No Place Like Oz: A Dorothy Must Die Prequel Novella(10)

“I do have my bearings,” Aunt Em said. “Look! I’d forgotten all about this door knocker! The one you bought in Topeka just after you came home from the Great War!”

Henry’s face spread into an involuntary grin at the mention of the knocker. “Yes,” he replied softly. “I sure do remember that.”

It was just like Aunt Em and Uncle Henry to be so wrapped up in fond feelings toward our old house that they didn’t even notice where we were. You had to give it to them—my aunt and uncle had heart.

Still, I wanted them to understand the gravity of the situation. I wanted them to be as happy as I was.

“Look over here,” I said, trying to shift their attention to a bush that had sprung up next to what used to be the kitchen window. “This shrub is growing little puffballs with eyes instead of fruit.”

One of the puffballs sneezed right in my face. I jumped back in surprise, but my aunt and uncle went on ignoring me. Uncle Henry rubbed Aunt Em’s back as she examined the molding around the door frame, remarking admiringly on the craftsmanship.

Then, before I could say anything else, something happened that not even they could ignore. On the little ramshackle porch, the air began to shimmer with energy. It was pink and glittery, like a little pink fish was swimming through the air, twisting and looping in little spirals, growing brighter and stronger and pinker by the second until Aunt Em was moved to shield her eyes.

Henry clenched his fists at his sides as if preparing for a fight. I wasn’t worried. I’d already seen such strange things in this land that I just watched in excited curiosity as the energy crackled and glittered and grew until, slowly, it began to resolve itself into something resembling a form. Into something resembling a person.

Her face appeared first, pushing its way through the light as though emerging from a pool of water. Next came her golden crown, then finally the rest of her. She was standing right there on the porch, regal and glowing, just as beautiful as I remembered her. Her face was porcelain-white, punctuated with piercing blue eyes and a perfectly red, perfectly tiny little mouth. She was sheathed in a slinky pink evening gown that looked almost liquid and hugged her body scandalously.

“My oh my,” Henry said under his breath.

I knew exactly who it was. And I can’t say I was very surprised to see her. “Glinda!” I exclaimed joyfully, running to hug her.

I stopped in my tracks when I saw that she wasn’t responding. She wasn’t even looking at me. It was like she hadn’t heard me at all.

Then I noticed that her image was flickering and translucent. I could even see the faint impression of Henry’s prized door knocker shining through her image from somewhere behind her rib cage. She was fading in and out, getting clearer but then more indistinct, like she wasn’t entirely here yet.

“Dorothy,” she said, still not turning her face to meet mine. “Help me.” Her voice was a hoarse, urgent whisper.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, moving instinctively toward her. “What do you need from me? How do I help?”

Now I was standing right in front of her, but her eyes remained unfocused. She still didn’t hear me. “Help,” she repeated. “Help.” Her image came fully into focus for a last, brief moment. I lunged forward and reached for her, trying to grab her hand.

“Glinda!” I screamed.

But before I reached her, there was a bright flash of pink light, and with that, she was gone.





Six

“Well,” Aunt Em said shakily, as if it had just dawned on her that something funny was going on. “That was unusual. Was that woman some kind of actress?”

“Of course not,” I said. I do try not to lose my patience with them, but sometimes it’s an effort. “She’s a sorceress. I’ve told you all about Glinda, remember?”

She and Henry both stared back at me with a look of blank confusion.

“A . . . sorceress?” Aunt Em seemed hesitant. “I suppose it did seem magical. . . .”

“It seems magical because we’re in Oz. You may have noticed the sneezing flower and the fruit that changes colors?”

My aunt and uncle exchanged a look. “Now see here, young lady,” Henry said. “I don’t care if this is Oz or Shangri-la or Timbuktu. You can’t just go spiriting people away like that with not so much as a how-do-you-do. It’s the busiest time of year and I have work to do tomorrow. I need to get a good night’s sleep if I’m going to be up before dawn to milk the cows.”

Aunt Em was nodding along with him as he spoke. “I’m not quite sure what’s going on here,” she said slowly. “But it’s all very strange and, well, I would feel a lot better if I could sleep in my own bed tonight. Wouldn’t you, dear? It’s been a long day for you.”

I’m the first one to admit that Oz is a lot to wrap your head around all at once, especially for two people who had always been perfectly content to spend their lives on the farm. At the same time, I had told them about this place so many times. You would think that would have given them at least a bit of a head start.

I tried again, this time speaking slowly and simply and trying to keep the creeping frustration out of my voice. “We have been transported to Oz,” I said. “My friend Glinda the Sorceress must have brought me here. She’s in trouble. I need to help her.”