The Wicked Will Rise (12 page)

“Well, someone's a sleepyhead,” Glinda said brightly. For a split second, I wondered if it could be Glamora, Glinda's twin sister. But no: I'd spent enough time with Glamora when I'd been training with the Order to know that this wasn't her. The differences were subtle and obvious at the same time. The tightness of her chignon, the shade of her lipstick, the way her eyebrows were overplucked until they were barely there. The hardness in her gaze and the muscles twitching in her clenched jaw.

But it was also the fact that she had a thick, jagged scar stretching from her chin to the bridge of her nose—the chunk that Mombi had talked about taking out of her face had been stitched up, but the evidence was there to stay.

I jolted straight up, and felt my knife materialize in my hand, which was under the covers and out of sight.

My head was spinning, still numb and heavy from sleep. Was it too much to ask to wait until
after
I'd had my first cup of coffee
in ages to tangle with a psychotic sorceress? I inched backward in bed as I tried to size up the situation.

“Oh, darling,
relax
,” she said. “I come in peace. Really.” She raised her perfectly manicured hands in the air as if to say
See
?

In a pale pink linen pantsuit with a large diamond pendant dangling at her just-this-side-of-tasteful décolletage, she looked fresh, perky, and utterly nonchalant, the perfect picture of kindness, poise, and sophistication. Other than the scar. I hoped she was embarrassed about it.

Even now, after everything I knew about her, I had to remind myself that
this
Glinda was nothing like the kind, generous sorceress I'd grown up reading about.
This
Glinda was a cold, calculating psychopath who probably ate babies for dinner. The only thing the one had in common with the other was a true passion for all things pink.

It was tempting to try to rush her right there—to jump up and take her out once and for all. But I had to play this carefully. With someone like the Lion, you could stab first and ask questions later. Glinda was too smart for that. She wouldn't just waltz in here and expect me
not
to attack her, and as casual and vulnerable as she appeared, she had to be ready for a fight.

Oh, she would get a fight all right. But I wasn't going to play straight into her hands. I had to be sneaky. I decided to bide my time until I had a real plan.

Unless she attacked first. Then I would fight her with everything I had.

“I hope I didn't wake you,” she said airily. “You looked so
peaceful sleeping. The beds are glorious, aren't they? I had them special ordered from a group of Nomes in Ev who've been making them for centuries. Best sleep you'll ever get outside of the Emerald City. Even Dorothy's jealous. I daresay you must have been tired, though—you slept all morning, afternoon, and then clear past the night again. Not that I blame you after all you've been through.”

I looked her straight in her luminous blue eyes. “What do you want?” I asked coldly.

“Oh, I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. Maybe clear a few things up. You and I got off on the wrong foot, and I've been hoping you, Her Royal Highness, and I could all try a do-over. There's really no point in fighting, is there?”

Shit
, I thought.
Ozma.
I'd been so startled at the sorceress's sudden, unexpected appearance that I'd forgotten all about the princess. I glanced over to her bed, hoping she was safe, and saw that it was empty.
Double-shit.

Glinda shook her head with a smile, reading my mind. I mean, maybe she really
was
reading my mind. If Gert could do it, why not Glinda?

“Don't worry about her, she's been up for hours,” Glinda said, gesturing to the far corner, where Ozma was standing with her back pressed to the wall, half hidden by a large potted fern. She was white-faced and silent, watching us. “We had a nice long chat. Of course, I was doing most of the talking. She
is
a quiet one, isn't she? A shame, really—she used to have such spirit! All Dorothy's fault, of course.” She sighed. “I don't know what
I was thinking, bringing that spoiled little brat back here from Kansas. What can I say?” She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Who knew that a simple farm girl could go and make such a hash of things?”

I barely heard what she was saying—I was too busy calculating my options. I couldn't help being annoyed that I had been put in charge of protecting a fairy princess who probably had more raw magical power in her pinkie finger than I would ever be able to wield, even with years of practice, but didn't know how to use it. Ozma should have been a valuable ally, but she was really no use in her current state. Even Pete—who couldn't use magic at all—would have been of
some
help.

As soon as his name entered my mind, an idea came to me. Pete. I hoped that wherever he was, he was paying attention right now. I hoped he was ready to think on his feet.

I let my knife vanish from my hand and stood up, just to see how Glinda would react. I felt her eyes following me, sizing me up as I walked casually to the breakfast table. She didn't move from her seat.

I took my time as I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a sip. I won't lie: even under these circumstances, it tasted pretty incredible.

“See?” Glinda said, registering my obvious pleasure. “Don't you feel better now? Finest coffee in all of Oz.”

How dumb did this witch think I was? Did she really think that she was going to win me over with some coffee and this Little Miss Sunshine routine? Was she
trying
to win me over, or was she just messing with me? As crazy as it sounded, I actually
got the feeling that she thought she was a lot slicker than she was—that she was so used to people falling for her bullshit that she seriously thought I would fall for it, too.

I filed that away as a potential weak point I might be able to use against her someday.

For now, I just had to keep her talking. “How'd you find me?” I asked. I had already figured out the answer to that question, but I figured she didn't know that.

Glinda gave a lilting, melodic laugh.

“Oh, Amy,” she said. “This tent belongs to
me
. I may not know exactly where it is, even now, but I can tell when it's being used. That silly monkey who stole it from me has no idea that I can see everything that goes on inside it. And, my word, she
does
have some horrifying personal habits. Still, I try to check up when I see that someone's in here, and as soon as I sensed that you and Little Miss Ozma had set up camp, I figured it was high time I pay you both a visit. It seemed like it might be good for us to talk woman-to-woman without Dorothy listening in. She can be
so
meddlesome, you know.”

Glinda prattled on while I was busy attuning my consciousness to the magical web that glimmered just under the surface of reality. It came easily now, and I realized that, in this state, I didn't even need to be facing Ozma to see her. I just had to shift my mental perspective until I found where she was standing, behind the plant.

When I looked carefully, I could see Pete's energy-form, too, hovering somewhere just behind her. I had an idea of what to do.

“Can you even fathom the nerve of her?” Glinda was
babbling, enchanted by the sound of her own voice. “I said, ‘My dear, you simply
must
have an audience with the Nome King. It's only proper.' But does she listen to me? Of course not. She”—
oh, shut up
, I thought, tuning her out and focusing back on the web of magic around me.

Without wasting any more time, I reached out toward Ozma with a magical hand and yanked hard, and in one quick burst, Pete emerged from the princess's body like a snake shedding its skin. I was getting good at this.

Glinda's neck snapped toward him like an owl's, seemingly disconnected from her body. Her eyebrows shot up into a confused arch; her lips formed a tiny
O.
Pete didn't miss a beat. He handled it as perfectly as if we'd planned it out together ahead of time, and I knew that I'd gotten lucky—while Ozma had been standing there half catatonic, he must have been paying attention. He knew exactly what he had to do.

Without even the slightest hesitation, he dove forward and grabbed a glass bottle of water from the breakfast spread, then slammed it against the edge of the table with a crack. The bottle shattered, water spilling everywhere, and Pete spun around with more hatred in his eyes than I was prepared for. He leapt for Glinda, who hadn't moved in her chair.

I only had a split second to act while he had her distracted. I called my knife back to my hand, blinked myself behind her, and as Pete came dashing forward brandishing a giant shard of jagged glass, I drew my blade—now slick with the darkest magic—across her throat.

Instead of slitting her throat open, all I did was ruin the
upholstery of the chair. My knife slipped past the witch like she wasn't there at all.

A look of surprise crossed Pete's face, and he hurled the broken glass across the room. It whipped neatly through the air toward Glinda's face in what should have been a perfect shot to take out her left eye.

No dice. The glass bounced easily off the back of the chair while she just sat there, completely unharmed.

“Oh, you
two
,” she said in a chiding tone. “There's really no need to get so hot under the collar. Amy, I have to say I'm surprised at you. All that time at that little witch academy Mombi runs, and they didn't even teach you to recognize astral projection when you see it?”

I moved slowly back around to face her. She raised an eyebrow and pressed her hand to her cheek in mock surprise. “You
do
know what astral projection is, don't you?”

I didn't answer the question. I felt dumb for not knowing what she was talking about and double-dumb that I had given her the opportunity to lecture me like a disappointing pupil rather than treating me as her most-feared enemy.

“My word. Well, I just don't know where to begin. No, my physical body is not with you right now. Currently, my corporeal form is comfortably back in Quadling Country, deep in a mystical trance in my own lovely four-poster bed, where I am being carefully protected by my most trusted bodyguard.
You
, on the other hand, are speaking to my spirit form. In other words”—she gave me a look of incredulous disapproval as she swiped her hand back and forth to demonstrate that her fingers
could pass right through her skull—“put the knife away, Amy. It's not going to do you a lick of good.”

I was pretty sure she was telling the truth, for once, but I kept the knife out anyway, just to get on her nerves.

Glinda rolled her eyes. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Amy, don't be a
child
. I came here to give you a simple message. A
nice
message. I don't want to be your enemy. I'm done with Dorothy. I believe your goals and mine are more similar than you might think, and that we can work together. If nothing else, perhaps I might be able to teach you some actual sorcery rather than the bargain basement hoodoo that Mombi's apparently been tutoring you in.”

“She was busy teaching me other things. Like how to kill witches,” I said.

“Well, how perfectly violent! As for
you
—” She pointed to Pete. “Remind me of your name again?”

“None of your business,” I said at the same time that Pete replied, “Pete.”

“Yes, of course. Pete. Imagine my surprise when I saw the Wizard transform you the other night. I spent a good several hours puzzling that out. A real head scratcher! I had a good laugh when I untangled it all. How could I have forgotten that I'd met you before, when you were an enchanted little boy with a little princess inside just
bursting
to get out. Of course, I thought I'd gotten rid of you when I disenchanted you all those years ago—didn't imagine that you would hang around like this.” She tossed her hair. “No one's perfect, even me. I think we can all agree on one thing at least: mistakes were made.”

“Get to the point, Glinda,” I said. She paid me no attention.

“And now,
Pete
, take a look at yourself. A handsome, virile young man with all the promise in the world, forced to live out his days trapped inside the thick skull of a nincompoop princess, while with every passing moment the delicate flower of your youth is losing its petals one by one. It's just plain tragic. To grow old without ever getting to
live
?

“Rest assured now that Amy's witch friends have been reminded of your existence, they won't let it continue for much longer. Trust me. They'll be looking to do away with you lickety-split, and won't that be a disappointment for everyone?”

“The witches would never hurt Pete,” I said. “Mombi
raised
him.”

“You go ahead and think that, Amy,” Glinda said. “It's sweet, really, the way you trust them. Never lose that sense of innocence, dear, it
is
so charming.” She stood and smoothed out her suit. “At any rate, I can see I'm getting absolutely nowhere with you two at the moment. My offer of peace stands, though. If either of you would ever have a yen to speak to me in the future—even if you just find yourself with a hankering for some company and a fine cup of coffee—you know where to find me.”

Her body—her “astral form,” I guess—flickered into transparency and then she was gone.

Pete and I just stood there. We looked at each other. It was obvious we were both thinking the same thing:
what the hell was that about?

“She's getting more powerful,” Pete said.

We were sitting in the grass in the field, next to Glinda's tent, chowing down on scrambled eggs and bacon. With the likelihood that she could hear everything that we said in the tent, it seemed safer to eat outside. So we were having a nice little picnic while everything else went to hell.

“Who?” I asked. “Glinda? She was pretty powerful to start with. I didn't notice anything different today.”

“Not Glinda,” Pete said grimly. “
Her.
Ozma.”

I paused. What good is all the magical prowess in the world if you can't—or won't—actually use it? So far, I hadn't seen much evidence at all of Ozma's so-called power. But from the expression on Pete's face, I could see that, whatever he was talking about, he wasn't happy. “What do you mean?” I asked.

Pete scarfed his last piece of bacon and set his plate aside in the grass. As soon as he did, it disappeared in a poof of glitter.

“I mean that, like, I'm not going to be able to stick around much longer,” he said. He stood and stared wistfully off at the mountain range in the distance. “It used to be that when I took the wheel from Ozma, I had a good six hours at least—sometimes even longer—before she came back out. I never quite knew why it sometimes lasted longer than other times, but I think it had something to do with Dorothy. She never knew about me, but for some reason, when she was distracted, or not nearby, it made things easier. But now Dorothy's gone and Ozma seems stronger than ever. It doesn't make a lot of sense.”

I didn't say it, but it actually made some sense to me. If Oz was getting stronger since the witches had broken down the pipelines that were sucking the magic from the land, it stood to reason that Ozma would be getting stronger, too. That would explain why, lately, she had also seemed more present.

“I wish we didn't have to worry about her,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “You're not as much of a pain in the ass as she is. Plus, you come in handy in a fight. Ozma just kinda stands there, you know?”

What I didn't mention was that it was probably for the best if Ozma came popping back in soon. In fact, if she
didn't
, I would probably have to make it happen myself, like it or not. It was Ozma, not Pete, who was supposedly locked on to the scent that Mombi had given her and was going to take me to Polychrome.

It was Ozma who I needed, not him. But this was nice. I could wait a few minutes.

“Do you think Glinda was right?” Pete asked. “That the
Order wants to restore Ozma to her real self? I can see why they would, I guess. She's the queen; putting her back in power is a step toward getting rid of Dorothy. But what happens to me when Ozma gets better? Does that mean I'll be trapped in there for good, like I was before Dorothy came back? What if, this time, I just stop existing?”

“No!” I blurted. “It's Glinda, remember? You can't trust a word she says. She's just trying to get in your head. She wants you to go running to her so she can send you straight back to Dorothy.”

“I guess,” he said, but he sounded doubtful. “But how do you know for sure?”

“Because she lies,” I said. “That's what she does.”

As I said it, I found myself wondering if I was really being honest. With Pete, with myself. I mean, yeah, I knew I was right about Glinda—she was a nasty, manipulative piece of work, willing to play on any insecurity she could think of to worm her way in. On the other hand, that didn't
always
mean she was lying, and until this moment, I hadn't considered any of the questions Pete was asking. It was hard not to wonder if there was something to what he was saying.

“It will be fine,” I reassured him, trying not to feel guilty about it.

“You won't let them do that, though, right? You'll watch out for me?” Pete searched me as if he could sense every one of my doubts.

“Of course,” I said. I wanted to mean it.

“Look, I know Glinda's a liar,” Pete said. “But part of what she said was true, you know. About what a waste it is, and how much it sucks. I've already missed out on so much. You have no idea how good you have it.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “I'm
really
lucky. Just look at me, living the good life here.”

There was a slight, warm breeze, and it ruffled Pete's hair. He gave me a wistful frown with a million responses wrapped in it. Among them:
girl, please
and
you really have no clue.

“I never stop appreciating it,” he said, tilting his chin into the sun and closing his eyes to soak it in. “Just being able to stand outside like this and breathe the air. You should remember it, too. Think of all the things you've already gotten to do; all the things you'll still get to do. Okay, so maybe things could be better. But you have this
life
that's just sitting there, waiting for you to take it. It could be worse.”

I realized too late how selfish I must seem. “You're right,” I said, standing up, too. “I'm sorry.” As I placed my own dish aside and watched it disappear like his, it occurred to me to wonder where it had disappeared to. Had it gone off into some magical dishwashing dimension to be cleaned or had it just ceased to exist? The more I learned about magic, the more questions I had about it, but for now, I put them out of my head. I took Pete's hand.

We both just stood there, looking out at everything Oz had to offer. For all the evil that was part of this place, there was so much that was good about it, too. Despite everything, Oz was a
place of light and magic, and we had found our way to the center of it.

I don't know where the next thing came from. I guess it was just something about the wildflowers all around us in the meadow and the mountains off in the distance. The breeze, the sun, the unexpected, unreasonable feeling that everything was going to be okay. Maybe it was what Pete had said about appreciating everything you had in the moment that you had it, or maybe it was the fact that I had no idea where the future was going to lead. What was I waiting for anymore? Why had I ever waited for anything?

Okay, so maybe I was just wired from the first caffeine I'd had in months. Whatever it was, I was just kind of like,
oh, screw it.

So I kissed him. Because why not?

Pete's skin smelled like sandalwood and soap. His lips were soft. His eyes widened in surprise as he pulled away.

My cheeks began to flush. Crap. “I'm sorry,” I said, backing away in embarrassment.

“No, it's fine,” he said. “It's just . . .” Out of nowhere, he started laughing.

“I . . . I just thought,” I stuttered. “I mean, uh, I guess I just thought, you know . . . since you said you'd never . . .”

“Amy,” he said. He collapsed back into the grass and pushed his hair from his face with a manic and astonished grin, like he sort of couldn't believe it. When he laughed again, I started to feel a little insulted. “Well, I don't think it was
that
ridiculous,” I said.

He just laughed harder. “No, it's not that. It would be totally nice to kiss someone. It would be nice to kiss
you
, if things were different. But I don't want to kiss someone just to kiss them, you know? I'm probably not going to get too many chances, see? It's like, when I do it, I want to make it count. I guess I just thought you knew.”

“Wait,” I said. “Knew what?”

“Listen. I get you. You're
trouble
. If I were into girls, I'd be so into you. But I'm not. Even girls as awesome as you.”

“You mean . . .” I'm pretty sure gears were visibly turning in my head.

Pete shrugged. “I guess,” he said. “I mean, I don't know, but basically.”

“Oh,” I said.

Okay, so I was kind of dumbstruck. The idea that Pete was gay just wasn't something I'd ever considered as a possibility. “I don't know why I thought you knew. I mean, it's not like I told you or anything. There's no reason you should have known.”

I hadn't really ever thought about it one way or the other. But as soon as he'd said it, it made perfect sense. As handsome as he was, and as much time as we'd spent together, there had always been something missing—a distance between us that had always been hard to pin down. Now I knew what it was.

“And even if I wasn't,” he said. “Would it matter? I kinda get the feeling you're into someone else anyway. So it's probably just as well, right?”

“I guess,” I said. “Just do me a favor, okay?”

“Sure,” he said. “What?”

“When you're in there . . . keep an eye on me. When you can see me, I mean.”

He tilted his head, and his hair fell in his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean . . .” I paused, not wanting to admit what I was really afraid of. “I mean, if you think I'm about to do something, you know. Scary. If you're in there somewhere, and you see me not being myself. Try to give me a signal. Or stop me. Or whatever.”

Pete nodded, understanding. “Fine,” he said. “If I can, I will. But you have to look out for me, too. Don't let them do anything to me.”

“I promise,” I said. I hoped it was a promise I would actually be able to keep.

I had a bunch more stuff I wanted to ask him, but it was too late. Pete's body began to shudder. He winced in pain and jerked his head back. He swallowed hard.

“Told you,” he said. “She wants control again. Here I go. Hopefully I'll see you again soon. We'll have plenty to talk about. But I don't know. I'm not sure it's going to be as easy after this. She's different now. She's going to fight hard from now on. I can tell.”

As if on cue, his face began to change. It was like the two of them were wrestling each other to occupy the exact same square foot of space. Pete's skin rippled as the princess struggled to get out; his arms and legs began lengthening and contracting. His face was flipping back and forth between his own and Ozma's and something in between.

Pete screamed. He clutched his head. Then he was gone and Ozma was standing in his place, looking steely and hard. She gave me the once-over, cocked her head, and raised her eyebrows, her lips pursed. It was kind of intimidating.

Was she mad at me? Did she blame me for bringing Pete out again?

It didn't matter. As nice a respite as the last hour had been, it was time to go. I wasn't sure exactly how I was supposed to pack up the tent, but it turned out I didn't need to worry about it. As soon as I decided it was time to get moving, the tent seemed to understand. It collapsed in on itself like I had issued a command out loud, and folded itself back up into a small, neat square of cloth that I placed in my back pocket. I knew that it was dangerous to use again, but I couldn't quite bring myself to leave it behind.

Ozma turned in a circle, getting her new bearings, and then she began to walk. If nothing else, she certainly was single-minded. That spider spell really worked.

She moved carefully and deliberately, but slowly. For every few steps she took, she'd back up a few times and then change direction. Finally, when she had found a spot in the meadow a few paces from where we'd started, she stopped, paced around as if judging it, and knelt to the ground as I looked on from a respectful distance.

On her knees, the princess ran her hands carefully through the grass, letting her fingertips graze each blade. Next, she turned her attention to the flowers and began to examine them.

I moved in closer, trying to see exactly what she was doing. All of the flowers I'd seen in the field were one shade of purple or another, but as Ozma searched, she managed to find an assortment, which she began to pluck up as she settled on the ones she wanted: first a tiny red one, then an odd royal blue flower with thin, spiraling petals, and a purple crocus and a yellow buttercup until, finally, she was holding a tiny bouquet representing the four colors of Oz.

She rose, holding the flowers to her chest, and, with her other hand, licked her index finger and held it up. She turned clockwise, then counterclockwise, gauging the wind, and then stopped. I felt a prickle on the back of my neck as a gust came from behind me, out of nowhere. As the wind blew around us, Ozma tossed the flowers into the air and watched as the current caught them up and carried them, flying, into the distance.

Ozma was still. A second later, a brick appeared in the grass at her feet. Then another, and another, each one of them blooming in front of her like flowers in a time-lapse video.

They popped up slowly and then quickly, and while they appeared scattered at first, a pattern began to emerge. It was a road. And it was yellow.

Ozma stepped onto the path to begin the next part of the journey. “Follow,” Ozma said.

So I followed: not Ozma, but the road itself. Now the princess and I walked together, side by side, in a looping, meandering path that I knew was taking us into the mountains.