Dorothy Must Die

Chapter Thirteen

Mombi let go of my hand as we materialized someplace dark. Someplace so dark I couldn’t see my hands. But even without being able to see, I could still feel the coldness of the knife in my clenched palm.

The darkness washed over me—a darkness like I’d never experienced before.

“Where . . . ,” I started, and then trailed off, feeling a dizzying, spiraling sense of panic. What had I gotten myself into?

My breathing was getting shallower and shallower when a bright spark appeared in the blackness, just inches from my face. When my eyes focused in on it, I saw a tiny, glowing spider crawling through the air. As it moved in a zigzagging spiral, Mombi’s body slowly faded into view next to me. I looked down at myself and saw that I was now illuminated, too. The light was confined to our bodies, though. Everything around us remained as dark as ever.

“Where—where are we?” I asked the witch, the words catching in my throat. What had I gotten myself into?

“You’ll know in good time, my dear,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “There’s a lot for us to talk about, and I could use a nice, long nap. All that teleportation will take the wind right out of an old girl like me. I’m sure you agree.”

It wasn’t until she said it that I realized I was exhausted, too. My legs were shaky, every bit of my body was sore, and my arm was throbbing with pain. I felt like I could sleep for a thousand years.

Then I started to remember what had happened and my knees began to buckle in on themselves as the memories washed over me. The escape. The fight. The squishy, sick feeling of my knife burying itself in my foe’s eye socket and the thick geyser of blood that had come squirting out.

It couldn’t have been me. It felt more like something I had seen on TV than something that had actually happened to me.

I would never have done that. I couldn’t have. The girl who fought Sword-Arm to a standstill had known what she was doing. I’d never hurt another person in my whole life. Well, not with my fists, at least.

I felt the knife in my hand. It felt good. It felt like it was part of me. Suddenly I understood.

“It was the knife, right?” I asked Mombi. “It’s magic. It was telling me what to do.”

Mombi swatted the question away. “Pish tosh,” she said. “The knife’s enchanted, certainly. It will whisper in your ear a little bit—tell you where to move, teach you a few tricks. But it can’t make something out of nothing. It can’t help you if you don’t have it in you somewhere.” Her mouth spread into a wide grin, revealing a jammed-together row of rotting brown teeth. “Good thing you did,” she said.

From the way she said it, I knew she meant it as a compliment, and I felt a twisted sense of pride rising in my chest. I tried to shove it back down. The fact that I had what it took to stab someone’s eyes out was nothing to be proud of.

No, I corrected myself. Not someone. Something. And that thing had been helping the Tin Woodman. That thing had been responsible for killing Indigo. I had nothing to feel guilty about.

Mombi winked at me as if she knew exactly what I had been thinking. She reached out and wrapped her knotted, spindly hands around my closed fist. “Now,” she said. “You won’t be needing that for a bit.”

“No!” I said, more angrily than I meant to, squeezing hard as she tried to pry my fingers open. The knife was mine. I didn’t want to give it back. It could keep me safe.

Mombi clucked her tongue but didn’t really seem to care. “See? That’s the spirit. We’ll make a Wicked one out of you yet, now won’t we?”

I tried to pull my hand away, but she held it tight.

“Don’t worry—you’ll have more weapons than you know what to do with soon enough. But in the meantime . . .” Mombi mumbled a few words under her breath and I felt my fingers unlocking against my will. She took the knife and tucked it into her cloak. “Thattagirl,” she said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. You’re here now, and safe. And you’re free.” Then she chuckled at something. “Well, sort of,” she said, before letting out an uproarious cackle. Her laughter was still echoing around me as her body began to curl in on itself, like she was turning herself inside out. Then she was gone, and everything was dark again.

Free. But was I? In some ways, it felt like I had traded one prison for another.

We’ll make a Wicked one out of you yet.

What had I gotten myself into?

I stood there, waiting for my eyes to adjust, but they didn’t. Maybe it wasn’t even dark at all: maybe it was just like outer space, where it’s only dark because there’s nothing to see.

I was alone.

I had been lonely a lot in my life—enough to know that there are different kinds of lonely. There’s the lonely I had felt at school, surrounded by people who only paid attention to me long enough to remind me that they didn’t like me. There was the lonely I felt when I was with my mother, which was different from the lonely that I felt when I watched her leaving just before the tornado hit, and different from the lonely that I felt when my trailer was being whisked away from everything I’d ever known.

Then there was the bottomless loneliness that I’d felt in Dorothy’s sick, white dungeon, the kind of loneliness that had made me feel like I was running through an endless maze.

Standing there in the dark, it was like all those alones had just been tiny, interlocking pieces of a picture so big that you could only see the whole thing from a mile away. Now it was clear: I had nothing except myself. No matter what happened, it would always be that way.

And yet: I took a step forward and was surprised to feel solid ground underneath my feet. I took another. I stumbled on something and caught myself before I hit the ground.

I was just about to move forward again when I heard a voice echoing all around me. It belonged to a woman, and it was kind and gentle and strangely familiar. “I think you’re starting to understand,” she said. “It will take a while, but you’re getting there.”

I stopped in my tracks and jerked my head up. “Who’s there?” I called out to the emptiness. “What do you want from me?”

Instead of an answer I heard the sound of fingers snapping. Just like that, the world returned to me. It was less like a light being turned on and more a blindness being suddenly lifted.

I was standing in a huge cave, the rocky walls pulsing eerily with a dim purple phosphorescence. High above my head, clusters of stalactites dangled perilously from the rocky ceiling.

In the center of the cavern a massive tree loomed, its trunk as thick around as five people, overgrown with vines and moss and tiny flowers. Hundreds of limbs curled upward until they merged with the rock formations on the ceiling; a tangle of roots covered the ground before disappearing into the walls.

The longer I looked at the tree, the more I couldn’t decide where it ended and the cave began.

“Why does there have to be a beginning and an ending?” the voice asked. “If you ask me, it’s all middle.”

I spun around, trying to figure out where it was coming from, and saw nothing.

“Who are you?”

And from out of the tree, a squat, round old woman in a shapeless white dress and a pointy white hat emerged like she was walking through an open door. Except there was no door. There was no opening in the tree at all.

“People have called me lots of things over the years,” the woman said. “It happens when you get old. But you can call me Grandma Gert.” She brushed a stray flower from her silvery-white cloud of hair.

Her face was old and wrinkled but it was nothing like Mombi’s. It was round and kind and so chubby that she had at least three chins. Maybe four. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled at me.

Grandma Gert. I liked the sound of that. There was something about her that I trusted.

It was all so strange. I should have been afraid. Or angry. Or at least startled or confused. I felt none of those things. When Gert reached out for my hand, I let her take it and clasp it between her own, squeezing tenderly, and I realized what I did feel. It was a warm sense of peacefulness starting in my chest and spreading through my body.

“Welcome home, dear,” she said.

“Home?” The word startled me, and when I repeated it, it caught in the back of my throat. I had no idea where I was, except that it was about as far away from home as I could possibly get. And yet . . .

“You’re a long way from Kansas, I know,” she said. “But there’s more than one kind of home. And you’re right. You are on your own. We all are, and we all have to learn it sooner or later. If you have to be alone, though, wouldn’t you rather be alone among friends?”

Alone. I looked up, startled. How had she known what I had been thinking, back there in the darkness?

Grandma Gert’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh dear,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry, Amy. Sometimes I forget how strange it can be at first. I don’t do it on purpose—but when someone’s thoughts are as loud as yours it can be hard to know the difference.”

It took a moment for me to understand what she was saying.

“You can read my mind,” I said. Or maybe I just thought it.

The old woman nodded. “Something like that. Please don’t be afraid—it’s almost always what’s right there on the surface. I try not to go too much deeper than that. Not without permission.”

I didn’t know what to say and then I realized I didn’t have to say anything at all. Anything I could say, Grandma Gert already knew.

There was actually something comforting about that.

She was staring deep into my eyes. “Thank you,” she said. At first I didn’t know what she was thanking me for and then I did. It was for understanding. For not being afraid.

Then she gathered herself up, dropped my hand, and squared her shoulders.

“There will be plenty of time to talk about all of this later. First we need to get you cleaned up.” Her eyes drifted down to my scratched, bruised arms and bloody T-shirt. “Mombi certainly does know how to start a fight.”

Gert waved her hand, and the tree at the center of the cavern began to transform before my eyes. The roots swirled at my feet, the branches drew themselves down from the ceiling, the trunk began to melt like tar into the ground.

When it was done, she and I were standing next to a deep pool where the tree had stood before. Foamy white water bubbled up from somewhere beneath the ground, and steam wafted off the surface. It smelled clean and fresh.

“Go ahead,” Gert said, placing a hand on the small of my back and nudging me forward. “It will heal you.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice—I stepped right into the spring, not even bothering to take my clothes off. I didn’t need to: they began to disintegrate as soon as they touched the water.

I didn’t care that they were gone, and I didn’t care that I was naked in front of an old woman I’d just met. The minute the warm, clear water touched my bare skin, I felt my muscles melting as bubbles spun around me. I looked down at myself and watched, astonished, as days’ worth of dirt slid right off my body. But I was also surprised to see exactly how hurt I really was. Bruises peppered my arms and legs. Thick red tendrils of blood slipped from a gash across my abdomen that I didn’t remember getting in the first place.

When I looked up, I saw that Gert was beside me in the water, still fully clothed, her white dress billowing around her. I wasn’t sure why the water hadn’t affected her clothes the way it had mine. I hadn’t even noticed her get in with me.

She looked concerned, too, frowning down at my wounds. “This may hurt, Amy,” she said.

“Huh?” I asked, stretching. “No—it feels wonderful.”

“Take a deep breath,” she said, her tone now serious. With no further apology—before I’d even had a chance to do as she’d told me—she put her hand on my head and shoved me under the water.

The wound on my belly throbbed now with a deep, searing pain. Instinctively, I opened my mouth to scream as I struggled against the old woman’s grip. It was no use. Invisible hands grasped me from somewhere deep below the water, holding me in place. Somehow, I knew that all of them belonged to Gert.

I was on fire. I had escaped Dorothy, escaped the Tin Woodman and his metal army, only to find someone I trusted—someone who wanted to help me—and it had all been a trick.

All she meant to do was kill me.

Why? I screamed in my head, knowing she’d be able to hear. Why would you do this?

Sometimes only pain can heal, a cold, distant voice answered.

Just when I thought my lungs would burst—just as I felt consciousness beginning to leave me—the hands let go. My body floated up to the surface, where I gasped for air and found my footing on the smooth rocks lining the pool.

I spun around and faced Gert angrily. “Why?” I demanded again, this time out loud. “Why would you . . .”

“Because it was necessary,” Gert said shortly, pursing her lips. “I saved your life.”

I didn’t believe her at first, but my fingers touched smooth skin when I reached for my wound. I looked down. No gaping bloody hole. No invisible sutures. No scar. The wound had healed like it had never happened at all.

The bruises were gone, too. My skin looked dewy and softer than it had ever been, peachy-pink like all the dead skin had been sloughed off, as if every imperfection healed from the outside in.

It didn’t matter. She had saved me, okay, fine, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that it still felt like a betrayal. Gert had been one thing, and then she had become something else. I didn’t understand why. I didn’t know if I wanted to.

You had to trust me, Gert said. Her lips didn’t move. But you also have to learn not to trust anyone. Even me.

She sank slowly into the pool, and then she was gone.

By the edge of the water, I saw that a stack of towels and a gorgeous silk robe had been laid out for me. Had Gert put them there when I wasn’t paying attention? Or had they just appeared by magic?

I didn’t really care. I wanted to stay in here forever, but I knew that I couldn’t. When I felt the water beginning to turn lukewarm, I reluctantly stepped out and dried my newly healed body. I couldn’t help thinking that this was all another trick—something to try to lure me into a false sense of security. But my clothes were gone. I couldn’t walk around naked. The robe felt soft against my skin.

Gert reappeared as soon as I looped the belt around my waist, as if she sensed I was ready to move on to the next part of whatever fate awaited me. “They’re waiting,” she announced.

“They?” I asked, not looking at her. “Who’s they?”

I crossed my hands over my chest like a five-year-old. Gert’s face softened.

“Forgiveness doesn’t come easy for you, I see. Sometimes you have to bend so as not to break, dear.”

“You manipulated me,” I said. “I know it. You used your magic on me to make me think you were my friend.”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” Gert said. “But if I did, maybe it was for a reason? And if I did, then what’s stopping me from doing it again?”

I glanced suspiciously at her, and she shrugged. I guess I would have to take that as an apology.

I didn’t know where we were going or who was waiting for us, but I followed Gert obediently as she led me out of the cavern and through a series of caves. I didn’t particularly want to, but I knew by now that I didn’t really have a choice.

We walked through a room that was entirely empty except for stark silver walls, and as we moved through it, the air changed. It was heavy and humid all of a sudden.

Clouds hovered near the ceiling of the cave, spitting down raindrops on our heads. A thought suddenly occurred to me: if these witches could make weather indoors, if they could control it—could they create a tornado?

Did they bring me here? I wondered.

“If we could do that we would have done it long ago,” Gert said curtly. “Your arrival in Oz is no coincidence. Someone—or something—sent for you. But whatever force might have brought you here is beyond even the witches’ knowledge.”

I just ignored her.

Gert paused when we reached a new tunnel. She reached up and adjusted the collar of my robe before pulling me into another room that was almost entirely taken up by an enormous table made of what looked like glittering black diamonds, surrounded by rough wooden chairs. Mombi stood at the head of the table, smiling at me, well, wickedly. At her sides were two other people I’d never met before. It wasn’t a huge leap to guess that they, too, were witches.

“Amy,” Mombi greeted me from the other side of the table. “I trust you’ve recovered from our journey. I was very pleased at the gumption you showed back in the dungeons. And we’re all happy to have you with us.”

My eyes immediately snapped to her left. Standing there was a boy with smooth olive skin who looked like he was around my age, maybe a little older. His dark hair stood on end as if he had stuck his fingers in a light socket years ago and hadn’t bothered to comb it since. He was cute, sure, but there was something arrogant in the way he looked at me with pale gray eyes. Or maybe not arrogant—maybe he looked angry. I straightened and stared right back.

Who was he? The idea of Gert or Mombi having kids just didn’t seem right. And he was a little scary, really. Which was saying a lot given the fact that he was sitting next to Mombi.

“She had a nasty slice in her side, Mombi,” Gert said, looking her in the eye. “But she didn’t much care for the healing process.”

Mombi didn’t blink. “Tin Soldiers. The cell was protected. I had to improvise.”

Gert nodded, but I didn’t think she believed her. Was she suggesting that Mombi was just testing me out?

Standing on Mombi’s other side was a curvy, statuesque woman wearing a tight purple wrap dress. A hood concealed her face—but when she pulled it away, my heart skipped a beat and then sank.

It was Glinda. Glinda the not-so-good witch. The one who was besties with Dorothy, who had made the Munchkins her slaves and was using them to mine giant holes all over Oz.

She wasn’t wearing PermaSmile, but she was smiling at me.

She spoke in a sickeningly sweet voice that scraped at the back of my spine.

“No rest for the Wicked, is there, Amy?”