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 (36 page)

I glanced over my shoulder, but the hallway outside was still quiet.

I thought for a moment. I wasn’t sure if the Scarecrow had some kind of magical alarm system on his lab or if he was just paranoid—either way, I didn’t want to risk it. And anyway, looking
inside
didn’t help me find the lab’s location.

“Magic picture,” I whispered. “Show me the
outside
of the Scarecrow’s lab.”

The painting went gray for a second as if it was thinking, then one building on the palace grounds filled the entire frame.

The greenhouse.
Pete
’s greenhouse. Was the Scarecrow’s lab somewhere in there?

As if in answer, one of the grotesque crows with the huge, human ears landed on the edge of the greenhouse’s roof as I watched. Then I saw another one and then another, all of them flying from someplace behind the greenhouse.

“Magic picture,” I whispered, morbidly curious. “Show me the way in.”

With a lurching motion, the painting’s image pushed through the front wall of the greenhouse, zooming past the rows of flowers and through a latched hidden door. There, partially hidden away behind a small grove of trees, was the biggest birdcage I’d ever seen. The gilded bars stretched up at least three stories high, and I could make out a flurry of black feathers rustling inside.

An aviary.

The ravens were circling and diving in and out of the cage. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of them, cawing and cackling, crowding every available perch, their human eyes bulging, their ears twitching. My stomach turned. It was disgusting.

The cawing was too loud. Someone in the palace would hear.

“Enough,” I hissed at the painting.

The movement and sound immediately stopped, replaced by the painting of the poppy field at night.

I had learned enough. I still didn’t know exactly where the door to the lab was hidden, but I had a good idea, and I’d pressed my luck in the solarium long enough. I turned and headed back to my room.

When I opened the door to my bedroom, part of me couldn’t help hoping that Pete was waiting for me again, but I was alone. I could’ve used some information about the greenhouse. And, more importantly, I needed a friend right now. Someone to tell me I wasn’t crazy for what I was considering—breaking into the total horror movie that was the Scarecrow’s lab.

I pulled Star from her hiding place and cradled her in my lap, softly stroking her soft white spine. There was one more obstacle left to consider. If I was going to rescue Maude, I needed to get the Scarecrow out of there first. My plan to do that? Not entirely sane.

“Hey, Star,” I said. “Know anything about arson?”

Of course, Star didn’t reply. I found myself laughing in spite of the danger. The Wicked Witch of the West, she had some good ideas.

How about a little fire, Scarecrow?

I breathed a sigh of relief the next morning when the sun came up like normal. Dorothy must’ve gotten enough beauty sleep. The Great Clock was turning again.

I went through my daily chores as usual, boredom and nervousness mingling dangerously in the pit of my stomach. Ollie was going to meet me in the Royal Gardens at midnight, which meant I had to rescue Maude as close to that time as possible. I could manage hiding my pet rat in my room, but what was I going to do with a winged monkey? No, I had to time this out perfectly.

I found Jellia at the end of my shift. Two days of that dead-mouse smell had caused some major cracks to form in her jovial exterior. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her smock wrinkled and flecked with smudges, and her hair was in total disarray. Worst of all, her lips were taut and stress sores had formed at the corners of her mouth, probably from too much PermaSmile.

The other maids had been keeping their distance and Jellia, not the least bit oblivious to the effects of her pungent aroma, had assigned herself chores that kept her isolated. As she finished cleaning out the kitchen’s grease traps, I went right up to her like nothing was wrong.

“Hey, Jellia,” I said, smiling gratefully. “I just wanted to say thank you for giving me the day off yesterday. I feel much better.”

A fragile smile spread across Jellia’s face. For a moment, she seemed to regain some of her pep. “Of course, Astrid. Think nothing of it.”

Without hesitating, acting like the smell didn’t even bother me, I went in for a hug. I squeezed Jellia tightly and, after a moment’s hesitation, she hugged back. And then she clung to me for a few seconds longer than normal hug-length, letting out a little whimpering noise.

“It’ll be okay,” I whispered to her.

When I pulled back, Jellia wiped the corners of her eyes. “Thank you. I needed that.”

I sincerely thought Jellia needed some cheering up and I wanted to make her feel better. So I felt a little pang of guilt as I walked away holding the master key ring I’d fished from the non-smelly pocket of her smock. She was the only maid entrusted with access to every room in the palace, which meant I had no choice but to pickpocket her. I hoped she didn’t realize the keys were missing until the morning, when I planned to find some way of giving them back to her—losing them would just be one more thing for Jellia to freak out about. Still, it had to be done. Hopefully, the worst-case scenario was Jellia spending a sleepless night worrying about her keys instead of a sleepless night gagging on mouse smell.

I made it back to my room and waited for nightfall. Lucky for me, Dorothy was still on her twelve hours of beauty sleep kick, so the moon rose promptly and the palace went quiet. It was actually kind of nice for the servants; without Dorothy raging around, they could relax.

I held Star close before I departed.

“If I don’t come back,” I told her, “find a way to give everyone the plague.”

I crept upstairs to the Scarecrow’s room without seeing another soul. The hay bales were still stacked next to his door, awaiting their hideous fate of being stuffed inside the burlap folds of a maniac.

I needed to make this look like an accident.

I approached the wall sconce closest to the bales, the one right next to the Scarecrow’s door. Inside, the ornate oil lamp glowed brightly. I produced my knife and slid it against the base of the lamp, just hard enough to create a small crack. Oil began to leak out, dribbling slowly down the wall, onto the floor, and then seeping into the nearest bale.

Now I just needed to create a spark.

Before I realized what was happening, my dagger began glowing white-hot. Was I doing that? Or was the dagger helping me along?

Regardless, the blade sizzled up against the oil spillage, igniting it. Blue flame spread from the wall to the bales, which immediately started to crack and smolder. Soon, they’d all go up.

Using Jellia’s keys, I slipped into the Scarecrow’s room, shutting out the growing cloud of smoke behind me. I kicked some of the trash from his floor—more straw, loose papers, discarded scrolls—toward the door, knowing that they’d catch when the fire spread.

If a fire in his room didn’t draw the Scarecrow out of his laboratory, I didn’t know what would.

Next, I climbed out the same window Ollie had left by yesterday, clambering onto the tree. I wasn’t nearly as graceful as he’d been—the branches scratched my face and the backs of my hands, creaking under my weight, but I managed to climb down, carefully and quietly.

Above, I could hear shouts from the Scarecrow’s floor. Smoke was now spilling out from the window I’d climbed out of. From my position halfway down the tree, I had a pretty clear view of the palace grounds. A few stories up, the fire crackled, louder and louder. I watched and waited, slowly beginning to dread that he wouldn’t come. That I’d become an arsonist for nothing, endangered my cover, and let Ollie down.

But then I saw a lanky shadow step away from the recesses of the greenhouse. It was him! The Scarecrow crossed the palace lawn on long strides, his head tilted up to see the furnace glow emanating from his room. He’d taken the bait.

When he was out of sight, I dropped the rest of the way out of the tree, landing softly at its base. In the distance, the dome of the greenhouse was glowing with the huge reflection of the full moon. It wasn’t far now.

The palace grounds were just as beautiful at night as they were during the day. But, lit as they were by delicate lanterns and glittering tea candles, they didn’t offer a lot of cover. I sprinted across the lawn, hoping everyone would be too distracted by the fire to spot me.

In his haste, the Scarecrow had left the greenhouse unlocked. I rushed through the door, the fragrant smell of flowers immediately wiping away the charred scent of the palace. I paused for a moment, catching my breath and listening. All I could hear was muffled shouting from the palace—no guards chasing after me, no Tin Soldiers clanking in this direction. Just a caw or two escaped from the dark recesses of the greenhouse. I’d made it. So far so good.

The greenhouse was filled with rows and rows of flowers like nothing I’d ever seen before. There were huge roses with blossoms bigger than soccer balls and bright-red poppies that opened and closed their petals every few seconds as if they were breathing, expelling pale pink pollen into the air as they did. There were tulips whose colors changed every few seconds, cycling through all the colors of the rainbow, and towering sunflowers that sparkled in the near darkness, their petals seeming to give off their own sunlight.

The rows of plants went on and on and on. This, I realized, was what Oz should be like everywhere. Dorothy wasn’t just satisfied with stealing the magic from Oz—she was also stealing what the magic created. Someday, I hoped that I’d have a chance to see some of these plants growing in the wild, out of Dorothy’s reach.

But not tonight.

I hurried toward the back, the sound of the crows getting louder and louder, until I was only steps from the aviary. It was now or never. I ignored my fear, unlatched the door, and stepped into the cage.

Inside, they were everywhere. On perches high above and on the ground, pecking at seeds that were sprinkling down from a wrought-iron feeder hanging from the ceiling like a chandelier. Standing careful guard.

Despite their vigil, they ignored me.

I kept my breath shallow and steady, hoping that Pete was right, and that neither their hearing or vision was very good, trying not to think about their razor-sharp claws and even sharper curved beaks.

I’d only had a narrow glimpse of the Scarecrow’s laboratory, but I got the feeling it was underground. There weren’t any staircases that I could see in the aviary. Most of the floor was covered in seed, feathers, and bird crap.

Except the birdbath. That, oddly enough, was mostly clean. Stranger still, the ravens didn’t perch there.

I approached, tiptoeing past the birds that scavenged for seed at my feet. I ran my fingers along the edge of the birdbath, examining it for a button or a latch or anything else that might give me a clue about what to do next.

Nothing.

The stagnant puddle of water in the bath’s basin was murky and black and stinky with mildew. It was impossible to see what was down there . . . which made it a perfect hiding place. I had an idea. I held my knife out and willed it to fill with heat like it had back in the palace. The weapon felt eager to please, turning orange, the color of an almost-extinguished ember. I concentrated harder and turned up the juice until it was shining so brightly that it hurt to look at it.

I plunged it into the fountain, the water steaming as it came into contact with the blade. I could see through the cloudy pool to the bottom where my knife illuminated something dark and round.

A button.

I jammed the butt of my knife against the button, and it gave easily.

The birdbath disappeared right out from under me, and I almost tipped over and fell flat on my face. I managed to keep my balance, though, and looked down to see that where the birdbath had stood just a few seconds earlier, a small round door like a manhole had appeared in the ground. I leaned down and tentatively lifted it—inside, a stairway spiraled into darkness.

From somewhere high above my head, I heard a loud
Ka-caw!

Then, an excited rustling. I’d gotten their attention.

Another crow cried out, and then another and another until they all seemed to be screaming at me.

A rumbling sound began to build as my peripheral vision clouded with a fluttering blackness. The rumble got louder and louder, and then I realized what it was: it was the sound of hundreds of birds flapping their wings all at once. They were all flying right for me.

With no time to worry about what was down there, I stepped through the door and plunged down the twisting stairway. I felt like I was running for my life, trusting my feet to find their purchase against the treacherous stone stairs. They didn’t let me down. Nox had trained me well.

The door slammed shut behind me and everything suddenly went completely black. Able to see exactly nothing, I stopped and looked up and waited for my eyes to adjust.

They didn’t. I decided to light my knife up again, finding it even easier the second time than the first, and held it aloft. Or tried to. I hit rock a few inches above my head. I climbed back up the staircase and examined the back of the door, but it didn’t have any handles or buttons. I had no idea how to open it back up.
Well
, I thought,
at least it will keep the crows out.
Plus, I might be trapped. With no other direction to go but down, and only my knife to light the way, I descended.