I rolled my eyes openly and took a blueberry scone from a tray in the center of the table. As soon as it was in my hand, another one appeared on the tray to take its place.
“Don’t you and Em have anything better to do than bother us with more boring Kansas talk?” I asked with every bit of fake-sweetness I could muster. “Maybe there are some slop buckets in the garden that you can haul around all day. Or a field to plow?”
Henry’s jaw dropped in surprise at my sudden rudeness. I have to admit, I was surprised at myself, too, but I really didn’t see why he had to keep picking at me like this when he could see perfectly well how much it upset me. Still, I didn’t want to embarrass everyone with another nasty argument.
I decided to try something. I looked him square in the eye and focused on my shoes, feeling them grow warm.
Using magic to control another human being wasn’t anything that had even occurred to me when I had been practicing back in my room. Of course, I knew it wasn’t right, and I promised myself I wouldn’t make a habit of it. But if I could use the power I had to make my aunt and uncle see that staying in Oz was the only sensible choice for us, well wasn’t that a case where we all got what we wanted?
With every bit of confidence that I was doing the thing that was more than justified, I invited the magic in. With just a thought, I pulled it up through my body and then directed it out at my uncle, imagining him saying the words I wanted to hear.
“I think your aunt and I are going to go take a walk,” he muttered stiffly, just as if I had scripted it myself. Well, I had, hadn’t I? “After all, there’s so much to see in this beautiful land, and I want to take in every single bit of it if it takes me all year.”
Aunt Em looked too surprised to question him when Henry pulled himself away from the banquet table and took her hand to get up. Without even saying good-bye, they walked mechanically out of the room.
The Scarecrow and the Lion and the Tin Woodman were all staring at their backs, confused at what had just happened. “Lovely to meet you!” the Tin Woodman called after them, but they were already gone.
Ozma was the only one not watching my aunt and uncle go. She was looking at me. “Dorothy . . . ,” she said.
I cut her off. “Thank goodness,” I sighed. “Finally, we can have a real conversation without all their bothersome complaining.”
Ozma nodded slowly, her brow furrowing in concern. Frustration started to boil beneath my skin. She was just as bad as they were, in her own way. But she let the issue drop, for now at least, and silently took another dainty sip of her fizzy purple drink.
I wasn’t going to let her ruin my reunion with my best friends—my only friends, really. Actually, I wanted to jump for joy. I had just done magic. Real, live, actual magic! It hadn’t even been that difficult. I’d just imagined what I wanted Henry to do, and he’d done it, like he was a marionette and I was standing over him pulling the strings. If that was all it took, they would never be able to make me go back to Kansas. And imagine what else I could do.
I knew, suddenly, that the shoes weren’t just meant to get me back to Oz. They were meant to teach me things. To show me what Ozma—the spoilsport!—wouldn’t.
Now the Tin Woodman was waxing on about the beauty of Sky Island with its rivers of lemonade and its cloud mountains, and how he so wished we could all visit it together. The Scarecrow was listening closely, interrupting from time to time with a detail the Tin Woodman had forgotten, and the Lion roamed around the room restlessly, with Toto following after him like—well, like a puppy, actually.
Through it all, Ozma was cheerful and bright-eyed, happy to be part of the conversation, but every now and then she’d glance over at me searchingly, like she was looking for something.
I kept wishing that she would just leave. I had to talk to my friends. Alone. The Scarecrow knew it, too. He kept suggesting things to her—things like, “Oh, it’s getting late, isn’t it time for you to go find Jellia and discuss your schedule for the day?” But Ozma didn’t take the bait. I wondered if she was just having a good time or if there was more to it—if maybe she didn’t trust us to be alone together.
It was risky to try using magic on her. Doing a little spell on my uncle was bound to be different than doing it on a fairy who already knew a thing or two about spells herself. Then again, my shoes were powerful. When she’d given me my makeover yesterday, her own magic hadn’t even been able to touch them. If they were powerful, it meant that I was powerful, too. Maybe even more powerful than she was.
So I gave it a spin. I changed her mind. This time, I tried to be more precise about what I was doing, so she wouldn’t be able to detect it and fight back.
I envisioned the magic as a tendril of ruby-red smoke, as thin and delicate as the smoke rings that Henry sometimes blew to make me laugh when he was smoking his pipe. I pulled it up from my shoes and sent it drifting invisibly across the table to burrow itself into Ozma’s ear.
A distant, distracted look made its way across her face. She looked as though she was trying to remember something. “I . . . ,” she said.
Go, I commanded silently. As soon as I thought the word, Ozma’s expression resolved itself into one of surprised realization.
“Please excuse me,” she said. “I think I left something in my chambers. Give me just a few minutes.” With that, she stood up, set her napkin down, and hurried out.
He didn’t say anything, but I was pretty sure I saw the Scarecrow smirk approvingly in my direction.
It wasn’t right. I do realize that. People aren’t little marionettes to be pulled this way and that without their say-so in the matter. On the other hand, just because it wasn’t right didn’t mean it wasn’t fun.
As soon as Her Royal Highness was out of earshot, he turned to me.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked. “Do you know where Glinda is?”
Everyone looked at me eagerly. Apparently the Scarecrow had filled them all in on his suspicions. Our suspicions, now.
“We’ve been waiting to hear,” the Lion rumbled. “We’ve all had our doubts about the princess from the very get-go. The way she just marched in here and acted like she owned the place. As if the Scarecrow here hadn’t been ruling perfectly well in her absence.”
The Tin Woodman set his fork down. “And where did she come from? How do we even know she’s the real princess? Just because she says so? She’ll offer up no explanation for where she’d been. I’m the governor of Winkie Country and the gentlest soul in all the land—you would think she would feel that she owed at least me an explanation. With my heart, I would be sure to understand.”
I leaned in and whispered. “I’m almost certain the princess is keeping something from me,” I confessed. “I don’t know what, but . . .”
“Oh dear,” the Tin Woodman said, a grave expression on his face.
“My brains almost never fail me,” the Scarecrow said. “And I truly think Ozma had something to do with Glinda’s disappearance. She’s never showed more than the most cursory concern for the Sorceress’s whereabouts. Dorothy, you’re back here for a reason. You have to find our friend. But keep your wits about you. Ozma may seem sweet. But everything I know tells me she’s dangerous.”
“I have to agree,” the Tin Woodman said. “I can feel it in the bottom of my heart.”
The Lion just growled softly.
I knew they were all right. But . . .
I wasn’t afraid of her. Suddenly I wasn’t afraid of anything. There was real power in my shoes. I could feel it. Every time I used them to cast a spell, I could feel myself getting better, stronger. And I wanted more.
Why should I be afraid? She was the one who should be afraid of me.
Fifteen
We spent hours sitting around the breakfast table. Long after the plates had cleared themselves and the morning had passed into afternoon, we’d laughed and commiserated, retelling stories of our old adventures and some new stories, too.
The Lion told me all abo
ut his adventures in the Northern lands—exotic by even Oz standards—and the Tin Woodman told me all about his experiences governing the unruly Winkie folk.
I told the story of my sixteenth birthday party, and I saw that it had moved my tin friend so greatly that a tear was trickling down his metal face.
“Oh dear,” he said, when he saw that I had caught him in his tenderheartedness. He dabbed at his face with a napkin. “This heart of mine is a wonderful gift, but it does make rust a significant concern.”
Soon after, he and the Scarecrow decided it was time to go tidy themselves up. The Lion ventured off to the forest just outside the city for his afternoon jog. I was still trying to decide what I was going to do with what was left of my day when Jellia Jamb, Ozma’s handmaid, appeared, summoning me to meet the princess in the garden.
The day was sunny and warm, and I found her sitting on a wrought-iron bench next to a tinkling fountain. She was looking fondly at a tiny little Pixie who was perched on her extended finger. They seemed to be deep in conversation.
“Oh!” Ozma exclaimed when she saw me approaching. The Pixie went fluttering away. “The little thing was just telling me the silliest joke. Everyone else thinks these Pixies are so irritating, but I think they’re amusing. Anyway, they’re part of Oz, aren’t they? And everything here has its place in the order of things.”
Is she kidding? I wondered. This Little Miss Sunshine act would make Shirley Temple herself want to tap-dance right off a cliff.
“Anyway,” she said brightly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
I folded my arms and prepared myself for the haughty lecture she was about to give me. About how I’d lied to her about the shoes, about how she had warned me not to do magic, and how I’d had the nerve to disobey her. About how reckless she thought I was being.
Maybe she didn’t know it, but even if I was in Oz, I was still a citizen of the United States, and where I came from we didn’t put much stock in self-appointed monarchs—no matter whether their blood was blue or purple or sprinkled with fairy dust.
Sometimes even a princess can surprise you, though. “I think I’d like to throw you a big party,” Ozma said. “What do you think about that?”
She had caught me off guard. “What kind of party?” I asked, suspicious. A party? I was sure she’d seen what I’d done at the breakfast table. Even if she hadn’t felt me magicking her, she had to have noticed me casting a spell on Henry. I’d seen the expression on her face. Now she wanted to throw me a party? There had to be some sort of catch.
Ozma stood up and did a playful little pirouette across the grass, and I remembered suddenly that, fairy princess or not, she was really just a girl. A girl who was lonely—a girl who had been waiting and waiting for someone like me to keep her company. She needed me. Maybe she was willing to let a spell here and there slide. What’s a little magic between girlfriends, right?
“Oh, a wonderful party,” she said dreamily. “I don’t suppose you’re sick of your birthday already, are you?”
“Sixteen is a big one,” I allowed hesitantly.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed. “It’s been too long since I threw a ball. We so rarely have an occasion. I don’t even know when my own birthday is—isn’t that terrible? But all of Oz loves a party, and the whole city’s already abuzz with your return. A celebration is in order!”
I had to admit I liked the sound of it. “The party Aunt Em threw for me was . . . well, it wasn’t quite what either of us hoped,” I said. “Maybe this can be a do-over. I’m sure it would make her happy, too, to get it right this time.”
Ozma clapped her hands. “Of course! A do-over!” She said the word as if she had never heard it before, as if she was savoring each syllable as it rolled off her tongue. “We’ll invite everyone,” she said. “The Munchkins, the Winkies, even the Nomes and the Pixies and the Winged Monkeys and all of Oz’s most important personalities. Polychrome will come from the Rainbow Falls; and I hope the Wogglebug can tear himself away from his classes at the university. We’ll even invite General Jinjur—though I’m sure she won’t make it. She’s not much for dances.” Ozma rolled her eyes. “I have to tell you about Jinjur and her all-girl army sometime.”
I sat on the bench and studied her as she drifted into a party-planning reverie. To think I’d almost sympathized with her when she’d complained about the burdens of royalty. If this was the extent of her duties, it didn’t seem so bad at all.
Still . . . a party. For me. What better way for me to announce my return to Oz for good?
Ozma slid back down onto the bench beside me and draped a slender arm over my shoulder. Her wrist of bangles glinted in the sunlight.
“And,” she said, raising her eyebrows in conspiracy, “it will be the perfect way to show your aunt and uncle what fun it is here. Once they’ve seen a royal ball, they’ll never think of going home. You won’t even need to use those special shoes of yours to convince them.”
The words hung in the air. So there it was. I’d almost let her trick me into buying her act.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I sniffed. I wasn’t fooling anyone, naturally—she knew, and I knew she knew, and she knew I knew she knew—but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing me come clean.
“Oh, Dorothy,” she said. “You don’t need to hide it. I knew those shoes were enchanted from the moment I laid eyes on them. And I don’t blame you for experimenting with them. Magic can be quite intoxicating.” Her eyes darkened. “Too intoxicating,” she said, the singsong of her voice giving way to sternness. “So let’s just get them off, okay? That way you won’t be tempted.”
She twirled a finger and pointed it at my feet, at my beautiful, shiny shoes. A green spark sizzled from her fingertip, zigzagged through the air, and bounced right off my heel. The shoes glowed in response to the insult, but they didn’t budge.
Ozma frowned, seeing that her spell hadn’t worked. I was already on my feet. I spun around and faced her in a rage.
“They’re mine,” I said. “She gave them to me, and you can’t do anything about it.”
Ozma’s mild smile didn’t flicker. She was one cool cucumber when she set her mind to it, I had to give her that much. “She?” the princess asked, cocking her head to the side.
“Don’t play innocent,” I hissed. “Neither of us was born yesterday. You know who she is. Glinda. What, were you jealous of her? Did you want her out of the way so you could keep all the power for yourself?”
Ozma put a hand to her cheek like she’d just been slapped. She shook her head. “You’re not in your right mind. Those shoes. The magic is already beginning to twist you. The way it did with . . .”
I didn’t care to let her finish. I was too upset. Rightfully so, I should say! Glinda had been the one who had watched over Oz while she’d been off wherever she was, and Ozma had gone and done away with her without so much as a how-do-you-do. She had some nerve playing innocent with me now—as if it was anything other than a power grab worthy of a true tyrant. “A Scarecrow’s one thing,” I said, sneering openly. “You surely got him out of the palace fast enough. A Sorceress, though, that’s another story, isn’t it? Couldn’t have her mucking things up for you, now could you?”
Ozma bit her lip and looked away like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Glinda didn’t have Oz’s best interests at heart,” she murmured. “Trust me, Dorothy. I know that she was kind to you, but the Sorceress is not everything that she appears at first. I had no choice. It’s my duty to keep Oz safe.”
“Naturally,” I said. “After all, you’re the one true ruler, and everyone else can just fall in line. Why, you call yourself a fairy, but you’re no better than a wicked witch. And you know my history with them.”
Ozma’s gaze turned steely at my threat, and I knew that she was through with arguing. She rose to her feet.
“I need the shoes. Now.” Ozma reached for her scepter on the bench. “It’s for your own good.”
/> I didn’t give her a chance to get to it.
It was easy-peasy this time. I barely even had to think about what I was doing. With every spell I cast, I was becoming more powerful. It was like my shoes were doing the work for me.
This time, I could actually see the magic with my own two eyes as it unspooled from my palm as a gauzy scarlet thread and curled toward her. Ozma could see it, too: her eyes widened in dismay and she took an unsteady step back. I guess she hadn’t expected this.
That would teach her to underestimate me, Dorothy Gale, the Witchslayer herself. There was nothing she could do. My magic was already twisting its way into her skull like a corkscrew.
Her gaze turned to mush. The side of her mouth drooped a bit.
I felt a sick joy in my chest as I used the magical filament like a piece of dental floss, pulling back and forth with my mind, carefully scraping Ozma’s memory clean of our conversation.
When I’d changed Uncle Henry’s mind just a few hours ago, I’d sworn to myself that I wouldn’t do it again. But then I had, just a few minutes later. And now I was literally changing Ozma’s mind. Sprucing it up and making it presentable the way one would change the sheets on the bed.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had the vaguest notion that I was the one being wicked. But I found that I didn’t care. In fact, I almost enjoyed it.
I made her forget the shoes, and our talk of Glinda, and the incident with Uncle Henry at the breakfast table. When I was done, I was just Dorothy Gale, her dear friend and confidante, a spunky, headstrong girl from Kansas to whom the people of Oz—her loyal subjects—owed a debt of gratitude. Or three. A girl with an unusually lovely pair of red high heels.
I let her keep the party idea, though. No point in throwing the baby out with the bathwater, is there?
Sixteen
Over the next week, Ozma put all thoughts of ruling the kingdom aside as she made plans for what she promised me would be the grandest event Oz had seen in most people’s lifetimes. Every day, chefs, bakers, dressmakers, and party planners visited the palace, each one of them bursting with wild ideas and begging for the princess’s favor.
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