“I don’t know yet. But at least part of it makes sense. If he’s the one who erased any proof that Dorothy was a real person, he must know about the shoes. It’s possible he’s using them to travel back and forth—or he has some other power of his own. Magic in Ev isn’t like magic in Oz. It doesn’t follow the same rules. Ev is as different from Oz as the Other Place is. What exactly he’s up to is impossible to guess, but there’s no way it’s good news for us.”
“He said something about how I was stronger than the ‘other one.’ I think he meant Dorothy. And he told me not to trust anyone,” I said, remembering.
“Oh dear,” Mombi said quietly. Her leathery face went white. That’s when I knew we were in serious trouble. “He knew who you were? That’s not good at all.”
“You’re not being very reassuring.”
“It just means we have to find the shoes before he does anything else. Do that, and we may be back in business. Maybe.” She frowned. “But I don’t like the sound of that, little missy. You be on your toes. If he’s using Dorothy somehow and decides you’ll make a more valuable pet . . .” She didn’t have to finish. I didn’t want to think about the rest of that sentence. Not here, in the one place I’d almost felt safe for the first time in months: the frilly little pink bedroom my mom had created as she held out for my return. I knew the safety was an illusion. I’d learned in Oz that safety always was. But I couldn’t help it. Some part of me wanted to pretend it was enough to protect me. That I could just stay here and go back to being ordinary. That I could check out of this never-ending mission and let someone else take over for a while.
But I couldn’t tell the old witch any of that—even though, from the way she was looking at me, I was pretty sure she could guess at least some of it. I turned my thoughts back to the mission. Which was, after all, in pretty serious trouble on its own.
“Mombi, I don’t know how to find the shoes. I thought I could find something in the library, but that turned out to be a dead end.”
“Why would the Nome King descend on you in a pool of darkness if you were looking at a dead end, Amy?” She had a point there.
“But I didn’t find anything. Just this old blank notebook.”
“Let me see it,” she ordered. I dug through my bag and pulled out the notebook, handing it to her, but it passed through her hands. “Goddamn projecting,” she muttered. “I always forget. Turn the pages for me.” Yet again, I flipped through the book as Mombi’s keen eyes watched the blank pages turn.
“I can feel the power in that book. Can’t you?” I closed my eyes, concentrating on the weight of the book in my palms. And once I paid attention, I understood what Mombi meant. It was barely there, but unmistakable—like the charge on a television screen after you turn it off. “You’re right,” I said. “There’s something there.”
“I’m going to funnel my magic through you,” Mombi said. “It should work—you won’t need any power of your own, you’ll just need to be a conduit. But it may be too much for me to unlock whatever that book is hiding and keep projecting myself here. If I disappear—you’re going to be on your own again. And if there’s no clue about how to find the shoes . . .”
She didn’t have to finish. If I didn’t find the shoes, we were screwed.
“Let’s do it,” I said with more confidence than I felt. The idea of Mombi using me as a funnel was weird and kind of scary, but at least we were doing something. If Mombi wasn’t ready to give up, neither was I. “No one would go to this much trouble to hide a book if it didn’t hold something important.”
Mombi eyed me appraisingly, and I saw something like respect flicker in her eyes. It was kind of nice. We hadn’t always seen eye to eye, and I still had no idea if she even had my best interests at heart. (Let’s face it: probably not.) But it still meant something to me to have the old witch’s respect. She closed her eyes and began to mouth the words to a spell. Suddenly, I remembered what I’d seen when the Nome King had paralyzed me. The witches, looking out in fear. And Nox, all alone out on the prairie somewhere. Was what I’d seen real? What was he doing out there?
“Wait!” I said. She opened her eyes again, this time looking slightly irritated. Too bad. “How’s Nox? Where is he?” Mombi gave me a look so withering that if she had actually been in the room I probably would have flinched.
“He’s fine, and you don’t need to know anything else,” she said disgustedly. “Are you ready now?”
I wanted to ask more, but I knew better than to push my luck. Wherever Nox was, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t contact me—and neither option was all that appealing. If the witches had sent him on some secret mission, Mombi obviously wasn’t going to tell me. Mombi had already closed her eyes and was going back to her spell. The book in my hands began to radiate heat.
I could feel Mombi’s magic moving through me, but it was strange and alien, not the familiar feeling of sharing power that I’d tapped into before. Like I was just a piece of pipe that her power was pouring through, as unimportant as a lifeless hunk of plastic. I struggled to let go of the feeling of wrongness, to let Mombi work through me.
“Don’t fight me,” she hissed between gritted teeth. The strain of the spell was evident on her face. She was pale, and the deep wrinkles on her seamed old cheeks stood out in harsh relief. The book flapped open in my hands of its own volition, its pages riffling frantically in an invisible breeze. I gasped out loud and nearly dropped it as a tiny black cloud of swirling ink formed over the pages, dripping downward and shaping itself into tiny lines that became letters. The pages whipped faster and faster, filling with words. The book blazed with heat in my hands, its cover smoking. I couldn’t take it anymore; I dropped it on the ground with a yelp and heard its spine crack as it slammed to the floor.
“Amy!” Mombi gasped. “You have to—” But her outline was already fading, and whatever else she had to say was lost as her image flickered and vanished.
“Everything okay in there, honey?” my mom called, rapping lightly on the door.
“Great!” I yelped, kicking the still-smoking book under my bed.
“Were you asking me something?”
“Just talking to myself!” I reassured her. She said good night again and I heard her settle back on the couch with a sigh. I waited long minutes until I heard her soft snores through the door, and then I got out the book. It had cooled enough to touch, but I still handled it gingerly, half expecting it to bite me.
It was still just an ordinary old journal, the leather cover blackened in places where Mombi’s spell had singed it, but now the pages were filled with a cramped, old-fashioned cursive script. I opened it to a random page and, squinting, tried to make out the tiny, elegant letters.
. . . Millie is growing so beautifuly. Every day she lays at least 1 egg. Em says she will be a Prize Layer & maybe I can even entre her in the Fair next summer! I wood be so proud if she won a meddle!
Toto is so cute today. I am teching him to fetch but he only wants to play!
“Holy shit,” I breathed. This was it. It had to be. There was only one kid in Kansas who’d had an aunt named Em and a dog named Toto: Dorothy Gale, the little girl who’d gone to Oz. I turned the pages, skimming Dorothy’s diary entries. More about her chickens, her dog, her farm chores. And then: two blank pages, and after that, in a bolder, more jagged handwriting:
NO ONE BELEVES ME. BUT I WENT. THEY’LL BE SORRY ONE DAY EVERY ONE THAT SAID I LYED.
That was it. The journal ended there. The rest of the pages were blank. Nothing about her shoes, her return to Kansas, or anything that had happened in Oz. If there was any more writing hidden there, Mombi’s spell hadn’t revealed it. I sighed and closed the diary. All I’d discovered was that Dorothy was real—which I really, definitely already knew—and that someone had wanted to hide that fact. Someone with a lot of power. Someone who I was pretty sure wasn’t on my side. I hid Dorothy’s journal under my mattress and closed my eyes. I’d figure something else out in the morning. But for now, I was e
xhausted.
I tossed and turned for a while on my narrow bed, and when I finally fell asleep, I dreamed terrible dreams, reliving some of the worst moments I’d had in Oz. The spell I’d used to permanently separate Pete and Ozma while Ozma screamed in pain. Beheading the Lion, the fountain of his blood spurting all over me. Polychrome’s broken body. And in the background, Dorothy cackled away, mocking my inability to defeat her, her red shoes pulsing with that awful light.
Everything else faded away, and then I faced her alone on an open, dusty plain that looked strangely familiar. Gray-green lightning struck the barren earth around us, and thunder boomed in the distance. Dorothy’s eyes were crazy, and a hot wind whipped her checked dress and blew dust in my eyes until I could barely see. I reached deep within myself to find the magic to fight her, but there was nothing there. She laughed as she watched me struggle, and then snapped her fingers. Helpless, I watched swirling darkness gather itself over her open palm. She raised one hand to fling it toward me, and I threw up my arms as if that would somehow protect me. I could hear someone shouting my name, but faintly, as if he was far away. Someone familiar. Someone who could protect me. Dorothy advanced toward me, shrieking with laughter, and I knew she was about to kill me.
“But you’re just a girl,” I said, and her face creased in confusion. “You’re just a girl from Kansas. Just like me.”
“No!” she screamed, raising her hand. “I’m not like you! I’ll never be that little girl again!”
“Amy!” shouted the faraway voice. “Amy, no!” Suddenly, I knew who he was.
“Nox!” I screamed his name into my dark room, sitting bolt upright with my heart pounding. Seconds later, my mom flung open the door to my room and came running in.
“Amy? Amy, are you okay? What on earth is happening?”
It took me a long time to remember where I was. “I had a bad dream,” I whispered. My mom made a sympathetic noise, and put her arms around me, humming a snatch of a song she used to sing me to sleep with when I wasn’t much more than a baby.
“It’s okay,” she said gently. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” If I was going back to Oz, I couldn’t let myself get weak. Nobody sings you lullabies in the middle of a war.
“I’m fine,” I said gruffly. “Just go back to sleep.”
“Okay, honey,” she said softly, and turned to go, closing the door behind her. It took all the willpower I had not to call her back. I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. But that would have been a lie. Nothing was going to be okay again as long as Dorothy was alive.
As I fell asleep, I thought one last time about Nox. The dream had felt so real—I could have sworn I’d really heard him, as if he really was trying to help me. But I had no idea where he was, or if he wanted to help me even if he could. Mombi was gone and I had no way of contacting her. I had no idea how to get back to Oz, and no clue what to do next. This time, I was completely on my own. I felt tears dampening my pillow as I slid back into a dark and mercifully dreamless sleep.
SIXTEEN
Jake was gone the next morning, but my mom was up before I was and had made me scrambled eggs and toast. Really, really burned toast. I took a couple of triangles to be polite, and she sighed. “I’m still getting the hang of this domestic thing,” she admitted. “You don’t have to eat them.”
“The blackened part is good for you,” I reassured her, but when her back was turned I tossed my toast into the garbage.
She pressed another bag lunch into my hand as I headed for the door. “See you tonight!” she called. “I won’t be home late from work.” She paused for just a second as I opened the door. “Love you, Amy,” she said softly. I hesitated, and the door swung closed on her anxious face.
“You too,” I murmured as I walked away.
Dustin and Madison were waiting for me when I got to school. There was some part of me that almost longed for this halfway normal new life with a mom who cared about taking care of me and actual friends who weren’t Munchkins or talking monkeys. I hadn’t realized how much I had wanted this kind of normal life until I had it (sort of). But then I remembered that Dustin and Madison were only being nice to me and my mom had only gotten her act together because I’d vanished for a month. If I’d stayed in Kansas, my normal life would have kept on the same as ever: one long, crappy day after another. It was too strange to think about, and so I decided not to.
“Ready for day two of detention?” Dustin asked me as we walked toward first period. I’d left Dorothy’s journal at home, figuring it was safe under my mattress. “Maybe we’ll find something else in the library.” I was about to tell him I didn’t think that was likely when it hit me. If Baum had interviewed the real Dorothy, maybe the secret to her shoes was somewhere in his books. At the very least, I could look up the Nome King. Baum had used the real Dorothy’s memories to write his stories, even though he’d probably thought she was making everything up. If he’d described the Nome King, I might find out something that could help.
We were just passing the dusty old Dorothy diorama when Dustin stopped short. “Here comes trouble,” he said under his breath. “Mad, maybe you should get out of here.” Assistant Principal Strachan was heading straight for us, and he looked really pissed.
“I’m not going to abandon you guys,” Madison protested. Dustin Jr. started to cry.
“Miss Gumm, Mr. Cheever,” Assistant Principal Strachan said icily as he descended on us. “I have a few questions for you about the cleaning job you did yesterday afternoon.” He stressed the word cleaning with unmistakable sarcasm. “Miss Pendleton, you may go to class.”
“But—” Madison protested as the first bell rang.
“Is there a problem, Miss Pendleton?”
Madison stared him down, and for a second I thought she was actually going to fight him. When Madison’s scariness was on my side, it was pretty awesome. Even Assistant Principal Strachan looked a little intimidated. But after a tense pause, she shrugged. “Not today, sir,” she drawled, bouncing the still-crying Dustin Jr. in his baby wrap. “See you guys around,” she added, giving Dustin Sr. an ostentatious kiss on the mouth with a satisfied smack before she turned around and sauntered away, her pink-velour-clad butt swishing saucily. I had to hand it to the girl. She had attitude.
The hallway had cleared, and it was just me, Dustin, and Assistant Principal Strachan standing in front of the dusty old glass case. I cleared my throat. “Did you need something from us, sir?”
Assistant Principal Strachan’s eyes narrowed. “I have questions for you, Amy,” he hissed. “Perhaps they are better answered in my office.” There was a strange, silvery glint in his eyes. Next to me, Dustin stiffened. I could sense it, too. Something wasn’t right. Assistant Principal Strachan had never called me by my first name. And there was something weird about his voice. It almost seemed to echo inside my head. Like the Nome King in the library. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, Assistant Principal Strachan smiled.
“Very like indeed, Amy Gumm,” he snarled. I hadn’t said anything out loud.
“Amy?” Dustin asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice.
“Dustin, get out of here,” I said in a low voice. “Now.” But it was too late. Assistant Principal Strachan’s face was stretching in front of me, his features melting away and dripping down his chest to reveal the twisted, cruel face of the creature that had confronted me in the library. His shapeless old suit peeled away from his body. Bones snapped and popped as he grew taller. And this time, Dustin could definitely see it.
“Amy, what’s happening?” he asked as the husk that had been Assistant Principal Strachan crumpled to the ground and the Nome King took a step toward us.
“Be silent, little boy,” the Nome King hissed, flicking his fingers. I felt his magic as it moved through the air like a shock wave—straight toward Dustin.
“Get down!” I yelled, throwing myself at him and bringing us both to the ground. The Nome K
ing’s magic zap missed us by inches and slammed into the wall behind us with a huge, echoing boom. The building shuddered and ceiling tiles crashed down around us.
“Little Dorothy’s grip on Oz is weakening,” the Nome King said, his voice eerily calm. “Soon the magic of Oz will have sapped her strength entirely and she will be no good to me whatsoever. But you, my dear Miss Gumm, are made of stronger stuff. I think you might be very useful indeed.”
Absurdly, I thought of those old episodes of Scooby-Doo where a character that everyone thought was friendly is revealed to be the villain in disguise. “I could have gotten away with it, too, if it wasn’t for you meddling kids!” he snaps as he’s taken away. It’s always hard to tell if it’s supposed to be scary or funny.
But this situation wasn’t at all funny. Without my magic, I had no way to defend myself—and I was on my own. I had to get us out of here before the Nome King killed Dustin and grabbed me, and I had no idea how I was going to do it.
“What do you mean, useful? What did you do with the real Assistant Principal Strachan?” If I couldn’t fight him, maybe I could distract him long enough for Dustin to get away. His eyes flicked involuntarily toward the Dorothy diorama, and for the first time I noticed an extra figurine—the spitting image of Assistant Principal Strachan, down to the frumpy suit and scuffed shoes. I shivered. I’d never liked the guy, but I wouldn’t have wished that for him. And then I noticed something else. Miniature Dorothy was wearing a miniature pair of shoes that glinted under a layer of dust. Silver shoes.
Once you learn how to recognize it, magic is unmistakable. You just need to know what to look for. It’s like this talent my mom has for spotting the one shirt on the rack with a tiny hole in it, so she can get a discount. And the silver shoes in the diorama were magic as hell. They were so magic that just standing this close to them was giving me a tingly feeling in my stomach.
I’d found them. I had no idea how they’d gotten there, but the shoes had been right in front of me the whole time.