“Worry not,” the woman says and she finally breaks our gaze.
My shoulders relax and I let out a breath of air.
“I’ve come just in time!” She lifts the slippers. “We can’t let something as powerful as these end up in the wrong hands. It’s best if I take them in—”
The slippers disappear in a swirl of smoke.
The woman’s mouth drops open and she looks around.
“What just happened?” I ask for the hundredth time. I must have a concussion. I must be delusional.
The crowd whispers among themselves.
The woman laughs but it’s hard to miss the nervous edge to the sound. “Slippery little things! I’m sure they’ll resurface soon enough.”
“I’m sorry,” I start. “Who are you exactly?”
The woman steps forward. Her movements are exaggerated and graceful like that of a dancer. Thin and tall, she certainly has the build for it, but there is a vibrating energy about her, something just below the surface that feels rushed and impatient.
“I am Lacosta.” She extends her hand to me, knuckles up, fingers down. “The Good Witch of the North.”
She stares at me expectantly.
Am I expected to kiss her knuckles?
“Nice to meet you,” I say and take her fingers, give them a pump.
I’m not kissing her knuckles.
Her perfectly arched brows sink over her hazel eyes.
I am defying her expectations.
“Dorothy,” I tell her. “The Good Girl of Kansas.”
Cleo snorts and covers her mouth. Aakin’s shoulders jerk like he’s trying not to laugh.
The witch frowns at me.
Beyond her, the dark sky gets darker and several lampposts that stand along the perimeter of the picket fence flare to life. The golden light drives away the sheen of midnight blue, and the diamonds on Lacosta’s dress send out a dozen sharp flares.
The wind shifts.
“Speaking of Kansas,” I say because I’d like to get this moving, “I need to return there. Do you know how I might find my way back?”
The witch considers me, then, “I’m not familiar with this Kansas you speak of, but you know who might know a thing or two?”
“Who?” I ask because I can tell I’m supposed to.
“The Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the crowd’s demeanor change. They visibly pull back, curl up, like a slip of paper put to flame.
Lacosta quickly steps in between me and them, dominating my line of sight.
“There is no one more powerful than the Wizard of Oz. I’m sure he’ll have the answers you seek.”
Now we’ve added wizards to the mix. What else will they reveal to me? Talking animals?
