Dorothy Must Die

Chapter Thirty-Three

The first step of my plan was to get out of the rest of my chores.

I found Jellia in the banquet hall, scrubbing the floors on her hands and knees. Normally, sunlight spilled in through the hall’s massive windows, but with night having already fallen, Jellia was forced to do her scrubbing by candlelight. Somehow, that made it even more depressing.

Before I approached, I took a few big whiffs of her dead-mouse stench—enough to make myself look queasy. Then, I staggered toward her, dragging my feet.

“Astrid,” she snapped, looking up. “Where have you been?”

I draped a hand across my forehead. “I’m feeling ill,” I told her. “My stomach . . .”

“This is no way to work yourself back up to second handmaid,” Jellia lectured.

“I’m sorry,” I pleaded, clutching my stomach. “But it’s better for me to get my rest than to puke all over Dorothy’s freshly cleaned carpets this close to the ball, isn’t it?”

She tilted her head, knowing I had a point. She forced a smile and I saw that there was a small fleck of red lipstick on her teeth. It made me feel even sorrier for her than I already did.

“Fine,” Jellia said. “But we need you tomorrow. Bright and early. No excuses.”

I left the banquet hall practically doubled over, straightening up only when I was sure no one was watching. I didn’t go back to my room like a loyal maid on the mend.

Instead, I headed for Dorothy’s solarium.

I’d memorized the maids’ schedule and knew the solarium had already been cleaned today. And, in cases of vanity-induced solar eclipses, you could always count on the room dedicated to sunlight being totally empty.

Nonetheless, I approached cautiously. I’d picked up a feather duster on my way here. This time, if I got busted—by the Wizard or anyone else—at least I’d have a plausible excuse. Just some extracurricular dusting around the magical artifacts.

The solarium was eerie in the early evening moonlight. The rainbow of lounges all appeared drained of color, like a furniture vampire had passed through. The dozens of floral arrangements that Dorothy demanded be changed weekly all drooped, their expected sunlight having never appeared.

Just as I’d hoped. It was empty.

I tiptoed across the room to Dorothy’s magic picture. Currently, it depicted a sprawling poppy field under a starlit sky. It was beautiful, actually, the only thing in the solarium that didn’t look washed out.

“Magic picture,” I whispered. “Show me Maude.”

Wherever Ollie’s sister was being held, it was somewhere dark. I couldn’t really even see her, only matted, sweat-slick fur that rippled with labored breathing. I could make out a set of leather straps holding her down on some kind of table. It looked pretty grim.

Well, I consoled myself, at least Maude was alive.

Then, I heard the Scarecrow. I jumped at the sound of his voice and whipped around, almost drawing my knife before realizing it was coming from the painting.

“These damn calculations,” he muttered. “Why won’t they just add up?”

A raven squawked in response.

“I know,” the Scarecrow hissed at the bird. “They will all laugh at me. Call me stupid. Call me . . .”

He trailed off. I heard a rustling sound, the scratching of straw shifting around, and then the Scarecrow’s wrinkled, felt-gloved hand gently caressing Maude’s cheek. She didn’t even have the strength to move away, although I could hear her breath catch with revulsion.

“Maude, my dear,” he said musingly. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”

Did he feel me using the magic painting on him? It would make sense for the Scarecrow’s laboratory to be warded somehow against magical invasions, especially since it was so hyper-secret.

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?