But no curse came.
Only the silence.
Does she want to know her past? Does she want to know why the woman who gave birth to her gave her up?
And is it more important than telling the Tinman the man he killed is gone?
She doesn’t owe him anything. Not really. He dragged her out of Dorothy’s farmhouse and demanded her help.
Maybe it’s time Cleo decides her own destiny.
Climbing to her feet, she straightens her jacket and slips her hand into Glinda’s.
FORTY-THREE
Dorothy
When we emerge from the stairwell, the Witch of the West has her back to us as she tends to a fire on a large stone hearth. The fireplace is surrounded by black stone carved like a dragon’s head, the opening its snarling mouth.
Flames lick at the walls, leaving soot in their wake.
“Fuck,” the Tinman says beneath his breath.
“What?”
“She gets her power from fire.”
“That’s a very big fire.”
“Exactly.”
He’s rough with me now, dragging me across the room to keep up the facade. My heart is racing, my hands clammy. This suddenly feels like a very bad idea.
But I’m desperate to get home.
“Dorothy.”
I suck in a breath and look up.
The witch is standing right in front of me.
From the cutouts in the mask, I can see her eyes. They’re dark purple, like an angry storm cloud.
“Step aside, Tinman,” she orders.
He hesitates, his hand still wrapped around my arm. Wedidn’t talk through the logistics of this plan. It was thrown together haphazardly and with barely any thought.
Will he use the canteen of water? Will I? How long do we wait to make a move?
Reluctantly, he drops his grip and steps away.
The witch stands still in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her. She’s taller than me, but only by a few inches.
Dressed all in black, with the golden mask hiding her face, she’s not only imposing, but terrifying.
I swallow back the bile rising up my throat as she watches us, her gaze narrowed and calculating.
Finally, the witch lifts her hands and reaches behind her head, untying the mask.
