Yellow Brick War (Dorothy Must Die, #3)(55)

THIRTY-THREE


I could still see Dusty Acres through the swirling clouds; Dorothy’s magic was tearing up the earth as giant cracks spread across the landscape. A huge strip of ground peeled up and was sucked up into the maelstrom.

Nox was trying to distract her with fireball after fireball to no effect. “Welcome back,” he said grimly, dropping his hands in exhaustion. Another chunk of earth flew up through the rent in the floor and hit the ceiling of the cave with a thud, showering us with dirt and rocks. Dorothy cackled in delight. I grabbed Nox’s hand, calling on the power of my silver boots. Nox caught on immediately, slowly feeding his magic into mine. I leaned into our combined strength and opened myself up, deciding to just let the magic of the shoes flow through me.

I could somehow see through the dark water of Lurline’s pool to the other side, where Lurline waited. I could see the clock, suspended between Oz and her world, drawing her magic into itself and funneling it to Dorothy. I could see Kansas as Dorothy tore it apart. I could see Lulu, back at the Woodman’s palace, holding Ozma’s hand as they walked through the ruined gardens. Melindra, digging a grave for Annabel as tears rolled down her face. I could see my mom, holding Jake’s hand and crying. I could see Mombi, Gert, and Glamora, fighting desperately outside the Emerald Palace. Mombi was badly wounded, and Gert was pale with exhaustion. I knew instinctively that they couldn’t hold out for much longer. I could see the end of everything I cared about, everyone I loved.

And I could see Dorothy, connected to the clock with a thick line of magic that fed her more and more power, like a leech bloated on the blood of its unsuspecting victim. She was pulling all the magic out of Oz and into her own body. But it was too much for her. She hung suspended in the current, her skin beginning to smoke and blacken, her eyes wide in pain and fear, the red heels pulsing with awful red light. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, magic pouring out in a torrent of sparks. Any second now the power of Oz would tear her—and us—apart.

You know what to do. This time it was Lurline’s voice instead of the Nome King’s that I heard inside my head. And I did—I did know what to do.

Nox and I reached forward, moving as though our two bodies were combined into one. I felt Lurline’s magic surging through us, giving us strength. We took hold of the cord binding Dorothy to the Great Clock and I staggered backward as the full force of Oz’s magic lashed out at me. It was like trying to hold on to a lightning bolt. The diamonds on my boots glowed white-hot, anchoring me to the stone floor.

NOW, Lurline shouted, her voice echoing through my head and ringing out across the cavern. With all the strength we had, Nox and I yanked backward. The cord of magic snapped loose from Dorothy’s body, whipping around the cave. The clock pulsed with emerald-green light. And then, as if it could no longer contain its own power, it exploded into a shower of glittering fragments.

The shock wave rocked the cavern and sent Nox and me crashing to the floor. The window to Kansas shut with the sound of a thousand doors slamming. Dorothy fell to the ground with a sick thud and lay there unmoving.

“Now!” Nox gasped, doubled over in pain. “Do it now!” Without thinking, I reached for my knife and immediately felt its reassuring solidity in my hand. I sprinted past the pool to where Dorothy had fallen. Her body looked as though she’d been burned alive. Her flesh was charred and smoking. Her hair had been seared away on one side of her head and her eye had melted in its socket, running down the bubbling, raw meat of her cheek. I almost gagged.

And then she stirred. Incredibly, horribly, she was still alive. She groaned, her fingers twitching.

It was time for Dorothy to die. I raised the knife over my head.





THIRTY-FOUR


Take care that you do not walk down the same road that she has chosen. Lurline’s words flashed across my vision like a subtitle from a foreign movie. Suddenly, I remembered my first friend in Oz—Indigo, the goth Munchkin who the Tin Woodman had tortured to death in front of me. That had been my introduction to Oz: loss and murder. And I’d taken those lessons to heart. I’d learned to kill without remorse to protect myself and the people I loved.

But where had it gotten me? What had it done for me? I remembered what it had felt like to kill the Lion, to find myself covered in his blood. The way the monkeys looked at me in fear. Glinda’s dead-eyed girl soldiers. All the life I’d taken wasn’t saving Oz, or even myself. Killing the vulnerable was Dorothy’s way.

But it didn’t have to be mine. I was done with murder. I wouldn’t turn into Dorothy. I wouldn’t let the power of Oz make me into a monster. I was stronger than that.

I threw my knife to the cavern floor and it vanished in a puff of oily smoke.

“Amy?” Nox said, coming up behind me. He was looking at Dorothy in horror.

“She used to be just like me,” I said, walking away from her. Nox followed me to the other side of the cavern. I thought of her aunt Em and uncle Henry. Dead now, like so many other people. “Someone’s niece, someone’s friend. She was just a farm girl from Kansas before Glinda got hold of her.” I looked him in the eye. “I don’t want to become her, Nox. I can’t kill her.”

Saying it out loud almost took my breath away, but suddenly, I felt a huge, incredible sense of relief. I’d admitted it. I didn’t want to kill her. I didn’t want to kill anyone anymore. I was done. Nox’s eyes widened, and then his face softened and he reached forward and took my hand.