Dorothy Must Die
Page 27

“So what do I do?” I asked.
Pete looked at his hands. He tousled his hair, and then looked back at me in sheepish apology. “We could make a break for it,” he said. “Maybe with two of us, we could fight our way past the guards.”
We both knew what a dumb idea it was. “That will just get us both killed,” I said. “What’s the point of that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“What about magic? I mean, this is Oz, right? Isn’t there some spell that would work? It doesn’t even have to be a good one.”
He shook his head. “I never learned to do magic,” he said. “I was never good at it, and no one ever thought it was important for a gardener to learn, especially once Dorothy made it illegal for anyone except her and her friends to practice it. I wouldn’t even be able to cast a simple extinguishing spell without it setting off the magical alarms and going on trial myself.”
“What about someone else? Do you know anyone who would give you, like, some kind of mystical trinket or something? I mean, I don’t know . . .”
“I thought of that. I talked to every illegal practitioner I could think of and none of them will help. It’s too risky. Anyway, I doubt anything like that would work down here. There are anti-magic wards everywhere in the dungeons. You’d have to be really powerful to break through them. Like, Glinda powerful.”
“Some magic shoes would really come in handy right about now, huh?” I said.
“Seriously. Maybe . . .” He stopped himself.
“Maybe what?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just—there might be one more person who . . .”
“Who?” I asked eagerly.
“No,” he said. “It would never . . .”
“Who?”
He spoke with finality this time. “No. It won’t ever work.”
“Please,” I said. “Whatever you can do. Please just try.”
Pete nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll ask. But it’s a long shot. It’s the longest shot.”
We were both quiet. I scraped my nails absently along the stone walls next to my bed, trying to make a mark. Any mark. It was like with Indigo’s tattoos. We all had our ways of saying I was here.
“Listen,” Pete said. “Amy.”
I jerked my head up. “Yeah?”
He pulled something out of his pocket and stepped over to me.
“It’s not much. But maybe you can do something with this.” From out of his pocket, he drew a small kitchen knife, and pressed it into my hand.
He was right. It wasn’t much. But it was something, and he was giving it to me.
“Thank you,” I said. I leaned up to his face and kissed him solemnly on the cheek.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”
“I will make it,” I said firmly. At this point, I didn’t really feel like I had any choice but to keep believing that. Then I remembered one more thing. Something important. “Wait,” I said. And I ducked under the bed to retrieve Star.
I’d hated her from the moment my mother brought her home. I’d hated the responsibility of taking care of something that I never asked for, and I’d hated the way my mother seemed to care more about a rodent than she did about me. Or, she had cared about her until she’d stopped caring. Star and I were kind of in the same boat that way.
An unexpected well of emotion opened up somewhere behind my ribs. She had been a faithful companion since I’d gotten here. She was the last thing I had left to connect me to where I came from. And she had been a good friend. Even if she couldn’t talk.
I cupped her furry body in my palms and gave her one last kiss on the forehead.
“Take her for me,” I said. “Keep her safe for me.”
I had hated her and now didn’t want to let her go. Star was not so sentimental. She crawled from my hands and into Pete’s without looking back at me.
“Great,” he said. “Just what I’ve always wanted. A rat.”
I smiled. “Just do it.”
He lifted her up to his face and let her lick him. “Fine. I’ll take her,” he said. “But I’m not keeping her forever. Just until you’re safe and you can take her back.” He dropped her into the breast pocket of his shirt and she squealed happily.
“Go,” I said, giving him permission so he wouldn’t have to ask.
“I don’t . . . ,” he said.
“Just go. I’ll be okay. But if you know anyone who owes you a miracle . . .”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Pete said.
He placed his key in the wall. The door opened. I watched him go.
I was ready for them when they came for me the next day. I had paced my cell all night making plans, none of them very good. If I was going down, I was going to do it kicking and screaming. Not to mention biting, clawing, and hair-pulling. And, of course, stabbing. My knife—tiny as it was—never left my hand.
I heard them coming long before they reached me. The Tin Woodman and his metal men made a lot of noise descending all those flights of marble stairs.
As they creaked toward me, I crouched in the corner nearest to where I knew the door would appear and waited. I didn’t really know what I was going to do when they got here, but tackling the Tin Woodman as soon as the door opened and then making a break for it would be a start. It wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, but at least it was something.