Dorothy Must Die: The Other Side of the Rainbow Collection: No Place Like Oz, Dorothy Must Die, The Witch Must Burn, The Wizard Returns, The Wicked Will Rise (32 page)

“Long story,” I said.

Pete frowned, but I didn’t care. I was just giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“I have time,” he said.

“Good. That means you have time to tell me about the Wizard,” I replied, reminding myself to stay focused on my mission.

Pete bit his lip. “Okay,” he said, disappointment in his voice. “If that’s what you want to talk about.”

“Spill it,” I commanded.

“There’s not a lot to tell,” he said, averting his eyes. “I don’t know a lot about the Wizard. No one does.”

I pulled my hand away and placed it in my lap. Star was racing around the room, sniffing everything. “Tell me what you
do
know, then. Why is he here? What happened? What’s his deal?”

Pete paused like he was trying to decide how much was safe to say, and then nodded. “There are different theories. The Wizard left in his balloon just before Dorothy used magic to go home. You know that part of the story.”

I nodded.

“For a while he was gone. And then he wasn’t. That’s where it gets a little hazy.”

“Someone brought him back?”

“Maybe. Or maybe the balloon never took him home at all. No one really knows. What we do know is that somewhere along the way, he spent some time with the witches. That’s how he became a
real
wizard instead of a fake one.”

I jerked my face toward him in surprise. “What witches?”

“The ones who are left—the ones Dorothy didn’t kill. Not counting Glinda, obviously, though her twin sister is one of them. Their leader’s a witch named Mombi. Anyway, between the time the Wizard left and the time he showed up back at the palace, she and the Wizard became allies. They aren’t anymore, though. He came back to the palace pretty soon after Dorothy returned. Apparently he and Mombi had a falling out.”

Now
this
was getting interesting. Still, I kept my face expressionless. I didn’t want him to know that I knew Mombi or any of the other witches.

“I talked to the Wizard today,” I said. “He was weird. He caught me doing . . . something, but I don’t think he cared. I think he might know who I am.”

Pete’s eyebrows raised. “It’s possible,” he said. “The Wizard always seems to know more than everyone else. It has something to do with the kind of magic he uses. It’s different from the usual Oz magic. He’s a real wizard now. The question is what
kind
of wizard he is.”

Exactly. The usual question: Good or Wicked?

“Dorothy doesn’t trust him,” Pete continued. “But she thinks she can use him. I don’t even know if the Wizard himself knows whose side he’s on.”

“What if he’s figured me out?” I asked. “What if he tells Dorothy what he saw?”

Pete twisted his mouth in thought. “I don’t think he’d do that,” he said. “But I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t so sure. What if the Wizard was supposed to be my contact here in the palace? His arrival pretty much synchronized with mine, and if everyone believed he’d had a falling out with Mombi that could make for good cover. There was still so much I didn’t know.

“What about Ozma?” I asked. “I saw her, too. I think it was the real Ozma, not one of her holograms.”

Pete’s face twitched, just barely, but enough for me to notice. “She’s around. I’ve never met her. She’s not herself—Dorothy did something to her. Listen, just ignore her. That’s what everyone else does.”

“She kissed me,” I said.

“That sounds like Ozma,” he said. “She’s in her own little world. It’s kind of sad.”

Suddenly his eyes glazed over. His hands trembled at his sides. He tried to shove them in his pockets.

“Pete?” He began to flicker.

“I have to go.”

Before I could stop him, Pete slipped out the door and into the hallway. He didn’t even say good-bye.

At my feet, Star tittered and scratched. I picked her up and snuggled her against my chest, sighing.

“Well,” I said to my loyal pet rat, “at least I have one ally here I can trust.”

“How about you carry a poison capsule in your little jaws and drop it into her mint julep? Think you could pull that off?”

Star stared at me, then scratched my chest with her tiny claws and went back to sleep. I guess she wasn’t into my idea.

It was early the next morning. I hadn’t slept well and had spent most of the night tossing and turning, much to Star’s chittering annoyance, and now I was up before the magic bell at my bedside had even summoned me to my chores.

I sighed and plucked Star from my body, placing her back on the bed. As I pulled on a clean uniform, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at the prospect of another day of redundant chores. The mysteries around the palace—Ozma, the Wizard, Pete—were piling up, but I still wasn’t any closer to figuring out a way to kill Dorothy. How many days of boring housework would I have to put up with before the Order made contact? If I wasn’t careful, way more careful than I’d been yesterday in the solarium, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be back in the dungeon.

Turning to face the mirror, I checked myself for presentability and then searched my still-strange face, looking for a sign of what Pete had seen in it—the thing that had tipped him off that I wasn’t who I appeared to be. I found nothing.

I almost jumped out of my shoes at a knock on the door.

Now
this
was new—before, if someone had needed me, they summoned me with the magic bell. No one had ever knocked on the door before.

“Just a moment!” I called out nervously, grabbing Star and shoving her under my bed. “Stay,” I whispered urgently. She seemed to get the picture.

When I saw Jellia waving cheerily at me from the other side of the threshold, I stifled my surprise. Maybe she did a weekly inspection of the maids’ quarters. If so, I hoped Star would have the rat-smarts to stay out of sight.

“Astrid!” she chirped. “How pretty you look! And aren’t you just the luckiest girl in the world today?”

I fixed a robotic grin across my face. “Every day is lucky when you work for Dorothy,” I replied.

Jellia chuckled. If she sensed my complete lack of sincerity, she didn’t let on about it. “Now that’s the attitude we like around here,” she said. “But today’s luckier than most, dear—you have a very special assignment. You’re going to help me prepare Dorothy for her activities. How does it feel to be the new second handmaid?”

I stepped back in genuine surprise. “Me? Dorothy’s new lady-in-waiting?”

“Yes,
you
, you silly goose,” Jellia said. “Don’t act so surprised! You’ve been here longer than almost anyone, and you’ve proven yourself just as loyal and lovely as any of us. Now come—we don’t want to keep Her Highness waiting.”

“But what about Hannah?” I asked, following Jellia down the hall at a businesslike clip. As of yesterday at lunch, Hannah had been the second handmaid. She hadn’t been in her seat at dinner, but I’d just assumed Dorothy had needed her for something. What had happened to her?

Jellia looked over at me and shook her head sadly. “Hannah is in the infirmary,” she said. “She won’t be returning to service in the palace.”

That didn’t sound good. I put a hand to my chest, trying to mask my curiosity with sisterly concern. “What happened to her? Will she be okay?”

“Unfortunately, the Lion took a liking to her.
Too
much of a liking.” She sighed. “It wasn’t the poor thing’s fault—the Lion has always had appetite issues. There was nothing Hannah could have done.”

“Did he . . . eat her?” Images of Gert melting on the floor of the forest clearing back in Gillikin flew into my head. She had died trying to protect me. To protect all of us. Meanwhile, the Lion was still alive, maiming guards and running around attacking innocent servant girls for no reason.

“Well—not
all
of her,” Jellia said. Her smile had never wavered. “She’ll be fine in no time, and after she recovers enough, the Scarecrow will repair her body. She’ll be better than ever. She’s actually quite pleased. It’s an honor to enter the service of the Tin Soldiers.”

Pleased.
Sure. I was burning with anger. Being mauled by a lion and becoming one of the Scarecrow’s gruesome science projects was supposed to be an
honor
now? As the heat rose in my chest, I felt my invisible knife again, pulsing along with my heartbeat somewhere inside my body. It wanted to come out. It wanted to do some damage. I willed it away.

“Is the Lion still here? In the palace?”

“No,” Jellia replied as we turned a corner and headed up the grand staircase toward Dorothy’s quarters. “Glinda decided it would be best for him to return to the forest for the time being. We don’t want another incident, and he hasn’t been himself since—” Suddenly she stopped herself.

“Since what?” I’d wondered if he’d been affected by what Gert had done to him in the woods but I couldn’t see anything specific the day I saw him in the garden.

She looked away. “Never mind that. Aren’t you excited about your new assignment?”

I
was
excited, but not for the reasons Jellia thought I should be. I was scared, too. Getting close to Dorothy was part of my mission, but this was all happening so quickly.

I knew from listening to the other girls at mealtime that being one of Dorothy’s ladies-in-waiting was a coveted position, reserved only for the most cheerful and pliable of the servants.

“Why me?” I asked.

“You’ve impressed the princess over the years. And you’ve impressed
me.
” Jellia lowered her voice and leaned in close. “You work well under pressure, dear. You’ll need that.”

I thought about our encounter with the Tin Woodman in the tight confines of the garden annex. I assumed Jellia had blocked that incident out, stored it down in her special utility closet of denial. Apparently, it made more of an impression than I thought.

“That, and . . .” Jellia glanced over at me, sidelong, “the Wizard also put in a good word for you.”

I stopped in my tracks. “The Wizard?”

“Oh yes. He came to me just last night and told me how pleased he was with your dusting. True, the Wizard is always full of compliments, but not usually when it comes to housekeeping. You must have made quite the impression. I thought it was only fair that you get your chance.”

“I was just doing my job,” I said, still not sure what to make of all this. Was the Wizard trying to help me? Was he working for the Order, helping me make my way into Dorothy’s inner sanctum?

Jellia turned to me and looked me up and down, mistaking my confusion for reluctance. “If you aren’t up for this, Astrid, I’m sure any of the other girls would jump at the chance.”

“No, of course I am. It’s just—poor Hannah.”

“This isn’t the time for mourning. We go on,” she scolded. “We only have one job, and that’s to please Dorothy.”

Yeah, Jellia kinda needed a slap. But all these maids were so brainwashed, I couldn’t fault her for being callous.

We arrived at the door to Dorothy’s private chambers. It was green and heavy and gaudy as hell, carved from solid emerald and etched with an ornate floral pattern, the grooves lined with gold and jewels.

Jellia gave me a last once-over before we entered.

“Here,” she said, digging into the pocket of her apron and pulling out a little gold pot. “We’re not really supposed to use it, but just a little bit won’t hurt.” She unscrewed the lid and held it out to me.

I cautiously dipped my finger inside and came back with a glob of shimmering, greasy stuff that reminded me of lip gloss. Indigo’s face popped into my head and I closed my eyes for a second, remembering what she’d told me about it. I smeared it across my lips, feeling a tingle as the PermaSmile took effect. It wasn’t exactly comfortable—it felt like the corners of my mouth were being held apart by clothespins—but I guessed that was better than accidentally letting Dorothy see me frown.

I returned the canister to Jellia and she took a little for herself, refreshing her smile before placing the goop back in her apron. When her hand came back out, she handed me a silver hairbrush.

“Remember—it’s a thousand strokes. Not a thousand and one and not nine hundred ninety-nine. Don’t lose count. Dorothy will know. She always does—we’ve lost more than one girl that way. If there’s one thing to say about Hannah, it’s that she certainly
could
count.”

Jellia knocked on the door and, after getting no response, pushed it open. As she entered, she looked over her shoulder and whispered back at me with one more bit of advice. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don’t touch the shoes.”

Dorothy’s room was wall-to-wall pink. Pepto-Bismol pink, cotton-candy pink, sunset pink, and every nauseating shade in between. A canopied bed was encircled with pink silken drapes; the floor was wall-to-wall pink shag carpet; and the ceiling overhead was covered in what looked like pink rhinestones that would probably make you go blind if you stared at them too long.

If Madison Pendleton ever made it to Oz, I thought, she could probably get a job as Dorothy’s personal interior decorator.

In the center of the room, a few feet from the bed, some kind of green powder had been sprinkled onto the carpet in a wide circle. Inside it, a little black terrier was racing around in excitement, chasing his own tail.