Yellow Brick War (Dorothy Must Die, #3)(8)

“I wish things were different,” Nox said. His voice was tight with some emotion I couldn’t pinpoint. Anger? Sadness? Probably he was regretting spending any time with me in the first place. This was war, like everybody kept telling me. Feelings only got in the way. And I was only getting in Nox’s. I owed it to him to give him distance. He had to save the world and he didn’t need me holding him back.

“Yeah, well, so do I,” I said, making my voice cold and hard as I stood up. “But they aren’t. So I guess I’d better get to work, since I’m the one trying to save all your asses.”

“Amy—” This time there was no mistaking the hurt in his voice, but I turned my back on him. It took all the strength I had not to look back at him as he watched me walk away.





FOUR


“All right,” I snapped, pushing my way back into the tent. Gert looked up, startled. “Let’s get this done. The last time I saw my mom she was a hot mess. Where’d she end up? How did you find her?”

“Not the last time, Amy,” Gert said gently. “You saw her again. Remember? You saw her in the scrying pool.”

I knew exactly what Gert was talking about, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. So maybe I’d had a vision of my mom in a new apartment somewhere, pathetically cuddled up to my favorite sweater. And maybe in the vision she’d been clean. But if that was true, it was just as pathetic. She’d had to lose me, her house, and her entire life in order to get her act together? If she’d been a real mom she’d have managed it while I was still around. Normal people didn’t need tragedy to tell them not to blow the rest of their lives chasing their painkillers with booze.

“How do I even know if that was real?” I asked. “She could be passed out in a ditch somewhere for all I know. Or dead by now.”

“She isn’t dead,” Mombi said, looking a little exasperated. “We found her in a broadsheet!” she added proudly.

“A what?”

“A sheet with news and announcements,” Gert said slowly, as if talking to an idiot. “In the Other Place they have pictures”—she turned to Glamora—“can you believe that? Pictures! I think that’s a splendid idea.”

“You mean a newspaper?” All three witches looked at me, and in spite of myself, I stifled a giggle. “Okay, right. So she was in the newspaper.”

“The broadsheet described the movements of the tornado survivors,” Mombi explained importantly. “I used that information and compared it to a map of the surrounding countryside.” She brandished a tattered old highway map that looked like she’d found it in a culvert.

“You could have just Googled her,” I said, laughing.

“I don’t know that spell,” Mombi said gruffly.

Mombi had saved the newspaper with the details of the post-tornado emergency cleanup effort. My mom had been moved to temporary emergency housing along with everyone else from this area who lost their homes in the tornado and didn’t have anywhere else to go—which, as far as I could tell, was our entire trailer park.

“Great,” I muttered. “It’ll be a Dusty Acres reunion. I can’t wait.”

We talked for a while about what my plan should be, but the truth was that none of us really knew what we were doing. All we had to go on was a Wickedly half-baked theory that Dorothy’s maybe-mythical magical shoes were somewhere in my old high school, and if they were I would be able to find them. It didn’t even make sense. None of this made sense. Plus, if the shoes had worked to bring Dorothy back from Oz, who knew whether they’d succeed in taking all of us to Oz even if I could find them? None of us could use our full magic. We were totally making up this whole thing as we were going along.

But the prospect of action left me weirdly cheerful. Anything was better than sitting around waiting for the end—even visiting a mom I’d been only too happy to leave behind. It was a crazy, stupid, and probably impossible mission, but it wasn’t exactly my first crazy, stupid, and probably impossible mission. Once I decided to do it, I felt almost relieved.

Nox hadn’t come back inside, and I pretended I didn’t care. “You might as well get a little rest,” Glamora suggested. “It’s not even dawn yet—you can go see your mother later in the morning.” I wasn’t going to argue with that logic. As I settled into a corner of the tent, wrapping myself up in a soft cashmere blanket the color of Nox’s eyes (oh please, I told myself, knock it off), I was almost surprised to realize how tired I was. It made sense, of course. I’d been through a lot, and it wasn’t like we’d been taking naps in between battles. But I was tired all the way through to my bones. I felt like I could sleep for a thousand years without waking up, and the thought was tempting. I wasn’t just physically tired—I was tired of everything. Of fighting, of running, of losing. I wanted someone else to take up the burden of saving Oz for a while.

Get some rest, Amy, I heard Gert say in my head.

A warm tingle started in my toes and spread through my body, relaxing my muscles one by one as if I was sinking into a giant bubble bath. It felt just like the healing pool in the cave where I’d first been taken to the Order. Before I knew it, I was actually there. The purple walls of the cavern, studded with glittering amethyst stalactites, met in a high arch overhead. The massive tree, whose roots seemed to reach deep into the very heart of the earth, stretched toward the ceiling with gnarled branches covered in tiny white blossoms that drifted down around me like sweetly scented snow. I was floating in the deep, foamy pool, its water as warm as a bath. My clothes dissolved around me as the water drew out my aches and pains and exhaustion. I knew somewhere inside that I couldn’t possibly be back in Oz, that the vision was Gert’s doing, but I didn’t fight it. I drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.