Dorothy Must Die
Page 39

In the corner leaned a broom made out of wood so dark it was almost black, with long, thorny bristles. I reached out to touch it but drew my hand back when Gert spoke sharply.
“You’re not ready for that yet, dear,” she warned. I looked at her, but she smiled like it was no big deal and began to bustle around the cave.
“Amy,” Gert said. “I know this is all new. I know you’re scared.” She walked over to a shelf and absentmindedly plucked a jar down before glancing at it, shaking her head to herself, and placing it back in its spot. “But we need you,” she said. “And I have faith in you. And now, for our first lesson. I like to think of this project as my little Get Witch Quick scheme.” She giggled at her own joke.
She sat back down on a stool on one side of a big wooden table in the middle of the room and indicated that I should follow suit. Every inch of its surface was covered with candles, and as she looked down at them, they began to light, one by one.
Gert’s face glowed in the light that she’d made. She smiled, a secret, satisfied little smile, and then clapped her hands and they all went out. “Your turn now,” she said.
“How?” I asked. I was confused. She hadn’t taught me anything yet. Wasn’t I supposed to say a spell or wave a wand or brew up something with eye of newt? From what Nox said and from what I’d seen so far, magic only looked easy. It took concentration and practice and time.
Gert waved her hand in the air, and as she did, sparks trailed behind it, like tiny, crackling fireflies. “Think of magic like electricity in your world,” she said. “In Oz, it’s all around you. It flows through the ground and the sky and the water. It keeps Oz alive. In most places, there’s not nearly as much as there used to be, but it’s still there.”
“Okay . . . ,” I said. It sort of made sense, but not really.
“To use it,” she went on, “you just need to know how to find it. You need to gather it up and tell it what to do. It’s just unstable energy. Magic always wants to be something different from what it already is. It wants to change. That’s what makes it magic. And that’s what makes lighting a candle the simplest bit of magic you can do. You just take the energy, and you tell it what to be. In this case: heat.”
It always wants to be something different from what it already is. Now that made sense to me. It reminded me of myself.
I frowned at the candles. I stretched out my fingers and moved them through the still, slightly damp air around me, trying to get back to that place Nox had taken me to—that tingly, warm feeling.
Nothing.
“You have to want it,” Gert said. “Do you want it?”
“Of course I want it,” I said. I did, didn’t I? I passed my stiff palm over the candles.
Again, nothing happened. The wicks remained completely flame free.
“Do you really, child?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Forget about what you are supposed to do. Just do what comes naturally to you.”
I slumped over. “I hate to break it to you,” I said, “but none of this comes naturally to me.”
“Amy,” she said. “It will. Soon. What you did in that cell with Mombi, part of that was the knife, yes. But an even bigger part of it was coming from you. You have the talent. Once you learn how to harness it properly, you’ll be unstoppable.”
I couldn’t help but remember the fact that I had hurt someone, or something. He deserved it, but still. It felt so easy in the moment. Maybe too easy. I remembered what Nox had told me, about how dangerous magic was, about how it corrupted people from my world. How they wanted more and more. It was magic that had made Dorothy who she was now. What would it do to me? What if, in training to fight Dorothy, I became just like her?
“You’re not Dorothy, dear,” Gert said. I felt myself shiver involuntarily. She must have overheard my thoughts. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you never become her.” I wondered if Gert was making this promise just to stop me from worrying, or if it was a promise she could keep. “Which leads us to a very important question.” She paused, and looked me up and down appraisingly. “Who are you?” she finally asked.
I pulled back, surprised at the question. “What?”
“If you’re not Dorothy, then who are you?”
I didn’t know how to respond. “Um,” I said. “I’m Amy?”
“I bet there are a million Amys where you are from, dear. Amy is what you are called.” Gert laughed liltingly. “One thing you have to understand,” she said, “is that all magic users have our own specialties. We each have our own affinities for certain kinds of magic. It has to do with your personality. Once you understand what kinds of magic you’re best suited for, it will be easier. But before you can do that, you need to know who you are. The essence of what makes you you. So. Who are you?”
I thought about it. Before I’d gotten to Oz, I would have been able to answer the question more easily, I think. But I also think I might have answered it wrong. Now, I didn’t know where to begin.
Was I the Amy Gumm I’d always been, who took care of my mother even though I sometimes hated every vomit-y, thankless moment of it, who got by in school not even breaching the surface of all that potential that Dr. Strachan said I had? Was I Salvation Amy, the girl who always took the bait when Madison Pendleton pushed me too far? The girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut literally when her life depended on it? The girl whose future looked as bleak as the Kansas sky she stared at every night through her tiny circular trailer window?