No Place Like Oz: A Dorothy Must Die Prequel Novella(36)

“Oh!” Ozma exclaimed when she saw me approaching. The Pixie went fluttering away. “The little thing was just telling me the silliest joke. Everyone else thinks these Pixies are so irritating, but I think they’re amusing. Anyway, they’re part of Oz, aren’t they? And everything here has its place in the order of things.”

Is she kidding? I wondered. This Little Miss Sunshine act would make Shirley Temple herself want to tap-dance right off a cliff.

“Anyway,” she said brightly. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

I folded my arms and prepared myself for the haughty lecture she was about to give me. About how I’d lied to her about the shoes, about how she had warned me not to do magic, and how I’d had the nerve to disobey her. About how reckless she thought I was being.

Maybe she didn’t know it, but even if I was in Oz, I was still a citizen of the United States, and where I came from we didn’t put much stock in self-appointed monarchs—no matter whether their blood was blue or purple or sprinkled with fairy dust.

Sometimes even a princess can surprise you, though. “I think I’d like to throw you a big party,” Ozma said. “What do you think about that?”

She had caught me off guard. “What kind of party?” I asked, suspicious. A party? I was sure she’d seen what I’d done at the breakfast table. Even if she hadn’t felt me magicking her, she had to have noticed me casting a spell on Henry. I’d seen the expression on her face. Now she wanted to throw me a party? There had to be some sort of catch.

Ozma stood up and did a playful little pirouette across the grass, and I remembered suddenly that, fairy princess or not, she was really just a girl. A girl who was lonely—a girl who had been waiting and waiting for someone like me to keep her company. She needed me. Maybe she was willing to let a spell here and there slide. What’s a little magic between girlfriends, right?

“Oh, a wonderful party,” she said dreamily. “I don’t suppose you’re sick of your birthday already, are you?”

“Sixteen is a big one,” I allowed hesitantly.

“Perfect!” she exclaimed. “It’s been too long since I threw a ball. We so rarely have an occasion. I don’t even know when my own birthday is—isn’t that terrible? But all of Oz loves a party, and the whole city’s already abuzz with your return. A celebration is in order!”

I had to admit I liked the sound of it. “The party Aunt Em threw for me was . . . well, it wasn’t quite what either of us hoped,” I said. “Maybe this can be a do-over. I’m sure it would make her happy, too, to get it right this time.”

Ozma clapped her hands. “Of course! A do-over!” She said the word as if she had never heard it before, as if she was savoring each syllable as it rolled off her tongue. “We’ll invite everyone,” she said. “The Munchkins, the Winkies, even the Nomes and the Pixies and the Winged Monkeys and all of Oz’s most important personalities. Polychrome will come from the Rainbow Falls; and I hope the Wogglebug can tear himself away from his classes at the university. We’ll even invite General Jinjur—though I’m sure she won’t make it. She’s not much for dances.” Ozma rolled her eyes. “I have to tell you about Jinjur and her all-girl army sometime.”

I sat on the bench and studied her as she drifted into a party-planning reverie. To think I’d almost sympathized with her when she’d complained about the burdens of royalty. If this was the extent of her duties, it didn’t seem so bad at all.

Still . . . a party. For me. What better way for me to announce my return to Oz for good?

Ozma slid back down onto the bench beside me and draped a slender arm over my shoulder. Her wrist of bangles glinted in the sunlight.

“And,” she said, raising her eyebrows in conspiracy, “it will be the perfect way to show your aunt and uncle what fun it is here. Once they’ve seen a royal ball, they’ll never think of going home. You won’t even need to use those special shoes of yours to convince them.”

The words hung in the air. So there it was. I’d almost let her trick me into buying her act.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I sniffed. I wasn’t fooling anyone, naturally—she knew, and I knew she knew, and she knew I knew she knew—but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of hearing me come clean.

“Oh, Dorothy,” she said. “You don’t need to hide it. I knew those shoes were enchanted from the moment I laid eyes on them. And I don’t blame you for experimenting with them. Magic can be quite intoxicating.” Her eyes darkened. “Too intoxicating,” she said, the singsong of her voice giving way to sternness. “So let’s just get them off, okay? That way you won’t be tempted.”

She twirled a finger and pointed it at my feet, at my beautiful, shiny shoes. A green spark sizzled from her fingertip, zigzagged through the air, and bounced right off my heel. The shoes glowed in response to the insult, but they didn’t budge.

Ozma frowned, seeing that her spell hadn’t worked. I was already on my feet. I spun around and faced her in a rage.

“They’re mine,” I said. “She gave them to me, and you can’t do anything about it.”

Ozma’s mild smile didn’t flicker. She was one cool cucumber when she set her mind to it, I had to give her that much. “She?” the princess asked, cocking her head to the side.