CONTENTS

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ONE

The Emerald City wasburning.

As I zoomed away fromthe smoking chaos and intothe moonlit night, carried inthe furry, twig-likearmsofamonkey, the skylinecrackledovermyshoulderinafuryofglitter and flames. It lookedlike a little kid’s birthdayparty gone horribly wrong,the formerly majestic towersand skyscrapers collapsing in

on themselves in confetti-bursts of jewel and glass. Itcould have been beautiful,except for the dense, blackmushroom cloud of smokethat hovered ominously overtheskyline.

Iwasalong-asswayfromKansas.

My feelings about thatmight surprise you. Unlikesome people, I had neverbeen particularly eager to go

backthere.Whenitcomestoclichés, there’s one that I’mstarting to believe mightactually be worth repeating.Youcan’tgohomeagain.

Exhibit A: Dorothy. Shetried to go home twice, andseehowthatturnedout?

ExhibitB:theWizard.Hecouldn’t even manage tomake it home once. (Okay,maybe that had something todo with the fact that he was

traveling in a janky old hotairballoon,butstill.)

Then there’s me, AmyGumm, trailer trash nobodyfromFlatHill,Kansas.WhileI liked to think of myself asabout as different as youcould get from people likethem, it was hard to ignorethat we had certain things incommon.

Forone thing,wehadallbeen carried here from the

realworldbysomeunknownforce,andwhileIdon’tthinkanyone had yet figured outwhatthatforcewas,Ihadmyown theories about why wewere the ones who had beenchosen.

It’s just a theory,remember. Nothing proven,or even close. But Isometimes wondered if thething that linked me,Dorothy,andtheWizardwas

thefactthat,backwherewe’dcome from, none of us hadeverfitin.Whetherweknewit or not.Maybe all three ofus had been born in a placewedidn’t belong to, and hadbeenwaitingtobefoundbyahomethatwecouldreallycallourown.

Look, I can’t speak foranyoneexceptmyself.Idon’teven know the first thingabout theWizard,andonlya

littlemoreaboutDorothy.Somaybe I’m wrong. It’s justsomethingI’vethoughtabout.But here’s the thing: onceyou’ve traveled to the darkside of the rainbow, you’vereachedtheendoftheline.Ifyou can’t make Oz home,you’re pretty much out ofluck.

Asfarashomeswent,Ozwasn’t exactly the mosthospitable,butatleastIcould

call itmine.And now itwasburning.

MyrescuerwasOllie,themonkey I’d once saved fromDorothy’s clutches. Flying atourside,hissisterMaudewascarrying my unlikelycompanion: Ozma, Oz’smystery princess with mushfor brains, whose manysecrets were only nowstarting to become clear tome.

Even aswe sped into theclouds, the ground blurringbelowus, Iwas puzzling outthe details of how we wereflyingatall.You’veheardofwingedmonkeys,right?Well,Maude and Ollie were notexactly those—or at leasttheyweren’t supposed to be.Not anymore. Althoughthey’dbeenbornwithwings,they had both had themremoved.

Ollie had cut his ownwings off, to free himselffrom Dorothy’s enslavement.As for Maude—I stillshuddered when I thoughtabouthowshehadlosthers.Ihadn’t just seen it happen. Ihad been the one to do it,sawing them from her backmyself using only a smalldagger.

Now this was a new Oz,not the pleasant, magical

kingdomyou’veheardabout.That was a long time ago;longbeforeI’dshownup.

InDorothy’sOz, youdidwhat you had to do. Youmade hard choices. Youtraded flight for freedom, ifyou had to, even if it meantlosing a part of yourself.Sometimes, inDorothy’sOz,you had to get your hands alittle bloodied. Okay, maybealotbloodied.

ButeveninDorothy’sOz,there was still magic, whichmeantthatwhatwasremovedcould sometimes be replacedwhenyouhadtherightspell,whichwashow themonkeyswere now flying with paperwings thatwere buzzing likedragonflies’,vibratingsofasttheywerejustablur.

The wings didn’t looklike much. They were justtwo pairs of glued-together

newsprint and scraps thatbarely looked like theyshouldbeable to support theweight of Ollie and Maudethemselves, much less asixteen-year-old girl likeme.Butherewewere,athousandfeet above the ground andgoing higher by the second.Thatwasmagicforyou.

Yes I know it all soundscompletely insane. To me,these days, it was just life.

It’s funny how quickly youadjusttoinsanity.

Andifyouthinkallthat’sinsane,trythisonforsize:inthe past several hours, I hadtried (and failed) toassassinateDorothyGale,theCrown Royal Bitch of theMagical Land of Oz. I’d cutthe Tin Woodman open andripped out his heart withmybare hands. It was stillbeating with a mechanical

ticktock in the bag I hadstrappedacross thebodiceofmy torn, bloody servant’scostume,where I’d stuffed itforsafekeeping.

Ihaddoneall that. Iwasstill getting used to it. Butthere was one thing I knewfor sure that I hadn’t done. Ihadn’tsetthecityonfire.

But someone sure had,and now, as I watched theflamingcitydisappearbehind

me, I thought I knewwho. Isuddenly understood thateverything I’d been doingback in the palace hadmademe only a small piece in amuch more complicatedmachine. While I hid in thepalace, theEmeraldCityhadbeen under attack by theRevolutionary Order of theWicked, the secret cell ofterrorist witches for whom Ihad become a trained

operative. While I had beeninfiltrating the palace ball,disguised as a servant as ItriedtokillDorothy,theyhadbeenlayingthecitytowaste.

Icouldonlytrustthattheyhad their reasons. In aworldturnedupsidedown like this,where sweet little DorothyGale was evil, Glinda theGood was eviler, and mosteveryone else was eitherscheming or scrambling to

stay out of the way, therewerecrazierthingsyoucoulddo than putting your trust inpeoplewhocalledthemselveswicked.

Not that I really did trustthe Order entirely. But trustwasalmostbesidethepoint.Iwas one of them, whether Iliked it or not. And while Itrusted some of them morethan others, I had left all ofthembackthere.

Mombi.Glamora.The people who had

savedme,whohadtaughtmetofight;tobestrong.

Nox.Thepersonwhohadforced me to become who Iwasnow.

Theywerestillbacktherein the flames, and I wasflying away. It wasimpossible not to feel like Ihad failed them. I’d had onejob to do, and I’d messed it

upcompletely.“We can’t leave,” I said

to Ollie for the fifth timesince we’d left the ground,my voice hoarse and tired,my legs sore from where hewasclutchingmetight.Iwasgripping his fur even tighter.(I’m not afraid of a lot, butI’ve never liked heights. Atleast it was better going upthan down.) “We have to gobacktothecity.”

I had to say it, evenknowing it was no use—thattherewasnoturningaround.

“Itoldyou,”Olliesaidinthe same weary tone ofresignedfinalityhe’dhadthefirstfourtimes.

“Ican’tjustletthemdie,”I pleaded. “They’re myfriends.”

Once upon a time—howlongagohaditevenbeen?—Ollie had owed me his life.

But there were lots of onceupon a times in this place,andheandIwereevennow.Ithink.

“Youcan’tdie,”Olliesaidfirmly. “And that’swhatwillhappen if we go back there.You’ll die. They’ll die. Ozwill die. This is the onlyway.”

“Your friends know howto protect themselves,”Maude said. “They’ll find us

intheNorthwhereit’ssafer.”“North, south, east, and

west,” Ozma burbleduselesslyinatunelesswarble.“Nosuchthingasbackward.”

I sighed, ignoring her. Iknew that Ollie and Maudewere right. But my lastglimpse of Nox back in thecitykeptflashingthroughmymind:hisdark,always-messyhair, his broad shoulders andskinny, sinewy arms. The

determinedtiltofhisjaw,andthat look of almost arrogantpride. The anger that wasalways coiled deep in hischest finally ready to burstout and strike downeverything that stood in hisway, all of it to saveOz, thehomethatheloved.

No,not just that.Tosaveme,too.

I had learned so muchfrom him. He’d taught me

who Iwas.Now Imight noteverseehimagain,andtherewasnothingIcoulddoaboutit.

“Where arewe going?” Iaskedflatly.Nowtheburningcitywasjustatinyorangedotin the vast blackness belowus,andthenitwasgoneasifithadneverexisted.

“To the North,” Olliegrunted. “To the Queendomof the Wingless Ones. Now

don’t you think you shouldtrytogetsomerest?”

I didn’t really blame himfornotwantingtotalk.Ithadbeen a long and confusingnight. But I had so manyquestions that I barely knewwheretostart.

Among the biggest of allofthosequestionswasOzma.She looked perfectlycomfortable, cradled inMaude’sarmswhereshewas

singing a little song toherself, the only one whodidn’t seem bothered byanything that had happenedtonight.Asagustofcoolairhit us and carried us sailinghigher into the sky, her hairwhippedaroundher faceandshe gave a squeal of delight,likethiswasjustarideontheTilt-A-Whirl at the countyfair. Her green eyes were sobright that it almost seemed

like they were lighting ourway.

Ozma whooped,wriggling happily as Maudestruggledtokeepholdofher.

“Hold still, YourHighness,”Maude grumbled.“I can’t go dropping thedaughter of Lurline, can I?Queen Lulu would never letmeheartheendofit.”

Ozma frowned at thename. “I’m the queen,” she

said with an edge ofannoyance.

My eyes widened a littlein surprise when she said it.Technically it was true—shewas the queen. Technically.But Ozma had never quitebeen all there, and this wasone of the first times I’dheard her say anything thatactually soundedhalf-lucid. Istudied her face, looking forsigns of intelligent life,

searching for any trace thatremained of the kind,majestic ruler that I’d heardshe’d been before DorothyGale of Kansas had workedher magic and wiped herbrain.

As she blinked back atme,Ionlysawmorepuzzles.Whowasshe?

Was she the dim-wittedqueen who I’d seen back inthe palace, wandering the

halls like someone’s senilegreat-aunt? Was she thepowerful descendant offairies who had supposedlyonce been the best ruler Ozhadeverhad?

Or was she really Pete,the emerald-eyed strangerwhohadbeenthefirstpersonto greet me when I’d crash-landed in Oz; the kind-facedgardener who had riskedhimself to keepme company

when I’d been a captive inDorothy’s dungeon; themysteryboywho,atthewaveof the Wizard’s hand, hadtransformed before my eyesinto the dizzy, birdbrainedprincessbabblingatmyside?

Petehadbeenallofthosepeople,somehow,andI’djustdiscovered thatheandOzmawereoneandthesame.Whatdiditallmean?

“Pete?” I asked. I had to

believe that he was still inthere somewhere. But Ozmasimplylookedatmesadly.

“Comeon,”Isaid.“Ifyoucan hear me, Pete, talk tome.”

Ozma furrowed her browatthename,andforasecondI thought I sawaglimmerofrecognition flickering behindher eyes. Was that him inthere trying to get out?“Pete,”Isaidagain.“It’sme.

AmyGumm.Remember?”“Ionceknewagirlnamed

Amy,” Ozma said, her eyesglazingoveragain.Withthat,her jaw slackened back intoan expression of placidboredom. She blinked twiceand covered her perfect redmouth with a delicate hand,laughingataprivatejoke.

“There’s magic allaround!” she said. “Oh my.Thefairiesknow!I’mafairy,

too!”Irolledmyeyesandgave

up,holdingonfordearlifeaswe flew higher and higherintothesky.Whenwepassedthroughathickcoverofdampcotton-ball clouds, the blacksky opened up like it was astageandthecurtainhadjustbeenraised.

The stars revealedthemselves.

I already knew that the

stars were different in Ozfrom the stars I’d known onearth, but from this vantagethey were really different.Theytookmybreathaway.

For one thing, theyweren’tamillionmilesawayin space. They were righthere and they wereeverywhere around us, closeenough to reach out andtouch. They were flat andfive-pointed, none of them

bigger than a dime; theyremindedme of the glow-in-the-dark stickers I’d taped tothe ceiling of my bedroomwhen I was just a little kid,before my dad had left andbefore my mom and I hadmoved to the trailer park.Almost, but not quite: thesestars were brighter andsparklier and cold to thetouch. Rather than beingfixed in the sky, they were

moving in a pattern that Icouldn’t get a handle on—they were configuring andreconfiguringthemselvesintobrand-new constellationsrightbeforemyeyes.

“They never get old,”Maudesaid,sensingmyawe.“As many times as you seethemlikethis,they’realwaysa surprise. This is probablythe last time I’ll see them,”shesaidsadly.

When I glanced intoOllie’s eyes, I saw that theywere wide and filling withtears.

I looked at his paperwings, and wondered againhow he had come to wearthem. I know it soundsstrange, but he had alwaysbeen proud of beingWingless, proud that he’dbeen able to sacrifice thething he loved most about

himself in order to keep hisfreedom.

I decided to broach thesubject as gently as I could.“Are you ever going toexplainwhereexactlyyougotthose?”Iaskedhim.

“I told you,” he saidtersely. “The Wizard gavethem to us. They’re onlytemporary. But they werenecessary.”

“Butwhy?”Iasked.“And

—”Ollie cut me off. “I

promisedIwouldprotectyou.Ineeded thewings toget thejobdone.Andthey’llbegonesoonenough.”

“ButtheWizard...”Ollie squeezed my arm.

“Later,” he muttered. “Fornow, no talking. It’s good toflyagain.Itfeelslikebeingakid. Just let me enjoy thestars.”

Idon’tknowifitwasthementionofhernameorwhat,but suddenly I felt awriggling in my pocket andremembered what—who—Iwas still carrying: Star, mypet rat. Star had come herewith me all the way fromKansas, and somehow, she’dstuck by me througheverything.Therewere times—likewhenI’dbeentrappedin Dorothy’s horrible

dungeon far below theEmeraldPalace—whenIwasprettysureIwouldhavegonecrazywithouther tokeepmecompany.

I pulled her out andplaced her on my shoulder,feeling her sharp little clawssinking through the fabric ofmydressanddiggingintomyskin.

BackinKansas,I’dhatedStar, who technically, had

started out asmymom’s rat,not mine. I’ve always heardthat rats are supposed tosecretlybereallysmart,butifthat’s true, Star must havebeen playing hooky in ratschool. Back home, she’dalwaysbeenmeanandstupid,interested in nothing exceptrunningonhersqueakywheeland biting my hand when Itriedtofeedher.

Being inOzhadchanged

her,though.InOz,itwaslikeshe had grown a soul. Shehadbecomesomething likeafriend—my oldest friend intheworld,thesedays,andwewere in this together. Isometimes wondered whatshethoughtofeverythingthathadhappenedtous.

IwishIcouldhavetalkedtoheraboutallof it. Imean,animalstalkinOz,right?Butnot her. Maybe she was just

thestrong,silenttype.Star snuggled up in the

crook of my neck, and wecoastedalongsilentlyintothenight, the stars brushingagainst my cheeks like littlesnowflakes. The cloudsstretched out in everydirection like an infiniteocean.Idippedmyfingersinandletthemskimthesurface,scooping up little cottonypieces just to watch them

meltintonothinginmyhand.Up here, things were

peaceful.Wecouldn’tseetheburning city anymore. Itwasjust us and the stars. I couldalmost imagine that Oz wasstill the place I’d read aboutin storybooks, the magical,happylandofMunchkinsandtalking animals, wherewitches were wicked butcould be killed with nothingmore than a little old-

fashioned Kansas elbowgrease and a bucket of mopwater.

I was still imagining theOzthatcouldhavebeen—theOz I should have found—when I felt Star’s little bodyslackenagainstmyneck.Shewasasleep.

That did it. You mightthink it would be hard torelaxinasituationlikethis—and believe me, it was—but

between the twinkling starsandthewindonmyface,theswooping up and down asOllie sailed into one currentafter another, and thecomforting, steady feeling ofmy rat nestled in myshoulder, soon I was asleep,too.Ididn’tdream.

Whenmyeyesflutteredbackopen, the sun was a redwedge on the horizon.

Morning was dawning, andall of Oz was spread outbelow us like an old crazyquilt. I’d never been in anairplanebefore,butsomehowI had a feeling that this wasbetter. We were flying lowenough now tomake out thedetails of the landscape—thepurple swatches of farmlandbordered by toy-sizedvillages; the winding,glitteringriversandthehazy,

jagged mountains to thenorth.

In the distance was adark, forbidding forest thatstretchedasfarasIcouldsee.Ihadafeelingthatwaswherewewereheaded.

But as I watched thescenery below us, I noticedthat something washappening down there.Somethingwaschanging.Allacross the grassy plain, I

could see little pinpricks ofcolor appearing and thenspreading. When I lookedmore closely, I realized theywere flowers, blossoming bythe second. A few minuteslater, the grassy plainwasn’tgrassy at all—it was anenormous, ever-changingexpanseofblossomspoppingup in every color I couldimagine. Some were bigenoughthatIcouldcountthe

petals from all the way uphere.

The forest ahead of uswas changing, too.At first, Ithought that it was justbecause itwasgettingcloser,butno.Asweapproached, itbecameeasiertomakeoutthefact that the trees wereactually getting taller,twisting up into the sky,gnarling into each other, thebranches wrapped in thorny,

snakelikevines.Thetreeshadfaces.The wind howled, and I

shiveredbeforeIrealizedthatit wasn’t the wind at all. Itwas the trees. They werescreaming.

“The Fighting Trees,”Maude said in surprise,noticing them at the sametimethatIdid.“Itcan’tbe...”

“What’s going on?” I

asked,lookingupatOllie.“Dorothy hated the

FightingTrees.Exterminatingthem was one of the firstthings shedidwhen she roseto power,” Ollie said. “Ifthey’vereturned...”

“Buthow?”Maude askedhimsharply.

Ollie just shrugged andraised his eyebrows at me.“Didyourfriendsdothis?”heasked. I didn’t know. All I

knewwas that theworldwasrewriting itself before myeyes. Like a story being tornthroughwitharedpen.

Whose story was it, Iwondered?

Suddenly someone elsespoke: “The magic isreturning,” Ozma said, likeshe was explaining thesimplest thing in theworld. Idid a double take. Had shereally just spoken in a full,

totally intelligible sentence?Ollie and Maude were bothstaring at her like she’dgrownathirdeye.

But before she could sayanything else—before wecould ask her any questionsaboutwhat she’d said—Olliescreamed.

“Rocs!”Ilookedupandsawwhat

he was talking about: twodark, giant birds were

speeding straight for us,beatinghugeblackwingsandshrieking in an earsplittingchorus.

So much for the cheerylittle birds that Oz wassupposedtobehometo.

“Amy!” Maude barked.“Canyou...”

I was already on it,mumbling a spell under mybreath, trying to gather up afireball in my hands as

Maude and Ollie wove andzigzagged to avoid ourattackers.

It was no use. The birdswere on top of us before Icouldsummonmore than thetiniest flame.They screechedmadly and circled over ourheads, their big black wingsblockingoutthesun,andthentheydoveforus.

All I saw was theirfearsome, strangely human

faces as they slashed theirlong, razor-like beaks intoMaude’s and Ollie’s wings,rippingthemfromtheirbackswith the ease of someonetearing open a bag of potatochips. Then, as quickly asthey’d appeared, the birdswere speeding off into thedistance, their work done.The air was filled withshredded bits of paper thathad held us aloft, scattering

onthebreeze.Foramomentweallhung

intheairlikeWileE.Coyotein a Road Runner cartoon.Thenwewerefalling.

The ground was gettingcloser by the second. Ozmawhooped with joy. This wasthe second time in less thantwenty-four hours that I’dfound myself plummetingtoward certain death, and Iwasgettingkindofsickofit.

But I didn’t scream.Instead, I felt strangely calmin a way that I can’t reallydescribe. It was likeeverythingoutsideofmewashappening in slow motionwhile my brain kept onmovingatnormalspeed.

Once upon a time a girlnamedAmyGummhadcometoOz on a tornado. She hadfought hard; she had beenloyal and fierce. She had

done things she’d never in amillion years imagined thatshewould.

She had learned magic;she had been a spy. She hadlied, and stolen, and beenthrown in the dungeon. Shehad killed, and she had notregrettedit.

She had been both goodandwickedandeverythinginbetween. She had been bothatonce,too,untilitwashard

for her to even tell thedifferenceanymore.

Thatwasmystory.Well,IfiguredasItumbledfromthesky toward certain death, atleasttheendingwillbekiller.

TWO

Full disclosure: I’m sort of awitch.

Fuller disclosure: I’m aprettycrappywitch.

Not like crappy as inwicked,although,hey,maybeI’mthat,too.Whoknows?

ButreallywhatImeanbycrappy is, like—you know—not very good at it. Like, ifthere were a Witch Mall,Glamora would work atWitch Neiman Marcus,

MombiwouldworkatWitchTalbot’sandIwouldworkattheWitchDollarStore,wherepeople would only come tobuy witch paper towels, sixrollsforninety-ninecents.

I justnever reallygot thehang of the whole spell-casting thing. For a while Ithought it was because I’mfrom Kansas—not a placeknown for its enchantedness—but lately I’ve started

thinking I just don’t have atalent for magic, just like Idon’t have a talent forwiggling my ears or tyingcherrystemsinknotswithmytongue.

Sure,Icandoafewspellshereandthere.Forinstance,Ican summon a tracking orbwith not too much trouble.I’ve managed to teleportwithout accidentallymaterializing insideawallor

leaving any body partsbehind. I have amagic knifethatIcancallonatanytime.I can finally throw a decentfireball. (It took forever tolearn, but fire spells are nowmy specialty.) And I’veactuallygottenprettygoodatcasting a misdirection charmthatmakes people ignoremeas long as I tiptoe and don’tdraw too much attention tomyself.

It’s not as good as beinginvisible, but, hey, it’s savedmyassonmorethanacoupleof occasions. That’s sort ofhow it goes: my magic isstrictly the in-case-of-emergency kind. Innonemergencies, I prefer todo things the normal way.Call me old-fashioned. It’sjusteasier.

But fallingoutof the skyfrom five thousand feet

probably qualifies as anemergency, right? If Maude,Ollie, Ozma, and I weregoing to land withoutbecoming pancakes servedOzstyle,itwasgoingtotakesomeseriouswitchcraft.

Soasweplungedthroughtheair,Ijustclosedmyeyes,tuned everything out, andconcentrated, trying my bestto ignore the fact that Iprobably had about fifteen

secondstogetthejobdone.Icouldn’tthinkaboutthat.

Instead, I focused on theenergy that was all aroundme.Itunedintoitsfrequencyand gathered it all up,channeling it through mybody as the wind whippedfiercelypastme.

Once,I’dseenMombidoa spell where she reversedgravity, turning the wholeworld upside down and

sending herself, along withher passengers, all shootingup into the sky. Like falling,butinthewrongdirection.Ortherightdirection,dependingonhowyoulookedatit.

I wasn’t so sure I’d beable topulloff that trick,butIhopedthatevenmybargainbasementversionofMombi’sdesigner magic would begood enough thatmy friendsand I just might be able to

walk away from this. Or atleast crawl away. Orwhatever.

And maybe because itwas do-or-die or maybe itwas something else, but forone of the first times ever, itcame easily tome. I reachedoutwithmymindandtwistedthe magic into somethingnew; something that couldhelp.

The first rule ofmagic is

that it gets bored easily—italwayswantstobesomethingdifferentfromwhatitis.SoIimagined it as an energy re-forming itself into aparachuteflyingatourbacks.I imagined itcatching itssailin the wind, imagined itopeningupandcarryingus.Itwas like drawing a picturewith my mind, or likemolding a sculpture out ofsoft,slipperyclay.

When I opened my eyesagain, we were still falling,but our descent was slowingbythesecond.Soonwewerefloating like feathers, glidingeasilytowardtheearth.

Ithadworked.I can’t say I wasn’t

surprised.“Someone’s been

practicing her tricks,” Olliesaid. There was a hint ofsuspicion in his voice, but

mostlyitwasjustrelief.“IguessIjustgotlucky,”

Isaid. Itwaskindofa lie. Ithadn’t felt like luck at all. Ithadn’t felt like I had knownwhat I was doing either.Somehow I had just done it.Buthow?

I tried to put my doubtaside. This wasn’t the timefor me to be questioningmyself. It had been a gentlerlanding than I’d been

planning on, but I felt asexhilarated and exhaustedfrom the feat I’d justaccomplished as if I’d run amarathon.

Ipickedmyselfup,dustedoff, and tried to collectmyself.Mybodywasaching,sore from the trip, and mymindracedasIsiftedthrougheverything that had justhappened,knowingthatIhadto stay alert. I had a feeling

that the rocs hadn’t attackedus by coincidence, whichmeantthat,fornow,wewerestillindanger.

Andyet itwashardtobetoo worried when I sawwherewehadtoucheddown:Iwas looking out over a seaof flowers,stretchingfar intothedistance.

When I say a sea offlowers, I reallymean that itwas like an ocean, and not

justbecauseIcouldn’tseethelimit to it. I mean, that wasone thing, sure. Moreimportantly, though, was thefactthatitwasmoving.

The blossoms wereundulating like waves,building themselves up androlling toward us, petalsspraying everywhere as theycrashed at our feet, peteringout into a normal, grassymeadow.Ifthiswasanocean,

wewerestandingrightat theshore.

“I’ve heard of the Sea ofBlossoms,”Maudesaid.“I’veheardofitbut...”

Her voice trailed off asweallgazedoutinsomethinglikeamazement.

The Sea of Blossoms. Itwas beautiful. Not justbeautiful: it was enchanted.Of everything I had seensince I had come to Oz, this

felt the most like the magicthat was supposed to beeverywhere here. After ournear escape from the flyingmonsters, IknewIshouldbeon edge, but there wassomethingsojoyfulaboutthewaytheflowerswereripplingin the breeze that I felt myheartfillingwithhope.

But then I turned aroundandsawwhatwasbehindus,and I remembered something

Nox had once told me: thateven in the best ofcircumstances, every bit ofbrightness in Oz wasbalanced out by somethingdark.

Here was that darkness,rightoncue:atourbacks,thewaywas blocked by a thick,black jungle,with trees tallerthan I’d ever seen before,clustered together so closelythat itwashard to seeaway

through. My body gave aninvoluntaryshiver.

At least they didn’t havefaces. Still, there wassomethingdangerousaboutit.Somethingthatsaidkeepout.

“Is this where themonkeys live?” I asked,hopingtheanswerwasno.

Ollie gave a rueful littlelaugh. “Not quite. TheQueendom of the WinglessOnes is deep in the forest,

high up in the trees. Flyingwould have been faster, butwe still canmake it there bynightfall, if we movequickly.”

“And if the FightingTrees decide to let us pass,”Maude said darkly. “In thepast, they have been friendsto the monkeys, but nothingis certain these days. Thingsare changing quickly in Oz.The Sea of Blossoms was

supposed to have dried upyears ago. Ozma said themagic was returning. Asfoolish as she is, she is stilldeeply attuned to this land. Iwonder if something yourwicked friends did last nighthas awakened some of themagic Dorothy and Glindahavebeenstealingfromitforallthistime.”

“It seems so,” Olliemused. “Andwhat about the

rocs? They haven’t beenspotted in thesepartsas longas I can remember. I hadalmost begun to wonder iftheywerejustalegend.”

“Do you think someonecouldhavesentthemforus?”Iwonderedaloud.

“Perhaps,” Maude saidthoughtfully.“Butwho?”

Ozma, who had beenkneeling on the groundnearby, plucked a purple lily

and tucked it into her hair.Sheturnedtousandspoke.

“He did it,” she said,gathering up a bunch of theflowers and pressing them toher face, inhaling theperfumedscent.

“Who?” I said, still notabletotellifthiswasjustherusual babble or if shesomehowknewwhatshewastalking about. I studied herclosely.

Ozma greeted myquestion with a blank stareand tossed the flowers to theground. Instead of scattering,their stems burrowed rightback into the dirt and thenthey were standing uprightagain—as if they’d neverbeenpickedinthefirstplace.

“It’s coming,” she said.“He’s coming, too. Run andhide!”

Before I could question

her further, there was arustling in the trees and thesoft, heavy thump offootsteps. A moment later, ahulking shadow emergedfrom the forest, and I knewinstantlywhoOzmahadbeensensing.

TheLion.The air went out of

everything. The chirping ofthe birds stopped; the Sea ofBlossoms was suddenly still

and calm. Or maybe calmwas the wrong word. Itlookedmorelikeitwasafraidtomove.

Even the sky seemed toknow he was here. Just asecondagoithadbeenbrightand sunny, but in a flash thesunseemedtodim,castingusingrayandgloomyshadows.

The Lion padded towardus. Where his feet met theearth, the flowers withered

instantly into black andshriveledhusks.Nexttome,Ifelt Ollie and Maude freezeupwithfear.

The Lion circled for amoment and then lookeddown at me, baring agrotesque mouthful of fangsin what was probably meanttobeasmile.“Well,ifitisn’tlittle Miss Amy Gumm,PrincessOzma,andtheir twofurryfriends,”hesaid.Maude

and Ollie shrank back interror. Ozma stood up andregarded the scene passively.The Lion glanced to myshoulderwhere Starwas stillperched, and he raised aneyebrow. “Make that threefurry friends,” he correctedhimself.

My hand twitched as Iinstinctively summoned themagical knife that Nox hadgiven me. The solid handle

materializedinmyhandandItook a step forward, feelingits heat burning against mypalm.

“You,”Ispat.If the Lion was bothered

by the threat inmyvoice,hedidn’tshowit.

“I thought surely the fallwouldkill you,but Ihave toadmit I’m glad it didn’t,” hesaid, sinking back on hishaunches and surveying us.

“Thisway Iget toenjoyyoumyself. It’s been sucha longtimesinceIhadanice,squaremeal. And after that terriblebrouhahabackintheEmeraldCity, I’m sure that DorothywillforgivemeifIdon’ttakeyoubackalive.”

“Good luck with that,dude,” I said. “I’m not asmuch of a pushover as youmight think. Ikilledyourpalthe TinWoodman last night,

youknow.”A look of surprise

registeredon theLion’s face,but itwasgoneasquicklyasit had appeared. “The TinWoodman is a lover, not afighter,”hesaid.

“Was,” I corrected him.“Before I ripped his heartout.”

The Lion narrowed hiseyes and looked me up anddown.Hewasusedtopeople

cowering before him, likeMaude and Ollie, who wereboth quivering with fright,crouched on either side ofme, their teeth chattering interror.

This was the effect theLionusuallyhad.Hiscouragehad somehow been twistedintosomethingdarkandsick.Now it was a weapon.Wherever he went, hebroughtacloudofterrorwith

him. Just being around himwas enough to make mostpeople shrink in fear until itconsumedthem.

Then the Lion consumedit. He ate fear, literally. Itmade him stronger. I’d seenhimdoit—pickupaterrifiedMunchkinandsuckthefrightright out of him until theMunchkin was just a lifelessshell and the Lion wassupercharged, bursting with

power.And yet, today, standing

ten feet from him, I foundthatforthefirsttimeIwasn’tafraid. I had already faceddown everything that hadever frightened me and I’dcomeouttheotherside.

Instead of fear, I felt mybody fill with a deep rage.There was something aboutthe anger that seemed to puteverythingintofocus—itwas

likeapairofglassesIhadputon, and I was finally seeingeverythingclearly.

The Tin Woodman’sheart. The Lion’s courage.The Scarecrow’s brains.According to the Wizard,once I had all of them,Dorothycould finallydie thedeath shedeserved. I alreadyhad the first item in the bagstrappedacrossmychest: theTin Woodman’s metal,

clockwork heart. Now thesecond thing on my list waswithinreach—ifonlyIcouldfigure out where the Lionactuallykepthiscourage.

No big deal, I thought. Icould always figure that outafterhewasdead.

I wanted to wait for himto make the first move,though. I was counting onhim underestimating me, butevenonmybestdaytheLion

still had ten times myphysicalstrength.

“Now,let’ssee,”theLionwas saying. “Who should Ieat first?” He looked fromme, to Ozma, to Ollie, toMaude, raising a giganticclaw and passing it aroundfromoneofustothenext.

“Bubble gum, bubbleguminadish,”herumbledina low, ominous croon.Maude.Ollie.Me.Hepaused

as he reached Ozma. “Youknow,”hemused,“I’veneverhad much of a taste forbubblegum.”Themusclesinhis hind legs twitched.“Fairies, on the other hand,aredelicious.”

“You’reverybad,”Ozmasaid scornfully. “You can’teatthequeen.”

I could have cheered,hearing her talking to him,totally unafraid, with such

casual, careless haughtiness.Youhad to give it to her fornerve, even if itwas just thekindofnervethatcamefromnotreallyknowinganybetter.But the Lion didn’t seem tothinkitwasveryfunny.

Iwasreadyforhimwhenhe growled and sprang forher. I moved before he did,slashingmyknifethroughtheair in a bright arc of red,searing flame, aiming right

forhim.Ozmaclappedatthedisplay.Iwasgettingbetteratthismagicthing.

But I was alsooverconfident: my bladebarely grazed the Lion’sflank. I drew blood, but notenoughtoslowhimdown.Hesimply twisted in annoyanceand swiped for me with apowerful forearm.He hitmeright in the gut and I wentstumbling backward like a

mosquito that had just beenbattedoutoftheway,landingonthegroundonmybuttinaburst of petals. I bounced upquickly only to see thatOzma, as it turned out, wasperfectly capable ofprotectingherself.

She hadn’t moved aninch,butashimmeringgreenbubble had somehowappeared up around her. TheLion clawed and poked at it,

but wherever the force fieldhad come from, it wasimpervious to his attacks.Ozma blinked innocently athim.

“Badkitty!”shesaid.Shescowled and wagged herfingerathim.“Naughtycat!”

The Lion growled a lowgrowl,apparentlynotamusedat being called “kitty,” andtook another swipe at her.Again, though, his attack

bounced right off herprotectivebubble.

While the Lion wasdistracting himself with theprincess, I was stealthilycircling toward him,positioning myself to strikeagain while charging up myknife with another magicalflame.

“You’ve always been astupid little thing,” the Lionwas saying to Ozma.

“Nevertheless, I suppose youhaveyourownirritatingkindof power. It’s a good thingthere areotherways to teachafairyalesson.”

HeturnedfromOzmaandreached forMaude,who hadcurled herself into a ball onthe ground, her teethchattering with terror. Shedidn’t even try to run. “No!”Ollie screamed, hurlinghimselfinfrontofhissister.

Thiswasmycue:Irushedhim.

The Lion sensed mecoming.He spun around andgave a furious roar, his jawpracticallyunhinging.

Helungedforme.Fakeout.Just as he was about to

grab me, I flipped myselfbackward into the air andblinked myself behind him,my teleportation spell

reversingmymomentumasIlandedonhisback.Igrabbedahankofhismaneinmyfistand pulled hard, yanking hisheadbackward.

“I’ve been wanting to dothis for a while,” I saidthrough gritted teeth, usingeveryounceofstrengthIhadto slash my burning bladeacross his exposed throat. Icringed at the sound of hisflesh hissing under my

weapon’swhite-hot heat, butsomewhere, deep down, Ifound myself surprised athow used to this kind ofviolenceIhadalreadygotten.Athoweasilyitcametome.

AstheLionhowled,Ifeltsome small kind of pleasureinhispain. Ipushed it aside,but it was there. I felt thetiniest glimmer of a smile atthecornerofmylips.

The Lion bucked and

shookwildlyandIhungontohis mane for dear life,thinkingofmymom’s friendBambi Plunkett, who hadonce won five hundreddollars riding themechanicalbullattheRagingStalliononHalifax Avenue.Unfortunately, I quicklydiscovered that I wasn’tgoingtobecrownedqueenoftherodeoanytimesoon.

As the Lion desperately

tried to shake me, I felt myhold on his mane begin toslip. He jumped into the airand we landed with a forcethat shook the ground,flowers flying everywhere.Ashegaveonelastpowerfulshudder, I lost my grip andtumbled off him, my headcrackingagainsttheground.

My vision blurred. In aflurry of fur and fangs, theLion pounced, the weight of

hisbodycrushingmylegsashe pinned my arms with hispaws.

“I see you’re acourageous little one,” hepurred, pushing his face justinches from mine. “I mustadmit,Ididn’texpect it fromyou.” He licked his chops.“We’ll just have to changethat,won’twe?”

A trickle of blood madeitswayfromhisthroat,down

hisfur,andontomyshirt,andI saw that the cut across histhroat was really just asurface wound. I’d barelyhurthim.

Thiswasn’tgoingaswellasI’dthoughtitwould.Itriedto blink myself out fromunder him, butmy headwasstill throbbing from the fallI’djusttaken,andashardasItried, I found that I couldn’tquite summon the magic for

it.Then, before I could

decide what to do next, Iheard a squeal. Out of thecorner of my eye, I sawsomething white streakthrough the grass as Starscurried away, and felt theLion’s weight on my bodylighten,asheleanedoverandshotapawout.

“No!” I screamed,suddenly realizing what was

coming. But there wasnothing I could do. He hadgrabbed my rat by the tail,and she wriggled andscreechedasheheldherovermyface.

“Dorothywantsyoualive,brave little Amy,” he said.“AndwhileIhaven’tdecidedyet whether to let her haveher way this time, in themeantime,thisonewillmakeaniceappetizer.”

TheLionsnappedhisjawopen. Star’s final screamsounded almost human as hedangled her over his toothy,gapingmaw.

First the fear left her. Itwent streaming from hertrembling body into theLion’sopenmouthinawispyburst like a puff of smokefrom a cigarette. Then shewasstill,lookingdownatmewithwide,placideyes.

Therewasn’tmuchleftofher, but at least I knew thatshe wasn’t afraid when shedied. The Lion dropped herinto his mouth and chompedhard.Atrickleofbloodmadeitswaydownhischin.

“Notveryfilling,”hesaidwithalaugh.“ButIhearratsare actually a delicacy insomepartsofOz.”Hepausedand licked a stray bit of mypoordeadrat’swhitefurfrom

his lips. “Now, I’ve made adecision. On to the maincourse.”

“No,”Isaidassomethingstrange came over me. I feltmorelucidthanever,likethevolume had been turned uponallofmysenses.IfeltlikeI was looking down onmyself, watching the sceneunfold from somewhere faraway. “Wrong. Fucking.Move.” With that, I blinked

myselfoutofhisclutches.The Lion lurched in

surpriseandtwistedaroundtoface me where I was nowstanding, a few yards away,my back to the trees. Hepawedattheground.

Somewhere in myperipheral vision—somewhereontheedgeofmyconsciousness—I saw thatOllie and Maude were bothclinging to Ozma under the

protection of her bubble.Theywere safe, but I hardlycaredanymore.

Ididn’tcareaboutthem,Ididn’tcareaboutOz.Ididn’tevencareaboutmyself.AllIcaredaboutwasmydeadrat.

That stupid little rat wasthe last connection I had tohome.InsomewaysshewastheonlyfriendIhadleft.Shehad made it throughDorothy’sdungeonswithme.

She had helped me survive.Nowshewasgone.TheLionhad eaten her as easily as amarshmallowEasterPeep.

NowIwasaloneforreal.But suddenly I knew that itwas really no different frombefore. It was no differentfromKansas,even.

I had always been aloneandIwouldalwaysbealone.Ithadjusttakenmethislongtofigureitout.

AllIcaredaboutnowwasrevenge.

TheLionboundedformewith a thundering growl soloud it shook the trees. Ididn’t move to step aside. Ifthe Lion thought eating myrat and creating a racketwasgoing to makeme afraid, hecouldn’t have been morewrong. Iwas less afraid thanever.

Iwas ready to kill, and I

suddenly had no doubt whattheoutcomewouldbe.

My heart opened up intoan endless pit. I looked overthe edge into the void, andthenIjumpedrightin.

Brandishing my knife, Isilently called out for morefire—forthewhite-hotflamesof the sun. The Lion wasgoingtoburn.

The fire didn’t come.Instead, like a glass filling

with ink, my blade turnedfrompolished, flashingsilverto an obsidian so deep anddark that it seemed to besucking the light right out ofthesky.

Itwasn’twhatIhadbeenexpecting, but that was howmagic sometimes worked.Magic is tricky. It’s not assimpleassayingabracadabraand waving a wand. Whenyou cast the spell, themagic

becomes a part of you.Whoyou are can change it.And Iwasdifferentnow.

Once, I had been anangry, righteous little ball offire. Now I was somethingelse.

Butwhat?

THREE

Ifeltthemagicineveryporeof my skin, in every hair onthebacksofmyarms.Ifeltitin the tipsofmyeyelashes. Iwas vibrating with it as theLion came atmewith a roarloudenoughtosplittheworldrightopen.

Itwastoolateforthat.He hurled himself at me

in a lithe, powerfulcannonball; he clawed andscratched and bit. He wasn’t

playing around now; therewasnotauntingandnobanteras he hitmewith a graceful,animal fury thatwouldn’t letup.Buthecouldn’ttouchme.

When he had killed Starhe had unleashed somethingin me that I hadn’t knownwas even in there. Now themagic was flowing throughme like a song andmybodywas moving to its pulsing,thrummingbeat.

Iwaseverywhereatonce.Iwasbarely anywhere at all.With every move that hemade, Iwasaheadofhim. Itwaslikeweweredancing.

I was spinning anddodging and somersaulting,thrusting and parrying, andevery time the Lion thoughthe had me, I found myselfmelting into theground,onlyto rise back up a momentlater in the place he least

expectedtofindme.Itwas a different kind of

teleportation than the kind Idid when I blinked myselffromoneplacetothenext.Itwas like I was entering aworld of shadows. I wasn’tsurehowIwasdoingit,andIwasn’t sure where I wasgoingwhenIdisappearedlikethat—only that wherever itwas, it was cold and foreignanddeadlysilent.Fromdown

there, everything was hazyand slow-motion, and I wasoutside reality, looking upinto it from thedarkness likegazing up through a layer ofblack,muddywater.

I may not have knownhowIwasdoingit,buteverytimeIrosebackup,reshapingmyself into my own form, Iknewwhat IwasdoingwhenI was under there. I wastouchingthedarkness.

If I’d had time to thinkabout it, it probably wouldhave frightened me.Somehow, I knewinstinctively that I wastapping into some of theblackest kind of magic.Everywhere I slashed andstabbed,myknifeleftathick,inky trail behind it. It lookedlikeIwascuttingaholeintheatmosphere,andwhatwasontheothersidewasnothing.

Wewentonlikethatforawhile. I could tell that theLion was tiring out. Weweren’t dancing togetheranymore. I was dancing, buthim? He was just going todie.

Itwaspathetic,really,butI didn’t feel sorry for him.Actually, I was having fun.I’d found something in Oz Iwasgoodat.

Finally, he gave one last

valiant effort and sprang up,grabbed a tree branch andswung,barrelingdownatmefeetfirst. I didn’t botherdodging. I melted intonothing and rematerializedbehindhim,wonderinghowitwas that this kind of magicwas suddenly coming soeasilytome.

The Lion was stillscooping himself up fromwherehehadfallen,andIlet

him flail for a moment inconfusion before I sweptmyleg around in a roundhousekickthatmethisfacewiththesatisfying crunch ofshatteringteeth.

I plunged my knife intohis side and a web of inkylines spidered across thesurface of his golden, tawnymuscles like I was injectinghimwithpoison.

Well,maybeIwas.

I twisted my blade. TheLion screamed, collapsing.He had all but surrenderednow, but I wasn’t done yet.As he lay there howling inpain, I jumped up and foundmyself moving almost inslow motion, suspended intheairforamomentbeforeIpushed myself forward andlaunched myself straight forhim, sinking my knife intotheroofofhisgapingmouth,

ageyserofblooderupting.Thistimehedidn’tbother

screaming.I tossed the knife aside,

letting it disappear towherever it went when Iwasn’t holding it. But thistime, when I drew my handback, I pulled a long, darktendril with it—a black,twistingskeinofnothingness.

Itwaslikeatentacle,likean extension ofmyself.All I

had to dowas think about itandtheblacknesstwistedoutthrough the air like a snakeslitheringthroughthegrass.Itwrapped itself around theLion’sneck.

The Lion clutched at histhroat, gasping and trying tofreehimself.

All I had to dowaswantit,andthenoosetightened.

“Beg me,” I said. Thewords hung in the air,

dripping with venom. Itbarely sounded like me. If Iwas a character in a comicbook, my dialogue wouldhave been inked in thick,jagged letters. This couldn’tbeme—couldit?IknewwhatIhad todo,but therewasnoreasontobesocruelaboutit.

IfelthalfpossessedwhenI said it again. “Beg me,” Irepeated, with even morecruelty this time, as theLion

triedtoopenhismouth.His eyeswidened, but he

was barely strugglinganymore; he was usingeverythinghehad left just tostayalive.

“Never,” was all hemanagedtosay.

My knife had returned tome,andwhenI lookeddownat it, I saw that its blacknesswas seeping out of it and upmyarm,likeIwaswearinga

glove made of tar. My fistwasgripping thehilt so tightthatithurt.Itwastwitching.

Cut him, I heard a voiceinthebackofmyheadtellingme. Punish him foreverythinghe’sdone.

I wanted to do it. In mymind’s eye, I saw myselfslicing him open. Hisstomach. His throat. Like Iwaswatchingamovie, I sawmyself stabbing wherever I

could,notpayingattentiontowhere I was striking, justhacking away as heconvulsed and moaned, hishot,stickybloodsquirtingoutineverydirectionwhileIkeptgoing.

It was just myimagination. But I wanted itto be real. And it could bereal.AllIhadtodowasdoit.

But then I heard anothervoice—arealvoicethistime,

not in my head, but fromsomewhere outside of me. Itwas soft and lilting, barelymorethanawhisper.

ItwasOzma.“Come back,” she said

simply.Withher,youneverquite

knew if she meant anythingbyitatall.Icouldn’tevenbesure that she was talking tome.But something about theway she said it brought me

down to earth, and when Iturned to her, I saw that shehad dropped her bubble ofprotection and was nowstandingjustafewfeetaway.Herbrighteyeswerefixedonmeplaintively,withalookofdeep,almostsisterlyconcern.

That’s when I realizedthatIwasn’tfightingtheLionto punish him.Asmuch as Iwanted to let my revengefantasies play out, I had to

remember that there was alargerpurposetoeverythingIwas doing. As much as Iwantedtokillhim—mybodywasstillscreamingoutforhisblood—I knew itwasn’t thatsimple. I needed somethingfromhim.

Itallcamefloodinglikeadream you’ve forgotten untilsomethingjogsyourmemory.

The Tin Woodman’sheart. The Lion’s courage.

TheScarecrow’sbrains.With the Tin Woodman

and the Scarecrow it wasobvious. Heart and brains.Duh. But where does a Lionkeephiscourage?

I looked at him lyingthere in battered, bloodydefeat, toothless and bruised,his mangled tail twitching,thesadlittleribbonattheendof it soaked with blood, andthen I noticed that there was

something strange about it.The tail. It wasn’t glowing,exactly, but it had somethinglike a halo around it. Ajittery, golden aura so palethatitbarelyregistered.

It mademe take a closerlook.

I don’t know how I’dmissed it before, but now Isaw it. The tail wasn’t evenreal. It was stuffed andsynthetic andmade from felt

and stuffing, like somethingthatbelongedtoadoll.Atthebase, I could see that it wassewnontotheLion’sbodyina sloppy cross-stitch. Thiswasn’t the tail that he hadbeen born with. Of course:the Wizard had given it tohim.

In one swift, smoothmotion, I sliced it off. Therewas a high-pitched hissingsound,likeairbeingletoutof

a balloon. The Lion gave aweak,stupidwhimper.

I held the tail up, and ittwitched inmyhands. Itwasangry. I knew that myinstinctshadbeenright.

LookingdownattheLionconfirmed it. He wascowering on the ground,covering his face with hishands.Hewouldbeoutofhismisery soon enough. I raisedmy knife over my head and

preparedtofinishhimoffforgood.

Ithoughtofeverythinghehad done—all the innocentpeople he had terrified andtortured as Dorothy’senforcer. I thought ofeveryonehehadkilled.Gert.Star.The ones I didn’t know—like Nox’s family. He haddoneitfornoreason.Hehaddone it just because he likedit. Because it was fun.

BecauseDorothytoldhimto.Myhandwaspoisedover

my head, my knife burstingwith magic. I realized that,sometimeduringthefight,thealreadygrayingskyoverheadhad covered itself in anominousshroudofclouds.

It was like I had causedthat. Like my anger anddarkness had spilled out intothelandaroundme.

Inthatmoment,Icouldn’t

helpbeingscaredofmyself.But my fear was nothing

next to theCowardlyLion’s.“Please don’t hurt me,” hewheezed.Hewascryingnow,curled into a fetal ball androckingbackandforthontheground,clutchinghisface.

Seeinghimlikethisitwashard to believe that he hadever been capable of any ofthe terror he had caused.Without his courage, he was

nothing. And I had it now.His tail coiled itself uparoundmyarmlikeapieceofjewelry. The Lion was lessthanharmlessnow.AndIfeltpowerful. Maybe evencourageous.

My hands were red withblood; blood had plasteredmy clothes tomy skin. Evenmyhairwasdampwithit.Offin the distance, I heard asinglebirdchirp.

My shoulders loosened. Itook a deep, gulping breath.Myknifefadedfrommygrip,and as it did, the cloudsparted and the sun wasshining down on us again.Mywhole bodywas shakingas I felt the magic that hadfilled me during my fightbegintodissipate.

I thought, for a moment,of my mother, and of howfragile she looked when she

was coming down from oneofherbinges.Ithoughtofallthe times she’d tried to goclean,andofallthetimesI’dtried to help her. Of howshe’dfailedeverytime.

I stood and turned awayfrom the Lion. “Go,” I said,gesturingoutintonowhere.

The Lion rose shakily tohisfeet.Hestumbledandfell,then stood again and lookedup,hiswholeface trembling.

“Thank you,” he sniveled.“HowcanIever—”

I cut him off. “Do it,before I change my mind.”He flinched, and then wentlimping off into the forestwithout looking back, bloodtrailinghiseverystep.

Two down, one to go.After that,Dorothywouldbemine, and one thing was forsure:Iwasn’tgoingtoletheroffthehookaseasilyasIhad

theLion.Then the world began to

come back into focus. In therolling field of flowers,Maude and Ollie werestandingstock-still, staringatme like they barelyrecognized me. Ozma,though,hada shy little smileon her face. It almost lookedlikepride.

Iwantedtosaysomethingtothem.See?Iwantedtosay.

Ilethimgo.Itwas true. Ihad let him

go.Evenso,Iknewtherewasa line that I had almostcrossed, and they hadwatchedmewalk right up tothe edge of it. I opened mymouth and closed it again. Ididn’t have the words toexplainanyofit.

I was just standing there,stillwonderingwhathad justhappened,whenIsawtherest

of them. They wereeverywhere. I had been soconsumedwiththeLionthatIhadn’t noticed them arrive.Monkeys.

They were sitting in thebranches of the trees andcrouched in the hillocks offlowers and hiding in thethick shrubbery that blockedthe forest. There must havebeen a hundred of them,monkeys of all shapes and

sizes.ToobadI’dneverpaidmuch attention in scienceclass;itwouldhavebeennicetonameallthedifferenttypesof species that wererepresentedamongthem.

Like Maude and Ollie,theywere just staring atme,unblinking and impassive.Like Maude and Ollie, theyalllookedscaredofme.

FOUR

The Queendom of theWinglessOneswasbuilthighin the trees, just below thethick canopy of leaves thatcoveredtheDarkJungle.Themonkeyshadknownthepaththrough the jungle by heartand commanded enoughrespect in these woods thatwe’d been able to passwithout being bothered byany of the creatures whoshareditwiththem,butithad

still taken us hours to makeour way through the densebrush of vines and branchesinto the heart of the forestwhere they had their treetophome. We’d paused onlyonce, for me to wash theblood off my body in astream, beforewe stopped infrontofabigtree.

IlookedatOllie.“Whyarewestopping?”“This is the human

entrance.Youcan’tverywellclimbupthereliketheothers,canyou?”

I looked up to where hewas pointing. Most of themonkeys traveling with ushadsimplyscamperedupintothebranches.

Ollie pressed his palminto a barely visibleindentationinthetrunkandadoorslidopen, revealing thatthe tree had been outfitted

with a makeshift contraptionkind of like a dumbwaiter.Ollie crawled inside andbeckoned for us to follow,and once we were all in, heand Maude and I all tookturnspullingon therope thatturned the pulley and raisedthe platform carrying us up,up,up,intothedarkness.

Ollie was completely outof breath and I wasn’t doingmuch better by the time we

emerged from the passageontoanarrowplatform.

The monkey village waslike the world’s coolest treehousecrossedwithsomethingout of a Swiss FamilyRobinsonthemepartythrownby Martha Stewart.Throughout the village,wooden houses of all shapesand sizes had been built intothe treetops, all of themconnected by a network of

suspended walkwaysconstructed out of roughlyhewn planks and twistedvines. Everywhere I lookedwere monkeys in humanclothing. There weremonkeysinsharplittlethree-piece suits, monkeys insweatpants and T-shirts,monkeysinnurses’uniforms,and even monkeys in tinylittle ball gowns who lookedlike they could be on their

way to the monkey Oscars.Most of them weren’t usingthe walkways; instead, theones with places to be wereswinging from vines andscampering across branches,looking perfectly unaware ofthe fact thatwewereat leastfivehundredfeetup.

We were greeted by amonkey who seemed not atall self-conscious about thefact that she was wearing a

Frenchmaid’suniform.“Welcomeback,”shesaid

to Ollie in a voice too lowand gruff for her tiny size.Shegavehimaquickpat onthe back and a kiss on thecheek before turning to thequeen, sinking into a clumsycurtsy as I fought to stifle agiggle. “Greetings, YourHighness,”shesaidtoOzma.“I’m Iris.We are honored tohave you join us in our

village.” After lingering onthequeenforafewmoments,Iris directed her attention tome. Her smile faded. I wasstarting to realize that thesemonkeys didn’t quite trustme.

“Hi,” I said awkwardly.“I’mAmy.”

“Yes,” she said. “QueenLulu has been awaiting yourarrival.Olliewill takeyoutoher while I escort Her

Majestytothequartersyou’llbe sharing.” With that, Iristook thewide-eyedOzma bythehandandledheraway.

“Idon’tthinkyourfriendsare that into me,” I said toOllie.

He just shrugged. “TheWingless Ones have a badtrack record with witches.”BeforeIcouldprotesthewasalready moving, scamperingoff across a rope bridge. I

followed.Because the canopy

blocked out almost any lightfrom the sun, thevillagewaslitinsteadbystrange,floatinglanterns that looked likeoversize, translucent lemons.Theyhungintheairalongthewalkways and over the treehouses, their glowing lightgiving the otherwise dimvillage the feelingof a fancygarden party just about to

start.(NotthatI’veeverbeento a fancy garden party, butback in Kansas I didsometimes used to watchHGTVwithmymom.Whenwe were getting along, Imean.)

“Sunfruit,” Ollieexplained, seeing me staringat the lamp-things as wemade our way across thewalkways. “Try one.” Hepluckeda fruit fromwhere it

hoveredandexpertlyshuckedapieceofsoft,thinrindfromthetop,revealingayellowish,glowing goop inside. Hehandedittome.

The sunfruit feltwarm inmypalmandhadtherubberyconsistencyofagummibear.Iwasalittleafraidofit,butIdidn’twanttooffendhim,soI stuck a finger in, scoopedout some of the slime, andtastedit.

I was expecting it to bekind of gross. I wasn’tprepared for it to be prettymuchthemostdeliciousthingI’d ever eaten. It tasted liketen things at once: likesaltwatertaffyandpineapplesand fruity drinks with littleumbrellas. It tasted likesummer, and the last day ofschool, and the beach. Iclosedmyeyesandsavoreditfor a second, suddenly

realizing exactly how long ithad been since I’d taken thetime to actually enjoysomething. These days,distractions like that wereprettyhardtocomeby.

I could have spent thenext hour trying to separateout all the flavors of thesunfruit, but Ollie wasalreadytuggingatmysleeve.“We don’t want to keepQueenLuluwaiting.Sheisa

wise ruler, but she getsfrustratedeasily.You’drathernot see her when she’sangry.”

Itookhiswordforit,butIcontinuedscoopingupmoreof the sunfruit as we keptwalking.Afewminuteslater,we came to a spiral of stairsthat had been built into theoutside of a thick-trunkedtree.“Thequeenwillseeyoualone,” Ollie said. “When

you’re done, you can findyour chambers near thewaterfall.”

“Awaterfall?Uphere?Inthetrees?”

“Can’t miss it,” he said,jumping from the path andgrabbingontoavinewithhistail. He swung around andhung there upside down,looking me in the eye.“Thank you, Amy,” he said,andIknewthathewasn’tjust

thanking me for saving him,orforsavinghissister.

Thenhewasgoneintotheleaves.

I took a deep breath andbegantomakemywayuptherickety wooden stairs thattwisteduptowardthecanopy.I took each wobbly stepcarefully,hugging the treeasclosely as I possibly could,trying not to think about thefact that I was probably the

first fully grown human touse this path in years.You’dthink the day I’d just hadwould have cured me of myfearofheights,butnope.

Look, fear’s not alwaysrational, okay? Anyway,there’s a difference betweenbeing afraid and being acoward. At least there wasone thing I could takecomfort in: if you’re afraid,you must still be a little bit

human.WhenIfinallymadeitup

through the canopy, Idiscovered that the “palace”wasn’t really a palace at all.Justalarge,roundhutthatsaton a spacious platform ofplanksabovetheleaves.

Inside, Queen Lulu wassitting on a large throneconstructed out of sticks andbranches in the middle of afilthy room strewn with

banana peels, clothes, andpiles upon piles ofnewspapers, books, toys, andother junk. She wore brightredlipstick,apoufypinktutu,and pink, rhinestone-encrusted cat-eye sunglasses.She sat there eyeing me, allthewhilefanningherselfwithapaperfan.

“Well, well, well,” shesqueaked from behind herfan. “If it isn’t famous Amy

Gumm. Welcome to myqueendom.”

So she was no KateMiddleton.Still,Iwasn’tsurewhat to expect from her as Iapproached her throne, and Ifiguredthatevenaqueeninatutuexpectsacertainamountof respect. I bowed. “It’s anhonor to meet you, YourHighness,”Isaid.

“Charmed, I’m sure,”Queen Lulu said. Her voice

was squeaky but tough, too.“Ihearyou’reaherotype,thereal deal. You and yourdaring rescues! Oh, sure,we’ve heard all about thosearoundtheseparts.”

“Uh, thanks,” I said. “Idon’t know. Iwas just doingwhat anyone would havedone,Iguess.”

“Well, bless your heart,”Lulu said. She set her fanaside and casually scratched

herarmpit.“Shallwecallourdebt all settled up here,then?”

“Debt?”Iasked.“Yeah, debt. You saved

Ollie andMaude, they savedyou. Even-steven. No moremonkeybusiness.”

“Oh,”Isaid,takenaback.“Imean,okay.Itwasn’tlikeIwas keeping track oranything.”

Queen Lulu lowered her

sunglasses and looked outover them. “Let’s cut thecrap,” she said. “You seemlikeanicegirl,but Iwant tomake sure we have thingsstraight here. I allowedOllieand Maude to help you outthis one little time, but weWingless Ones aren’t goingto get involved in whatevernonsense is brewing in Ozthesedays.WhatDorothyandthe rest of them do down

there? That’s someone else’sballofbeeswax.We’vegotagood thing going up here inthetrees.”

I folded my arms acrossmy chest. “Is that what youwanted to talk to me about?Totellmeyou’restayingoutofit?”

“Yougot it, sweetheart. Iknow your type. You comearound, you stir up trouble,and before you know it I’ve

gotallmymonkeyswantingawar with the Emerald City.Thanks, but no thanks.You’re lucky I let you comehereatall.”

Um, obviously I hadn’tcome here trying to get themonkeys togo towar.Cometo think of it, I hadn’t evenasked to be brought here atall.Really,allIwantedintheworld was a nap. A really,really,reallylongnap.Anda

shower.AndmaybesomeicecreamandsomebadTV.

Even so, Queen Lulu’sattitudewas seriouslypissingme off. Without reallymeaning to, I placed myhandsindignantlyonmyhips.“Seriously?Howcanyouactlike what Dorothy does isn’tyour problem? You may behidden up here for now, butshe’ll burn this place to theground as soon as she gets

around to it. Wouldn’t yourather live somewhere whereyou didn’t have to hide?Whereyoudidn’thavetocutoffyourwings?”

Lulu picked up a bananafromabunchthatwassittingon a table by her throne andpeeled it.Royaltyornot, shechewedwithhermouthopen.

“Come on,” she snorted.“We monkeys have had theshortendofthehotdogforas

long as Oz has been Oz. Imay be the boss-lady now,but in my day I’ve hauledmore than one witch aroundlike I was a commonchauffeur. Dorothy, theWizard, Mombi, and herstupid little Order—they’reallthesametome.”

“The Order wantsfreedomforeveryone.”

Isurprisedmyselfathowstrongly I felt about it. The

truth is, I’d never totallytrusted the Order myself.Because, sure, Dorothy wasevil,butwhowas to say thattheyweren’tmoreevil?Theyused to be wicked witches,after all. Who’s to say theyweren’tstill?

But look.Youhave tobeloyal to something, right? Imight have my own doubtsaboutMombi and the rest ofthem,butIhadthrownmylot

in with them, and I had tostandbymychoices.

Queen Lulu was givingme a dubious, I’ve got yournumberkindoflook.

“Don’tgiveme thebabe-in-the-woods act, babe,” shesaid. “Let’s just say you andyour wicked little friends domanage to killDorothy.Youthink I’ll be the one restingmyhairyheinieonthatshinyemerald throne? Not a

chance. I’ve dinged enoughdongsinmydaytoknowit’llbe the same as it ever was.Maybe worse.Meet the newwitch,sameastheoldwitch.”

As she’d been talking,Queen Lulu had beenworking herself up into afrenzy;nowshesprangtoherfeet and bared her teeth, hersunglassesaskew.

I knew I should just nodand agree with her. I wasn’t

going to change her mind,and she looked about onewrong word away fromswingingacrosstheroomandwrestling me to the ground.But I’ve always been prettybad at shutting up andsmiling.Come to think of it,that might have been part ofhowI’dgottenmyselfintoallthisinthefirstplace.

“What about Ozma?” Iasked. “Things were good

when she was in charge,right?Not all leaders are thesame.”

Lulu cackleduproariously. She laugheduntil she was wheezing, andthen,whenshewastiredout,she collapsed back into herseat and kicked her legs up.“Sure.Ozmawas a dollwaybackwhen.Butwe all knowthatbroad’saboutsixstampsshortoffirstclassthesedays.

She’s great if you want tohearawholelotofnonsense,butshe’snotexactlymonarchmaterial,amIright?”

Okay,fine,shewasright.But that didn’t change mypoint.

“Sowhat?Shouldwejustbeonourwaythen?”

“Aw, don’t get all bentout of shape. You and MissPrincess can stay as long asyou want. I do have my

principles, after all, andanywayI’mabigsoftie.ButIdon’t want any trouble—andthat means no magic whileyou’rehere,got it?Wedon’tgo in for that type of thing.AndIknowthekindofmagicyoudo.”

“Fine,” I said. “Nomagic.”

QueenLulu lookedprettymuch totally unconvinced.“Showmeyourhands.”

“Myhands?”“You think I was born

yesterday? For all I knowyou’ve got your fingerscrossed behind your back.Don’t thinkyoucanpulloneoveronme.”

I stared at her. Next wasshe going to knock twice onher throne and call no take-backs?Butasridiculousas itallsounded,Icouldtellfromthewayshewasglaringatme

thatshemeantbusiness.Idutifullyheldmyhands

out toshowIwason theup-and-up. Lulu cleared herthroat,like,I’mwaiting.

Isighed.“Ipromisenottouse magic while I’m in thevillage—”

“Queendom.”“Queendom of the

Wingless Ones. No take-backs,” I added for goodmeasure.

Atthat,thequeennoddedsmuglyandpickedupherfanagain.Shefluttereditinfrontofher face. “Verywell,” shesaid. “Now if you please, Imust meet with my highcouncil. I’m a very busymajesty,youknow.”

I turned to leave, andthen, with my hand on thedoor, I thought of somethingandspunaround.

“Haveyouheardanything

abouttheOrder?”Iasked.“Not a peep,” she said

dismissively. “They’reprobably all pushing updaisies.Nowskedaddle.”

“You must have heardsomething,” I pleaded.“Mombi told me nothinghappens in Oz without theWingless Ones getting windof it.”When in doubt, lay itonthick.

Thatwasa lie,ofcourse.

Mombi had never oncementioned Queen Lulu. Butroyal types can never resistflattery.Lulu’seyessoftened.

“Well,” she mused. “It’struethatItrytokeepupwiththe latest news. The Orderisn’t theonlyonewith spies.Even up here, it does pay tohavethescoop—andIamthequeen.”

“Please,”Ipushed.“Ijustwant to know—I need to

knowwheretheyare.”Lulu just sighed. “Sorry,

toots,”shesaid.“OnlythingIknowisthatyourhagMombiworked her old abracadabraand went right up in smoke.Tookherpalswithher.Poof!All I’ve heard since are thesweetestnothings.”

“What about . . . ,” Istarted.

Sheputahanduptostopmeandcheckedanimaginary

watchatherwrist. “Ibelievemy next appointment iscoming up,” she saidirritably. “Now shoo. I’m avery busy monarch. If youwant someone who can sitaroundmakingsmalltalk,I’dtry the Duchess of TreePeople. She’s the biggestblabbermouth you’ll everfind.”

When I still didn’t moveto leave, Lulu’s patience

finally decided she was overit. “Begone!” she yelled,picking up a banana andhurlingitacrosstheroomlikeaboomerang,aimingrightformyface.Iduckedjustintimeforittobounceoffmyhead.

I was done. I’d heardabout the types of thingsmonkeys liked to fling,and Iwaspretty sure Iwasgettingoff easy with just a banana.Thiswasmycuetoleave.

But as Iwas heading outinto thenight, ready tomakemy way back down into thejungle, I heard a rustling inthe trees, and then the lowchirping of monkey voices.The queen’s council. Icouldn’tquitehearwhattheywere saying, but from thetone of their whispers, itsoundedimportant.

I knew I had promised,but I couldn’t helpmyself. It

camesoeasilythistimethatIbarely even thought aboutwhat I was doing: I feltmyself sinking into theshadows. As four monkeysapproached the queen’schambers, I slithered afterthem.They let thedoor slamshut behind them, and didn’teven notice when I passedrightthroughit.

Everything was differentin my shadow world—

whereveritwas.Itwassortoflikebackhomewhenwetriedto steal cable fromthe trailernext door and everythingcameoutkindofstatickyandgarbledandsometimesupsidedown, but you couldmake itout if you kind of squintedand moved your face reallyclosetothescreen.

The queen’s throne roomflickered and wavered, but Isaw four monkeys clustered

around at her feet. At first itsounded like they were allspeaking some otherlanguage, but the longer Ilistened the more I was ableto catch snatches of theconversation until finally Imanagedtomakesomesenseofit.

“We cannot have herhere,” a monkey in greencorduroy overalls and apropeller beanie was saying.

“Youdidn’tseeher...”Lulu waved him off. “I

wish I had,” she said. “Youwant the truth, I wish she’dfinished him right off. TheLioncanrot.SeeifIcare.”

“You don’t understand.She was . . . she was nothuman. Something overtookher—a darkness unlikeanything I have everencountered.”

I jolted. They were

talking about me. Eventhough I had some idea ofhowI’dlookedwhenI’dbeenfightingtheLion,Ididn’tliketohearitdescribedlikethis.

But it was true. I hadtouched the dark, and I hadliked it. And as much as Iwanted to think that it wasjust a case of getting carriedawayinthefight,itwasn’tsosimple. How could it be,when I was watching them

throughthiscold,eerieveilofshadows?

“I must agree, QueenLulu,” said a monkey in acurly red wig. “PrincessOzma is one thing, but thepresenceoftheotheroneputsallofusindanger.”

“Sheisa—”“Enough!” Lulu snapped.

“I’m the boss, applesauce,and the boss-lady has madeuphermind.The littlewitch

stays. The princess stays. Ihave my reasons. Now tellmewhatyouhearof the restof Oz. Has Dorothy beenfound?”

Amonkeywearingapinkvelour sweat suit rose to herfeet. “We believe thatPrincessDorothyhasfledthecity, along with theScarecrow and the TinWoodman. No one has seenthemsincelastnight.”

“Glinda?”“Glinda was gravely

wounded in battle and isthought to have returned toherfortress.”

“Oh, of course,” Lulusniffed. “That witch talks abiggame,butshecouldn’tbea bigger candy-ass if shedroppedherpinklittleundiesandsatonapileofgumdrops.Now what about the rest ofthe witches—what about the

Order?”Iheldmybreath,andthen

realized I had no breath tohold.WhenIwasashadow,Ididn’thaveabody.

The monkey councilexchanged a look amongstthemselves. “We . . . ,” theone in the sweat suit began.“We don’t know. They maybe dead. Or they may bealive.Wesimply—”

Lulu screeched and

gnashedherteeth,wavingherfanwildly.“IfIwantedaloadofbaloney, Iwould’vehadacold cut platter brought in!”she screamed. “Are any ofyou going to tell mesomethinguseful?”

Finallythesmallestofthemonkeys, a tinymarmoset ina fez and a red bolero whohad been silent until now,spoke up. “Funny things areafoot across the land, Your

Highness,”shesaidcarefully.Queen Lulu raised an

eyebrow, which was strangebecause until that moment Ihadn’t even realized that shehad eyebrows. “Funny . . .ha-ha?”sheaskedhopefully.

“Not exactly. Funnystrange.Aswesuspected,themagic that Glinda andDorothy had been siphoningoff seems tobe comingback—we believe it has

something to do with theactions of the Order. Theymust have destroyed somemechanismthatwaspipingitintothecity.It’shavingsomeodd effects. We need to beaware of it in case it causesanydisruptionstoourhome.”

“More magic,” QueenLulu sighed. “Whoopee. Justwhatweneed.”

But my ears perked up.ThiswasthefirstIhadheard

of anything like that. I’dthought that last night wasjustaboutkillingDorothy.Noone had told me about anyplanbeyondthat.

“There’ssomethingelse,”the monkey in the bolerosaid. “With Dorothy and herallies gone, it’s unclear whois occupying the palace—butsomething is happeningthere.”

“Cuttothechase,please,”

Lulusaid.“Idon’tknowwhat‘something’ means. What’shappeningtothepalace?”

The monkey lookednervous. “Well,” she said.“Foronething,itseemstobegrowing.”

FIVE

As it turned out, there reallywas agiantwaterfallupherein the trees. It was easy tofind; I only had to follow aseries of signs that ledthrough the maze ofwalkways in the trees until Iheard the sound of rushingwater in the distance. Olliehadn’t been kidding around.Eventhoughweweresohighupthatitwashardtoimaginetherewas anything aboveus,

abrightblueriverwasragingdownfromthesky.

It was spilling fromsomewhere over the treetopsand crashing through anopening in the canopy into aseries of basins the size ofswimming pools, built intothetreetrunkslikestairs.Thewatercascadedovertheedgeof one and into the next,overflowing and spilling offinto endlessness as it

continued its unstoppablecourse toward the junglefloor.

In the pools, groups ofmonkeys were frolickinghappily, scrubbingthemselves and playing,hooting and doing backflipsand cannonballs. They werehavingfun.

Lookingatitlikethis,Ozdidn’t seem so bad after all,andIstoodthereforaminute,

just watching them play. Ittook me a few seconds tofigure out why it looked sostrange:thiswasthefirsttimesinceI’dgottentoOzthatI’dactually felt like Iwas in theplaceI’dalwaysknownfrombooks and movies. A placewith witches and monsters,yes, but a place that wasmagicalandjoyfuland,intheend, beautiful. A place thatwashappy.

Itwas thefirst timesinceI’d gotten here that I’dactually seen anyone reallyhavingfun.

Then I understood whatQueen Lulu had been sayingto me. This was why shewanted to stayoutof it,whyshe wanted the monkeys tojust keep to themselves andlet the rest of Oz fight forpower. The monkeys hadmade a place for themselves,

andtheywantedtoenjoyit.Woulditbesobadtostay

uphere, Iwondered?To justsay screw it to the promisesI’d made—to the war thatwasgoingonbelowus—andnever go back down there tofight, and kill, and maybedie?

But it didn’t matter. Icouldn’t stay. Not becauseI’m such a good person, butbecause I knew this happy

feeling wouldn’t last. Youcan’tjustcoveryoureyesandpretend like terrible thingsaren’t happening simplybecause you can’t see them,even if that issomething thatwould seem like a good ideatoamonkey.

Evilwill alwayscatchupwith you. That’s why youhavetogettoitfirst.

I turned away, andrealizedthatIwasstandingat

the entrance to a tree housewith the words “PrincessSuite”burnedintothedoorinelaboratebutsloppycursive.

Princess Suite. This hadto be my room. I hoped itliveduptoitsname.AfterthedayI’dhad,Iwasreadyforalittleroyaltreatment.

The inside of the so-called Princess Suite wasn’tlavish—I’m pretty sure myservant’squartersbackinthe

Emerald Palace had beenalmostasbig—andwithonlyoneroomitwasn’tmuchofasuite. But it was cozy andwelcoming, illuminated bysunfruitthatfloatedalongtheedge of the ceiling. Inoppositecornersoftheroom,situatedunder tentedcurtainsof gauzy mosquito nettingthat could be pulled shut forprivacy, were hammockswoven from large palm

fronds. Ozma was sitting ononeofthehammocks.Shelitup andwavedwhen she sawme.

“Hey,” I said. Ozmasmiled and fluttered hereyelashes. She shook out herhair.

Itwasn’t a surprise that Iwas tired. Of course I wastired.ThesurprisingpartwasthatIwasonlyfeelingitnow.I stripped off the servant’s

dress I’d been wearing forDorothy’s big party, nowtattered and blood-crustedfrommy fightwith theLion,andsankheavilyintothefreehammockoppositetheoneinwhich Ozma was swinginghappily back and forth,twirlingalockofhairaroundherfinger.

As I lay down, I realizedwhy she looked so content:the hammock conformed to

my body perfectly, andmaybe it was just thatanything would have feltgood at that moment, but italmost seemed to bemassaging my achingmuscles. It was like one ofthose vibrating chairs at oneof those gadget stores at themall,exceptbetterbecause itdidn’t make my butt feelnumb.

Iclosedmyeyes. Ihada

plan,andthatplanwastofallasleep.

I wasn’t going to thinkabout anything. I wasn’tgoing to dwell on anythingthathadhappened,oronwhatwas going to happen next. Iwas just going to forget theworld.

I’d had trouble sleepingwhen I was little. I wasalways worrying aboutthings,andsomymotherhad

taughtmea trick toclearmymind that I’ve used eversince. You close your eyesandrelaxandtrytokeepyourbreathing steady, and everytime a stray thought entersyour head, you picture itinside a soap bubble. Thenyou just blow the bubbleaway, and pretty soon you’llbe out like a light. Workseverytime.

It was a skill that was

cominginhandyaroundhere.Whenyoudon’tknowwhat’shappening tomorrow, it’simportant to get your sleepwhereyoucan—becausewhoknows the next time you’llhaveadecentpillow?Oranypillowatall,forthatmatter.

Tonight I had more thantheusualamountof thoughtsto fend off. Actually, it wasjust one thought that keptreturning stubbornly, no

matterhowmanytimesItriedtobanishit,ofthefantasyI’dhad while I’d been fightingthe Lion, not just of killinghim, but ripping him toshreds. Of the satisfaction Ihad taken in causing himpain, and the way I hadwanted to laugh when I hurthim.

The monkeys were allterrified of me—even Olliehad seemed scared. I was a

little scared ofmyself, to tellthetruth.

But I had liked it, too.Even now, a part of mewished that Ozma hadn’tstopped me, that I had doneall those things to the LionthatIhadwantedto.

I could still feel the thrillthathadshivered throughmewhen I had looked down toseeblackmagicspillingfrommy knife and into my body,

and I already missed it. Iknew I shouldn’t, but Icouldn’t help it. I wanted tofeellikethatagain.

AndI’mnotevensureifIfellasleepornot.Whatcamenext could have been adream, but it didn’t feel likeone.Itdidn’tfeellikereallifeeither. It felt like I’d taken awrongturnsomewhereontheway to dreaming, and hadgotten lost, stuck in between

the world of awake andasleep.

It was night and I waswalking through a forestdensewith thin twisted trees.For some reason I wasn’twearing shoes, and slimymosssquishedundermybarefeet. I had somewhere to be,andsoIwasmovingquickly,following a path that Isomehowknewbyhearteventhough itwas toodark tosee

anything.I had no ideawhat Iwas

looking for, but I had thegnawingsense that therewassomething in these woodsthat I had lost—somethingthatIhadtogetto.

So I moved throughbrambles and leaves andvines, feeling leavesscratching my face, steppingeasily over branches androots without even thinking

about it. I was alert fordanger, but I wasn’t theslightest bit scared. I felt asoftbreezeonmyfaceanditfeltgood.

Inthedistance,Iheardanowl hooting, its call gettinglouderwitheverystepItook,while at the same time thetrees got straighter and tallerandcloser.Icouldhaveusedmagic to lightmyway,but Ididn’tmindthedark,andsoI

kept on going until finally Ifound myself in a small andperfectly circular clearing.Thefullmoonhungasbigasapancakeinthesky,lookingspooky and cartoonish at thesame time and illuminatingtheclearinginaghostlysilverlight.

In the middle of theclearing was a dark shape.Therewas something strangeaboutit:itwasbothclearand

indistinct at the same time,solidandrealbutblurryattheedges. I couldn’t quite judgetheshapeorsizeofit.Wasitsomekindofinjuredanimal?Orsomethingweirder?

Whatever it was, therewassomethingoffabout it—maybeevenevil.Justlookingat it made me feel a littlelight-headed, made the hairsonmyarmsstandonend.

But it also made me a

little excited. And instead ofrunning, or even hesitating, Itook a step toward it. As Idid,fourheadsturnedtowardme.

Becausewhat I’d thoughtwas a single animal wasactually four hunching,cloaked figures who werehuddledsoclosetogetherthattheyappearedtohavemergedinto one being. As theylooked up, the moonlight hit

their pinched, rotting faces,each one tinted a differentshadeofgreen,andIsawthatthey were each wearingraggedy,pointedhats.

All at once, the fourfigures opened their mouthsandbegantohiss.

Witches.I took another step

forward, and then another,feeling more confident thecloser I got to them until I

was filled with a sensationthat was something like joy.Their hissing grew feverishand high-pitched, and then,when I had almost reachedthem, they began todisappear, melting like blackcandlesintotheground.Thenthey were gone, and I knewthat I had found what I waslookingfor.Intheground, inthe place where they hadhuddled, was a small pool

that bubbled in the center.Afountain with water so blackthat it looked like liquidshadow.

I knelt to examine it, butbefore I could dipmy fingerin, something began toemerge from the water; anewer, darker figure thatslowly began to take shape.From the dark and glitteringmass of shadows, a girlemerged. There, standing in

frontofme,wasOzma.It was the same Ozma I

knew, except that it wasn’t.She had the same emeraldgreeneyesandredpoppiesinher hair, the same tiny,delicate frame. But her skinwas glowing, and her hairwas swirling around her facein ropy skeins as thick assnakes. Her pupils were tinyflames.

And from her back

sprouted two huge blackbutterfly wings, twice as bigas her body and etched withan elaborate gold pattern.Assheflappedthemgently,theycrackledwithenergy.

She extended a hand inmydirection.

“Rise,”shesaid.Ifeltmyfeetleavetheground.

SIX

I opened my eyes. I think.Anyway, Iwas awake, and Iwas back inmy room in themonkeys’ tree house village.Ozmawascrouchedoverme,staring into my face withexactly the same look ofintensity that she’d worn inmy dream. Somewherebehind her pupils, I saw theglowing embers of what hadrecently been flames. Lightstreamed through the

windows, casting her in analmostsilhouette.

She reachedoutherhandformine.

“Rise,”shesaid.Thatonewordstartledme

sobadlythatIalmostflippedoutofthehammock.Butthenthe princess stuck out hertongue and blew me araspberry, and when shestarted to laugh I felt myheart slowing back to a

normalrate.Iwasimaginingthings.It

had only been a dream.Right? I put my hand inOzma’s and let her help meup, trying to quiet mymind.It was only a dream, I toldmyselfagain.

But what if it had beensomething more? And whathad it meant? Mostimportantly, why did I feelalmost disappointed that it

was over now? What did itsay about me that I had feltmyself approachingsomethingtrulyevil,andthateven though I’d had everyopportunitytobackaway,I’dtaken a step closer, and thenanother?

Somepartofmehadevenwanted it.Maybe. I decided,for now, to just not thinkaboutthat.

Standing up, I still felt a

little unsteady on my feetfrom the day before, but thesleep had doneme good andthe soreness inmy arms andlegswasmostlygone.

Last night, I’d been tootired to really examine ourquarters, but now I had achance to lookaround.Therereally wasn’t a lot to see: Ispottedafoldingscreeninthecorner, thekindpeoplecoylysteppedbehindinoldmovies

to change. A large woodenbowl sat on a woodenpedestal by the window. Itwas filled with bubblingwater, and a few large, pinkblossoms floated on thesurface. I walked over andsplashed thewateracrossmyfacegratefully.Ittingledinapleasantwayagainstmyskinbeforeevaporating.

Iwas glad that therewasnomirrorhere—Ididn’twant

to know how terrible Ilooked. Sure, I’d taken aquick dip in a streamyesterday when we’d beentrudging through the forestwith themonkeys, just togettheLion’sbloodoffme,butIhadafeelingthatIwasstillatotalwreck.Howcould I notbe?Beforelastnight,Ihadn’tslept since the night beforeDorothy’sbigparty.

Still, the water was

refreshing, with a vaguelyperfumed smell, and it feltgood to wash up. I cuppedanother handful and pulled itthrough my hair, feelingdays’worthofdirtandgrimecomingoffonmyhands.

“So what the hell do wedo next?” I found myselfaskingaloud.Iwasn’tsureifI was talking to Ozma or tomyself. I wasn’t expectingOzma to be paying attention

or to understand what I wassaying, but at least she wassomeonetotalkto.Look,I’dgrown up with a mom whowasonanotherplanetmostofthe time, so I was used tohaving conversations withpeople who weren’t reallylistening.Itwasnobigdeal.

Anyway, after everythingOzmaandIhadbeenthroughtogether,Iwasstartingtofeelweirdly close toher.No, she

probably wasn’t the friend Iwould have chosen formyself, but she wassomething. And with Stargone and Nox missing,friends were in short supplythesedays.

“We can’t stay hereforever,” I said, takingadvantage of her willingnessto at least pretend to listen.“But I don’t know where togonexteither.Dowegoback

to the city? Do we look forDorothy?DoI try