Today there is promise.
The witch crosses to the giant circular window on the top floor of her castle. She removes her golden mask and sets it aside. Removing it is like removing an uncomfortable dress. She feels like she can breathe. Like she can stretch her arms.
As an all-seeing witch, she casts her vision far and wide.
Using her power feels a little like removing the mask. A liberation of a sort. An unfurling of her knotted insides.
She takes a deep breath and then,she can see.
In the distance, in a dazzling blue haze, is the East End ruled by the whining and imperialistic Witch of the East.
She too had a name once—Delphine—but she had no sister. Suppose that’s what made her impossible to bear. An only child can be troublesome. Spoiled and exalted by her parents,she got away with too much, thought she could continue to get away with much, much more.
Look at her now. Nothing but dust.
The witch watches as Locasta appears and tries to take the charmed slippers. She fails. Serves her right for thinking she had any claim to the magic.
The witch spots the girl in the blue-and-white-checkered dress as she embarks on her journey to the wizard.
The witch will put a stop to that.
She slides the golden mask back on, hiding her true face, and makes her way down the winding stone steps.
When she reaches the gallery, her heels clack loudly on the stone as she crosses to the half-moon balcony. In the open air, she lets out a shrill whistle.
From the west side of the castle where the roost is nestled amongst the spires, hidden from the morning light, there is a great flapping of wings. A second later, Faos, the commander of the flock, lands on the railing, his sharp talons curling over the pitted stone.
“You’ve called for me?” His voice is deep and husky.
Faos is not the largest of the flock, but he is by far the most ruthless. His face is covered in scars—a testament to how he got to his current position. By blood and by violence.
His wings are black and pockmarked with more scars. But they fly strong and fast and right now, the witch needs both.
“Get me the Tin Woodman,” she tells the commander. “Quickly.”
“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the last time he was here, demanding the release of your prisoner, you had me fly him to Lake Quad and toss him over the Great Waterfall.”
“No,” she says. “You decided to toss him over the Great Waterfall. I just wanted him gone.”
“He won’t come easily.” The scar running from Faos’s ear to his nose is one he got from the mercenary. He knows better than most just how sharp the Woodman’s axe is. “How shall I entice him?”
The witch expected this, of course. Not only can she see far and wide with her Sight, she can sometimes see into the future too.
She’s been waiting for this moment. She’s planned for this moment.
All the pieces are lining up.
“Tell him I’m ready to make a deal. Tell him to come at once if he wants to save his brother.”
Faos’s nostrils flare as if he wants to object and then thinks better of it. “As you wish.” His wings spread open and he pushes off from the railing.
The sound of a flying monkey taking off is one of thundering air.
The witch turns away as Faos’s wings kick up dust.
The Tin Woodman will come. She already knows that.
There is just one thing the witch cannot predict, a dark spot where her Sight can never penetrate—the Emerald City and the Wizard of Oz and what he might do to try to stop her.
