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Up until this point, I thought everyone loved the Wizard, but that’s clearly not the full picture.

“I’m the daughter of the Witch of the West.…”

The crowd gasps.

“And the daughter of the God of the West.”

Another inhale.

“And if you’ll have me”—I turn around to address the crowd—“I will reclaim the throne stolen from my family and I will do everything in my power to save Oz.”

The seconds of silence that follow make the rapid thumping of my heart sound loud in my ears.

Am I delusional?

The axe feels suddenly heavy in my hand.

But the axe does not lie. And neither do I.

I will save Oz if it’s the last thing I do. I don’t know how. I don’t know when. But I will.

The crowd swells forward like a tide.

The man at the front, the one with the bushy beard and watchful eyes, says, “We’re tired of living in the dark, Ms. Gale.”

“Then let’s do something about it.”

The crowd erupts in applause and behind me, Basil says, “Looks like we’re starting a revolution. I wish I was wearing better clothes.”

THIRTY-SEVENRook

Gabriel is heavy in my arms.

When I reach the South Manor, the place is still.

I find Glinda in the front drawing room, writing in her journal.

When I come in, she looks up, annoyed to have been interrupted, but then she sees Gabriel in my arms.

“What happened?” she asks, panic turning her voice thin.

I set him on the bright pink sofa. His arm slips off, hanging limply.

I swallow.

Glinda comes around and takes in the sight of her youngest son.

He’s pale and covered in blood. His lips are blue, his face slack.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks but it’s clear what’s wrong with him and I can’t summon the words to say it.

“What the fuck did you do?” She comes at me. I disappear and reappear on the other side of the sofa.

She whirls.

“Fix him!”

“I can’t.”