It had all been a dream. None of it was real. But she touched her cheeks where Lurline’s fingers had brushed her face, and her hands came away dusted with a gold powder like flower pollen.
Mombi sat in her room for a long time, thinking. When dawn came she packed her things and summoned one of Glinda’s Flathead servants to help her transport them to a carriage. And by the time the sun was fully up, she was already on her way to the mountains without bothering to say good-bye.
Lurline’s instructions—to work hard and ready herself for the reward that would someday be hers—inspired Mombi to renew her efforts. She thought often of what Lurline had told her: that Glinda was moving behind the scenes, hungry for more power herself. The kind of magic Mombi had been learning before didn’t seem strong enough to protect Oz against Glinda’s machinations. Mombi was no match for Glinda herself, not until Lurline came through with her end of their bargain, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t prepare herself as best she could for whatever dark days Lurline had foreseen.
For months she threw herself into her studies. Her pale, lustrous skin grew even paler, and dark circles appeared underneath her eyes. She would forget to eat for days on end, and soon she was gaunt and haggard-looking. The more she researched, the darker her magic grew. She was looking for the best way to protect the princess Ozma once she had been entrusted with Ozma’s care, and she knew that she wasn’t a strong enough sorceress to conceal the princess using the usual tricks. Glinda would easily see through a glamour or an ordinary spell of protection. Mombi wasn’t strong enough—yet—to fight her off in a direct battle. So protecting the princess meant using magic in a less obvious way.
It meant a disguise so complete that Ozma would be unrecognizable.
Which meant transforming her into something—or someone—else.
And then came the day Mombi had been waiting for, although it looked at first like any other. She had retreated far into the mountains, building herself a modest cottage in a dark forest far from prying eyes—and Glinda’s thoughts. Mombi’s morning was perfectly ordinary: an early breakfast of twig tea and pine cake, and then settling in at her immense stone desk for a marathon study session. But a brisk rap on her wooden front door made her sit up straight.
Mombi did not get visitors. Not here, not ever.
Which meant that this was one of two things: an enemy, or Lurline. Her heart suddenly racing, she prepared her best defensive spells and threw open the door. And then she stared in shock.
“Your . . . Highness?” she asked.
Because standing on her doorstep, looking equal parts irritated and chilled, was the Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Despite the length of the journey he must have taken, he was dressed the way he always did: an immaculate top hat polished to a glossy sheen, a spotless, dapper suit, and his ever-present cane. There wasn’t a speck of dust on him; no snow clung to the edges of his shoes.
“Yes, yes,” he said vaguely, waving a hand. “Certainly so. Bit out of the way, aren’t you? For the best, probably. Might I come in? It’s quite cold.”
“It’s the middle of winter,” Mombi said, bemused, as the Wizard pushed his way past her. Beyond the front door she saw a bright expanse of jewel-colored silk fluttering against the white snow: the Wizard’s famed hot-air balloon, which he used to travel from place to place in Oz. As far as she knew, he’d never come this far.
And then she saw the child in his arms.
The Wizard had come to Oz under mysterious circumstances—and taken charge of it almost equally mysteriously. But ordinarily, the people of Oz didn’t much care who ruled them as long as things stayed the same as they’d always been. And they were used to their ruler changing every few years. For the most part, despite the musical chair-ish nature of the throne, Oz was a peaceful, stable country.
The Wizard hadn’t changed that. But now, seeing him with what she realized must be the baby Ozma in his arms, Mombi wondered if that was about to shift. Glinda had designs of her own; Lurline had told her as much.
But the Wizard? Was he mixed up in this, too?
Mombi’s mind raced as she tried to think two steps ahead. But the Wizard was already speaking.
“Very unusual, I do know,” he said as if he’d already completed a request instead of just started talking. “But I’ll be most indebted to you, dear girl. And I won’t mention that other matter, wouldn’t dream of it.” The Wizard had visited her once already, ages ago, before he’d become the King of Oz. He was newly arrived in Oz then, and spent years crisscrossing the country searching out its most powerful witches. He’d heard of her reputation as a witch who knew her way around transformations, despite the fact that that kind of magic was illegal. He’d asked her a thousand questions and spent some time buttering Mombi up before realizing she wasn’t nearly as powerful as he’d hoped, and then his attitude toward her had cooled noticeably. One morning, he’d simply disappeared. She hadn’t missed him a bit. When the news of his coronation reached Gillikin Country, Mombi had wondered what it meant. And now she was starting to understand.
“You have as much to lose from bringing up the illegal magic as I do,” Mombi countered. “You came to me seeking it out.”
“Well, well,” the Wizard huffed. “Wouldn’t look good for you anyway, would it?”
“What do you want, old man? Get down to it.”
The Wizard looked around and lowered his voice, although there was no one for miles who could possibly hear them. “I need a mother. Not for me, obviously, but for this little one.”
For the first time, Mombi let herself glance down at the baby in the Wizard’s arms. He was holding her awkwardly, as if he was completely unused to children. The baby looked like any other baby: she had fat cheeks and soft skin. She was fast asleep, and there was a smear of drool on her chin. She didn’t look particularly royal. She didn’t look particularly anything. She was just a baby.
And then the baby opened her eyes and looked right at Mombi. Those eyes were extraordinary: fathomless, enormous, infinitely wise. They were the eyes of an ancient soul peering out at her from an incongruous face. Mombi blinked, and the baby closed her eyes again, a smile tugging at her small mouth. If she’d had any doubt, the baby’s look had taken care of that: this was the princess Ozma. The future Queen of Oz.
And apparently the Wizard, like Glinda, had reasons of his own for wanting her out of the way. He had appointed himself an interim ruler, Mombi knew. But this was the action of a man who wanted the throne for good.
“A mother?” Mombi asked, careful not to look the Wizard in the eye. How much does he know I know? she wondered. What is he up to?
“My niece,” the Wizard said smoothly. “My niece, er, Alice. I have been . . . entrusted with her care. My family has many enemies in the Other Place . . . powerful enemies. Alice is an orphan, and all alone there. She must be protected at all costs. I brought her to Oz from the Other Place to keep her safe. But my enemies have followed me here and her life is in danger. Ruling the country pulls me in too many different directions. I need someone to take care of her. Someone who can protect her.”
“Your enemies?” Mombi asked. His story was nonsense, of course, which meant two things: he thought she was stupid enough to fall for it, which was insulting, and he didn’t know she knew about the princess, which was useful.
“Legion,” the Wizard said agreeably. “Do you have any sherry?”
“Tea,” Mombi said curtly, and the Wizard shook his head.
“Too bad, that,” he murmured. “You’ll do it, then? I will come for her before long. Once I’ve made sure the coast is clear, so to speak.”
“Why have you chosen me to protect your . . . niece?” Mombi asked.
The Wizard looked around her humble house. “Because no one will think to look for her here,” he said simply. “No one remembers who you are anymore, dear girl. No one ever comes this far into the wilderness. She has the best chance of anywhere in Oz at staying hidden here.” He looked down at the baby with a st
range and almost poignant combination of contempt and longing. “She’s very sweet,” he said. “It’s too bad she must be kept so far from me.” He sounded almost as though he meant it. As if he’d developed some kind of strange affection for the child in spite of himself.
He held the baby out to Mombi, and a flash of annoyance passed through her. How dare he simply assume she would do his bidding? But she remembered her promise to Lurline—and what Lurline had promised her in return. She took the baby from his arms without protest. “Hi, Alice,” she said quietly. The tiny princess stared up at her solemnly and chewed on her thumb.
“Glad that’s settled, then,” the Wizard said cheerfully, heading toward the door. “I’ll be back sooner or later to fetch her.”
The Wizard, Mombi knew, would likely do no such thing. If he intended to take over Oz, he’d want Ozma out of the way as permanently as possible without actually killing her outright. But she nodded as if she believed him. “I’ll keep her safe,” she said. And I will, she thought. Just not in the way that you think.
The Wizard gave her a keen look, and for a moment Mombi wondered if he knew more than he was letting on. Could he possibly know that she had been in contact with Lurline?
No, she decided. Lurline was practically a myth. In all likelihood, the Wizard had never heard of her. There’s no way he could suspect that Mombi was already prepared to hide the princess—or that she had any idea that “Alice” was actually Ozma at all.
Mombi bid the Wizard farewell. He strode across the snowy clearing behind her house to where his hot-air balloon fluttered on the ground. With a snap of his fingers and a wave of his cane, he caused the brightly colored silk to swell and bell upward over the snow. The Wizard swung himself lightly over the edge of the balloon’s wicker basket just as it began to float upward. With a swirl of his cape and a jaunty wave, he rose into the air. Mombi waved back halfheartedly, the infant in her arms looking out at the Wizard’s balloon with huge, solemn eyes. When the balloon had dwindled to a red speck in the sky, Mombi heaved a deep sigh and looked down at the baby.
“Well, well, well, Princess,” she said. “What on earth am I going to do with you?”
Ozma gazed up at her with that unblinking, slightly uncanny gaze. Then she yawned, burrowed her face in the blanket that was wrapped around her body, and fell fast asleep. Mombi turned away from the clearing and trudged back into her cottage. Convincing the Wizard she knew nothing about the child had been considerably easier than she’d imagined. Now the real work was about to begin: keeping her hidden.
Luckily, Mombi had a plan. She hadn’t been practicing transformations for nothing. Transformations were dangerous, tricky, powerful magic. Any misstep could be disastrous not just for the subject, but for the witch casting the spell. But Mombi knew that there was one thing the Wizard hadn’t been lying about: the fact that tiny Ozma had powerful enemies—including the Wizard himself. But it was Glinda whose interest in the princess worried Mombi most, based on what Lurline had said. The Wizard was strong, but they were evenly matched. If she had to, she could protect Ozma from him herself. Glinda, however, was another story. And as isolated as Mombi was, she still heard rumors of the goings-on in Oz, and lately it seemed as though every day Glinda’s power only grew.
Which was why Mombi planned to turn Ozma into someone else.
Not forever, of course. Not even for all that long. Just long enough for Glinda and whoever else might be looking for her to think that she’d disappeared for good. Just long enough for them to leave her alone. Ozma would still know who she was when Mombi was done with the spell. And it would wear off eventually after a few years.
Or so Mombi hoped anyway. Because the truth was, she’d transformed plenty of things into plenty of other things. But none of them had been remotely human. Not that Ozma was human. She was more than human. She was supposed to be the most powerful being in all of Oz.
And there was another small hiccup. Of all the things that she had changed, she hadn’t quite managed to change any of them back. The rabbit was still powder pink. For a moment, she wished for the support or instruction of one of the Wicked Witches. Old Gert, for example, the one-time Good Witch of the South. Mombi had had a few dealings with her when she was first learning magic. Gert was an ancient creature, centuries old, with seemingly inexhaustible resources of power. Next to her, Mombi felt like an inexperienced child. But the old witch was kind, too—always happy to help steer Mombi’s spells, or share tips or tricks with her. Gert wasn’t snobby about her power, or stingy either.
But Gert had vanished into the mountains herself, years ago, and Mombi hadn’t heard any news of her in a long time. The Wicked Witches were just that—Wicked, and extremely unlikely to be helpful, even if Mombi’s end goal was helping Lurline protect the rightful succession of Oz.
There was no way around it. Mombi was on her own completely. When it came to protecting Ozma, she was Oz’s last and only hope.
Mombi placed the baby, still wrapped in her blanket and fast asleep, on the smooth stone hearth of her fireplace. She moved around the cottage, careful not to disturb the sleeping child as she gathered the ingredients she needed. A more powerful witch wouldn’t have needed the additional strength magical materials gave her, but the magic needed for a transformation spell exceeded Mombi’s abilities. With the help of magical objects she’d been carefully gathering for some time—stones from the very bottom of the Wishing Lake, high in the Traveling Mountains; crystals from the veins that laced the deepest inner workings of the mountains; water from the icy-pure River of Visions; and other such materials—she could amplify her own power until it was focused enough to complete the transformation.
When she was ready, she set the materials for her spell around the sleeping baby. She knelt before the fire, washing her hands and face in the river water and pouring the rest in a circle around the child. She let the fire die down to glowing coals, and held a crystal in each hand over the baby, gathering and focusing her strength. She closed her eyes, feeling the magic gathering in her body, and pictured the transformation she intended to apply. Pictured the infant’s tiny features reshaping themselves into something different, the child’s body thickening, her limbs lengthening.
Mombi’s lips moved silently as she repeated the words to her spell, words she’d learned by heart from one of her ancient spell books. She felt the magic undulating inside her, strong and stubborn as a boa constrictor wrapping itself around the throat of its prey. Hold on, she told herself. Don’t let it get loose. Control it.
But suddenly the magic bucked and twisted, and she felt herself losing control. “No!” she snarled aloud, her outstretched hands shaking, her fingers twitching as green ropes of energy spun outward from her fingers and wrapped themselves around Ozma. The magic, sensing her weakness, tore free from her body and thrashed across the room in a long whiplike coil of energy. Mombi reached for the magic itself, trying desperately to corral it. More and more power poured through her, coming from somewhere deep within Oz itself.
Ozma’s body glowed with a violent green light that blazed outward like flames. Her eyes were wide open now and staring at Mombi with an almost adult awareness, an eerie calm. With her eyes fixed on Ozma’s, Mombi felt herself slowly, painfully regaining control of the runaway power.
But it was too much for her. She wasn’t strong enough to hold it in place long enough to complete the spell. With a violent crack of green lightning the magic tore away from her again. Her mouth swung open and green light poured out of her eyes and ears and nose and throat as she screamed wordlessly. Ozma hovered in front of her, floating on a torrent of power that roared through Mombi like a tidal wave.
A huge boom shook the walls of the cottage, knocking thatch from the roof and shattering the windows. Mombi collapsed backward, her clothes smoking. Ozma tumbled to the ground and began to cry. The magic was gone as swiftly as it had come. Ozma, childlike again now, wailed in terror. But Mombi had descended into a darkness so deep the child’
s cries couldn’t reach her.
It was a long time before the witch regained consciousness. The first thing she became aware of was Ozma’s whimpering, although it sounded as though it was coming to her from a great distance. Gradually, the feeling returned to her fingers and toes. She stirred, sitting up slowly and painfully, and pushed her hair away from her face.
And then she frowned, staring down at her hands. Her previously youthful, soft skin was wrinkled and marked with spots. Her knuckles were as gnarled as an old woman’s, the bones knobbed and aching. The hair she had pushed out of her eyes was streaked with white. Stumbling to her feet, Mombi raced to her looking glass and almost screamed.
The magic had stripped away everything and left her unrecognizable. Her once-youthful face was withered and seamed with age. Coal-black eyes burned hatefully from underneath her sagging, fleshy brows. She patted her face in disbelief and refused at first to believe that the figure in the mirror echoing her every movement was truly her reflection. She sank to her knees, only then noticing that her dress was as age worn and ruined as the rest of her.
But as she glanced over at Ozma, she gasped: The spell had worked.
The baby looked almost exactly the same. It was only her eyes that were different. Instead of those bottomless depths of understanding, they were ordinary. Uncomprehending and human. Mombi rushed over to the baby, picking her up and cradling her to her chest. The baby’s tiny mouth opened in a wail. The blanket she was wrapped in fell away, and Mombi realized something else:
She had transformed the fairy princess into a baby boy.
He stared at Mombi with uncomprehending eyes, his face full of fear.
Mombi looked back, searching for some sign of the deep, ancient intelligence the princess Ozma had had. There was nothing there. No matter how hard Mombi looked, it was like staring at a blank wall. Not even the faintest glimmer of understanding.
The Queen of Oz Page 3