“If none could live to cross it, why the hell would you tell me to go that way?” I snap, shoving up to my feet and leaving the bloodied shoes on the ground behind me.
“It is the same in the South,” one of the Munchkins adds, speaking up for the first time. His English is lilted and strange, with an accent I’ve never heard, but I’m surprised any of them speak my language at all, to be honest. “For I have been there and seen it. The South is the land of the Quadlings.”
“The what?” I ask, but they’re all a’buzz with gossip now.
“I am told,” another Munchkin adds, his wings buzzing behind him like a dragonfly, “that it is the same at the West. And that country, where the Winkies live, is ruled by the Wicked Witch of the West, who would make you his slave if you passed his way.”
Winkies? The fuck is a Winkie?!
“The North is my home,” the ‘good’ (read: sarcasm) witch declares, “and at its edge is the same great desert that surrounds this Land of Oz. I’m afraid, my dear”—the witch adds his own dollop of sarcasm—”you will have to live with us.”
“Eventually, I’ll wake up, and this’ll all be over,” I growl, curling my hands into fists. What would happen if I punched Mr. Pretty Face Good Witch in the face? It is my delusion, after all. “Who cares what you say anyway?”
The witch pulls the white hat off of his head and a small light zips out from underneath, buzzing around him. He swats it away and then balances the pointed tip of his hat on his nose, chanting three words, like a bit of a countdown.
With a puff of smoke, the cap changes into a chalkboard, just like that, and I’m left wide-eyed and shaking with disbelief.
The little ball of glowing light zips up to the chalkboard, and words start to appear with that awful screeching sound of chalk on a chalkboard.
HELP OZORA GET TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS!!!
“Really, though? Really?” he asks as the ball of light buzzes around his head. As I blink at it, it dissolves into a small woman with wings of her own, much like the Munchkins.
A fairy.
It’s a goddamn fairy.
“Why should I help this spoiled, rotten brat?” The fairy zips around the Good Witch’s head as he waves her away and then turns back to look at me, standing in front of my Aunt’s house next to a pair of bloodied shoes with a bleeding dog-man waiting just up the stairs.
“Well, it’s settled then, if Cailín thinks you should go, you really should go. But I am not going.” The fairy flies at his face again, but he ducks her advances easily and shakes the chalkboard, turning it back into the pointed white hat that he uses to scoop her up. The witch sets it back on his golden hair and looks down his nose at me. “Perhaps, if you win in the Ruby Trials, Dorothy will help you.”
“Fine, I’ll bite. Where is this stupid city?” I grind out, just wanting something to happen. Anything but me just standing here like a total asshole.
The witch yawns as the Munchkins begin to scatter into the woods, their wings flashing in the stray shafts of sunlight peeking through the canopy.
“It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Dorothy, the not-so great wizard I told you of.”
“She’s a good woman then?” I ask, just to clarify. I mean, Dorothy was the hero in the original story, the one who found her way home through like, hope and sweet innocence or some shit. I have neither of those things, but I figure my mind is breaking under all the stress of my shitty life, and maybe this is some sort of metaphor cooked up by my unconscious brain. Find Dorothy, learn life lessons and shit, find my way home. Then I’ll wake up. Maybe I’m in a coma or something, right?
“She’s a wizard of moderate talent, but a woman? Whether she is or not I cannot tell, for she spends most of her time deceiving, lying, and in general, being a total bitch. I was certain she was a howler monkey or a banshee.” He pretends to swipe some imaginary dust from his shoulder with a glittering hand.
“How can I get there then, to this Emerald City place?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You must walk,” he replies saucily, glancing over his shoulder with a look of such pure smugness that I feel my temper boiling beneath my skin. “And it’s a long journey—obviously—through a country that is sometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will—quite graciously, I must add—use all the magic arts I know of to keep you safe from harm.”
“Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?” I ask as he turns around and stalks toward me, putting his palms on either of my shoulders. “By escorting me there?”
“Not a chance in this hell we call Oz,” he replies smoothly, leaning down to put his mouth near my ear. “But I will give you my kiss, and no one will dare injure a person who has been kissed by the Witch of the North.”
Before I get the chance to pull back, the witch puts his hot lips against my own, kissing me with a flash of sharp heat, his tongue diving into my mouth and tasting me. He tastes like honey and coconuts, I think, the softness of his mouth and the breathlessness I feel briefly blinding me to the situation.
Did this fucker just kiss me without my consent?
The witch moves his lips from my mouth to my forehead, kissing me briefly there before stepping out of swinging range of my fists.
With a flick of his cap off his head, he changes the hat into a mirror, and I can see that there’s a round, shining mark on my forehead, like a six-pointed golden star.
“The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow bricks,” the witch says with a smirk. “Even someone as dense as you cannot miss it. When you do find Dorothy, don’t be afraid of her; she’s too full of her own morality for her own good, or the good of this kingdom. Good-bye, my dear.”
The last three remaining Munchkins bow to me as the witch gives me a naughty little wink, whirls around on his left heel three times, and disappears, just in time for Toto to stumble to the doorway and see.
“Bain!” Toto shouts out, growling loudly enough that the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “You piece of shit! Get back here!”
Somehow though, knowing what little I know of that asshole, I’d sort of expected him to disappear in just that way.
I’m not surprised at all.
Not in the fucking least.
Taavi Toto Kills a Kelpie
“There’s nothing left,” I grumble, checking through the cabinets for food. “The cyclone must’ve swept it all away.”
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Toto says—and yeah, it really is weird as hell to hear my dog talk. Glancing over my shoulder, I find him slumped at the table, his head in his hand, blood oozing from his right shoulder. He doesn’t look fine to me: Toto is pale and shaky, and even those intense brown eyes of his seem dimmed.
“You need to eat and drink something, at least,” I say, narrowing my own eyes and turning back around. With a bit of effort, I manage to shimmy Aunt Em’s bread drawer open, exhaling with relief when I see the two freshly baked sourdough loaves at the bottom. The fridge door is open, hanging crookedly off to one side. The only things left in there are some smashed jars, and a bit of butter tucked underneath the liftable plastic cover. I take that out and start buttering the bread.