Dorothy Must Die
Page 86

In his haste, the Scarecrow had left the greenhouse unlocked. I rushed through the door, the fragrant smell of flowers immediately wiping away the charred scent of the palace. I paused for a moment, catching my breath and listening. All I could hear was muffled shouting from the palace—no guards chasing after me, no Tin Soldiers clanking in this direction. Just a caw or two escaped from the dark recesses of the greenhouse. I’d made it. So far so good.
The greenhouse was filled with rows and rows of flowers like nothing I’d ever seen before. There were huge roses with blossoms bigger than soccer balls and bright-red poppies that opened and closed their petals every few seconds as if they were breathing, expelling pale pink pollen into the air as they did. There were tulips whose colors changed every few seconds, cycling through all the colors of the rainbow, and towering sunflowers that sparkled in the near darkness, their petals seeming to give off their own sunlight.
The rows of plants went on and on and on. This, I realized, was what Oz should be like everywhere. Dorothy wasn’t just satisfied with stealing the magic from Oz—she was also stealing what the magic created. Someday, I hoped that I’d have a chance to see some of these plants growing in the wild, out of Dorothy’s reach.
But not tonight.
I hurried toward the back, the sound of the crows getting louder and louder, until I was only steps from the aviary. It was now or never. I ignored my fear, unlatched the door, and stepped into the cage.
Inside, they were everywhere. On perches high above and on the ground, pecking at seeds that were sprinkling down from a wrought-iron feeder hanging from the ceiling like a chandelier. Standing careful guard.
Despite their vigil, they ignored me.
I kept my breath shallow and steady, hoping that Pete was right, and that neither their hearing or vision was very good, trying not to think about their razor-sharp claws and even sharper curved beaks.
I’d only had a narrow glimpse of the Scarecrow’s laboratory, but I got the feeling it was underground. There weren’t any staircases that I could see in the aviary. Most of the floor was covered in seed, feathers, and bird crap.
Except the birdbath. That, oddly enough, was mostly clean. Stranger still, the ravens didn’t perch there.
I approached, tiptoeing past the birds that scavenged for seed at my feet. I ran my fingers along the edge of the birdbath, examining it for a button or a latch or anything else that might give me a clue about what to do next.
Nothing.
The stagnant puddle of water in the bath’s basin was murky and black and stinky with mildew. It was impossible to see what was down there . . . which made it a perfect hiding place. I had an idea. I held my knife out and willed it to fill with heat like it had back in the palace. The weapon felt eager to please, turning orange, the color of an almost-extinguished ember. I concentrated harder and turned up the juice until it was shining so brightly that it hurt to look at it.
I plunged it into the fountain, the water steaming as it came into contact with the blade. I could see through the cloudy pool to the bottom where my knife illuminated something dark and round.
A button.
I jammed the butt of my knife against the button, and it gave easily.
The birdbath disappeared right out from under me, and I almost tipped over and fell flat on my face. I managed to keep my balance, though, and looked down to see that where the birdbath had stood just a few seconds earlier, a small round door like a manhole had appeared in the ground. I leaned down and tentatively lifted it—inside, a stairway spiraled into darkness.
From somewhere high above my head, I heard a loud Ka-caw!
Then, an excited rustling. I’d gotten their attention.
Another crow cried out, and then another and another until they all seemed to be screaming at me.
A rumbling sound began to build as my peripheral vision clouded with a fluttering blackness. The rumble got louder and louder, and then I realized what it was: it was the sound of hundreds of birds flapping their wings all at once. They were all flying right for me.
With no time to worry about what was down there, I stepped through the door and plunged down the twisting stairway. I felt like I was running for my life, trusting my feet to find their purchase against the treacherous stone stairs. They didn’t let me down. Nox had trained me well.
The door slammed shut behind me and everything suddenly went completely black. Able to see exactly nothing, I stopped and looked up and waited for my eyes to adjust.
They didn’t. I decided to light my knife up again, finding it even easier the second time than the first, and held it aloft. Or tried to. I hit rock a few inches above my head. I climbed back up the staircase and examined the back of the door, but it didn’t have any handles or buttons. I had no idea how to open it back up. Well, I thought, at least it will keep the crows out. Plus, I might be trapped. With no other direction to go but down, and only my knife to light the way, I descended.
When the steps finally ended, I looked around, the glow of my knife lighting up an entire room. The Scarecrow’s House of Horrors was almost as I had imagined it to be. Except worse.
There were two long metal tables set up with horrific instruments like the ones I’d seen in his room, and a metal chair with restraints on the arms and the legs. I was pretty sure that’s what Maude had been strapped into yesterday. So where was she now?
Next to the chair was a square, squat machine, with a bunch of circular dials and gauges on it. It was attached to a long leather tube. I didn’t want to know what that was.
Against the wall was a huge shelf lined with big glass jars—the kind that Gert kept her dried herbs and potion ingredients in. But these jars weren’t filled with mandrake root and nightshade dust.