Yellow Brick War (Dorothy Must Die, #3)(26)
“I can give you a ride home,” Dustin offered.
“Thanks,” I said.
I was silent in the car, leaning my head against the glass and looking out, trying to see some beauty in the dull gray sky and flat, dusty earth. I might as well get used to it, I thought. This time, I’m here for good.
FIFTEEN
My mom and Jake were sitting side by side on the couch when I got back to her apartment, holding hands and watching the news. When I walked in they jumped apart, blushing, like I’d just caught them doing something actually scandalous. I stifled a giggle.
“Honey!” my mom exclaimed. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so late. Where have you been?”
I was definitely not in the mood for conversation, but I’d already been enough of a jerk to my mom. I explained about detention, and she beamed at me. “What a mature decision to make, Amy. I’m so proud of you.” Even Jake was nodding. At least I’d done something right, even if it was for the wrong reasons.
That night, Jake cooked. He was so nice to my mom it was hard not to like him, against my better judgment. My mom had had a few boyfriends here and there—if “boyfriend” was the right word for the losers who hung around the trailer for a month or two, eating all our food and burping in front of the TV with a six-pack before disappearing again—and she had an unerring instinct for jerks, deadbeats, and creeps.
There was the guy who liked to follow me around when she wasn’t home, eyeing me in a way that made me start carrying pepper spray everywhere I went. Thankfully, he didn’t last long. There was the guy who “borrowed” a bunch of money from her and then vanished without paying her back. Amazingly, she was surprised. There was the guy I never saw sober. But Jake actually seemed nice. Maybe he even was nice, not just putting on a show until he got whatever it was he wanted. My mom turned off the TV, and we sat around her little card table and ate the casserole he’d made like we were an actual family. I kept waiting for him to say something mean to my mom, or stare at my boobs, or spout off something really sexist or racist or just gross, but he was actually . . . normal. I’d only been gone a month of my mom’s time, but it was like I had come home to a different planet.
“How was school today, Amy? It must be hard to adjust to being back after your—” He paused, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Accident,” he finished. I wondered how much my mom had told him about her theories about my disappearance. “It was fine,” I said politely. “I’m not as far behind as I thought I would be, actually. Dwight D. Eisenhower Senior High isn’t exactly Harvard.” He laughed at my dumb joke as if I’d said something incredibly funny. My mom smiled as he asked me more questions about myself. What books did I like to read? What were my favorite movies? How about favorite foods? If he was trying this hard to impress me, he must be really into my mom. I was surprised by how happy I was for her. I needed him to be this good for after. For when I was gone again.
Jake even did the dishes after dinner—I offered, but he insisted. I told Jake and my mom that I was tired, although mostly I just wanted to give them some privacy—and be alone to think. No sooner had I shut my door than the air in front of me began to shimmer, and Mombi materialized. “Again?” I hissed. “I can’t exactly explain away a random old lady standing in my room if my mom comes in!”
“‘Old lady’ isn’t very polite, missy,” Mombi growled. “That’s ‘old witch’ to you. Anyway, I’m not really here. Gert, Glamora, and I are still hiding out in the Darklands. I’m just projecting to check in. You and I need to talk.”
“I thought your magic was too weak to just zip around like you’re on vacation,” I said. “Or are all bets off when it comes to spying on me?”
“I only spy because I care,” Mombi hissed. “Unlike some people who seem to have forgotten what they’re here for.”
“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” I snapped. “Now what’s going on?”
“We seem to be adjusting to being outside of Oz. Still a long way from shipshape, but at least we’re getting strong enough for a little astral projection.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to help,” I said dully. I sank down onto my bed and told her everything. About the newspaper article, breaking into the library closet, finding the mysterious box. When I got to the creature who’d dropped in on my and Dustin’s party, Mombi stopped me.
“Tell me this part again,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “What did you see?”
“Something tall and skinny. Black clothes. Bald. I think it had a crown.”
“And what did it say to you?”
I struggled to remember, but it was like trying to look through fog. “I can’t remember exactly. Something about how I’d found what it had hidden. I think it has to be the person who covered up the truth about Dorothy—that she was real, I mean.” I shuddered. “Dustin couldn’t see it.”
“He wouldn’t be able to,” Mombi said grimly. She stared off into space for a moment, rubbing her chin with one thumb. “It can’t be him,” she muttered. “Ozma thwarted him. Has he really been here all this time?”
“Who?” I asked. Mombi kept talking to herself. “Mombi, who?”