Dorothy Must Die
Page 66

“Ahhhh,” he moaned again.
I pulled the needle out and put it back on the tray, slowly backing away.
“Do you know how many brains I had to drain for this stuff?”
The thing is, he wasn’t looking at me. It sounded more like he was talking to himself; he barely seemed to remember I was there at all.
“It’s exhausting,” he continued, “but it’s the price they must pay to have the finest brain in all of Oz.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled.
“I’ll sew myself back up. It’s good to let it breathe for a bit.” He waved me away, a bit of straw escaping from his cuff. “Take the trash on your way out, girl.”
I grabbed the wastebasket, almost tripped over myself curtsying, and got the hell out of there.
As long as I didn’t think too much about it, and if I followed my feet and let the spell do the work, I knew my way around the palace. After only one wrong turn, I finally found my way to the kitchen, which seemed as good a place as any to dispose of the Scarecrow’s garbage. It was empty now for the brief window between cleaning up after dinner and getting ready for breakfast. The place was even more huge than I had expected, which was fitting considering the size of the palace.
Not to mention the size of Dorothy’s appetites.
One wall was lined with a row of old-timey stoves while a row of sinks dominated the other. At the end of the kitchen was a fireplace, a small fire dancing behind the grate. I tossed the whole wastebasket in. It burned down to dust in an instant.
When I turned around, I was no longer alone. Ozma was standing in the doorway. She wore a nightgown so sheer I could see her pale, almost translucent skin through it. Her big green eyes were unblinking, glowing brightly in the kitchen’s candlelight.
I was pretty sure she hadn’t noticed me.
I held my breath and stepped aside into a shadow. But as I moved, the princess let out a lilting giggle and I saw that her eyes were trained right on me. I’d been discovered.
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” I said, curtsying deeply and praying I hadn’t done anything technically against the rules.
Again, she giggled. It had a manic, almost crazed quality to it.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked quietly and carefully. “May I assist you to your quarters?”
She smiled and clapped her delicate hands together. “Quarters! Halves!” she exclaimed in delight, and then her face immediately drooped into a frown. “And have-nots.”
So this was the One True Princess of Oz. It was obvious to anyone that she was broken somehow. I wondered if this was what she did every night—if she just wandered around the palace reaching for whatever shiny objects caught the attention of her spooky green eyes and spouting weirdo puns. I turned to go. I didn’t want to be around if she started banging on pots and pans or something.
But as I tiptoed around her into the empty hallway, she called after me.
“Dorothy knows,” she singsonged. I stopped and turned back, wondering what she meant. What if there was a little bit of Ozma still in there?
“What does she know?” I asked, forgetting myself.
She began to sing. “Backward rivers, Dorothy knows, Lion’s den, Scarecrow’s nose.”
Oh. It was just more nonsense.
What happened to you? I wondered. But I knew it wasn’t worth it to ask.
Ozma’s hand reached out for mine as I tried to skirt past her. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so frail and thin that I could practically see through her.
I tried to shake her loose, to no avail. “Ozma. Your Majesty. You have to let me go or I’ll get into trouble.”
She gave me an angelic smile and patted my hair with her free hand. It was like my mom mid-bender.
“What does the owl say?” she asked me.
I inspected her face to see if there was even a hint of understanding, if there was anyone at all at home. It didn’t look like it.
I’d taken too long to respond, so this time her question was louder, echoing through the kitchen. “What does the owl say?”
“Please be quiet, Your Majesty,” I hissed, but when it looked like she was about to ask me again, I gave in. “Who! The owl says who.”
“Are you?” she demanded, cocking her head to the side.
“Astrid,” I replied, trying to stay calm, her clammy hand still on my wrist. “I’m Astrid.”
“Mm mm mmm,” she replied, pointing at my chest. “Naughty liar.”
I yanked away from her, more violently than I’d intended. Ozma teetered like an antique vase and then started to fall over. I had time to picture the princess of Oz cracking her head on the cobbled kitchen floor; that’d make for a pretty atrocious first night of espionage. I leapt forward to steady her.
Before I could even apologize for almost knocking her over, Ozma latched on to me. She put her lips right up against my ear.
“I’ll never tell,” she whispered.
And then, out of nowhere, she grabbed my chin and turned my head, kissing me softly on the cheek. Her lips were soft and smooth.
What the hell?
I pulled back gently and looked at her. Her eyes were wide open, too. She was still studying me. This time, though, she let me go. Without another word, Ozma resumed her wandering, leaving me in the kitchen to wonder if my cover was already blown.
“Today is a beautiful day to be in Oz!”
The lilting, sweet voice wafted across the crowded table in the servants’ mess hall where I was eating breakfast with the rest of the maids.