“This is Oz, Sorceress.” With his free hand, Mathian spreads out his arm, gesturing with a flourish. “All of this is Oz. You’re standing in it.”
“I’ve never heard of Oz. Is it in Oklahoma?”
They blink at me.
“Nebraska maybe?”
Mathian shakes his head. “There is only Oz.”
Hands on my hips, I walk off to think. Aunt Em will be sick with worry. Uncle Henry won’t sleep until he’s found me. And if either of them were hurt in the storm…
If the house tore away from its foundation, there’s likely damage to the barn too. The animals will need to be checked, repairs made.
I need to get home.
“Is there anyone else here that might know a thing or two about geography?” I turn back to the farmers and find Cleo standing just a few inches behind me.
I jump back, startled. She didn’t make a sound.
“Best you take the slippers. The power is yours by right.”
Curses and witches and wands and magical slippers.
“What is this place, Cleo?” I hear the anxiety in my voice, the wobbling plea. I want her to give me an answer that makes sense.
“You truly don’t know?” Her dark brows furrow over her eyes. She’s studying me like a mystery, one she desperately wants to understand. “Take the slippers.Hurry.”
It’s the urgency in her voice that finally gets me to move. I reach out for the shoes and just as my fingers brush against the soft, shiny leather, the air pops beside me and pale hands reach out through a shimmer of light.
“I’ll have those,” a voice says, and the slippers are snatched from Mathian.
EIGHT
Dorothy
Cleo lets out a startled sound, then immediately sinks to her knees.
Both knees, I note, head bowed, shoulders hunched. If she sunk any lower, she’d be kissing dirt.
Aakin and Mathian quickly follow and Mathian says, “Bright tidings to you, Good Witch of the North.”
The golden light swirls around the figure as she steps out of the hazy brightness.
The woman slowly takes shape.
I’ve read a lot of fairy tales, both as a child and as an adult. There is nothing I love more than a fairy godmother. Fairy godmothers portend blessings and good luck.
This woman is dressed like one in a gown with a billowing skirt and a bodice tailored perfectly to her body. Diamonds shaped like stars glimmer from the fabric.
There is one incongruous fact about her—she’s younger than I am. She barely looks a day over twenty.
“We meant to hail you,” Aakin says, still pointed at the ground. “Please accept our apologies.”
The woman’s smile is tight against her teeth. Her attention shifts to me and I immediately want to shrink away.
I know the sensation of being examined, of being sized up like competition.
Tension fills the space between us, reminding me of the subtle change on the farm when a new bull is introduced to the herd.
