Dorothy Must Die: The Other Side of the Rainbow Collection: No Place Like Oz, Dorothy Must Die, The Witch Must Burn, The Wizard Returns, The Wicked Will Rise (92 page)

An hour before the party, Jellia delivered one more dress to my door. This one was from Ozma.

The skirt was green and flowing, made from the finest chiffon, with a bodice studded with a rainbow of jewels.

My Dearest Dorothy,
the note read.
My new friend. I am so happy to have you at my side.

I set the note on my vanity and took one look at the dress Ozma had given me before I tossed it aside, into the corner where my pile of castoffs was turning into a mountain.

The dress from Ozma was beautiful, but it wasn’t the dress I was supposed to wear on my sixteenth birthday, the day I announced my official return to Oz. It was what she wanted for me, not what I wanted for myself. I didn’t want to be at her side while she ruled Oz. I was no one’s lady-in-waiting. And suddenly I knew
exactly
what I wanted.

I no longer cared about hiding my magic from her. Why should I have to hide what belonged to me? This was Oz. Everything else was magic. Why shouldn’t I be magic, too?

So I called it forth. Using it was second nature to me now. All I needed to do was
want
and it was mine.

The room was twitching with energy as I stood in front of the mirror. Atoms rewrote themselves around me. I felt the world twisting and turning at my silent command. Fabric wove itself against my body; my hair grew even longer, twisting, taking the shape I wanted from it until it fell around my face in two perfect auburn braids with curls that scraped my shoulders. I felt my skin becoming smoother and softer. My eyes brightened; my lips reddened. My cheeks flushed with the perfect rosy glow.

My dress took form.

When I was done, Toto barked in approval. I looked just how I wanted to look. I looked both like myself and like something greater.

There was a knock on my door. I opened it to find that Aunt Em and Uncle Henry were waiting for me outside. They gasped when they saw me.

“Why, Dorothy . . . ,” Uncle Henry started. I saw him blush, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You look . . . ,” Aunt Em began to say. She was at a loss for words, too. A look of scandal crested her face. She put her hand nervously to her mouth.

“I look like a princess,” I said. I knew that it was what they meant. “And not just like any princess. I look like Princess Dorothy. The Witchslayer. The Girl Who Rode the Cyclone. The One
True
Princess of Oz.”

They both looked away. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to. It was what they were thinking.

“Now let’s go to my party,” I said.

“Dorothy?” Ozma asked in surprise when I entered the ballroom, where the gala was just getting underway. “That’s not the dress I sent you.” Her face looked hurt and suspicious as she surveyed me.

My dress was blue gingham, just like the blue gingham I’d worn on the day I’d first landed in Oz. But it was different, too. Rather than being made from that scratchy, cheap fabric, it was made from the finest silk. The blue checks were stitched with glittering gold thread so subtle that you barely could see it until you looked closely.

It was short—shorter than anything I’d ever worn before. It was shorter than any dress I’d ever
seen
before, revealing my long, bare legs.

All of it did nothing more than draw attention to the shoes on my feet. They shone brighter than anything else in the room: brighter than Ozma’s crown, or her scepter, or the tiny jewels that were braided through her dark hair.

“Your dress was lovely,” I said, breezily. “But it wasn’t what I envisioned. Today is
my
day.”

“But where . . . ,” she asked.

Before she could finish the question, I stepped past her, into the ball, where everyone was waiting. They were waiting for
me.

It barely looked like a ballroom at all. The sky was a brilliant galaxy of stars studded with giant, red poppies that opened and closed in time with the music, emitting a shimmering, heavenly light. The dance floor was a deep purple sunset.

Swarms of Pixies flew throughout the room, carrying trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

The whole place was filled with Oz’s strange and notable personalities. Some of them I recognized from hearing Ozma talk about them: there was Polychrome, the Daughter of the Rainbow, wrapped in a diaphanous gown that looked like it was woven out of the sky itself. There was Scraps, the Patchwork Girl, cartwheeling across the floor like a whirling dervish, whooping with laughter as she went. There was a giant, dignified frog in a three-piece suit, and a man with a jack-o’-lantern in place of a head.

There were Nomes and Munchkins and Winkies and a man and woman made entirely of china, dancing carefully apart from the rest of the crowd so as not to risk breaking into pieces.

I whirled joyfully through the room, gliding from one citizen of Oz to the next, smiling and kissing each one on the cheek in greeting before spinning on to the next one. Each one of them looked up at me with love and gratitude. I meant so much to them. I had done so much for them—so much more than Ozma could ever think of doing. And they all wanted to meet
me.
I was famous. I was their hero.

When I got to the Scarecrow, he was ready for me. He took me up into his stuffed arms and spun me around and I laughed, kicking my feet up as the crowd parted to make way for us. The orchestra was playing a happy, energetic ragtime number and the trumpets blasted as the Scarecrow tossed me over his head as if I was light as a feather. He caught me, laughing, in his arms as I came back down before twirling me across the floor to where the Tin Woodman was waiting for me.

My metal friend grabbed my hand, and his metal palm felt softer and warmer than I would have imagined was possible. He pulled me close against his chest, and the orchestra slowed up its tempo into something tender and sentimental. We waltzed across the dance floor. Everyone else had paused in their own dancing to watch us. They surrounded us in a circle, transfixed.

I was so happy that I was dancing on air. Literally: when I looked down, I saw that my feet were hovering a few inches above the ground, my magical shoes enveloped in a red mist, holding me aloft. No one noticed. They were too distracted by how happy they were.

The Lion was sitting on his haunches, ready to take me up in the next dance. He extended a huge paw, cutting in, and I was about to reach out for it when something bumped against my shoulder, hard. Cold, fizzy liquid splashed against my back, and then I heard the sound of glass crashing against the ballroom floor.

When I turned around, I saw Aunt Em standing there with a guilty look on her face, a shattered crystal goblet lying in a puddle of purple liquid on the floor.

I came back down to earth.

“Oh, Dorothy, I’m sorry,” Aunt Em said. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and I just bumped right into—”

I put a hand up to interrupt her. “Stop,” I said. “You were thoughtless. You were careless. I was dancing, and you weren’t even watching. Everyone
else
was watching me.” I reached back and felt the dampness of my gown. “You could have ruined my dress.”

“I’m sure . . . ,” Aunt Em began. Her lips began to quiver. Tears came to her eyes.

I’d always hated seeing Aunt Em cry, and now I hated it even more. It was like she was doing it to spite me. Like she was trying to make me feel guilty on a day when I should have felt nothing but happiness.

“Clean it up,” I said.

She looked at me in surprised horror, her tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Well—I’m sure Miss Ozma can ask someone else . . .”

“No,” I said. “I want
you
to clean it up. Immediately.”

Uncle Henry was at her side now. “Now see here, Dorothy,” he said, taking my aunt’s arm. “This has gone too far.” For a moment, it seemed that he was going to be angry, but then he saw the look in my eyes and the expression on his face turned quickly to one of fright. He went silent.

“Clean. It. Up,” I instructed Aunt Em again. When she made no move to do as she was told, I took the choice out of her hands. Things had changed, and the two of them needed to learn that. I was their niece, and they had raised me, but we were in Oz now. Here in Oz, I wasn’t just another prairie girl. I commanded respect.

My shoes were urging me on. I could hear them whispering in my ear in a voice that was almost Glinda’s but not quite. It was low and urgent and sweet. It was the voice of Oz; the voice of magic. It was the voice of my mother.

Do it
, it was saying.
Teach them a lesson or they’ll never learn. Show her who you are. Show them that this is where you belong. Show them that you are the one with power here.

My whole body was burning; not just my feet. Every bit of me was singing with the power the shoes spoke of, and the music from the orchestra faded into just a distant hum as the song of my true self took its place. This was what I had been born for. Everything that had happened before had been preparing me for this moment, preparing me for my destiny. For who I really was.

I tugged at the strings that controlled my aunt, and she bent to the floor, onto her hands and knees, and began to wipe up the mess she’d created with a wet rag that had materialized for her.

“I’m so sorry, Dorothy,” she said. “You are so wise and beautiful. I’m lucky to know you. To be able to have kept you safe all these years. Please, I beg your forgiveness.”

“And now the dress,” I said, and Aunt Em stood, and began to dab at my back with the rag. I could have cleaned it myself, with just a thought, but I didn’t want to.

“It’s such an honor,” Aunt Em was saying. “To be able to serve you like this.”

Then Ozma was standing in front of me. I hadn’t seen her approach.

She looked different than I’d ever seen her. This was so much more than the Ozma who I’d seen in the maze, the day I’d met her. It was like she had been hiding part of herself from me. She no longer looked like the girl I knew. She no longer looked like a girl at all.

Her skin was fiery and glowing like the sun; her green eyes were huge and iridescent. Her hair haloed her face in oily-black tendrils that coiled and twisted like snakes.

The wings she’d showed me in the garden that day had revealed themselves again, but they were bigger now, twice as big as her body, and they sizzled with magical energy.

She looked like a fairy, and not even a fairy princess. She looked like a queen.

“
Dorothy
,” she said. Her voice reverberated throughout the ballroom. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“No,” I started to say. But the words wouldn’t come out.

I knocked my heels together, trying desperately to use my magic against her. It didn’t work. Nothing happened at all. My feet felt cold. Too cold. Like the magic had been drained from them.

And then, with everyone in the ballroom staring, I felt myself turning and walking away. I had lost it. I had lost my magic, lost everything I had worked so hard for. I couldn’t fight back—Ozma was controlling me.

“Wait!” the Scarecrow called. I found I couldn’t answer him.

Before I knew what had happened, I was back in my bedroom, where I settled into a black and dreamless sleep.

Eighteen

I woke up to find Aunt Em sitting on the edge of my bed. She’d opened the windows, and the light was streaming through, casting her in a silhouette. The breeze hit my face. It smelled like grass and dirt and rain. It smelled like home.

For a second, I thought we were back in Kansas, and that it had all been a dream. I always hated it when stories ended that way.

“Dorothy,” Aunt Em said. I rubbed my eyes, still disoriented, and tried to think back to last night. It was foggy in my memory. There had been some kind of party, and I’d been dancing with the Lion and—

Oh.

I pulled the pillow over my face and groaned, trying to block it all out. If only I could go back to sleep, maybe everything would be okay.

“Dorothy,” Aunt Em said again. She pulled the pillow away. I grabbed for it, but she held it at arm’s length. “It’s nearly afternoon.”

“I need to sleep,” I said. “I think I ate something I shouldn’t have last night. I don’t feel so good.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and looked down at me. I expected her to be mad, but there was something tender in her expression. “I know, dear,” she said. “You know, you’re not in trouble.”

I sat up slowly and slumped against the silk-upholstered headboard. “I’m not?” I asked cautiously.

“Of course not. We all know that you didn’t mean to do any of that.”

“You do?”

“Yes, dear. Your uncle and I have had a long talk about it with Ozma, and we all agree that you’re not to blame. It’s those shoes. They’ve been doing something to you. Something terrible.”

“It’s not—”

“We just think it’s time for all of us to go home. We’ve stayed here too long already.”

“No!” I jumped out of bed and threw on the brocade robe that was draped over the armchair by the window. “Don’t you see?” I asked angrily. “It’s
her.
Ozma. She’s making you think that there’s something wrong with me, when really it’s just that she’s afraid I’m more powerful than she is, and now she wants to get rid of me, just like she got rid of Glinda. Well, the princess can’t always have her way. I’m not going anywhere.”

When I turned around, Ozma was standing in the doorway. In the late morning light, wearing a simple white shift, she looked more like a little girl than ever.

“You’re right,” she said sadly. “About one thing, at least. I
was
afraid of Glinda. She’s used to getting her way around here, you know. She was trying to manipulate me. I had to send her away. Oz has seen too many cruel rulers already. If Glinda had gotten what she wanted, I would have been another. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“Spare me,” I said. “I don’t believe anything you say. You’ve been tricking me all this time. Trying to make me think you’re this kind, innocent, little girl, when really you’re just like the witches—you just want Oz for yourself.”