Chapter Thirty-One. Dorothy
THIRTY-ONE
Dorothy
We spill out into the street, Rook leading Toto and me down the sidewalk at a brisk clip.
The streets are still empty, all of Glimming Hollow a silent tomb save for the crackle of magic in the streetlamps.
And then—
A dark shadow flies overhead and a piercing screech echoes over the rooftops.
“What is that?”
“Keep your head down,” Rook instructs, taking my hand, yanking me beneath the awnings of the nearby shops.
We pass window display after display. Frosted cupcakes, striped sweets, leather-bound books, decorated boxes.
How do these two things exist alongside each other?
This normal, colorful, sweet-filled life alongside war and wicked witches and axe-wielding mercenaries?
It’s jarring to think about how close we exist to beauty and danger.
When we reach the next intersection, Rook comes to an abrupt stop. I slam into his back with an oomph, and then he’s shoving me against the stone wall of a bakery as another screech emanates from the sky.
The sound makes my skin crawl. I shiver next to Rook.
He turns to me, puts his finger to his mouth again.
There is no fear on his face. Whether or not he knows what danger flies above, he is eerily calm about it.
But I can’t seem to catch my breath. Can’t seem to settle the rapid acceleration of my beating heart.
It feels like I’m trapped in a never-ending nightmare. When will I get home? Will I even make it?
Rook holds his hand up and counts down with his fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
Go.
He pulls me again. Around the corner. Duck.
Another squall in the distance.
I trip over my skirt. Rook rights me. We move.
We make it to the next square where another bronze statue stands forever frozen in movement. We dart between the statue’s legs when a whistle brings us to a stop.
Across the way, shrouded in shadow, are two horses. Remy sits atop one, waving us over.
Rook cranes his neck, checking the sky from beneath the billowed fabric of the statue’s bronze dress.
“Come,” he finally says and we sneak away, cutting diagonally across the square.
When we meet up with Remy beneath the deep awning of a livery, I immediately recognize the horse.
“Sabil!” I say without thinking.
Rook clamps his hand over my mouth.
My heart leaps again.
There is a flash of irritation furrowed in the space between his dark brows and then he’s leaning into me, his mouth at the curve of my ear, his breath warm. But even so, I shiver beneath his touch. “We must be silent, Kansas. Promise me you will.”
When he pulls back, his bright green eyes search mine for confirmation.
Goosebumps pop on my arms. I nod my head.
Good, he mouths.
Sabil nickers. I grab Toto and, with Rook’s help, climb into the saddle. Once I’m seated, he deftly seats himself behind me.
“I can get you to safety,” Remy whispers. “Follow me.” And their lithe black mare takes off into the night.
We ride away from the town square. The farther we ride, the thicker the shadows become. There are no more flying monsters in the sky.
“Where are you taking us?” Rook asks as we trot side by side down a wide cobblestone road. The great wall surrounding Glimming Hollow looms on the horizon.
“There’s a hidden entrance in and out of the Hollow,” Remy answers. “Only the council knows about it.”
“And you?” I ask.
Remy nods. “My family has been on the council for decades. They helped design the entrance.” Remy nods to the west where a squat house sits butted up against the wall. “The house hides it.”
With a click of their tongue, Remy’s horse trots forward.
When we come upon the house, the windows are dark, the plants in the stone pots on the front stoop brittle and brown. Forgotten and abandoned. Or maybe that’s exactly how they mean it to look.
Remy slides off their horse and ties off the reins to the white railing.
Rook gets off Sabil first, then takes Toto from me.
I swing my leg over, trying to tame the dress as I do so it doesn’t get tangled around my ankles when I hop to the ground.
“Do we have time for me to change?” I ask and hold up the checkered dress that’s been balled in my arms. I don’t think I can handle one more minute in this ball gown while running from the Tinman and his sky-bound monsters.
“If you’re quick,” Rook answers.
“Here.” Remy digs in their pants pocket and produces a small glass vial with just a few drops of green liquid inside. “Put this on your pulse points while changing. It’ll help mask your scent from the winged monkeys long enough for you to get away.”
“I’m sorry … did you say winged monkeys?”
“How long will it last?” Rook asks.
“A few hours, if that. It might give you a big enough lead.”
“Is it emerald flash?” Rook asks.
Remy nods. “Very good. It should be enough for the both of you.”
“Hold on … winged monkeys?!”
Remy finally looks at me. “The monkeys are usually only found deep in the mountains of the West, and most days, they will pose no threat to you if you leave them be. But the Witch of the West has a magical hold over them. She has for years. If she’s sent them, they have a mission, and they will do whatever they must to fulfill that mission.
And they are vicious, violent creatures when forced to act. ”
“They’re with the Tinman?” Rook asks and Remy nods.
“I should get back before someone notices me gone. You’ll find the hidden escape in the shed around back.”
“We appreciate the help,” Rook says.
Remy makes their way to the horses, hoisting themself up into the saddle on their horse while holding the reins for Sabil.
“If I were you,” Remy says before taking off, “I’d hurry.” And then they click their tongue and dart off into the night.
“Kansas.”
I jolt at my nick name and look over at Rook. The way he said it, it wasn’t so much a question as a command.
Something about him has changed. He no longer seems meek or unassuming or naive. There is a new tenor of authority in every syllable, every look, every movement in his body.
“Go in and get changed.” He uncorks the vial, sniffing the contents. “Use half of this.” He reaches over, fingers brushing gently against the delicate skin beneath my ear. “Put it here.” He grabs my arm next and rubs his thumb over my wrist. “And here.”
That shiver returns and Rook notices the tremble in my shoulders. Something close to a smile lifts at the corner of his mouth.
“Go on.” He hands me the vial. “Be quick, Kansas.”
I take the emerald flash and head inside with Toto following close on my heels.
The air is stale inside the house, as if no one has walked through the door in a very long time. As if the oven has always been empty, the hearth always cold. Judging by the lack of soot on the stone, maybe it’s never even been used.
The living room is sparse with one rocking chair by the front window and a spindled table beside it. There’s a thin clothbound book on the table, the title embossed in gold.
When the Gods Roamed Oz, the title reads. There is no author name.
I find the nearest room, what looks like a bedroom with one window and an empty closet. Inside, with Toto close behind, I shut the door and hang my checkered dress on a hook beside it.
“I’m sorry I left you at the inn,” I tell him as I fight with the zipper on the ball gown.
He sits back on his hind legs and watches me with unblinking eyes.
“I didn’t think there was any risk in letting you rest, but apparently I need to always be on alert here.”
He chuffs at me.
“Thank you for getting my dress. I can’t imagine running from the Tinman and the witch’s … monkeys? In a ball gown. I’d end up dead and then…”
Tears well up, catching me off guard.
I close my eyes, the dress now hanging around my waist, the giant skirt starting to pool on the hardwood floor.
What if I never make it home? What if I never see Em and Henry again?
And why the hell am I stuck in the middle of all this conflict in Oz? This isn’t my fight. It’s not my problem.
And why did the Tinman know my name? Has the Witch of the West sent him after me too because of what I did to the Witch of the East? I was under the impression no love was lost between them, so I don’t know why she would come after me.
I step out of the dress and my silver slippers glitter in whatever light is able to steal through the dark, ominous cloud outside.
And then it strikes me, what the witch might want.
Take the slippers. Hurry. That’s what Cleo had said to me right before the Witch of the North appeared and tried to snatch the slippers away.
The Enders said they were powerful slippers, charmed by magic.
There’s no denying that Oz has magic. Not now. Not after everything I’ve witnessed.
That moment, back in the garden at the provost’s mansion when the wind gusted in, tossing three huge men into the air … that certainly seemed like magic.
Was it the slippers? Maybe they protect the wearer?
If the Witch of the North and the Witch of the West both want the slippers …
I just need to get to the wizard. I’ll give the slippers to him as payment for helping me return to Kansas, and then he can deal with the witches himself. He’s the most powerful in all of Oz. Whatever conflict is brewing between the Cardinal Witches, he can deal with it.
Before redressing, I uncork the bottle of emerald flash. The smell of licorice permeates the air, and beneath that, cinnamon and rose. Putting my finger over the mouth of the bottle, I upend it, coating my fingertip. I dab the oil on the pulse points where Rook instructed.
Beneath my ear. On my wrists. The oil heats up, sending a flush of warmth through my body. Then, in an instant, it’s gone.
I grab my dress from the hook and step into it. As soon as the soft cotton is on my body, I feel some semblance of home again.
The tears return.
I’m coming, Em and Henry. I’m coming home no matter what I have to do to get there.
I leave the ball gown abandoned in the empty bedroom. I have no use for it now.
But before I leave, I decide to grab the book about the Oz gods, slipping it into the pocket of my dress.