OFF TO KILL THE WIZARD
Return to Oz With a Vengeance #1
By
Warren Thomas
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Rollicking Dragon Press
Copyright 2019 by Warren Thomas
Cover by Tony Tzanoukakis
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and locations within either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All characters in this story are 18 years old or older.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
List of other books by Warren
About the Author
Off to Kill the Wizard
Return to Oz With a Vengeance #1
It was another cold Kansas winter day. An overcast sky darkened the window and threatening more snow. Dorothy shivered under her pile of blankets, gazing longingly out the window. She yearned for her long gone days of sunshine and youth.
“I spent my life fretting over things I had no control over,” she said. “I could’ve made a difference in the community, in the world. Or at least enjoyed my life more.”
As far as she could see, her only real accomplishment was keeping the family farm up and running so that she could pass it on to her children. Unfortunately, none of her children had any interest in farming. Dorothy hated knowing they just wanted to sell it for the cash. All her beloved children and grandchildren wanted was money to waste on cars and vacations to the tropics.
As was her habit of late, her mind wandered back to the best years of her life. And back to her one, great adventure.
“Oz,” she whispered with a faraway look. “Beautiful, wonderful Oz.”
Dorothy made a difference in the Kingdom of Oz. She changed everyone’s life for the better, killing two Wicked Witches and freeing the people from under their evil yokes. Everyone told her she'd had a fevered dream, and that she never left her bed. But when she needed to go relieve herself, Dorothy crawled out of bed to discover proof of her adventure: silver shoes on her feet!
Dorothy immediately hid the magical shoes, planning to use them some day for a return to Oz. But then she met a boy, who turned into her beloved husband. There was always something to do on the farm, and then she had children…
Voices down the hallway rose, reminding her that she wasn’t alone in the old farm house. All of her children and grandchildren had gathered for some reason. It wasn’t a holiday, being the middle of January, for the love of God. Though, she thought any excuse for her family to gather was a good one. And then she overheard some of them discussing who would get what of her possessions. That put a damper on her mood.
“At least they are better at enjoying their lives,” she said, hearing them gathering in the living room. Her bedroom sat at the back of the house, so even though the bedroom door stood wide open she could barely hear what they said. Unfortunately, what little she did hear chilled her bones. “Oh my. They wouldn’t dare.”
Cindy, her eldest son’s new twenty-something trophy wife, spoke up, her words drifting back to her bedroom, “…and she’ll be more comfortable in the home. They will give her drugs for the pain, and she can die in peace.”
Dorothy closed her burning eyes and held her breath. She didn’t delude herself in believing she had more than a few weeks, if that, of life. But she always expected to die in her family home. In her heart, she knew her family would never have considered doing that to her, except for that greedy, two-bit whore Cindy. The tramp wanted to cash in by selling the farm, and she couldn't wait a few more weeks. Unfortunately, Dorothy had given her son full power of attorney.
“…on the way and…” her son’s deep voice said, but she couldn’t catch it all.
“Today?” her youngest daughter said. “She doesn’t have much time left, why do this?”
Why indeed! Dorothy thought.
“The ambulance is here to pick her up,” Cindy said.
“No,” Dorothy said, sitting up in bed. Her every muscle ached, and she felt so weak, but she would not allow them to take her away to die. As she listened to her family filing out the front door, she swung her bare feet to the cold hardwood floor. She paused to shiver and shake, wearing nothing but a white flannel nightgown, and then she pushed and got to her wobbly feet. All she could do was a slow, stooped shuffle, but she moved with determination. By the time she reached the bedroom door, though, they all started coming back into the house. Dorothy heard them speaking to someone else, probably the ambulance personnel. Unfortunately, there was no way outside on her end of the house. “But there’s one place no one will look. Not right away anyway. And it is my only hope.”
Dorothy shuffled as fast as she could to the door closest to her bedroom. Opening it, she paused at the sight of all those stairs up to the attic. She had to make it up those stairs, or let them take her away. No real choice there, so Dorothy sucked it up and headed up the stairs. She closed the door behind her, wishing there was a way to lock it.
The stairs proved steeper than she remembered. It took all she had, but Dorothy forced one foot after another up those frigid, wooden steps. Soon, she stood in the dim light of the single bare light bulb.
The attic was as bone-chilling cold as she feared. She shook almost uncontrollably. In her mind she visualized the trunk she needed. It was up there. Unfortunately, someone had rearranged things since she last went up. The family used her attic to store a lot of stuff. The first thing she found were cardboard boxes of trashy clothes her college age granddaughter outgrew. She shook her head at the sight of so many skimpy miniskirts and the shortest of short-shorts. Daisy had a penchant for wearing daisy dukes for a few years there. Then she found a box of personal affects that belonged to her eldest son’s late wife, who died in a car crash two years back. Before he met and married the greedy tramp, Cindy, forty-five years his junior.
Next she found her grandson’s gun collection. He was off in the Army, so kept his valuable collection of weapons in her attic. Dorothy suspected he was afraid Cindy would sell them and never give him the money. His collection was bigger than she thought, noticing cases with guns and ammo, and even a sword.
The katana made her mind wander for a second. She gave him that sword. It had been hers, bought during her bout of middle-aged crazy in her 40s. Instead of buying sexy clothes and chasing young men, she studied yoga, karate, and kendo. It was quite thrilling at the time.
"Uh-oh," she muttered.
Dorothy heard the first cries of alarm downstairs, so renewed her efforts and quickly found her old trunk. She knelt before it, running her hands across its dusty lid as she thought back to
the Land of Oz.
“You want my old bones out of this house so you can sell it and make money,” she whispered, scowling. “Fine. I’m leaving, but I’m going my way.”
Dorothy opened the trunk and started to pull the most cherish possessions of her youth out one by one. Things her late husband gave her. Old love letters. Her wedding dress. And a shoe box, bound in twine.
Everyone started shouting downstairs. She could hear doors opening and closing, family shouting her name as they ran from room to room. Then everyone seemed to rush outside, probably figuring she was trying to make an escape in that horrid weather. She smiled with wicked delight, and untied the twine.
“There you are, my beauties,” she said with a breathy voice.
The silver shoes shone in the dim light like polished silver. She caressed them with weathered fingers. Then as family members started rushing back inside, she pulled the shoes out and placed them on the floor.
“Good-bye, cruel world,” she said, slipping one foot, then the other into the silver shoes. Dorothy felt warmth enter her feet, and flow sensuously up through her body. She moaned and groaned, hugging herself. The elderly woman’s eyes popped open when she heard someone open the attic door below. A smirk curled the ends of her lips, as mischief filled her aged, blue eyes. “There’s no place like Oz.”
Dorothy clicked her heels together.
“There’s no place like Oz.”
She clicked her heels again.
“There’s no place like Oz.”
And she clicked her heels a third time, and blackness engulfed her.
Chapter 2
“Oh!” Dorothy cried, sitting up. She blinked, looking around at all of the lush greenery. Were those mountains in the distance? “I did it! I’m back in Oz!”
The woman from Kansas found herself in a village green, surrounded by quaint cottages with thatched roofs and smoking chimneys. Men and women in what she’d consider “medieval” garb gawked at her. Even the children watched her with big eyes.
Realizing she was sitting there in her night gown, she felt her face heat up as she clutched the warm flannel. Her eyes widened, noticing the changes. Her old, weathered hands looked young, smooth, and delicate. Then she noticed her long, shapely legs, now shod in silver stilettos.
“Oh my,” Dorothy said, blinking at those unfamiliar shoes. “Why did my shoes turn into stiletto pumps?”
Standing up, she realized the changes were much more profound. She once again had the body of a twenty year old, with high firm breasts, a narrow waist, and well rounded hips. It was the body that enchanted a young Kansas man decades earlier, who later married her.
For the first time in decades, Dorothy got the warm fuzzies inside. She closed her eyes and savored that almost forgotten sensation. Memories of all the things her late husband did with that body before age and life in general made them both too tired to care anymore.
“Who are you?” an elderly man asked. He squinted at her, checking her out from head to toe more than once. Yet, he didn't look particularly enamored with her, either. “You look familiar. Are you a witch?”
Dorothy didn’t recognize the old man, who looked even older than her. Well, older than she was before her return to Oz and her return to youth. The way he said "witch" alerted her to his dislike of them.
“I’m no witch, sir. I’m Dorothy Dav…um. Dorothy Gale.” Dorothy had almost given her married name of Davis. She graced him with a sweet smile, before looking around. “Where am I?”
Everyone she saw wore shades of purple. That screamed Gillikin Country. Even most of the village houses were painted in a pastel purple, with thatched roofs and little picket fences protecting well-kept gardens.
The village was surrounded by white-peaked mountains. She tried to remember the geography of Oz. Where were the mountains in Gillikin Country? But then others started coming towards her, all looking warily curious.
"This is the village of Jerna-on-the-Cantoo," the old man said. He pointed to a small river at the base of the hill. "That's the Cantoo River, which flows across the border into Ugabu."
That village name meant nothing to her, and told her even less about her actual location in Oz. A thirty-something peasant woman stepped up close before she could ask another question.
“Dorothy Gale?” the woman asked, stepping forward. Her face went from curious to a deep scowl. “The Dorothy Gale?”
“I... I don’t know. The name is not exclusive to me. Who is the Dorothy you are speaking of?”
The woman took another hesitant step closer. "I know of only one Dorothy. She who killed the Wicked Witches and then vanquished the great Wizard of Oz, our blessed Protector, before she escaped with the help of Glinda the Witch."
She felt flush with pleasure. They knew of her! They even gave her credit for great and heroic acts, though in truth she was just trying to get home. Also, she didn't "vanquish" the Wizard of Oz, but convinced him to help her return to Kansas. It all went terribly wrong, and the Wizard's hot air balloon left without her. Thank God Glinda was there to help her.
"Oh my, that had to be…what, sixty? Seventy years ago?" Dorothy said, and then nodded. "Yes, I am that Dorothy, but I didn't actually vanquish the Wizard. He just left, without me I might add."
"You monster!" the woman cried. Face red and twisted with rage, she picked up a rock and threw it at Dorothy. "Monster!"
Another villager, and then another and another, picked up rocks and threw them at her. Dorothy cried out and cursed, as stone after stone found their mark.
"Stop it!" she cried, using her "mother voice" and they all paused.
After eighty-seven years of hardship and harder work, Dorothy was no longer the young innocent child of that long ago adventure. She gave them her most intense scowl of disapproval.
"That's better," she said, pulling herself to her full five feet five inches. "Now, let's discuss this rationally."
"Oh bugger you," the woman that started it said, and hurled a rock that struck Dorothy between the eyes.
Black and white stars flashed behind her eyes, and Dorothy's knees buckled. She felt herself collapsing, just before darkness enveloped her.
~**~~**~
"Oh, my head," Dorothy groaned as she struggled out of the darkness.
Rough hands grabbed her arms, her legs. Those unseen hands hauled Dorothy to her feet as her eyes finally fluttered open. Big, brutal, and very angry looking men surrounded her and held her between them. The man in front of her grabbed a fistful of her night gown and shook a fist before her face.
"A traitor to the people doesn't deserve the dignity of clothes," he growled, but a woman stopped him from ripping her clothes off.
"I don't understand why you are so angry with me," Dorothy said. She gasped and groaned as she started to struggle. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"You took the good wizard away, and left that evil monster to conquer us," the village man said. "For that you must pay."
Another man pushed up close. "She must burn for creating the evil wizard!"
Dorothy's head spun. None of it made sense. She remembered the Land of Oz as free and happy when she left. She assumed the Good Witch Glinda would become the defacto ruler of Oz, and everyone knew the Good Witch was, well, good and fair.
"What evil wizard? I only remember the two Cardinal Witches, Locasta of the North and Glinda of the South, that had magic when I left," she said. "Glinda isn't evil. She would never conquer anyone."
"Glinda! That vile bitch?" he said, and they all spat upon the ground. "She is the King's bitch, doing his every desire."
Dorothy just stared at them. For one thing, the common Ozian's language had gone into the gutter. When she last visited, everyone spoke well and respectfully. Did Oz parallel her world somehow? Their foul language and demeanor wasn't unlike many places back home.
Others around them began picking up rocks and lengths of wood. The fear of being stoned and bludgeoned to death returned. Indeed, she wondered why they stoppe
d when she was knocked unconscious.
"Yeah, Glinda is the Wizard's pet in bed and in battle," another man growled.
That pulled her attention away from the man threatening to punch her in the face. The statement was just so outrageous. No one spoke that way about Glinda. She was the purest, most just person in the whole kingdom.
"I spit on Glinda and the King!" a middle-aged woman snarled as she pushed through the crowd.
"Why would you say that?" Dorothy asked. The old woman just glared at her. "Glinda loves and helps everyone."
The old woman pressed up close, thrusting her weathered face into Dorothy's. Her red-rimmed eyes narrowed.
"Glinda loves only herself and the Wizard," a woman snarled very quietly. "She's been corrupted by the Wizard, and is now nothing but his whore."
Everyone spoke at once, all cursing the Wizard, Glinda, or both. She could not wrap her mind around the idea of Glinda being anyone's wanton whore. That didn't jive with the Good Witch Dorothy remembered. If it was true, then someone had placed a terrible curse upon the beautiful Good Witch. Dorothy couldn't accept any other answer.
Something one of them said registered.
"King? What king?" Dorothy asked, looking around at all the hostile faces, both male and female. "One minute you're blaming me for an evil wizard, and then the next an evil king. Which is it?"
"King Scarecrow," the elderly woman said. "Your evil creation, no doubt."
Scarecrow was King of Oz? Dorothy couldn't wrap her head around that concept. He just wanted a brain. Nothing more. So, if Scarecrow was the King, who was the Wizard? Lion or Tin Woodman? And the Good Witch was the Wizard's…bitch? None of it made sense. It was even harder for her to envision Glinda as the willing lover of anyone evil or wicked.
Then the horrid man threatening to punch her suddenly opened his hand, only to run it up her left side. Dorothy sucked in a sharp breath, freezing in place as that rough, dirty hand slowly slid up from her hip to…
"Stop touching her, Eagan," another woman snapped. "She's starting to enjoy it."
Off To Kill the Wizard (Return to Oz With a Vengeance Book 1) Page 1