The Ruby Fortress (Kingdoms Of Oz Book 1)

by Carrie Whitethorne

  The Ruby Fortress

  Five Kingdoms of Oz

  Book one

  ©Carrie Whitethorne 2019

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  About the Author

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Designs.

  Editing by Elemental Editing Services

  Proof Reading by Zoe’s Author Services

  Formatting by Kassie Morse

  For those who brought light into the dark.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up this book.

  While I have drawn certain elements from F Baum’s original works, this is a brand new take on the story of Oz.

  I really hope you enjoy it, and look forward to reading your reviews.

  Dear everyone else.

  Beta Readers, Jess, Zoe, everyone at DDD, Kassie, my family who love me and the friends who sat with me through some of my darkest times, thank you.

  I couldn’t do any of this without you. You all deserve so much more than a mention here. One day I’ll buy you a drink x

  Chapter 1

  I looked at the boxes and ran my hands down my face. I didn’t know where to start. My stuff was all piled in the dining room, but I couldn’t do anything with it until I’d sorted through Grandma’s old things. There wasn’t much worth keeping, but it still had to be looked through. The longer I stared at all of it, the worse it got, and the more overwhelmed I became. My plan of action? Start at the top of the house and work my way down.

  I went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, and grabbed the roll of trash bags from the countertop before heading upstairs. The attic was the best place to start since I could store everything I didn’t need there. So up I went.

  I expected there to be more up here, except there was only one trunk sitting under the window. I knew what was in there, I had many fond childhood memories of the contents of that trunk, but I put down my water and the roll of bags and opened it anyway. I pulled out the old book lying inside and opened the front page. I hadn’t read the stories for years, but I remembered them word for word. Grandma Dot had read them to me every Sunday when Mom had brought me over. They were written by her mom, my Great Grandma Dot, and she swore they were true. Mom insisted her grandma was nuts, but I didn’t care. I used to love those stories and the world my great grandma had created on those pages. I knew it wasn’t real. Those magical people and enchanting places didn’t exist anywhere but in this book. Reality was sorting through my grandma’s things, discarding many of the items she’d amassed throughout her lifetime to make room for my own stuff, and getting my ass into work so I could afford to pay my bills. Not the land of Oz and all of its magical occupants.

  I couldn’t help flipping through the pages though. I stopped on the sixth page and smiled. The silver slippers had been painstakingly sketched on the page, with each glittering stone individually drawn. Grandma Dot had made me my own pair when I was little by sewing silver sequins onto a pair of ballet slippers, and I wore them until they fell apart. By the time she got around to making me a new pair, I’d declared I was too old for silly stories and gradually visited less and less.

  Before I could start feeling guilty about it, a series of loud raps sounded on the front door, echoing through the house. I dropped the book and hurried to answer it, wondering who in the hell could be visiting me at this hour. But when I reached the bottom set of stairs, the black suit and overly rigid posture gave it away. I was so tired of creditors coming to collect money, or people asking for something. It seemed like vultures always circled after someone died, and I had enough to deal with, without them on my doorstep every other hour. I felt the anger swell as I approached the door.

  “What is it now? Mom paid you in full,” I snapped, as I furiously hauled open the door. “Has she lied to my face again?”

  The guy looked me up and down, and I noticed his brows lift. Okay, so I looked a bit odd in yoga pants, a baggy tee, and full face of makeup. Yes, my hair was carefully scraped up into a neat ponytail and set with enough spray to stop it from moving for three days. I had to admit it was a weird combination, even for me, but I had work in three hours, and I wouldn’t have time to sort the house and get ready. But there was something else in the way he examined me that told me his regard was about more than just my appearance. It made me feel edgy.

  “Is this the residence of Miss Gale?”

  His voice was crisp, impatient, but not demanding and it took me by surprise, quelling some of my anger. My tongue darted out to wet my lips and I swallowed before answering, “Not anymore.”

  He tilted his head to the side and I took a moment to register his appearance. He was tall, broad across the shoulders, and had very light brown hair that was combed back from his face and set there. He was actually really attractive, and if he wasn’t here for money, I might have been interested.

  His eyes were a startling grey, and they studied me for a moment before he confirmed, “You are not Miss Dorothy Gale?”

  I shook my head, both in disagreement and to shake the lustful thoughts away. “No. That was my Grandma. And my Great Grandma. I’m Ellana Rose,” I explained, confused. Shouldn’t a creditor know this?

  He frowned before lifting a clipboard I hadn’t noticed before, and scanned whatever was written there. “Dorothy Gale was your…?”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what that had to do with him since he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, but I answered anyway. “Great Grandmother. Her daughter was Dorothy, too, and she died last month. What do you want?” I asked, feeling my frustration build again.

  “Is this your residence?”

  I was getting sick of his tone, his stupid questions, and lack of answers. “As of last Tuesday, yes. What the hell does this have to do with you?”

  He looked up from his apparently enthralling clipboard and frowned again. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Have a good evening, Miss.”

  He turned and stepped off the porch, and I watched him walk down the garden path before pushing the door shut. That was weird, even if he was hot. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Screw it, I didn’t have time to work on the house, I was going into work.

  It was only five o’clock, but the music was pumping, the stage was lit up, and one of the girls was going through her act while the regulars were watching, tipping, and drinking. I slid up onto a stool at the bar and waited for Casey to come over. When she did, she was holding a glass of whiskey.

  “You look like you need this more than me.”

  I nodded once and knocked back the drink, pushing the glass back at her when I was done.

  “Right? One more,” I muttered with a weary sigh.

  She eyed the do
or to the office at the far end of the bar as she poured. “If Joey catches you drinking before you’re on, he’ll have something to say.”

  “Joey can kiss my ass,” I snarked with a grin.

  “Fall and he’ll fire your ass. What’s going on?” Casey eyed me in concern.

  Casey and Joey had owned the club for five years. She was all right, chill, and kept a close eye on us girls and security tight. Joey was the hard businessman and he had strict rules. Top of the list was no drinking. If a private dance was requested, we had to be stone cold sober for our own safety. In my case, it was more to do with falling. Not that I ever had. I was his best dancer and he knew it. I could handle a few drinks, but that was one of his hard lines—no drink, no drugs, no cops, and no lawsuits.

  I pushed the glass back and she took it away. When she came back I groaned, then explained, “The damn house is a mess and people keep coming around looking for her. Pretty sure I just had another guy from Harman’s at the door, even though the funeral was paid for last week. I’m starting to wish I’d never taken it.”

  She shook her head and smiled her motherly smile. “That old house is beautiful. It always takes time to settle into a new place, but once you get the house straightened out you get to live rent free. It’s a good move.”

  She was right. I was just tired of the whole process, and I hadn’t even started sorting out the house yet. “Yeah, I suppose. We busy tonight?”

  “There is a party at nine. Lisa’s on first so tips should be flowing by the time you’re up.”

  I smiled. “Thanks, Casey, I appreciate it.”

  She winked and tipped her head toward the door at the side of the bar. I took the hint and went to get ready. A busy night meant more money. More money meant getting the house taken care of. There were acres of land I had to figure what to do with, not to mention the house needed someone to drag it kicking and screaming into the twenty first century. Okay, so the kitchen was the last big thing Grandma fixed before she became ill, but the rest was going to take money.

  Chapter 2

  As I pulled my truck into the old wooden garage, I was completely exhausted. There’d been a party all right, and they’d demanded I stay on for a second slot. They paid me well enough, but hell, I was hurting. Two hours on the pole without a break was my limit. I’d walked away with two hundred dollars in tips though, so my aching thighs were worth it. It was nights like tonight when I loved my job. I’d get some odd looks if I ever disclosed what I did for a living, and my dad thought I was a cocktail waitress, which was seedy enough in his opinion, but it paid well and I loved doing it. I was fit, healthy, and the hours left me open to do what I liked all day. There weren’t many downsides.

  I didn’t bother to lock the truck or the garage—the house was far enough out of town that it wasn’t likely to be stolen, and even if it was, it wasn’t worth anything—before I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked around the outside of the house to the front door. It was warm, the moon was full, and I planned to sit on the porch for a while before heading off to bed. Except that plan was thrown out the second I turned the corner and found the hot suit standing on the bottom step of my porch.

  He smiled and looked genuinely relieved to see me. “Miss Rose.”

  I wasn’t impressed. I might have been interested in flirting some other time, but right now I was tired, I was aching, and I was done—hot or not. “What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? I said you’ve been paid.”

  “You misunderstand, Miss. I am not here for money. I am here for you.”

  The suit sounded innocent enough, but it triggered a feeling of panic. I was in the shadow of my house, with no neighbors around to hear a call for help, and the only defense I had was zipped in the bag on my shoulder. I stopped walking and casually slid the bag down my arm. “Here for me? That’s not creepy.”

  I’d opened the zipper and stuck my hand inside while I spoke, trying to keep his attention on my face. “What do you need me for?”

  “I was sent to find Miss Dorothy Gale. Her passing was unexpected, but as her living descendent, you will suffice.”

  “The death of a ninety-two-year-old was unexpected?” I drawled, trying to keep any hint of sarcasm from my voice as my hand closed around my small pistol.

  He had the sense to look uncomfortable. “Indeed.”

  “And I’m not her only living descendent. My mom is alive. Why haven’t you tracked her down?”

  “I was sent for a female relative fitting your description at this address.”

  Yeah, that didn’t make any sense. He originally said he was looking for my grandma, not a relative. And considering I didn’t look like an old lady, I figured he must have been making it up—or he was crazy.

  “Sure, you were,” I muttered, wondering how fast I could make it back to my car. Not fast enough, I decided.

  I watched him, and he watched me. I wasn’t sure if I really had the balls to shoot him if he came closer, but I gripped the gun and ran my thumb over the safety.

  “Miss Rose, if you would give me five minutes of your time, I could explain before we leave.”

  That was it. That’s what pushed me. I pulled my right hand from my bag and pointed the gun at his thigh. “I’m not going anywhere. Now back off or I’ll shoot you and call the police. You understand?”

  He just looked at me. There was no reaction to the weapon pointed at him. He wasn’t worried that I might shoot him. He didn’t even seem to recognize how dangerous the situation had become for him. “Miss Rose, you must accompany me to Oz. You are expected.”

  Now that I hadn't been anticipating. Nobody knew about that place except my family and me. We didn’t talk about it because my slightly eccentric great grandmother had insisted the place was real, and had been carted off for psychiatric treatment after sharing the products of her wild imagination. The rest of us wanted to avoid that unfortunate fate. I lowered the gun a fraction, confused. “To… what did you say?”

  “Oz. The land of Oz, Miss Rose. Glinda the Good awaits your arrival.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. I’d just buried my grandmother, I’d been left with all of her mess to clear up, and my mom only showed her face long enough to sign the paperwork to give me the house and make me disappear from her perfect, new life. I was tired and aching after a double shift, and this guy had turned up on my doorstep twice in one day to tell me I was needed in a fairy-tale land, which only existed in a book in my attic. Either my exhaustion was creating hallucinations or I had a lunatic stalking me.

  “You are Ellana Rose, descendent of Dorothy Gale, killer of the Witches of the East and West, rightful owner of the magical slippers, and heir to the thrones of the Ruby Fortress and the Quartz Tower?”

  I laughed the whole time he spoke. It was ridiculous. I didn’t know how he’d heard about the place, I knew we hadn’t shared the story outside of the family, but to hear someone I didn’t know, and whom I was pointing a gun at, talking about it like it really existed was hilarious. “Yes, to the first and second—”

  I was cut off as a strange feeling began to spread through my feet. They felt hot and tight. I didn’t dare look down.

  The suit smiled, a genuine friendly smile, and repeated, “Then, Miss Rose, you are expected.”

  The stillness of the night was suddenly disturbed by the roar of wind and I startled, having to concentrate on not shooting the guy in the leg. There was no explanation for it. There’d been no tornado warnings and the weather had been pleasant for days, but the abrupt strong wind was enough to make me run for the cellar—if I could have moved, but my feet were rooted.

  Terror seized my throat and I looked at the suit for help. He didn't look concerned in the slightest. He was still smiling. I glanced down at my feet and gasped. Through the whirl of the wind, I saw that my feet were no longer in my comfortable running shoes. No, they were in a pair of silver encrusted heels. Not slippers, like my grandma had made for me, but heels. Just like the ones I
wore for work. Five-inch heels. Impossible to walk in heels.

  “What the hell is going on?” I wheezed out in terror and confusion. This wasn’t normal.

  I hadn't expected him to hear me over the roar of the wind, but he stepped closer despite the gun in my hand, and bent to speak into my ear. While he didn’t touch me, my skin prickled at his proximity, and my instinct was to pull away, but I couldn’t. “You are needed, Ellana.”

  The wind died down and I pulled away, meeting his eyes. He was watching me intently, and despite everything that was going on, I couldn’t look away. There was something about him that I couldn’t quite… But I was tired and this whole situation was weird.

  When I finally pulled myself together and broke eye contact with him, I was ready to pull the trigger. I would have if the damn pistol had still been in my hand. But it wasn’t. Furious, I looked down to see that my bag was still by my feet, right next to the silver stilettos—nope, apparently I didn’t make those up—but my gun was gone. When I looked back up, I stopped breathing altogether. We weren’t at my house anymore.

  I wanted to start screaming, but I knew I didn’t have the breath in my body. I should have slapped him then, but I didn’t have the strength. A tiny voice in the back of my mind was whispering that I knew what was going on. I knew those shoes. I knew what that wind was, and I knew where it had taken me. I knew the voice was right. They weren’t the exact same shoes painfully illustrated in Great Grandma’s storybook, but they were an Ella-esque version. It wasn’t wind, and it wasn’t natural. And the guy in the suit wasn’t a bailiff or a mortician.