“Any sign of Aunt Em?” I ask, crossing my arms and watching as a parade of peacocks moves across the lawn in front of the house, their feathers fanned out in glorious displays.
“Her scent is concentrated in the spot where she fell,” he says, looking back toward the open front door of the house. “But there’s no trail leading away from that spot. She’s been spirited away.”
“Spirited away?” I ask, my blood going cold. “Like, somebody took her?”
“Somebody … or something,” Taavi says, turning to face me, his face hard with determination. “Ozora,” he continues, putting his hands on my shoulders. Unexpected heat races through me. Taavi must notice because he draws his hands back suddenly, like he’s been burned. “We will go to the Emerald City and ask Dorothy how to find your Aunt. I’ve heard that her powers include soothsaying; she’ll know what to do.”
“Bain didn’t seem to hold a very high opinion of her,” I start, but the look that Taavi gives me says that he doesn’t hold a very high opinion of Bain. “And then what? I want to go home, To—Taavi.” I scrunch my face up, but he doesn’t look like he cares much what I call him.
“Home? That place was never home,” Taavi says, exhaling as he turns back to the front door and heads inside, hefting the duffel bag onto his shoulder as he passes.
“Yeah, well, I know Kansas was never home, but we’ll never get back to Seattle if—”
“I didn’t mean Kansas,” Taavi says, taking the rest of the bread and butter, and tucking it away in the bag. He turns to look at me, noticing the bloodied silver shoes on the tabletop. “You should put those on, mistress. The Witch of the East was never much to contend with until she found these shoes.”
“You want me to hike god only knows how many miles in heels?” I ask, grabbing the chunky shoes off the table and tossing them to the floor. Despite the blood, I step into them anyway, just to prove my point—that I can barely walk across the kitchen floor in heels, let alone across a foreign land.
As soon as my feet slide inside the glittery heels, a wash of energy sweeps over me, much the same as it did when I kissed Taavi by the creek. Speaking of, we should probably address that at some point …
“Taavi,” I start, as I feel a shift beneath my feet. The shoes melt around my toes, the glittery material turning to liquid and reforming in an instant. It’s a shape-change not unlike the ones I’ve seen from Taavi, from dog to man to beast and back to man again. In a handful of seconds, I find myself wearing a comfy pair of sparkly silver Vans, the slip-on kind without laces.
My favorite.
“What …” I start again, lifting my foot up and studying the unblemished white sole on the bottom. The witch’s blood is gone, and there’s no sign that these shoes were ever anything but an innocuous pair of sneakers.
“They seek to please the wearer,” Taavi says, picking a blanket up off the floor before folding it and adding it to the duffel bag. “They are now your shoes, and nobody can take them from you.”
“Not unless they crush me with their fucking house, right?” I ask, and the way he avoids answering the question tells me that I’m onto something. Great. “Are people going to start trying to drop houses on me?”
“Every sorcerer and sorceress has an Achilles’ heel,” Taavi answers, once again avoiding giving me a direct answer. I grit my teeth, but I’m not a hapless idiot heroine in a fantasy novel. That’s one of my pet peeves in books or movies, when the other characters won’t tell the lead what’s going on with all the fantasy woo-woo magic crap. This is my coma-induced delusion, and I’m in control here.
“Yeah, really? And what’s mine?”
“I don’t know,” Taavi answers honestly, coming over to stand in front of me. “It’s best that we don’t. If we don’t know, then nobody else will either.” He glances over at the open front door, and a chill skitters down my spine.
It’s time to leave, isn’t it?
“You told me you didn’t mean Kansas when you said that it was never home. What did you mean?”
“I meant the human world, Ozora,” Taavi says, his brown eyes focused on my face. “You were never truly human.”
How Ozora Saved a Sexy Scarecrow Named Stryker
There are several roads nearby, but it doesn’t take long to find the one paved with yellow bricks.
It’s also nothing at all like I expected.
“This is … not as glamorous as I’d imagined,” I start as I study the numerous signs clustered on either side of the road. Some of them have arrows, pointing in various directions with place names carved into the wood. Others are more ominous, with words like Danger, Warning, and Death scrawled in dripping paint. The vast majority I can’t read at all—they’re in languages I’ve never seen before.
“The Y.B.R. is not a particularly safe place to be,” Taavi admits, studying the fields of crops on one side, bordered by blue-painted fences, and the trees on the other. “But it’s the fastest, easiest way to the City of Emeralds. We risk more trying to take a longer, alternative route.”
“What gives the bricks this yellow hue?” I ask, toeing at one with my sparkly Vans.
“You don’t want to know,” Taavi says, and the tight, strained sound of his voice makes me really, really want to know. “Let’s go. The longer we take, the more we’ll be exposed to.”
He starts walking, and I follow along, jogging to catch up to his right side.
“I thought the shoes were supposed to be red,” I muse, as the sun catches on the silver sparkles.
“The shoes are only red in the movie retelling of Dorothy’s story,” Taavi says, looking over at me with a closed-off facial expression. It’s very clear that he’s trying to put some emotional distance between us. “The moviemakers had just gotten access to Technicolor, and knew audiences would respond better to ruby red shoes over silver ones. In the original book—The Wonderful Wizard of Oz—the shoes were always silver.”
“Explain to me this. If you know about the book and the movie, then how do you explain all of this?” I smirk, throwing my arms up and turning in a circle, pausing to walk backwards in front of Taavi and his barefoot, shirtless beauty. Damn, he’s hot. And again, how creepy is it that I turned my dog into a super-hot dude? “This is a pretty dead-on retelling, huh? I mean, except for the dead kelpie, and the rude witch with the really nice hair.”
Taavi snorts, glancing toward the fields on our left, like he’s on the lookout for danger. Considering I just met a horse with sharp teeth who looked at me like I was a sausage McMuffin with egg, I’m grateful for his vigilance.
“Because Lyman was obsessed with Dorothy, and when he fled Oz for the H.W., he wrote a book about her. Simple as that.”
“Lyman?” I ask, scrunching up my face. “Who the hell is Lyman? And what’s H.W. stand for?”
“You might know him as L. Frank Baum, the author of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” Taavi turns his attention from the fields to the forest. Despite the bright sunshine, and the sweetly singing birds, something feels … off. The hair on the back of my neck lifts up in warning. “H.W. stands for Human World. It’s where your father was from.”
“But not Mom?” I ask, and Taavi shakes his head.
“Dorothy drove your mother into the H.W. with her morality laws,” Taavi says, exhaling sharply. I notice when I look down at his fist, clenched tight around the strap of the duffel bag, that his claws are out.
“Dorothy?” I ask, squinting hard. “How was Dorothy around in the year 1900 for Lyman to write a book about? And yet she’s not as dead as he is?”
“Lifespans are longer for residents of Oz; as I mentioned, there are no humans here,” Taavi says as we pass a round house with a domed roof, painted the same garish blue as all the fences around here. “In this country of the East, blue is the favorite color,” he explains, without my having to ask.
As we continue down the road, we pass by several other houses, all of them the same style and color. Every once in a while, the Munchkins come
out of the houses, looking at me, bowing low. News spreads fast here, apparently.
“You’re taking this all very well,” Taavi admits as I tuck my hands into the pockets on the gingham dress, remembering my mother doing the same thing just a few years back. It really hasn’t been that long since I lost my family. Sometimes, it feels like it was yesterday. Sometimes, it feels like it was a hundred years ago.
“Like I said, I’m pretty sure I’m lying passed out on the floor at Aunt Em’s. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ve been flown by helicopter to a less crappy hospital than the one in town, and I’m under the supervised care of some very talented doctors.”
Taavi sighs and hefts the duffel bag to his muscled shoulder, the tags on his collar jingling.
“Mistress, you really should adjust your thinking if you want to survive in Oz.”
“Look, I’m onboard for all of this,” I say, putting a hand to my chest and smirking. “Tell me what I need to know. I’ll go to Emerald City, talk to Dorothy, fight the good fight. I’m just not going to freak out about it because it isn’t real.”
“Mistress Ozora …” Taavi starts again, but I shake my head.
“Oz. It’s just Oz, okay?” I turn to look at him, but he doesn’t seem convinced. I wonder … “Taavi, I command you to refer to me as Oz and only Oz.” His face scrunches up, one edge of his lip curling up into a bit of a snarl.
“Oz,” he says after a while, exhaling sharply. “We should talk about my role as your guardian.”
“That’s what you think we should talk about?” I ask, reaching out to run my hand along the blue length of the fence beside us. Taavi snatches my wrist away at the last second and gives me a dark look.
“You’re right: maybe there are better things to discuss right about now. First and foremost, do not touch anything without asking me first.” I raise my brows up, his fingers burning a circle around my wrist. As abruptly as he grabbed me, Taavi lets me go.
“Duly noted,” I say, rubbing at my wrist. “I’m guessing I’m not allowed to pet you anymore then?”
The look he throws me then is cold hell. Apparently my dog doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.
“It’s best if you touch me as little as possible,” he agrees, and then he’s back to scanning the horizon for danger. With a sigh, I tuck my hands in my pockets and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. We have a long way to go, I imagine. “No public transportation in Oz, huh?”
“There are no cars here, not as such,” he says finally. “And a carriage would only bring us extra trouble on the Y.B.R. If we see any bandits, we’ll slip into the woods to hide. Until you can control your magic, it’s best that we stay low.”
“My magic,” I murmur, lifting my head up at the sound of music in the distance. Taavi stiffens up as we round a bend on the road, coming up to another one of those domed houses. Only this one’s a good ten times bigger than the others, with several interconnected buildings.
Five fiddlers play their instruments while other Munchkins laugh and sing along. There’s a long, wooden table laden with fruits and nuts, pies and cakes, and assorted roasts and sliced meats.
My mouth waters immediately, my feet itching to join in the dance.
As soon as they see us, the Munchkins call out a greeting.
“Join us, Wizard!” they call out, gesturing to their dance circle, gossamer wings catching the orange glow of the sinking sun.
“Oh, hell yes,” I murmur, starting forward.
Taavi steps in front of me, his nostrils flared with anger, eyes narrowed into dark slits.
“Do not touch anything without asking me first,” he growls out. “You don’t understand this world; it does not operate under the same parameters as the H.W.”
“Food and dance aren’t the same here?” I ask, quirking a brow. “Because it smells delicious, and maybe I don’t recognize the exact steps, but moving the body to music is pretty universal.”
“You might be a Wizard, but you’re also half-human. I know for a fact that your mother read you fairy stories as a child.” I lift my brows up. “What happens to humans who drink, dance, and make merry with the fae?”
“They … get stuck in faerie forever? Or is it that they dance until they die? Something like that, right?”
“And there’s your answer: nothing good. Nothing good ever happens. So, we will politely decline the invitation.” Taavi pauses and drops his arms to his side as one of the Munchkins opens up the gate and steps out to greet us with a deep bow.
“You must be a great sorceress,” he says, lifting his head up and adjusting his pointed hat.
“Why’s that?” I ask, glancing over at Taavi to make sure I’m not breaking any stupid rule. Pretty sure I’ve read that you should never bargain with the fae, or give them your name, but that’s about all I remember.
“Because you wear the silver shoes and have killed the Wicked Witch. Besides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and sorceresses wear white.” The fae stands up to his full height—which is, as Bain might say, obviously not very tall at all.
“Well, blue and white anyway,” I hedge, glancing at Taavi again, but he seems okay with my answers. I bet he wouldn’t hesitate to slap a hand over my mouth if he thought I was about to say something wrong.
“It is kind of you to wear that,” the fae man continues, ducking his head. “Blue is the color of the Munchkins, and white is a sorceress’ color. So we know you are a friendly sorceress.”
“Oz, the Great and Terrible, is more than just a sorceress,” Taavi declares, lifting his chin up with a growl. The Munchkin cowers, dropping to his knees in supplication.
“I make no presumptions, Great Wizard. If you do not wish to make merry with us, then on behalf of Clan Boq, please accept my offer of accommodations for the night.” He glances in the direction of the woods and shudders. “The Y.B.R. is not safe after dark.”
“We accept the offer. Bring us food without any enchantments upon it.” Taavi turns and opens the gate, leading me through the gathered Munchkin crowd. I notice that, like when I saw them with Bain, all of the Munchkins are male. I don’t see a single female until we step into the house. There’s a woman sitting near the fireplace in the kitchen area, her wings a rainbow of colors, as opposed to the translucent shimmer of the other Munchkins’.
“We’re okay to stay here?” I ask as Taavi pauses at the bottom of the steps, waiting for our fairy guide to catch up. The man scrambles to please Taavi, leading us to a gloriously appointed guest room at the end of the hallway before bowing and excusing himself.
“Clan Boq, the richest and most powerful Munchkin clan in the East,” Taavi says, before dropping his dark gaze to my face. “We’re safer sleeping here tonight than out there.” He gestures for me to step into the room, and then closes the door behind us.
“How far is it to the Emerald City anyway?” I ask as I move around the room. These people really like the color blue. It’s everywhere: on the bedspread, the wallpaper, the chaise sofas near the stone fireplace. And speaking of the bed, it’s tiny, little Munchkin tiny. I’ll barely be able to fit on it, let alone Taavi.
He takes a seat on the blue rug at the end of the bed. It’s a little predictable, considering that was one of his favorite spots as a dog.
“I do not know,” he replies easily. “I’ve never been there. It’s better for people to keep away from Dorothy, unless they have business with her. But it is a long way to the Emerald City, that much I do know. The country here is rich and pleasant, but we’ll have to pass through rough and dangerous places before we reach the end of our journey.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Taavi pauses, waiting until the Munchkins have finished delivering our food before he starts to talk again.
“Eat up. Our chances of finding viable food options along the way are limited. This could very well be the last time you sleep in a bed until we reach the city.” He stands up, locks the door, and then waits for me to uncover the silver trays.
The food looks much the same as it did outside, but after a quick sniff from Taavi, he declares it edible.
Thank whatever gods they pray to in Oz because I’m starving. You wouldn’t think a person in a coma-induced delusion would get such realistic hunger pangs, but I decide it’s better for my own sanity if I don’t overanalyze that thought.
Actually … as I yawn and stretch my arms over my head, I have to wonder: if I go to sleep here, will I wake up at home? It’s worth a shot, right?
“You’re really going to sleep on the floor, aren’t you?” I ask as Taavi curls up on the rug.
“I am,” he says, and with a shrug, I start to kick off the silver shoes when Taavi snatches me by the ankle.
“Do not take those shoes off,” he warns, his voice gravely serious. “Under any circumstances.”
With a roll of my eyes, I crawl into the bed as I am.
“Whatever you say, Taavi Toto,” I tell him as I curl up on the tiny bed and drag the blue covers over my head.
What’s the point in arguing with him when I’m pretty damn sure that I’ll wake up to find that this was all a dream?
Or a nightmare.
“Oz, wake up,” a voice calls from far away. With a groan, I stretch in the bed, reveling in the softness of the sheets.
“Five more minutes,” I murmur, nestling into the pillow. My feet hang off the end of the bed, and I figure I must’ve shifted in my sleep. Scooting up, I end up slamming my head into the wooden headboard. “Fuck.” Sitting up suddenly, I realize that I’m not in my bed in Seattle, not in my shittier bed in Kansas, but instead still in the child-sized Munchkin bed.
It’s Taavi who’s standing above me, shirtless and wearing jeans and a collar and nothing else. His brown eyes are intense as he watches me, like he’s both desperate to be by my side and terrified of it at the same time.
“It’s time to go,” he tells me, moving over to the window to part the curtains. The light outside is still gray, a clear sign that it’s some ungodly hour in the morning.
Very Bad Wizards Page 5