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Through the window, I can see Em and Henry at a round table sharing biscuits and stew.

Em says something. Henry smiles at her across the table, the candlelight burnishing his graying beard in gold.

They gave me everything. Everything I needed and more. Not because they had to. But because they wanted to.

They could have easily handed me over to the authorities. I could have ended up in foster care.

But they saved me. Because I needed saving.

I take another step toward the window and as I do, the slippers send a shot of warmth up my calves. Pressure builds at my sternum and then a great, heaving force yanks me away.

A swirl of green and gold obscures my vision, and when the color and light dissipate, I’m back at the Red Wander, back in my room.

Toto looks at me again and chuffs out air as if to ask, Did you get what you needed?

“The slippers pulled me back before I could talk to Em and Henry. I need to go back—”

A loud bang shoots through the city.

Toto and I both turn to the noise and when I check out the front window, people of the Hollow are running in one direction, toward the town square with the giant Wizard of Oz statue.

Clang.

I press my forehead against the glass and try to see down the street, but the bend in the road makes it impossible to get a good look.

“I should go see what that is,” I mutter, my breath condensing on the glass. I turn to Toto. “Shouldn’t I?”

He lets out a low rumble in his throat.

I think that might be a no, but surely something important must be going on.

“Stay here,” I tell him, and he groans as if that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. “I’ll just be a minute and I’ll keep the disguise on to be safe.”

Racing back downstairs, I find most of the tavern empty. Everyone has left for the square. Only Blue, and a few older patrons, remain.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Racket,” one of the older men answers.

“Too much racket,” his companion mumbles.

Blue chuckles. “Crotchety old men. This is my kinda place.”

“I’m going to check it out.”

“Have fun,” Blue says. “Watch for crumbling false idols.”

The crowd has grown so large that people have started to stack up at the edge of the square and spill off into the street. I wiggle my way through, apologizing as I go. And when I finally make it to the head of the crowd, I find the Tinman cutting down the Wizard’s statue.

The massive installation is groaning loudly with one of its legs cut clean through.

Tin is working on the second leg and making quick work of it.

Clang.

Tin’s shirtsleeves are rolled up, his axe firmly in his grip. Every swing feels more powerful than the last, rage and fire fueling him.

This can’t be good.