Chapter Forty-One. Dorothy
FORTY-ONE
Dorothy
“I did not make water.”
Both men are staring at me. I close my arms around my midsection, suddenly feeling exposed and raw.
The panic has subsided, but now I’m exhausted and still shaky.
After I had a panic attack, Em would make me a cup of tea and heat up some stew if we had it.
There is nothing more comforting than a bowl of hot soup.
Thinking about Em makes me want to descend into tears again. I’m so tired and I just want to go home. But getting home will require me to first get out of this dungeon and past the Witch of the West. I’m not sure where the Tinman stands, but if I have to fight him too, I will.
I’m still stuck inside my cell with the Tinman between me and the hall. My cell door is open and there’s at least one winged monkey at the stairwell. What are my chances of escape? Not good. But my chances are even less if I stay down here.
“Really,” I try again, because both men haven’t said a word. “I didn’t make water. That’s ridiculous. How do you even make water?”
“Water kills the witch.” The Tinman—Silas, apparently—whispers the words. But his whisper is loud and rough around the edges as if he has never known a quiet moment in his life.
“Really? I thought she was unkillable?”
Gabriel is frowning at his brother now, as if this is news to him too. “Everyone knows the Witch of the West suffers two weaknesses, but no one knows the second. If it was water, that would explain why she’s never given me any, not even a bowl to wash my hands.”
“Does magic run in your family?” the Tinman asks me.
“What? No. I’m not from here. There is no magic where I live.”
“Which is where?”
“Kansas. That’s why I’m trying to get to the wizard so he can help get me home.”
Both men go still and though the light is faint with the torches at the Tinman’s back, I catch the way his brows sink into a deep scowl.
“The wizard, you say?” The words come out like wheat ground beneath stone.
“Do you know him?”
Gabriel snorts and turns away.
“So you do know him? Can you take me to him?”
“I would sooner feed myself to a dragon.”
“Wait … are there dragons to feed yourself to?”
“Never mind. Back to the water.”
“Tin,” Gabriel calls. We both follow his line of sight to a large basin in the stone floor where water has puddled. “Maybe there’s enough here.”
“How would I gather it though? My bare fucking hands?”
“Isn’t that a canteen?” I point at the metal container strapped around his body. “Is there not water in there?”
He lifts it as if remembering it’s there. “No. Not water.”
“So empty it out.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a drug,” Gabriel answers. “One that he needs.”
The way the Tinman casts his gaze aside, his jaw flexing with a grit of his teeth, tells me this is a detail he does not want to discuss. But he’s the one who is demanding I make water to kill the witch.
“What happens if you don’t have it?”
“I’ll lock up.” He inhales through his nose and trudges on. “Without a heart, blood doesn’t run through my body like it should. I nearly died … after I was cursed. The Oil thins my blood and keeps it pumping through my veins. Without it, I’m useless and then shortly after I’m useless, I’m dead.”
“Oh.” I swallow, embarrassment pinking my cheeks. I didn’t mean to pry. “I’m sorry. That must be horrible.”
“I would think so, if I cared.”
Because he doesn’t have a heart.
He’s an addict by necessity. He can’t quit even if he wanted to, and how can you want something when you can’t care about a single thing?
Except his brother. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care about Gabriel. But I don’t point that out.
“Can you be fixed?” I ask.
“Only our other brother can remove the curse,” Gabriel says, his voice echoing down the hall.
“So why don’t you ask him?”
The Tinman licks his lips. “I would sooner feed myself to a dragon.”
I roll my eyes. “It can’t be that bad!”
“Let’s focus on the water,” he says, turning into the hallway.
“Fine. But … the drug—”
“Tinman!” The witch’s voice reverberates off the stone like a primordial war cry.
A shiver rolls down my spine.
“You’ve been down there too long and I am losing my patience.”
“I’m fucking trying!” he shouts back.
The fire in the iron torches gutters out.
“Shit,” the Tinman mutters.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“He fucked up,” Gabriel says.
The Tinman makes a choking sound. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see him clutching at his throat.
“Is she doing this?” I ask.
“Yes. Get his canteen,” Gabriel says.
I hurry forward, pulling the strap for the canteen over his head.
His eyes bug out. I can only imagine he’s starting to turn blue.
“Now what?”
“Pour the Oil into the cap and help him drink it. It’ll help him combat the magic.”
“Get up here now!” The witch’s voice echoes down the stairwell and through the hall. “Balor!”
There’s a clank of metal as the winged monkey on guard steps away from his post at the entrance.
With shaking fingers, I fill the canteen cap. The Tinman’s hand clasps over mine and together we bring the cap to his mouth.
He drinks back the dark liquid.
“Now that water,” Gabriel whispers.
The Tinman sucks in a breath.
“Empty out the Oil first.”
I turn the canteen over and the liquid seeps out.
“Fucking hell,” the Tinman says, still breathing heavily. “I could have drunk the rest of it!”
“There’s no time,” Gabriel says. “Fill it with water!”
We snap into action.
There’s no more time to discuss the plan, the consequences, or the likelihood of us beating the witch and getting out of the castle.
The Tinman holds the canteen while I scoop water into it.
The monkey’s footsteps are growing closer by the second.
“Keep going,” Gabriel says, watching the hallway for us.
I empty out the second pool and find a third, filling the canteen halfway. How much water does one need to kill a witch?
Gabriel whistles a warning.
The Tinman straightens, yanks me to my feet. We manage to get the cap on the canteen and the strap over the Tinman’s head when Balor reappears.
“She’s ready to give up the slippers,” the Tinman reports.
“Then come,” Balor says and waves us forward.
The Tinman wraps his hand around my bicep, taking control of me as he leads me to the stairs.