ‘South.’ Then keep moving on the compass, tapping the glass at each direction.’”
“So it goes, North, South, East, West,” Lu adds.
“And then the center,” Ana adds. “And ‘Oz, Oz, Oz!’ With three taps. And then you drink!”
I don’t need more alcohol, but who am I to turn down an Oz custom?
“Okay, got it,” I say as the server hands me my shot. “That’s easy enough.”
The others each get a glass.
“On the count of three,” Ana instructs. “One. Two. Three.”
“North. South. East. West. Oz! Oz! Oz!” we all shout and then sling back our drinks.
The ozrum has some of the same sweet spiciness as the ale, but none of the smoothness. It burns as it goes down and I come up wincing after swallowing it back.
“Oh god,” I say, and everyone laughs.
We’re all laughing.
I’m immediately grateful for Ana and the rest of the council for welcoming me into their city, for letting me join in their customs. I only wish Rook were here.
Once we’ve settled down and the server has gathered the empty shot glasses, I lean into Ana. “Do you know where I can find the doctor that took my friend? Rook?”
“He’ll be along soon, I’m sure. Dr. Fennel is nothing if not thorough.” Ana stands up and straightens the lapels of her purple suit. “I suppose it is getting late though. If you want, I can have Remy show you to your room so you can get some rest while you wait.”
I wouldn’t mind washing up before Rook returns.
“I’d appreciate that.”
Ana waggles her fingers at Remy. The innkeeper excuses themself from the group they’re chatting with and comes over.
“Could you take Dorothy to her room?” Ana asks. “Make sure she has everything she needs. She needs to be in tip-top shape for the big celebration tomorrow night!”
“Well, I’m not sure if I’ll stay—”
“Nonsense!” Ana claps me on the back. “You’re our hero. Of course you’ll stay for the party thrown in your honor! Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ana gives me a squeeze and then leads the council out of the tavern.
Remy motions me to follow. “I’ve put you in our best room on the third floor with your friend in the room beside you.”
“That’s great. Thank you, Remy.” I scoop Toto into the crook of my arm, then grab my picnic basket with the other.
Remy takes me to a large staircase on the other side of the server counter.
There are string lights woven in and around the carved balusters.
The wall of the staircase is covered in oil paintings hung in rudimentary wooden frames.
All the art is fantastical. Beasts that are half lion, half bird.
Trees with faces. A girl made of patches.
A glass cat that spins rainbows of light around it.
The artist is talented, just like Aunt Em. Em paints in vibrant colors of the rainbow. This artist is more subdued in their pigments. More earth tones, more drama.
“Who painted these?” I ask as I follow Remy up the stairs.
“My father.”
“He’s an incredible artist.”
“Was,” Remy corrects.
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss. Did he die in the war?”
Remy reaches the second-floor landing and keeps going up. “My father was one of the people Delphine used to replenish her power.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
“I appreciate that,” Remy answers over their shoulder. “I’m grateful to still have my mother. She’s the cook here.”
“Please give her my compliments. The food was amazing.”
“She’ll be happy to hear that.”
On the third floor, Remy turns right at the hallway, taking us toward the front of the inn. My room is the door at the very end. Remy pauses outside of it.
“I know you don’t want to take credit for killing the witch, but you’ve truly done us a favor we can never repay. I only wish I could have killed her myself.”
Up until this point, I’ve only heard anecdotal stories about Delphine. She was awful, truly, but Remy is the first person I’ve spoken to who directly lost someone because of her.
It makes it even more real. It makes me feel a little less guilty for what I did.
Remy unlocks my door and steps in, flicking on a table lamp.
The room is suddenly awash in soft, warm light.
“I lost someone too,” I find myself saying, my tongue still loose from the alcohol. “Not in the same way. I used to hope they would return for me.”
At the door, Remy turns back to me. The movement sends the pearl earrings swinging just beneath the curl of their dark hair. “Do you still hope?”
I set Toto down. He makes a turn around the room, sniffing at the floorboards and the furniture.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “Sometimes it’s all I have.”
Remy nods. “Then I hope you find what you’re looking for someday.”
“I appreciate that.”
Remy steps into the hallway and shuts the door behind them and I am finally alone.
Remy gave me a room with an attached bathroom and I spend the better part of the next half hour scrubbing at my skin with a cloth and a sink full of hot water. I keep finding speckles of blood. It feels like I will never be clean.
As I scrub dried blood from my fingernails, I see her in my mind, the Witch of the East, her wildness, her relentlessness.
I think I know who sent you, she had said.
The way she jumped to conclusions and made assumptions about me makes my blood boil. I didn’t deserve it. Because no one sent me. It was a tornado. An accident. I was a victim of it just as much as she was. Well … maybe she was slightly more of a victim, considering my house fell on her.
I glance up at my reflection in the mirror and spot another flake of dried blood just below my hairline. I scrub at it. Scrub some more until my skin turns red.
I think I’m safe here, but how do I really know?
I find a brush and an apothecary bottle in the cabinet. The bottle is made of emerald-green glass and has a label on the front with two twisted flowers. Uncorking it, I inhale and catch the scent of roses and jasmine and something musky.
I take my hair out of the braids and brush it, then tame some of the flyaways with the oil.
My reflection looks less unhinged now. A little more human. Less like a dream. Or a nightmare.
A knock sounds on my door. “It’s me, Kansas.”
My belly spins.
Toto growls.
I come out into the room and snap my fingers at him. “It’s just Rook.”
I try not to think too much about the swell of excitement, the fluttering of invisible wings as I pull the door open.
Rook has cleaned up too.
The wounds on his face have been scrubbed of blood and dirt. There are a few stitches in the cut on his forehead. Bruises remain, but I swear they already look like they’re fading.