No Place Like Oz (12 page)

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 about 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.

I was pleased to notice that they also took a special interest in me. Every new visitor who passed through the palace stopped to shake my hand, or to give me a kiss on the cheek and to marvel at what a wonder it was to have the famous Dorothy Gale back in Oz.

I half expected Ozma to be jealous of all the attention I was getting. But she masked it well, and never failed to appear delighted when yet another one of her subjects treated me as if
I
was just as important as she—maybe even more important. One day, when a little furry Nome peddling jeweled goblets thanked me for ridding the land of the witches, I almost wanted to wink at him and whisper in his ear, “Just you wait. My work isn't done quite yet.”

Except for one thing: ever since I'd flossed Ozma's brain, I was having a hard time hating her. In fact, when I set aside the unfortunate fact that she had imprisoned Glinda and tried to steal my shoes, we were getting on well.

We spent our days planning the menu and picking out decorations: bright, blooming flowers that changed colors every time you looked away; handfuls of stardust sprinkled over everything—we even coaxed the Wandering Water to form a babbling brook around the outside of the ballroom. I have to say, it put to shame the streamers and tea candles that passed for lavish back in Kansas. We spent countless hours lying on the grass in the garden, threading flowers through our hair, speculating about who was coming to the party and daydreaming about the possibility that there might be a few suitable princes in attendance.

My spell had done the trick—she had no recollection of our fight by the fountain, or of the controversy over my magic shoes. As far as she knew, we were just
friends.

In fact, Ozma was starting to feel like the closest I had to a best friend. It had been so long since I'd had a friend like that. Of course, the Lion and the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow were my loyal friends and the most wonderful companions anyone could hope to have, but they were different. It wasn't like having a girlfriend my own age.

All the Scarecrow ever wanted to talk about was his magnificent brains, which made me wonder what good was it to be the greatest mind in all the kingdom if you never actually
thought
about anything except your own intelligence.

The Tin Woodman spent most of his time in the palace's musty old library with his nose in boring old books of love poetry. When I agreed to let him read one aloud to me, I was so mortified at how romantic it was that I could barely stand to look at him afterward.

As for the Lion—well, he was usually off in the woods, hunting or whatever it is lions do in their alone time. When he did deign to set foot on the palace grounds, he could barely go ten minutes before his newfound courage got the best of him and he tried to pick a fight with the first palace servant who crossed his path.

With the three of them as my only other choices for company, who could blame me for preferring to spend my days dreaming and party planning with Oz's sweet little despot? At least she was capable of carrying on a real conversation. And she seemed to actually
want
to spend time with me. I just had to be careful not to do any magic around her.

I knew now that I could subdue her, if necessary—just wash her brain clear of any tension between us. But to be honest, I felt a little uneasy about having to do it again. Why go to the trouble?

 

“Can I ask you a question?” Ozma asked one afternoon, just a few days before my ball when we were in her closet trying on party outfits for the umpteenth time. I nodded absently, trying to decide between slinky silk or dramatic tulle and chiffon—I was leaning toward slinky.

I must admit, it felt like such a sweet victory to think that I'd be celebrating my sixteenth birthday again, like
this
, after the disaster of the first party.

Ozma turned and fixed me with a penetrating look. “Why do you live with your aunt and uncle?” she asked, out of nowhere. “What happened to your mother and father?”

I paused in surprise. “Oh,” I said quietly. It wasn't the kind of question I was expecting.

“I'm sorry—I shouldn't have . . . it must be such a sad story. You don't have to talk about it.”

I shrugged. “No,” I said. “It's all right. I don't even remember them. My mother died when she gave birth to me, and my father was killed just a few months later. There was an accident with a plow. I know I should miss them, but it's hard to be sad about people you never even knew.”

Ozma smiled in sympathy.

“What about you?” I asked. “You've never mentioned your parents at all, I don't think. Just Lur-whoozit.”

Ozma passed her hand down the length of her body and her emerald-green dress turned to bloodred.

“Maybe add a train?” I suggested.

“Perhaps. No, they're so easy to trip over. Think of how embarrassing
that
would be.”

“You can have a team of Munchkins on hand just to hold it up,” I said, and we both laughed over the absurdity of the idea.

“The truth is,” Ozma said, when we had recovered. “I don't
have
parents. I never did.”

“You must have at
some
point. Everyone has parents.”

“Everyone except fairies,” she said. “I was born from the pool in the center of the maze. Remember that little red flower, floating in the pool?”

“Yes,” I said, vaguely remembering.

“That's where I came from. The next princess is somewhere in there, biding her time. When the flower is big and full and about to shed its petals, it means she's close to being born, and I'll know that it's time for me to go rejoin Lurline and my people. I'll go off to find them, and my successor will rise up out of that flower to take my place. Of course, it takes a very long time, and after she's born she'll be a baby for a bit—that's when Oz is most vulnerable. That's how the Wizard managed to do away with me the first time.”

“How strange,” I said. “But where did he send you? I've been wondering.”

“Does it matter?” Ozma asked.

“Why wouldn't it?”

“Does it matter that you're from Kansas? You're here now. The past is gone. Especially in Oz—that's the way time works. In Oz, it's always right now.”

I thought about it for a moment. It
did
matter. I didn't necessarily like to think about where I was from, and I certainly didn't want to go back there, but it had made me who I was, just as much as my trip to Oz had made me who I was.

Wherever Ozma had been had made her who she was, too. How could it not have?

And who was she, really? Was she the sweet, charming new friend I'd made—a girl who wanted nothing more than to try on dresses and plan parties—or was she the regal, majestic, fairy princess I'd seen that day in the hedge maze?

Was she the girl who would do anything to be a good ruler to a kingdom she didn't even really want, or was she so desperate for power that she had banished Glinda to some terrible, faraway place to get her out of the way, just the same way the Wizard, once upon a time, had done to Ozma herself?

It didn't occur to me that maybe she could be both. All I knew was that I had to find out the truth.

So even though I knew it was risky, I cast a spell. I knew I couldn't be too obvious this time. Ozma may have looked sweet and innocent, but she was dangerous, too. She was a fairy. If she had done something to Glinda, she might be able to do it to me, too, if I wasn't careful.

I gave her just the tiniest little nudge. I had been practicing at night, in my room alone, and I was getting better at using the magic. I didn't have to knock my shoes together anymore; I didn't even need to feel the tingling in my feet. The magic wasn't just in the shoes. It was in every bit of my body, and all I had to do was take a tiny little piece of it and send it out into the world to bring me back what I wanted.

There in Ozma's dressing room, I looked down at my fingertip and saw a little red butterfly sitting on it, glowing and pulsing its jeweled little wings.

Tell me
, I told it, without speaking the words aloud. And the butterfly took flight. It fluttered into the air and circled around Ozma's head in a scattered halo.

“Dorothy?” Ozma said. “Are you okay? You have the strangest look on your face.”

The butterfly landed on her forehead. She didn't react. She didn't seem to notice it.

“What are you thinking about?” Ozma asked, looking deep into my eyes. “You look like you're a million miles away.”

Tell me
, I thought.
Tell me where Glinda is.

The butterfly crawled across her brow, like it was looking for a way into her mind, and then it disappeared—just evaporated in a tiny puff of red dust. I had lost it.

Ozma didn't seem to know what had just happened, I don't think. But her mind was still her own. Her magic was more powerful than she let on.

I knew then, without a doubt, that she
was
the one who had done something to Glinda. You don't guard secrets that you don't have in the first place. And there was definitely something in her mind that she was guarding closely.

“Yes,” I said. “I was thinking of my mother.”

It was a lie, and it wasn't. I had been thinking of Glinda, who was as close to a mother as I'd ever had. Closer than my own mother had ever been, that's for sure. Closer than Aunt Em was, even.

Glinda had brought me here. She had helped me get home to Kansas, once upon a time, when it was all I wanted in the world. I had to find her. I had to help her. Even Ozma—as lovely a friend as she could be—wasn't going to stand in my way.

 

The night before the ball, I walked into my bedchambers. I knew that it was important to get a good night's sleep, but there was so much on my mind that it was impossible to quiet it.

Toto was curled in the corner, asleep, dreaming about whatever it is that dogs dream about.

Without even having to think about it, I used my magic to strip my dress off; to untie the ribbons that held my hair into plaits. I sent them drifting off to the corner of the room, where I let them drop into a messy pile. I let an ethereal nightgown slip over my head. The shoes, of course, stayed on. I never took them off. I couldn't even if I tried.

I levitated myself off the floor and floated myself to my bed, letting myself drop gently onto the cloud-soft mattress. I drifted off to sleep, not bothering to pull the sheets over my body. Instead, I wrapped myself in magic like it was a heavy down quilt.

As it enveloped me, I felt both happy and content—and emptier than ever.

Tomorrow was the party. I was in Oz, and there was a party being thrown for
me.
I had gotten exactly what I had wanted, and still it wasn't enough. I had wanted. And now I wanted
more
.

That was who I was, I realized, as I drifted off to sleep. This wanting itself was a kind of magic—one that I'd had since I was just a little girl. Since even before I'd been to Oz. Even before I'd had a pair of magic shoes, silver or red. I had always wanted more.

It was what had brought the tornado to me. It was what had brought me to Oz in the first place. It was what had sent me home, too, and it was what had allowed Glinda to find me again, to reach out through the walls that separated Oz from the rest of the world and bring me back. Now that I was here—now that I had my shoes, my magic, my party—the wanting was still with me. It always would be.

I wanted more. I wanted what Ozma had. I wanted everything.