Dorothy Must Die
Page 81

As I aggressively dusted the lamps in Dorothy’s reading room, Jellia and her stench swung by.
“It’s time for the Scarecrow’s hay delivery,” she said, keeping her distance, probably self-conscious about her own odor. “Run that up, would you?”
I grunted a yes. I hadn’t seen the Scarecrow since that first night. He’d been locked away in his laboratory, working on this hush-hush experiment, his finest work according to the Wizard. The maids had been taking turns lugging his daily bales up to his room and leaving them outside his door. The bales were starting to pile up. I imagined the Scarecrow—shriveled and wrinkled from not stuffing himself—and shuddered.
The bale was heavy, but after all my training with Nox it felt good to do something a little more physical than dusting. By the time I’d ascended halfway to the Scarecrow’s chambers, my palms were raw from the bale’s wire handle and a sheen of sweat had spread down my back. When I finally reached the top, I dropped the bale with a thud, preparing to push it the rest of the way down the hall. That’s when I noticed something that didn’t quite fit.
Outside the door to the Scarecrow’s room, an exceptionally short, dark-haired maid seemed to be fiddling with the doorknob. I didn’t recognize her. Was she new? Hadn’t she been warned not to enter the Scarecrow’s space without permission?
I left the bale and rushed down the hall. If the Scarecrow came back, this Munchkin girl would be his next experiment. I’d seen enough maids tortured this week, thank you very much.
“Hey,” I hissed. “What’re you doing?”
Startled, the maid turned her head in my direction. I skidded to a stop just a few feet away. That wasn’t a maid at all.
It was a monkey clumsily disguised in a maid’s uniform. And it wasn’t a she any more than she was a maid.
She was Ollie. His face was no longer gaunt and blistered and the hair had grown in over his scarred wrists. He had put on a little weight. He was wearing a dress.
“On a special mission from the Scarecrow,” Ollie growled at me. “Go find something else to clean.”
I could tell he was lying. A half smile played on Ollie’s face—mischievous and sad all at once—like I was just another puppet maid to be brushed off and pitied. He went back to his tinkering and a second later the door popped open with a click. Ollie waddled inside, not seeming to care that I’d caught him picking the lock.
“Ollie, wait—!”
Before the door could slam shut, I slipped in after him.
As soon as the door closed, a cyclone of fur sprung at me, Ollie’s feet slamming into my chest and knocking me backward onto the filthy, junk-strewn floor of the Scarecrow’s room. Before I could recover myself, he was crouched on top of me, pinning my arms down.
“Don’t scream,” he hissed, his angry face inches from mine. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
“What are you doing?” I whispered back. “It’s me.”
I realized how stupid I was being. I had been so excited to see him alive that I’d forgotten what I looked like. Ollie had no way of recognizing me in my borrowed face. It’d been so long, he might not have even remembered me as I used to look.
“Just keep your mouth shut,” he said. “I’m here for some information and then I’ll be on my way. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pretend this never happened.”
I couldn’t suppress a smile. Even after all this, it was still hard to get used to a talking monkey, and it was even harder to take him seriously when he was wearing a dress. I could have screamed with joy. Who cared that his claws were digging into my arms so hard that they were going to leave bruises? Ollie was alive! Not only that, he was up to something. Anyone breaking into the Scarecrow’s chambers was a friend of mine.
I could have flipped him over and freed myself without much effort. Even with his monkey strength and reflexes, I was certain he wasn’t half the fighter I’d become. It made me proud to think about, but I didn’t struggle. I didn’t want to escalate the situation and risk a real fight where either one of us could get hurt. I nodded like the milquetoast maid I was supposed to be.
Ollie’s grip slackened for a moment, but then his monkey brow wrinkled as if realizing something. His brown eyes narrowed into slits and his grip intensified.
“You said my name,” he said with a menacing growl. “How do you know me?”
“I—” My mind raced. Did I dare break my cover? The last time I’d seen Ollie, he was bailing on me and Indigo. I didn’t blame him for running, but it didn’t exactly recommend him as trustworthy.
Before I could come up with a suitable lie, Ollie leaned down and sniffed my neck. When he lifted his face up, he looked totally confused.
“You smell like—” I realized he was trying to place my scent.
I thought of Star; she had recognized me immediately. I hadn’t questioned why at the time—I’d figured it was just some animal owner sixth sense, but something else was even more likely. My Astrid disguise didn’t change my Amy scent.
“The girl from the road?” Ollie asked, a baffled look on his face. “The one who saved me?”
Screw it. I nodded. “Amy,” I reminded him.
“You look different,” he said, still not totally sold, still not releasing my arms.
“It’s a disguise,” I replied. “And it’s a hell of a lot better than yours, by the way.”