Heart of Tin
Author: Danielle Paige
Date: 2015-07-28 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: kindle; fiction; sf; fantasy
Publisher: HarperCollins
Rights: All rights reserved

CONTENTS

1. One
2. Two
3. Three
4. Four
5. Five
6. Six
7. Seven
8. Eight
9. Nine

10. Excerpt from No Place Like Oz

1. One

2. Two

11. Excerpt from Dorothy Must Die
12. Back Ads
13. About the Author
14. Books by Danielle Paige
15. Copyright
16. About the Publisher

Guide

1. Cover
2. Contents
3. Chapter 1

i
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
1
95
2
3
4
5
6
7
102
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
112
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
iii
iv

ONE

People say I’m heartless—pretty ironic, when you think about it. I’ve heard the rumors, the back talk. I know what goes on behind closed doors, and not just because I have spies everywhere in Oz. But that’s not the whole story, not by a long shot. My problem, when you get right down to it, was that all I ever wanted was love.

Think about the first time you really fell in love. No, I mean, really think about it. How it was like your whole life before that moment was a black-and-white movie, and suddenly you stepped into Technicolor. (We don’t have that stuff in Oz, but Dorothy’s told me about it.) Now imagine the moment you fell in love was also the moment you got a heart—I mean, literally.

I’d had a heart back in the day, and thought I was in love, too. And then I’d lost both heart and girlfriend, thanks to one hell of a wicked witch, and I assumed I’d never have the chance to love again. Before Dorothy won me a new heart I could only listen to people talk about what it was like, while knowing I’d never again feel the same way, cry the same tears, experience the same joy. I thought I’d have to spend my whole life that way, in an empty colorless world, only able to imagine the kinds of experiences everyone else took for granted. Not just falling in love, but the whole package. The giddy first moments, the blowout fights—because you can only get really mad if you really care—getting to a place with someone where you can’t imagine your life anymore without them.

That was never going to be for me.

And then Dorothy got here, and everything changed. Not just for all of Oz. For me. Everything I thought I knew about love—well, Dorothy rewrote the book. I thought I had been in love before her, but I didn’t even know what the word meant. Dorothy didn’t just give me a new heart. She gave me a new life.

So you can say what you want about the decisions I’ve made and the things I’ve done. Sure, there are some things I’m not proud of. It’s possible I’ve even made a few mistakes. Even when I didn’t have a heart, I was always a compassionate person. I don’t like to see others suffer, even when it’s necessary. I’m not like Scare; I don’t thrive on the pain of others. And now that I have my heart—the heart that belongs to Dorothy—I know my own worth. I don’t need to make other people feel small in order to boost my own ego. I do important things every day. I’m in charge of the safety of Oz, and I take my job seriously. It’s actually pretty fulfilling, if you want to know the truth. I think I have a real gift. But the important thing, the thing you have to remember, is that everything I did—the good stuff, the bad stuff, and the stuff in between—was out of love. Judge all you want, but I bet you’d have trouble saying the same thing about your own life. I want that down on the record. All of it, everything, the whole shebang: it was for her.

It all started the moment Dorothy returned to Oz. She wasn’t from our world, and we—the Scarecrow, the Lion, and I—knew that she’d want to go home. After she went back to Kansas, the three of us went our separate ways. The Lion, off to rule as the King of Beasts in the forest. The Scarecrow back to the Emerald City, of course, to take the Wizard’s place as ruler of Oz. And for me it was back to the land of the furry little Winkies, where Glinda sent me to replace the Wicked Witch of the West as their ruler. The Winkies were a peaceful, dull people, and I had a lot of time to spend thinking about how much I missed Dorothy. About the last time I’d seen her, her face wet with tears as she kissed me good-bye. She’d hugged the Scarecrow, patted the Lion on the head—but me, she had kissed, sobbing all the while, and even though my cheeks rusted a little where her tears had stained them I left the marks to remind me of her.

Dorothy, goodness incarnate, with her sweet face and her little checked dress and her cute dog and her picnic basket. Dorothy saw the best in all of us from the start. Each of the three of us was missing some crucial piece of ourselves, and she never cared. She loved us for what we were. And once the Wizard placed that tiny new piece of magic in the empty space inside my chest, and I could feel its power fill me with a love even stronger than the kind I’d known when I was an ordinary man, I knew that there was only one woman for me: Dorothy Gale, the savior of Oz.

So when I heard she was back, I just about lost it. I was staring out the window of my throne room in the Winkies’ palace when one of the house Winkies knocked at the door. “Your Majesty,” he said politely, adjusting his suspenders, “a messenger from the Emerald City has arrived.” The messenger was a Munchkin, on the tall and skinny side for one of his people. His ink-black hair fell into his eyes, and he kept pushing it out of the way awkwardly.

“Your esteemed, uh, Highness?” the Munchkin began, stumbling over the title.

“That’s right,” I said. The Winkies might not be much, but I was still their king. And a pretty good one, too. Those people loved me. Just ask them. Well, maybe don’t ask them now. But if you’d asked them then, I’m sure they’d have said I was a vast improvement over the Wicked Witch.

The Munchkin bowed sloppily, cleared his throat, inhaled deeply, and recited his entire message in one breath. “HergloriousnessthealmightyOzmarequestsyourpresenceatacelebrationhonoringthereturnofourbelovedliberatorDorothywhohascomeback—” My heart, silk pillow though it may have been, skipped a beat in my chest.

“Wait,” I interrupted, and the Munchkin used the opportunity to take another huge breath. I kept talking before he could recite his stream of babble again. “Did you say—did you just say that Dorothy is back?” He looked confused for a moment. Obviously independent thought was not part of the job description.

“Er, yes,” he said finally.

“Dorothy is here? In Oz?” My heart was racing. All this time I’d spent, daydreaming of just such an occasion, never daring to hope my desperate wish would actually come true, and now everything I’d ever wanted was finally within reach? “Where is she?”

“She’s, uh, at the Emerald Palace,” the Munchkin said, tacking on a hasty “sir” when I frowned. The tin plates of my face squeak when I smile or scowl, and sometimes it unnerves people. I used to feel bad about it. These days, it comes in handy. “That was the rest of the message,” he added, looking sulky. “But you cut me off.”

I ignored him. “But I must leave at once,” I said, thinking out loud. “I must—I must—WINKIES!” I bellowed, and a flood of my subjects scrambled into the room, tumbling over themselves in their haste to answer my call. “Prepare my things! Bring my finest oilcan and dress my joints! Ready my carriage! I will be leaving for the Emerald City on the hour!”

“The party’s tomorrow,” the Munchkin mumbled. With an imperious wave, I dismissed him. I was so excited I didn’t even care that he forgot to bow when he left my throne room. Dorothy—my Dorothy, the most beautiful girl in this world or any other, the kindest and the most good, she of the magical slippers and perfect pout, was back. Was it possible—could it be—that she’d come back for me? Did she remember the kiss she’d given me when we both thought we’d never see each other again? Was there a chance that I could finally have the happiness I’d longed for all those days in my palace—that I could finally have her?

TWO

I was so distracted that I barely even noticed the journey to the Emerald City. I hadn’t left my palace in months, but I didn’t even see the scenery of Oz as it flashed by. I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing her again. When we drove through the jewel-encrusted gates of the Emerald City, I thought my heart would stop beating altogether. I couldn’t stop thinking about Dorothy. What would I say to her? How could I possible tell her the depth of my feelings? “You are my sun, my moon, my starlit sky,” I said aloud, trying it out.

“Pardon, sir? Are you asking about the weather?” called the Winkie coachman.

“Mind your own business!” I snapped. “Your lips are like a rose,” I muttered under my breath. “Your breath like tulips—oh no, that’s awful.” Overcome by despair, I got out of the carriage the moment we pulled up in front of the palace, accidentally slamming the door in the coachman’s face in my haste.

The palace was a hive of activity—Munchkins bustling back and forth, visiting dignitaries who’d arrived ahead of me thronging the halls in their finest dress, Nomes and Pixies gibbering delightedly in the corners. Tiny, buzzing globes of light swirled through the hallways, occasionally crashing into a wall and exploding into a shower of daisy petals. A plate of pastries sailed down one hall, floating on a current of chocolate-scented air as passersby snatched snacks. The last member of a small parade of Munchkins carrying a bundle of streamers down the hall tripped over a trailing bit of crepe paper and tumbled to the ground, sending the rest of the Munchkins falling like a line of dominoes. The bundle of streamers gathered itself into the shape of a giant bird and flapped toward the ceiling, cackling hysterically, as cursing Munchkins chased after it. I even caught the briefest glimpse of Ozma herself, drifting down a hallway in a wispy black dress with a long, lacy train, but Dorothy herself was nowhere to be seen, and when I moved to run after Ozma a Munchkin servant stopped me. “Welcome to the palace, sir,” he said gravely. “I shall show you to your chambers.”

“I want to see Dorothy,” I snarled, and the intensity of my voice was such that it startled both of us. “I must see Dorothy.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, sounding a little less certain. “Dorothy’s guests must wait until the banquet tomorrow night.”

“I’m not her guest,” I said. “I’m her dearest friend. Don’t you know who I am?”

“Of course, Sir Woodman,” he replied. “But I’m afraid there are no exceptions. Even the palace staff don’t know where Dorothy is right now. She’s asked not to be disturbed while she prepares for the celebration.” I realized that badgering him wouldn’t get me anywhere.

“Very well,” I said. “You may show me to my rooms.”

The last time I’d been in the palace it had been under the Wizard’s control. The guest rooms then had been nice enough, but Ozma had clearly had them all redone. The ceiling of my room was high, the bed enormous. The windows were paned with green-tinted glass—an homage, most likely, to her predecessor. In the bathroom, fluffy green towels unfolded and floated in the air, singing a soothing lullaby when I entered, and the bath began to fill itself with sweet-scented water foaming with green bubbles. A green rubber duck popped into existence, sending green droplets flying into the air.

“I won’t be needing that, but thank you,” I told it, and obediently the water drained out of the tub and the duck vanished. I sat cautiously on the bed, hoping the oil from my joints wouldn’t stain the soft coverlet. I wanted to make the best possible impression. At home, I preferred to sleep upright in a wooden cabinet.

Dorothy would want to see me right away, of course. Why else had she invited me? It would only be a matter of moments before she’d come to my chambers herself.

But she didn’t. The only possible explanation was that she didn’t know I was in the palace, and so the next morning I oiled my joints quickly and made sure the tin of my face and chest was brightly polished before I set out in search of her. I cornered the first Munchkin I saw—this one cleaning an already-sparkling window with a bucket of water in which several small, brightly colored fish swam about cheerfully. “I must get a message to Dorothy at once,” I burst out. She turned around in surprise.

“Who—” she began, and then she recognized me and her irritated expression changed to a smile. She gave a little curtsy. “Oh, hello, sir. I wish I could help you, but—”

“You have to understand how important this is. Dorothy has to be informed that I’m here! I must see her!”

Now she just looked confused. “But sir,” she said politely, “Dorothy does know you’re here. She’s aware of all the guests that have arrived. Would you like to see the Scarecrow or the Lion while you wait for the banquet tonight? They got to the palace just yesterday as well.” I gaped at her. Dorothy knew I was here? But why hadn’t she sent for me? The servant looked at me almost pityingly. “I know Dorothy and Her Majesty, Ozma, have been very busy preparing for the banquet,” she added. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir.” She turned back to her window.

What could Dorothy possibly be doing to prepare for a banquet that was so important that she couldn’t see me? I thought about looking for the Scarecrow or the Lion, but it was Dorothy I was desperate to see and I didn’t want to share my disappointment with anyone. How could she possibly have failed to summon me if she already knew I was at the palace? Was there a chance she didn’t want to see me as badly as I wanted to see her? Surely not—but nevertheless, doubt began to creep in at the corners of my mind. In dismay, I returned to my chambers, where I summoned the Winkie coachman and spent the afternoon with him playing chess. I was so distracted I kept thinking we were playing checkers instead, and the pieces obligingly transformed from rooks and pawns to checkers counters. The coachman let me win anyway.

Finally, it was time to get ready for the banquet. I carefully re-oiled my joints and summoned a maid to polish me to a blinding glow. When she could see her own reflection in my patchworked tin chest, she curtsied and began to leave, but I stopped her. “You are my sun, my moon, my starlit sky!” I proclaimed, testing the words’ effect.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” the maid asked politely.

“Oh, it’s hopeless,” I said miserably, sinking into a chair and burying my face in my tin palms. “Absolutely hopeless. I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t know the right thing to say.”

“To whom, sir?”

“To Dorothy,” I mumbled into my fingers. “It has to be exactly right, so that she knows how I feel, but it can’t sound desperate—she has to see me as dashing, and I want to remind her of everything we shared, and tell her how beautiful she is, and how special, and how noble and generous and sweet and good and—”

The maid pulled up another chair. “If you don’t mind some advice, sir,” she said, “that’s an awful lot to try to fit into one hello. Why don’t you just be yourself?”

I lifted my head and stared at her. “What do you mean, be myself?”

“Well,” she said reasonably, “you had all sorts of travels together, didn’t you? It’s the stuff of legend, sir. Everyone in Oz knows about how you and Miss Dorothy and the Scarecrow and the Lion defeated the Wizard and sent him away, and liberated the Winkies, and how honorably Dorothy behaved to the winged monkeys, and all of that. You’re a noble figure, sir. You’re a king and a soldier and I think Dorothy would have to be an awfully silly girl not to be impressed by all of that. So just be yourself. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

“But what if it’s not meant to be?” I asked her. “How do I convince her?”

“That’s just not how it works, sir. You can’t convince people of feelings they don’t have. But you’ll know, I’m sure you will. From the way she looks at you. She’s a smart girl, that Dorothy; she couldn’t have saved Oz otherwise. She won’t beat around the bush if she has feelings for you, too. Anyway, you look very handsome.”

This little maid was the most sensible person I had talked to in months. “That’s very good advice,” I said. “Thank you, you’ve been a big help. What’s your name?”

“Jellia, sir.”

“Well, Jellia, perhaps you’ll keep this conversation to yourself.” She winked at me and made a zippering motion over her lips.

“What conversation, sir?” she asked.

The ballroom was packed. All of Oz, it seemed, had turned out to witness our savior’s return. A huge orchestra, set up at the far end of the enormous hall, played cheery waltzes. Rainbow-colored butterflies fluttered gaily over the instruments, sending showers of confetti swirling through the air. My old friends the Scarecrow and the Lion were there, of course. The Scarecrow was dressed in a new suit chosen for the occasion, and the Lion’s fur had been brushed to a burnished golden glow. The Scarecrow caught sight of me first, and waved merrily. I crossed the crowded room, making my way through throngs of Ozians decked out in their finest clothes, to greet my old friend. “You made it!” he shouted over the noise, clapping me on the back and shaking my hand. The Lion roared his approval, sending a brief tremor of fear through the nearest partygoers before they realized who was doing the roaring. I wondered briefly if the Scarecrow was resentful—after all, not too long ago, this palace had been his. But if he was upset to have been deposed by Ozma, he didn’t show it. Of course, his face was painted on, so his expressions were sometimes hard to read. Anyway, as happy as I was to see them, I had larger matters on my mind than catching up. “Have you seen her?” I asked the Scarecrow frantically. “Where is she? Is she here?” He gave me a long, strange, startled look.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, laughing. “Tin, what on earth? We haven’t seen each other in ages, and—” A hush fell over the throng, and I knew at once that she had arrived. My stuffed heart in my throat, I turned to face the ballroom’s grand entrance.

The sweet-faced girl I remembered was gone, replaced by a woman so beautiful that I nearly wept. Her dress was of the same blue gingham that she’d worn during her last sojourn in Oz, but it was cut to flatter her figure, and ended inches above her knees. It was stitched with gold thread that sent dazzling rays of light across the room and left bare her long, pale legs. Instead of the silver slippers she’d left Oz in, she wore a towering pair of glittering red heels that shone so brightly that they drowned out all the other light sources in the room, pulsing slightly as if in time to the pattern of her breath.

After a moment I noticed the people at her side: a frumpy old couple, looking lost and out of place, who could only be the Aunt Em and Uncle Henry she’d spoken of so fondly when she was last in Oz. But these humble people could hardly be related to the glorious creature whose radiant smile dominated the whole room. Dear little Toto yapped happily at Dorothy’s heels, oblivious to the power radiating from her shoes. And of course, Ozma stood behind Dorothy with an expression that looked almost . . . disapproving. Like all of us, she must have realized that tired old Aunt Em and Uncle Henry had no place here. But if they were with Dorothy, did that mean she had returned for good?

Dorothy moved through the joyous crowd, greeting old friends and new ones with the same grace. She was as regal as a queen. I waited for her to catch sight of me, preparing myself to hold her in my arms at last. But as she approached, the Scarecrow ran to Dorothy and swept her up in his arms, tossing her into the air as she shrieked with joy. The band struck up a waltz and they whirled together across the purple-lit dance floor. I knew he had no idea of the depth of my feelings for Dorothy, but I couldn’t help staring after them in a frenzy of jealousy nonetheless.

At last, as if he could feel the force of my gaze burning a hole through his head, he danced Dorothy back to me. I had been waiting for this moment for so long, but all the flowery words I’d prepared vanished. I remembered what the maid had told me—just be yourself. But now that I was actually holding Dorothy in my arms, I could barely even manage to stutter a hello. Up close, her beauty was even more stunning, more astonishing. There was a new light in her eyes and her cheeks were flushed. The air around her crackled with magic. There was no mistaking this Dorothy for the child who had left me when she went back to the Other Place. This Dorothy was like a brand-new person.

“Tin Woodman!” she shrieked in my ear, her voice even more musical than the notes the orchestra played. At last, I remembered myself, and twirled her around before dipping her so low her long ringlets nearly brushed the ground. She laughed gaily. I pulled her close to my chest, and the orchestra slowed the tempo to something more romantic. The people around us cleared a space, surrounding us in a transfixed circle as I moved with her in tighter and tighter circles. The whole world fell away—it was just me and her, the strawberry-sweet smell of her hair, the softness of her skin a perfect contrast to the hard metal of my arms and torso. I was so overcome I would have swooned, but I couldn’t allow the moment to end. “It’s so good to see you again,” she murmured in my ear, her gentle voice sending a shiver through me. “I’ve missed you so much.” Was there a knowing sparkle in her eyes, a special look that was just for me? Did she know how I felt without my even having to say it out loud? I took a deep breath.

“Dorothy, you are my moonlit star—” I began, but her gaze suddenly focused on something over my shoulder.

“Oh my goodness, Tin, look! It’s Polychrome! How wonderful! Simply everyone has come to my ball!”

“Dorothy, my starlit moon—” I tried again, but she released me, sending me stumbling backward into the waiting crowd. “I’ll see you again soon, darling Tin!” she trilled, clicking away briskly on her red heels. When I caught my balance again, she was already chattering away with Polychrome. I would have kicked myself if my joints were flexible enough. My starlit moon? The first time I’d seen the love of my life in years, and I’d called her a starlit moon? I cursed aloud, earning a surprised look from a Munchkin passing by with a tray of canapés.

“Penny for your thoughts, old tin can!” bellowed a familiar voice. I tried to control my emotions as the Lion slapped my back with one enormous paw, nearly knocking me over. “Where have you been, old sport? Heard you were in the palace yesterday, but haven’t seen a peep of you until now. Hiding from your old mates, are you?”

“Not at all,” I said, gathering the ruins of my dignity. “It’s wonderful to see you. I wasn’t feeling well, is all.”

“Not feeling well?” the Lion asked. “Man, you’re made of tin! Don’t tell me you’re coming down with a cold.”

“Nothing like that,” I said. “Just tired from the journey. I trust you’ve been well?” The Lion brightened and launched into an enthusiastic history of his most recent triumph, the successful management of some arcane dispute between a badger and a dormouse who lived in his forest. I couldn’t help but notice that his breath was rather rank. “And you?” he asked, finally bringing his ramble to a close. “How’s life with the Winkies? Have you tried eating one? They look awful tough.”

“Very good, very good,” I said, only half paying attention. Across the room, Dorothy had rejoined Ozma. I tried to catch her eye to no avail. Should I go to her, or let her come to me? I’d ruined our reunion—completely ruined it. I didn’t think I could take the Lion—predictable and good-natured as ever—for another moment. A wave of misery overcame me. “Excuse me,” I said faintly, “but I’m still ill. I think—I think I have to go back to my room now.”

Overcome with emotion, I broke into a half run and staggered out of the ballroom. The Wizard had given me my heart, but he’d never told me how to manage it. I’d gone so much of my life without one that I was out of practice. She’d told me that she’d missed me. I could have sworn that her look had been something special just for me. I’d flubbed my pretty speech, failed completely to tell her how I felt—but surely I still had a chance? I had no idea how to control the confusing passions that surged through my metal chest. I raced away from the ballroom and back toward my rooms. She had said we would be together. She had promised me it would be soon. I would let her accept the praise that was her due, enjoy her moment in the spotlight. I’d waited for so long. I could wait just a little longer, until I held her in my arms once more.

THREE

The next morning, I met the Scarecrow and the Lion for breakfast in the Lion’s chambers. Like my own rooms, they were lushly appointed, but where my bed was a giant four-poster, the Lion’s was something like an enormous dog bed. Special attention had been given to the walls, which were painted with shimmering murals of antelope fleeing in terror from some unknown foe—presumably the Lion. Even the magic of the palace couldn’t cover up the Lion’s distinctive perfume, and the servants had yet to clear away a pile of gnawed bones in one corner. The Lion was the only one of us who actually ate. He was working away at an enormous raw steak when we arrived. “Being the King of Beasts really activates the appetite,” he mumbled through a mouthful of meat. The Scarecrow and I exchanged a glance. I was fond of the Lion, but couldn’t help wishing becoming royalty had improved his table manners.

Dorothy was nowhere to be seen; probably she’d already been witness to one of the Lion’s breakfasts, and had wisely decided to pass on a second opportunity. I tried not to let my frantic anticipation show. Where was she? Why, after summoning me all the way to the palace, was she being so elusive? Was she just shy? Could it be that she was wondering if I cared about her in the same way she cared about me?

My mind was awhirl, but I made polite conversation with the Lion and the Scarecrow. We caught up on our respective comings and goings since Dorothy left Oz. The Lion was enjoying his new role as the King of Beasts, although he confessed to periodically snacking on one of his subjects. “Not the best for morale,” he admitted, “but it does wonders for discipline.”

After his brief stint as ruler of Oz, the Scarecrow had retired to a corncob mansion in the country. I wondered if he had any bad feelings toward Ozma. After all, the Wizard had appointed him the ruler of Oz, not that upstart fairy. But he was vague about what he’d been doing all this time. “Of course, it was such a wonderful surprise when Dorothy turned up on my doorstep with that funny old pair Em and Henry,” he said, after he’d talked for quite some time about the technical difficulties of corncob architecture. I must admit I wasn’t quite following his monologue, but I snapped to attention at that.

“You mean at the ball,” I said.

“Oh no,” the Scarecrow said serenely. “She came to my mansion, of course. Practically the moment she got back to Oz. Threw a little party for her. The Munchkins were over the moon. Don’t think Em and Henry enjoyed it much, though. They kept talking about how much they missed their cows. Some sort of talking pet in the Other Place, I gather. They said they had quite a few of ’em.”

“Why did Dorothy come to you?” I said, openly hurt, and the Scarecrow raised a painted eyebrow in surprise. I smiled quickly to cover my slip. How I felt about Dorothy wasn’t anyone else’s business. Not until I knew she felt the same way about me.

“Well, I suppose I was on the way to the Emerald City,” the Scarecrow mused. He seemed thoughtful, and he kept looking at me with his beady little button eyes.

“Quite something, that business with the aunt and uncle,” the Lion was saying through another mouthful. “Didn’t see that one coming. Does Dorothy seem . . . different to you?”

“Different how?” I asked quickly. “What business?”

“Just after you left last night,” the Lion said. “Dorothy got into a terrible fight with her aunt and uncle in front of the whole ball. And Ozma lost her temper, too, and shouted at Dorothy. Sent her right to her room like a little kid, can you imagine? Everyone’s been talking about it all day. And no one knows where Dorothy and Ozma are now.”

“No one’s seen Dorothy?” I asked.

“Not since she left the ball,” the Scarecrow confirmed. “Though most likely she’s just hiding in embarrassment, poor thing.” He chuckled.

“Don’t you dare talk about her that way!” I snapped. “She’s our savior! She’d do anything for us!” The Lion and the Scarecrow were staring at me in surprise.

“Goodness, Tin, no need to get worked up,” the Scarecrow said mildly. “I didn’t mean any disrespect. I’m sure Dorothy has her reasons for not seeing anyone today.”

I scowled, but let it go. Suddenly the Lion sniffed the air. “I smell . . . glitter,” he said. I sat up straight. A moment later, I heard the fast tap-tap of a pair of high heels, and heard a familiar high-pitched giggle. Someone rapped on the door to the Lion’s room, and before any of us could answer, it swung open. It was Dorothy, looking more radiant than ever. The air around her crackled and sparked with a strange haze. She was still wearing her dress from the ball, although it looked a little the worse for wear and was torn at the hem. What had happened? I wondered. Was she hurt? She didn’t seem to be—she seemed, in fact, downright triumphant. Her shoes blazed with red light that made the Lion cover his eyes with one paw. Even the Scarecrow shielded his black button eyes. And behind her, hovering a few inches off the ground, was none other than the Good Witch Glinda herself, looking like a cat who’d just been let loose in an unsupervised aviary. All three of us were so surprised we were speechless.

“My dear friends,” Dorothy said, her voice a satisfied purr and her gaze sweeping the room (and pausing for just a second on the Lion’s gruesome leftovers), “do I have news for you. Welcome to the new, improved Oz. I’m running the show now, and everything is going to be so much better.” We stared at her for a moment in stunned silence as Glinda floated behind her, beaming in a way that didn’t quite reach her cold blue eyes. The Scarecrow was first to break the silence.

“Dorothy!” he exclaimed. “We didn’t know what happened to you after the ball. You vanished with Ozma and . . .” He paused, looking as confused as it was possible to look when your face was painted on. “Where is Ozma? And what’s she doing here?” By “she” he obviously meant Glinda, who looked none too pleased to be referred to in such a disrespectful tone.

“Oh, Ozma.” Dorothy giggled, sweeping into the Lion’s room with Glinda at her heels. Dorothy looked around for somewhere suitable to sit, her lip curling a little at the sight of the Lion’s nest. Poor Dorothy! She would be accustomed to more genteel surroundings. Why hadn’t we thought to clean the room for her?

“My beloved friends, I have so much to tell you.” I wished fervently that I could speak to her alone. I was burning with the need to tell her how I felt, to see her answer. I closed my eyes, imagining it was just the two of us. I’d brush her beautiful hair back as she tilted her perfect face up to kiss me . . .

“Princess Dorothy,” Glinda cut in smoothly, “perhaps we should retire to a more appropriate chamber for discussion.”

Princess Dorothy? My eyes snapped open. I was as puzzled as the Lion looked, but I wasn’t going to show it. Dorothy was certainly a princess in my heart. But as far as I knew, she had no literal royal blood. She was from the Other Place; how could she? Had one of the fairies somehow made it to Kansas?

“You’re right,” Dorothy replied. “Everyone, follow me. The throne room will have to be redone—Ozma has terrible taste, bless her heart—but I think we can find a suitable room, don’t you?”

“If Her Majesty is amenable, I remember a chamber in the main part of the palace that’s simply perfect for a council,” Glinda said sweetly.

“Certainly,” Dorothy said distractedly. “Whatever you think is best.” She flounced out the door, her red shoes still radiating that intense, otherworldly light, and after a moment the rest of us followed her, unanswered questions on the tips of our tongues.

Glinda certainly knew her way around the palace. I wondered how—and where she’d come from. She’d vanished ages ago; when had she come back? And how? What on earth was going on? Glinda led us down a maze of hallways and green-tinted corridors I didn’t recognize. I’d visited once or twice when Scare was our noble leader, but I hadn’t been to the palace in years, and I was soon hopelessly lost. Like many buildings in Oz, it looked a lot bigger on the inside than it was on the outside—and the palace was already pretty big on the outside.

Finally, Glinda led us to a large, round chamber, painted a more subdued version of the palace’s ubiquitous dazzling green. An ornately carved round table dominated the room, surrounded by heavy wooden chairs that politely moved backward from the table as we entered, murmuring “Please be seated.” A bespectacled Pixie burst on the scene in a puff of gray dust. “Welcome to the Council Chamber!” she chirped. “Please allow me to see to all your Council Chamber needs. Coffee? Pens? Paper? A chalkboard?”

Glinda flicked it in the chest with one pink-lacquered talon, sending the startled Pixie into a backward somersault through the air. “To be left alone,” she cooed sweetly. “You’re dismissed.” Obediently, the Pixie vanished in another puff of smoke.

We seated ourselves around the table, the chairs smoothly scooting inward of their own volition, but Dorothy and Glinda remained standing. Well, if you could call Glinda’s unnerving habit of hovering just inches above the floor standing. None of us spoke for a moment. I stared at Dorothy. She was the most beautiful I’d ever seen her, but the transformation in her was even more apparent than it had been at the ball. It wasn’t that she was older—she wasn’t, really; considering how much time had passed in Oz since she left us, she was at most just a few years older than the fresh-faced girl who had journeyed with us to the Wizard’s palace and won me the heart with which I’d fall in love with her. The difference was something else, something harder to pin down. It was something in the glitter of her eyes and the set of the shoulders. It was, I realized, power. Dorothy, the new Dorothy, was powerful.

Glinda cleared her throat discreetly and Dorothy glanced at her. Glinda made a tiny gesture toward her dress, and Dorothy laughed. “Of course!” she said cheerfully. “How could I forget? This is no way to dress for a meeting with my most treasured”—my heart skipped—“confidants!” She waved one hand at herself, and before our astonished eyes her bedraggled ball gown transformed itself into a more modest but still becoming version of her old, familiar gingham dress. This one was, like the ball gown, sewn with subtle gold threads that glittered and caught the light, and its bodice fitted her tiny waist closely, but the skirt fell to the middle of her calves and a demure little white cape settled over her flawless shoulders. Invisible hands brushed her disordered ringlets, neatly tying them up with blue velvet ribbons. Her lips were painted a pale, flattering pink and a sweep of pink blush appeared on each of her high, elegant cheekbones. Her blue eyes sparkled as, refreshed, she looked down at us where we sat with our mouths open.

“Now,” she continued, “where was I? Oh, don’t look so astounded!” She laughed as we gaped at her. “It’s just a silly little bit of magic. Nothing to worry about. What girl wouldn’t use the opportunity to pretty herself up a little with magic if she could?”

“But, Dorothy—” the Scarecrow began.

“Princess Dorothy,” Glinda smoothly interjected, and the Scarecrow looked around, his face as startled as we all felt. Glinda was serious about this “princess” business, then. What on earth was going on?

“Princess Dorothy,” the Scarecrow amended. “It’s just that, well, none of us ever realized you could use magic when we were all traveling though Oz.”

Dorothy’s perfect eyebrows drew together in a tiny frown of displeasure. “Darling Scarecrow,” she said a trifle coolly, “surely you’re not implying there’s something wrong with my having magic?”

“Of course not, Dorothy!” he replied hastily. “It’s just that—well, it was a very long time ago, so my memory could be fuzzy. But when you helped the Lion and the Woodman and me on our journey through Oz and most nobly won us our respective gifts from the Wizard, there was no hint that you had any magic then. Did you have these powers all along? If you did, why did you need the Wizard to help you?”

Dorothy’s blue eyes widened. “Are you saying that after everything I did for you—after everything I sacrificed to help you, setting aside my own needs even though I had no idea whether I’d ever be able to go home myself—are you saying that I was selfish? But I thought—I thought you were all my friends,” she whispered, and a single tear trickled down her perfect cheek. Unable to bear the sight of her in distress, I leapt to my feet and then fell immediately to my knees before her, reaching for her hand.

“Dorothy,” I pleaded, “don’t listen to him. Of course we’re your friends. You know that. We—we love you, Dorothy.” She gazed down at me, and I wondered if she understood what I was really saying. Not we love you, but I love you. Her expression softened, and some of the hurt left her face.

“Oh, Tin,” she said gently, laying one soft hand against my cheek, “I should have known you would be loyal to me, even if no one else was. My dear soldier. What would I have done without you, that last time in Oz? Without your courage and your dedication?” I was so thrilled at her words that I nearly missed that last, subtle emphasis on “dedication.” But she was looking not at me, but at the Scarecrow, her eyes narrowed. I could have strangled him. If only Dorothy and I had been alone, I could have told her everything—told her that it wasn’t just loyalty I felt, but love. I sat back in my chair. I could have sworn my cheek burned where she’d touched me.

The Lion yawned widely. “I’m sort of hungry,” he said to no one in particular.

Dorothy and the Scarecrow were still staring at one another, but the Scarecrow looked away first. “Of course we don’t think you’re selfish, Dorothy,” he said. “We’re all your friends. Your very dear friends,” he added, with a sharp look at me. “It’s just a bit of a surprise, all of this, that’s all. We’re so happy to see you that we aren’t even thinking straight. And for you to come back with magic is an even more wonderful surprise.”

Dorothy widened her eyes again, the picture of childlike innocence. “Very well, Scare,” she said. “I see your confusion. I should have known better than to doubt my beloved companions. As for the magic—well, I simply didn’t know how to tap into my potential when I first arrived in Oz. I was raised by simple people.” She paused for a moment, and a single crystalline tear sprang into life at the corner of one eye. I almost leapt out of my chair to wipe it away. “Simple people,” she continued, her voice quavering a little, “who didn’t know what I was capable of. They didn’t understand that I was so much more than just an ordinary girl from the prairie. They loved me, I know they did, but they just weren’t courageous or clever enough to see what was right for me. Can you believe they honestly thought I belonged in Kansas?” She shuddered daintily, and then smiled.

“But I have a new family now,” she said. “A family who believes in me. Who knows how much I can do, and who will celebrate that instead of trying to hold me back.” She turned to Glinda, who’d been silent for this whole exchange, and bowed her head just slightly. “Glinda believed in me from the very beginning,” she said. “And Glinda’s going to show me how to use the power I’ve always had without knowing it. Everything I’m going to become, I owe to her. And my own innate gifts and intelligence, of course,” she added hastily. “I’m done underestimating myself.”

“But, Dorothy,” growled the Lion, from where he was slouched in his chair with one still-bloodstained paw sprawled across the glossy tabletop, “what does that actually mean?”

Dorothy smiled. “It means, my darlings, that the future of Oz is in this room.” She paused dramatically, leaving time for the word “darling” to send dizzying passion cascading through me.

“It means,” she said finally as Glinda hovered behind her, smiling in a visible pink cloud of strawberry-scented perfume, “that the future of Oz is me. Dorothy, the Princess of Oz.”

FOUR

We looked at her with uncertainty as she stood proudly before us. I would never have questioned anything Dorothy said, of course. She had saved us all, helped to grant our deepest wishes. I would forever be grateful for that, and my love came with undying loyalty. Her wish was my command. But I had to admit that I was a little relieved when the Lion cleared his throat and asked, “Er, Dorothy—we’re really glad to see you, like everyone keeps saying. But what happened to Ozma? Isn’t she the One True Princess of Oz? Or its queen?” He looked confused for a second. “You know,” he said. “In charge.”

Dorothy shrugged. “Oh, Ozma,” she said sadly. “She did her best, of course, poor thing. But we all know she wasn’t cut out for the job of government. Ruling a country takes more than just magic, sillies! It takes what each of you has individually—brains, courage, heart—and I have plenty of all three of those things.” She took a deep breath and looked around the room.

“I was so happy to be back,” she explained, “that I didn’t even stop to think I might have been brought here for a reason. I’m not just here for a vacation, as wonderful as it is to see all of you again”—here her eyes lingered unmistakably on me—“but I realized yesterday, thanks to Glinda, that I’m actually here for a purpose. Oz has fallen into disrepair. The countryside is in disorder. Oz needs me. It’s my duty to take power until Oz is restored.”

A wave of shock rippled through the room, and even I blinked, startled, as we finally realized the implication of her words. Dorothy didn’t just mean she was a princess, she meant she was the princess. She planned to become the ruler of Oz. But how? Ozma was an odd little creature, from what I’d heard, though I’d never seen that much of her. But the fairies had always been the rightful rulers of Oz, and I couldn’t imagine Ozma just handing over the throne to the first person who claimed she was more qualified to run the show.

“And here’s where you come in,” Dorothy continued, ignoring our surprise. “I need you three more than ever before. I need counselors I can trust at my side as I bring Oz back to the glorious place it once was. I can’t rule Oz without your help.”

“But Oz is already glorious,” the Scarecrow said slowly. “Where is Ozma, exactly, Dorothy?”

At this, Glinda drifted forward and rested one lovely, slim hand on Dorothy’s shoulder. She was smiling gently, but I noticed that her knuckles were white where they gripped Dorothy. “My dearest Dorothy,” she said gently. “You must understand, all of this is very confusing to your old friends. It’s happened so quickly for them.” She smiled sweetly at the Scarecrow, and then at the Lion and me. “Dorothy, kind soul that she is, is protecting Ozma’s reputation by not telling you the whole truth. You see, Ozma has been stealing Oz’s magic for years. She exiled me, the only person who was powerful enough to discover her secret, but when Dorothy arrived she knew there was a chance Dorothy would find out. She played false friend to Dorothy just to keep an eye on her. But she’d planned all along to banish Dorothy back to the Other Place the first chance she got. And she almost succeeded. This morning, Ozma took Dorothy, her aunt Em, and her uncle Henry away from the palace, planning to kill all three of them with her magic. Thankfully, I was able to escape my banishment just in time and protect Dorothy, but Ozma’s magic still killed her aunt and uncle.” She shook Dorothy slightly and Dorothy’s eyes opened wide and filled with tears.

My heart flooded with sympathy. My poor Dorothy! How was she even standing, after such a shock? She must be made of steel, I thought admiringly. Unwilling to burden her friends with her terrible sorrow, she’d put on a brave face for all of us. She was simply incredible.

“In the battle,” Glinda continued, “Ozma’s magic backfired, and wiped her memory. She knows nothing of what she tried to do.”

“So that’s why you were able to forgive Ozma,” I said, my heart filling with awe for my beloved’s magnificent compassion. “Because she doesn’t even remember what she tried to do to you. You’re too kind to hold it against her, now that you know she won’t try again.”

“What?” Dorothy asked. “Oh yes. Yes, that’s it exactly. That’s why I was able to forgive her.” She wiggled her feet, looking down at her glowing shoes. “But thanks to these sho—”

“Thanks to Oz,” Glinda interrupted quickly. “We don’t know what exactly it is that’s allowing you to access Oz’s magic, so it’s best not to speculate. But we do know you can give the magic back that Ozma stole, and that’s all that matters.”

“It’s possible Oz simply wants to protect me,” Dorothy said. “If Ozma can become an enemy, who knows who else might want to hurt me?” She looked at me then, her eyes beseeching. “I need all the protection I can get,” she said, and there was no mistaking her words were meant for me. I sat up straighter. “Anyway, I’ve discovered that I can tap into the magic of Oz. I can use its power for good, my friends. I can become the ruler that Oz deserves—and I intend to do exactly that.”

“Until we restore the magic Ozma stole,” Glinda added. “And then an official successor to the traitor fairy will be appointed.”

Dorothy blinked. “Right,” she said after a moment.

We were all silent for a moment when Dorothy and Glinda finished talking. The Lion looked confused, and the Scarecrow looked—well, if I didn’t know him better, I’d have said he looked suspicious. I didn’t have to wonder if my own face mirrored the Lion’s consternation, since it was a mask of tin, but I had to admit I wasn’t quite able to follow what Dorothy and Glinda were saying. I didn’t want to question Dorothy, or to doubt her. But I didn’t want to think too hard about her story either, because something about it seemed a little . . . off. Oz still had plenty of magic. Ozma had never seemed very evil, or very jealous either, for that matter. But I had traveled with Dorothy for months. We’d been through all kinds of things together. I knew her. She wasn’t just beautiful and kind, she was a good person. Plus, she’d just lost her aunt and uncle. No wonder she wasn’t completely making sense—even if, come to think of it, she didn’t look too upset. Glinda was a good witch, and she’d never do anything to jeopardize the fate of Oz. Dorothy had saved all of us. More than that, she was the woman I loved. And—at who knew what cost to herself—she was volunteering to take on the enormous responsibility of governing Oz. Had there ever been a woman more self-sacrificing or courageous?

I stood up, pushing my chair away from the table. “All I need to know is that I serve you,” I said, cursing myself as a squeak in my jaw detracted from the nobility of my words. “I will be at your side, Princess Dorothy, through anything you ask of me.” I bowed down on one knee before her, my head low to the ground.

Dorothy put one cool hand under my chin and tilted my head up so that I was looking into her deep blue eyes. “My wonderful Woodman,” she said softly. “So loyal and so brave. I knew you’d be the first to come to my side, and I won’t forget it.” As I knelt, her shoes blazed even more brightly, surrounding me in a red light that pulsed like a heartbeat. I could almost hear them whispering to me in words I couldn’t quite make out. The light filled my eyes until I could no longer see the room, and a hissing rose up in my ears. A red mist swirled above my head, forming a huge, powerful hand that plunged toward me. Before I could cry out or move, the fingers pierced my tin chest, diving straight for my cloth heart.

Somehow, impossibly, I could feel them wrap around the soft fabric. Power flooded through me, power and a new, unfamiliar emotion: rage. Everything was changing. I could no longer feel Dorothy’s hand under my chin or hear the noises of the room around us. I was standing in front of my palace in the Winkies’ country, towering over a courtyard full of cowering Winkies. The stones around me were stained red, and my tin fingers were covered with blood. I had done something terrible, but I didn’t know what it was. Horror filled me, but at the same time so did something else. Elation. The knowledge that no one could stop me from doing anything I wanted to the Winkies weeping at my feet. The sky was the same powerful red of Dorothy’s shoes. In the distance, I could hear someone shouting something indistinct that slowly grew clearer. “Woodman! Tin Woodman!”

The castle and the Winkies vanished. I was back in the Council Chamber. Dorothy had fallen to her knees and wrapped her arms around me, crying, “Tin Woodman! Are you all right?” Relishing the feel of her, I let her embrace linger before I finally put my hands on her back and murmured, “I’m all right. Everything’s fine.” She leaned back, seizing my hands and looking at me.

“What happened?” she cried.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think—I think I must have been dreaming. But I wasn’t asleep. It was—terrible, Dorothy. I dreamed I did something—” I stopped. I had been about to say “awful,” but that didn’t seem quite right. In my vision I had done something powerful. Something, I knew suddenly, that was for her. No, awful wasn’t the right word at all. “I dreamed I did something terrible,” I said again, my voice clearer. “But it was worth it, because it was for you.” Wonder filled Dorothy’s face, wonder and something else. I knew it was love. It had to be.

I glanced up. Over her shoulder, Glinda regarded me coolly, her lovely face revealing no emotion. But for just one second, I could have sworn I saw a spark in the depths of her crystal-blue eyes. A spark as red and glittering as Dorothy’s shoes. Though her lips did not move, I heard her gentle voice echoing inside my head. “Someone must protect the new princess. Do you accept this honor?”

“I do,” I said out loud, looking back down at Dorothy’s radiant face. “Always and forever. I do.”

FIVE

After our council, things were much clearer. Dorothy, always generous, told us that she would allow the traitor Ozma to stay in the palace, but it was clear her betrayal meant she was no longer fit to rule Oz. The five of us agreed that the best solution would be for Dorothy to rule in Ozma’s stead until she figured out a way to undo Ozma’s damage. Glinda pointed out that as Dorothy’s closest confidants in Oz—closer even than Glinda herself, she added modestly—the Lion, the Scarecrow, and I were to be entrusted with a new level of responsibility. It was possible Dorothy had even more enemies within the palace, and it was our job to protect her. I knew what Glinda was really saying. I was Dorothy’s protector. I alone had been given this task. And I knew I would never fail.

As we talked, the Lion’s stomach rumbled audibly, and Dorothy clapped her hands and laughed. “Silly old Lion!” she said. “You never change. Go get something to eat. Scare and Tin, why don’t you go with him for now. Glinda and I have much to discuss. And, Tin”—I turned to her eagerly—“why don’t you come back and see me after supper? Alone, I mean.”

I was so flustered I could only mumble an assent, and I cursed myself as I followed the Scarecrow out the door. If I kept making a fool of myself in front of Dorothy, she was hardly going to see me as a suitor. The Lion bounded away from us, eager to get to his next meal, but as soon as the door to the Council Chamber swung shut on Dorothy and Glinda the Scarecrow grabbed my arm.

“What on earth do you think is really going on?” he muttered. “This stuff about Ozma, and Glinda coming back, and Dorothy being put in charge—none of the story makes sense.” I was silent for a moment as we walked toward the banquet hall. I wanted to disagree with him, to shout him down. But he was only echoing what I’d thought just a few moments ago.

“I’m sure Dorothy would never do anything to hurt anyone,” I said finally. That much, I knew for certain, was true.

“Glinda coming back is certainly convenient,” he mused. “Her timing is a little too perfect, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, though the same thing had occurred to me.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Dorothy’s in charge, at least for now, and that means quite a bit of opportunity for us. The Lion’s a silly old thing, always has been, but you and me—” He paused significantly. “No more corncobs and Winkies, I can tell you that much,” he said when I didn’t respond.

“I’m not interested in power,” I said truthfully. “I don’t mind being King of the Winkies, but I’m not ambitious.”

“Not in that way you aren’t,” he said with a smile, “but I think you’ve got other aspirations on your mind, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said with dignity, and he laughed.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re both a lot closer than we were yesterday to getting what we want, let’s just put it that way. You chase after Dorothy, old friend. She couldn’t do better. But me, I’ve got other sunfruit to light. I’m not going to ask too many questions about what Glinda’s up to, and I don’t think you should either.”

“I would never doubt Dorothy,” I said, ignoring his real meaning.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said. “I think that’s becoming quite clear to everyone.”

Dorothy wasn’t at dinner. I tried to hide my disappointment as the Scarecrow and I sat with the Lion while he merrily gulped down a pile of drumsticks. The mood in the banquet hall was subdued, and Ozma’s chair—a big, green throne-like thing carved with scenes from various places in Oz that shifted when you looked at them—was conspicuously empty. The Lion and the Scarecrow chatted away, but I was too distracted to join in. My conversation with the Scarecrow that afternoon had unsettled me. On the surface, he was still his usual jovial self. But there was a strange new glitter in his black button eyes that made me uncomfortable. Was he hiding something? Was this going to be the future of Oz—all of us suspicious of each other? I thought with longing of the old, happy days, all of us innocent and merrily enjoying our quest. I missed that time so much that for a moment I would have traded a future with Dorothy to have it back—just the four of us, wandering together through Oz.

I stared at my plate, torn between excitement and despair. I was finally going to be alone with Dorothy, to find out why she wanted to see me. Could it be—could she possibly be ready to confess her feelings for me? I told myself not to get my hopes up, but there was no mistaking the signals she’d been sending me since the banquet. What other reason could she possibly have?

But what on earth was going on with my oldest, dearest friends? What intrigues were simmering beneath the surface? What kind of wickedness was lurking at the heart of Oz?

I left the banquet hall as soon as I was able to graciously excuse myself. The Scarecrow, watching me fumble in my excitement as I pushed my chair away from the table, muttered something to the Lion under his breath and they both laughed, but I didn’t care. The moment of truth was upon me. Whatever happened, I was going to tell Dorothy how I felt—and find out if my love was returned. It had to be, I told myself, my heart pounding as I approached Dorothy’s quarters. It simply had to be.

Dorothy had already moved into Ozma’s former bedroom. She hadn’t had much time to change the decor to suit her—there were still lots of green veils, vines twisting down from the corners of the room, dotted with sweet-smelling blossoms that released occasional flurries of perfumed butterflies, and the burbling sound of a merry forest stream emanating from what looked suspiciously like a closet. Still, she’d dug up an enormous vanity somewhere, and it was already covered with pots and creams and powders and brushes, vials of perfume, and huge bouquets of flowers nearly bursting from their vases. A hot flood of jealousy surged through me. What admirers had sent her flowers? Why hadn’t I thought of that? And then Dorothy turned to face me, and all other thoughts fled my mind.

She was seated before her vanity, in a soft silken dressing gown that flowed from her shoulders and pooled in a shimmering pile of fabric at her feet. Her long hair was down, brushed into a shining cape that spilled over her shoulders, and her blue eyes were wide and guileless as she looked at me. Without thinking, I crossed the room and knelt before her on one knee, lowering my head.

“Dorothy,” I said, and stopped, overcome with emotion. Now that I was here—now that I was really, truly here, it seemed there was nothing I could possibly say that would express the real depths of my feelings.

“Oh, Tin,” she said gently. “Don’t bow before me, my dear friend. It makes me feel like everything’s changed.” She put one slim hand below my chin, and tilted my face up so that I was looking directly at her. I struggled to keep my eyes away from the deep, tantalizing V of her dressing gown, focusing instead on her ruby-red mouth, which was no less distracting.

“But everything has changed, Dor—Your Majesty,” I said. “The Scarecrow and the Lion are practically strangers. You have all this magic now, and you’re ruling the kingdom. And the witch—”

“I trust Glinda,” Dorothy said firmly, “and so must you.”

I seized both her hands in mine. “Dorothy,” I said breathlessly. “Run away with me. Away from whatever’s happening here. Oz will sort itself out. I’ll keep you safe. I swear it.”

She smiled sadly, and to my horror I saw that her blue eyes were filling with tears. “Darling Tin,” she said softly, a single tear splashing across the silk of her robe. “You know I can’t do that. Oz needs me. Why else have I been called here? It’s my duty. I’ve already lost so much. What does it mean anymore to lose my freedom? My safety?” She sighed and looked away from me, but she didn’t let go of my hands. My heart nearly tore itself in two as I looked at her. She was so beautiful—so noble!

“Dorothy,” I said, summoning all my courage. “You know I—you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I will keep you safe, I swear it. I’ll protect you.”

She smiled at me. “I would never ask that of you, dear Tin. No, go back to your kingdom, to the life you had before I returned and everything got turned upside down. At least one of us should have a chance at happiness.”

I leapt to my feet and drew her to me. “Dorothy, never! I’ll never leave your side! Just let me stay by you. Let me be your protector. Please, Dorothy, it’s all I want.” I took a deep breath, crushing her to my chest as she looked up at me breathlessly. “Dorothy, I love—”

At that moment, the door to Dorothy’s chambers flew open, and Glinda swooped in, followed closely by the Scarecrow. “Oh!” Dorothy gasped, startled, and let me go. Glinda’s mouth twitched in what looked almost like a smirk.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said in her syrup-coated voice.

“Oh no,” Dorothy said, flustered and pulling her robe more tightly around her. She sat back at her dressing table, not looking at me. I thought, though I couldn’t have been sure, that the Scarecrow was trying not to laugh. “Tin was just telling me—he was just explaining that he would stay on in the palace, to be my protector,” Dorothy said.

“How charming,” Glinda said brightly, all trace of her smirk gone. “What a good friend you have.” She smiled brilliantly at me. “I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job of keeping Dorothy safe,” she said. “Though I don’t think our new princess is in any immediate danger, here in the Emerald City.”

“I could have enemies anywhere!” Dorothy said, a little peevishly. “Everyone is already jealous of me.”

“I’m sure my magic is enough to keep you safe for now,” Glinda said. “But perhaps the Tin Man will come up with some alternate means of defense.” There was that eerie red glitter in the depths of her eyes again, and for the first time since I had come back to the palace, I felt actually afraid. I had the overwhelming urge to grab Dorothy and run out the door, flee with her back to the Winkies’ palace, the Sea of Blossoms—anywhere but here. Somewhere she’d be safe, and we could be alone, and all of this would be like a bad dream.

The red spark flared, and I shook my head. Suddenly I couldn’t remember what I’d just been thinking about. “I can keep Dorothy safe for now,” Glinda was saying. “But we need more power. More strength.” She was talking to Dorothy, but looking at me, the red spark glowing with the same heartbeat pulse of Dorothy’s red shoes.

“I’ll figure something out,” I said dully, rising almost as though some other force had taken control of my limbs and was marching me out of the room.

“Good night, Tin,” Dorothy called, and the door to her room shut in my face.

I went back to my own rooms and stood for a moment looking out the window. I had promised to help Dorothy. I’d said I would protect her. But if Glinda wouldn’t let me near Dorothy herself, what could I do? It took me a while before I thought of the obvious. A princess needed an army, and an army needed a general. That was what Glinda had been trying to get me to see. But where to find such a force? And then it hit me—of course. I was already a ruler myself. It would be a simple matter to bring the Winkies to the Emerald City so that they might protect Dorothy while she and Glinda figured out how to return Ozma’s stolen magic.

Once I’d decided, it was a simple matter of slipping away from the palace. I didn’t tell Glinda—or Dorothy—of my plans. The army would be my gift to Dorothy. I spent the journey back to the Winkies’ kingdom imagining her reaction when I presented her with her new army. Her creamy cheeks flushing with color, her eyes sparkling, her ruby-red lips parting breathlessly with joy and awe. Finally, my actions would say what I hadn’t been able to tell her in words. And how could she possibly say no to me, when she was confronted with the force of my devotion? I knew she felt something for me, knew it all the way down to my tin joints. It was in the way she looked at me—in the way she’d let me hold her in her room. It was in everything she said to me. She loved me, I was sure of it—but she was too good, too selfless, to allow her feelings for me to get in the way of her duty to Oz. But once she and Glinda had restored the stolen magic, we’d be free to be together. Glinda would find a true successor, and Dorothy and I could go—why, we could go anywhere. I’d always wanted to visit Polychrome and see the Rainbow Falls. Maybe even a parasol sailing trip across the Sea of Blossoms. I’d heard they were the most romantic spots in all of Oz, but I’d never had anyone to share them with.

I was so lost in my reverie the journey passed in a flash. I didn’t even stop to rest or refresh myself when I reached my palace. I strode into my throne room, bellowing for my chancellor, Norbert. He was the most dignified Winkie I could find among my subjects: over the Winkies’ traditional costume of short pants and suspenders, he liked to add a suit jacket and pince-nez. Unfortunately, it was difficult for someone three feet tall and covered with yellow fur to really convey the impression of professionalism, and the decor of the throne room didn’t help. The Winkies’ palace was comfortable enough, and I wasn’t much of a home decorator, so I’d never gotten around to making any changes other than having furniture large enough for a full-size man made for my own rooms. The Winkies were enthusiastic artists, if not very good ones, and the walls of the throne room were painted with a lurid series of murals depicting hallucinatory scenes of glowing yellow Winkies drifting through a variety of Ozian landscapes—Winkies floating over the poppy fields, Winkies climbing mountain ranges, Winkies sailing in tiny airships over the Sea of Blossoms, Winkies splashing in the Rainbow Falls. For the first time it occurred to me that they were hideously ugly. I’d let the Winkies make all the changes they wanted to the palace after the defeat of the Wicked Witch of the West, but maybe I should have been a little stricter with them.

When Dorothy had restored Oz’s magic and no longer had to live in the Emerald City as its ruler, I would ask her to come live with me. But to be honest, it was hard to picture her here. Perhaps I should remodel. But those plans could wait. I had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Tomorrow morning, my subjects must assemble in the courtyard,” I instructed the chancellor as he scribbled furiously on his ever-present notepad, pushing his pince-nez up on his nose as it slipped down toward his luxurious golden moustache. “I want everyone. From the smallest child to the oldest of the old. I have a tremendously important announcement.” He nodded industriously, mouthing the words to himself as he wrote them down.

“Yes sir,” he said cheerfully, “I’ll see to it, sir. Will you be wanting your usual oil bath, sir? We’ve some nice new artisanal scented oils in from the country of the Quadlings. And Polychrome sent you a new travel brochure. It’s the darnedest thing, sir, a singing telegram, if you can believe that? So impressive what they can do with magic these days. Why, when I was a lad, we hadn’t any such—”

“I don’t think you understand,” I said coldly. “This is not business as usual. The future of Oz is going to change tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” he repeated absently, chewing the end of his feather quill. I stared at him in disbelief. Why wasn’t he taking me seriously? I knew the Winkies were silly creatures and always had been. I’d never tried to impose much discipline during my rule; there hadn’t been any point. But couldn’t he hear in my voice how important this was? I was offering my people a chance to make history and he was babbling on about travel promotions? I felt an unfamiliar emotion seize hold of me. My heart felt strange in my hollow chest, heavy and hot. I could almost sense it glowing inside me like an ember the color of Dorothy’s shoes. The Wizard’s gift had brought me love, but I realized it was also giving me a new feeling entirely: fury. Dorothy trusted me with her life, and I wasn’t going to let this stupid Winkie keep me from my duty. A red haze descended over my vision, obscuring the room around me, and my hands moved forward of their own volition, grabbing handfuls of mist. It pooled in my palms like water, pouring between my fingers to fall heavily to the ground, where it slid across the floor in an ever-spreading wave of red. I watched it move, fascinated. It moved almost like an animal, like something with an intelligence behind it.

A strange choking noise interrupted my reverie, and I looked down. To my astonishment, my hands were wrapped around Norbert’s throat, squeezing the life out of him as his eyes bulged desperately. In shock, I opened my fingers, and he collapsed to the floor wheezing for breath. As quickly as it had appeared, the red mist dissipated into long, slender tendrils that slithered into cracks in the stone walls and vanished. I couldn’t remember where I was or why my chancellor was staring up at me as though I was about to bite off his head. I looked around, blinking, only recognizing the familiar furniture of my throne room after a long moment. Why was I in my throne room? How had I even gotten here? My chest felt strange, as though my heart was moving around inside it. Something was happening to me—something I couldn’t explain.

“Everything will be as you wish in the morning, Your Majesty,” my chancellor whispered, his voice shaking. What had I wished for in the morning? I thought about this for a while, and then remembered I had wanted to address my subjects. That was it. An army. I was building Dorothy’s army, as a gift to her. Relieved, I nodded, still not entirely sure why my chancellor was lying at my feet. Perhaps he’d slipped? I didn’t remember that either. I needed a good bath to clear my head.

“Excellent work,” I said, and left him in a heap on the floor as I went to my rooms.

I summoned a few of the house Winkies with the bell I kept in my room for such purposes, and they obligingly drew me a bath of warm oil. Was it just my imagination, or did they keep looking at me? Why was everyone acting so strangely? The oil was perfumed, I noticed—hadn’t Norbert been saying something about a new shipment?—and a rich, pleasant scent filled my bathroom. Tin man that I am, I don’t have much need of the ordinary human fixtures. I don’t even really sleep anymore, though I do my best to follow the rhythms of a normal human day. But I do enjoy a good oil bath. I sank into the warm, sweet-smelling oil, dismissing the Winkies with a wave of my hand. They practically ran out of the room. Something was definitely up, but I had no idea what it could be.

As the oil cooled, I turned my thoughts to the next morning. I’d make a short speech to the Winkies, explaining the situation. They were too foolish to really understand the complexities of politics, but as long as I explained things simply they should be able to follow. I had no doubt they’d be as eager as I was to defend Dorothy. It was true, I supposed, that they wouldn’t make the most intimidating army. They were awfully short, and the suspenders sometimes made them look a little silly. But they were only the beginning, and I knew Dorothy would be delighted with my initiative. I’d march them to the Emerald City and assemble them for her so she could see all the work I’d already done on her behalf, and then I would find more recruits. Everyone in Oz, I knew, would be happy to help out on behalf of their savior, the girl who killed the wicked witches. I wondered idly how the next ruler of Oz would be chosen, once Glinda and Dorothy had restored the stolen magic. It was too bad about Ozma. I’d always sort of liked her. But there was no telling what kinds of wicked secrets even good people were hiding.

SIX

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. I polished my arms and legs and torso until the metal gleamed like mercury in the morning sun. I got my crown out of the Winkie-size wardrobe in one corner of my room and polished that, too, setting it on top of my head when it glowed as brightly as my tin skin. I finished my preparations just as Norbert knocked softly at my door, announcing that my subjects were assembled in the courtyard as I had requested. His suspenders, I noticed, were new, and his suit jacket had been ironed sometime since last night. Even his shoes were buffed. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, for some reason, and I almost asked him what had gotten into everybody.

The Winkies were gathered in a noisy, chattering group in the large courtyard in front of the palace’s main door, but they fell silent as soon as I came out of the palace, eyeing one another. Norbert bobbed obsequiously at my side, wiping his furry brow with a spotted handkerchief. I surveyed them, my heart sinking a little. They really were sort of—well, unimpressive. And there weren’t that many of them either. But Oz was not exactly a land noted for its martial power, and Winkies could be as courageous as anybody if they were given the chance. I noted with approval that they were standing carefully so as not to trample the lovingly cultivated flower beds. They might be silly and undisciplined, but that was at least a start. What mattered most was that Dorothy would see how much I cared, how much I was thinking about her.

“My most devoted subjects,” I began, gazing out over their upturned faces. “It has been a great honor to be your ruler, and I am proud to have done such an excellent job overseeing your welfare. I have gathered you here today to alert you to a number of important changes that are taking place in Oz.” Their faces were blank. Undaunted, I continued. “I am afraid I have some disheartening news about the Princess Ozma. Though we believed her to be a good and kind ruler, she has in fact betrayed us.” At this, the Winkies exchanged startled glances. “I have learned that she has been stealing the magic of Oz for her own purposes. But all will soon be well, for something wondrous has happened.” My cloth heart soared in my chest. There was something about saying it out loud that made it seem really true. “The beloved Dorothy Gale has returned to Oz to help us!”

A murmur of astonishment rippled through the little crowd. “Dorothy the Witchslayer?” piped up a young Winkie in the back, who was quickly hushed by his fellows. But I didn’t mind the interruption.

“The one and the same,” I said proudly. “When Oz was in need before, she came to us, and now that Oz needs her again, she has returned to us.” The Winkies didn’t need to know that I still hoped in my heart of hearts she’d come for me. “She came to convince Ozma to return the magic she had stolen to the land, but Ozma refused. In the ensuing battle, Ozma cast a terrible spell that erased her own memory. Dorothy, in her generosity and selflessness, has agreed to govern Oz temporarily until a new ruler can be found. In the meantime, she will need an army to protect her. That army, my dear subjects, shall be you.”

The Winkies were staring at me openmouthed. I frowned slightly. I had expected them to be more excited. Maybe I just hadn’t made myself clear. “We will leave for the Emerald City tomorrow,” I added. “Prepare yourselves. I do not know when we will return to this country. Our duty is to Dorothy, and we will serve her as long as she needs us.”

The Winkie who’d spoken before was waving his hand furiously, and I nodded in his direction. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, less politely than I thought was appropriate. “You said all of us? Are leaving for the Emerald City? Tomorrow?”

“That is correct,” I said.

“But I don’t want to go to the Emerald City,” he said. To my astonishment, several other Winkies nodded in agreement.

“But of course you want to go to the Emerald City,” I replied. “This is Dorothy we’re talking about. Dorothy Gale, who killed the wicked witches, who’s given everything for Oz. It’s our responsibility to keep her safe after everything she’s done for us.”

“Your responsibility, maybe,” the Winkie said. “Why should it be ours?”

“Because I am your king,” I said, but muttering had spread through the crowd, and now more Winkies were raising their hands to speak.

“I don’t know any Dorothy!” one of them shouted, and was shushed by her fellows, but more and more of them were grumbling. I raised my voice in an effort to speak over them.

“It is not a request!” I shouted. “It is an order! You will all be heroes! I demand it!”

“How do we even know this is true about Ozma?” snapped the original dissenter. “Ozma is a fairy! Maybe she just knows better than us what the magic of Oz should be used for!”

“Hear, hear!” someone else shouted. As more and more of them protested, my disbelief turned to anger. Here I was, offering them the opportunity of a lifetime, and they were worried about technicalities? I was their king! Even if they didn’t want to help Dorothy, as impossible as that was to believe, I was in charge, not some whining Winkie teenager.

“Silence!” I bellowed, but now they were ignoring me completely, and some of them were even heading for the palace gates as though to return home. How dare they? After everything I’d given up for them? Dorothy had killed the Wicked Witch of the West and freed the enslaved Winkies when she had first come to Oz. I’d been at her side, obviously, and in fact she wouldn’t have been able to defeat the witch without my help. Not at all. But her act of bravery had left the Winkies without a ruler, and so the Wizard had appointed me their king all those years ago. He didn’t ask me what I wanted. Nobody ever did, as a matter of fact. Not even Dorothy, if I was being completely honest. But I was like Dorothy. I cared more about the good of Oz than my own personal needs.

I had a perfectly good heart, one the Wizard had given me, and while it naturally belonged to Dorothy, all the years after she’d left Oz I’d assumed I would never see her again. But instead of doing the things other people did—falling in love, having adventures, seeing the world—I’d stayed here, in this backwater little palace. I could have gone anywhere, done anything. I could have found—well, I’d never have found a replacement for Dorothy, but maybe I could have found someone I’d love almost as much. I could have had a life. Instead, I’d given up everything for the Winkies, for these ungrateful, foolish, nasty little trolls.

At my side, Norbert cleared his throat, adjusting his pince-nez. “Well, sir,” he said quietly. “I suppose that will be all, then?”

“No,” I said. “That will not be all.” I could feel my outrage transforming into something bigger, and stronger, and meaner. A sudden breeze sprang up, bringing with it a tiny cyclone of pink strawberry-scented glitter, and for a moment I could almost see Glinda hovering above the Winkies’ heads and smiling at me. “I will lend you the power to control them, brave Woodman,” her voice whispered in my ear. “You will show them the glory and the might of Oz.” The glitter swirled around me, whirling around my arms and my hands. The metal of my fingers began to glow red-hot, as though I’d left them in a fire, and started to melt and change shape. To my astonishment my fingers began to transform before my very eyes. They sprouted long, thin needles and short-bladed knives, all sharp and wicked-looking. As soon as the transformation was complete, the metal cooled again, gleaming dangerously in the morning sun.

For just a moment, my heart pulsed with doubt. “But these are weapons,” I said out loud.

Glinda tsk-tsked in my ear. I turned around, expecting to see her, but there was no one there. “What we do, we do for the good of Oz, my noble friend,” she whispered. “What will Dorothy do if you cannot protect her? Who will she turn to, if you are not at her side? I will choose another protector, if you are not man enough for the task.”

Jealousy sparked up in me like a forest fire. There would be no question of Glinda’s choosing someone else! I would be at Dorothy’s side for always. I would show these filthy Winkies how powerful I was if they did not obey me out of duty.

“Stand where you are!” I snarled to the Winkies, who were by now pouring toward the palace gates. Something in my voice stopped them in their tracks. “Bring me the Winkies among you who have dared to defy me,” I said, and even to my own ears my voice was terrible. Glinda’s cyclone of magic darted over the crowd, dusting them with some kind of enchantment. As if in a trance the Winkies seized the traitors and dragged them toward my podium. Only the first Winkie who’d spoken, the one who’d said he didn’t want to go to the Emerald City, was trying to resist, struggling furiously and even biting at the arms of his captors. I would deal with him first. I gestured for them to bring him before me.

“This is my kingdom,” I said in a low voice that I knew was strong enough to carry to the far edges of the crowd. “I have allowed you to forget it. I will not make that mistake again.” I wrapped my fingers around his neck and looked up at the assembled crowd. “Tomorrow, we march to the Emerald City,” I said. “From now on, this is how I will deal with traitors.” The knives that had replaced my fingers cut into his flesh, and blood poured down his yellow fur and pooled at his dangling feet. He gurgled frantically as my fingers cut and cut, all the way to the bone. Red light blazed around me, the red of Dorothy’s shoes, pouring in through my open mouth and filling my entire body with a blinding, all-powerful rage. With a single gesture, I tore his head from his body and hurled it into the crowd, striking one of them square in the chest with a grisly smack. The Winkies stared at me, and I saw in grim satisfaction that their eyes were filled with utter horror and fear. Some of the Winkies were crying, but most of them were in such terrified shock that they just trembled where they stood and gaped up at me.

“I knew you were the right choice,” Glinda’s disembodied voice whispered next to me. “I knew you were brave enough, Woodman.” I looked down at my hands. They were still the strange new hands Glinda had given me. Covered in blood, they looked even more menacing. More evil, I thought, and then shook my head. No. This wasn’t evil. This was necessary. What we do, we do for the good of Oz. She had been right. This was a new time. I couldn’t back down. Dorothy needed me.

Almost without thinking, I moved toward the next traitor in line with my hands outstretched when Norbert gave a little cry. “What is it?” I snarled.

“Sir,” Norbert said desperately, “what are you doing? Why are you harming us? We’ll obey you, sir, we understand how important Dorothy’s army is now. Please don’t hurt anyone else.” I blinked and suddenly the red mist that had filled me poured out of my eyes and mouth, rising up into the clear blue sky and taking with it the intense rage that had possessed me. Glinda’s voice was gone. I looked around. There was blood everywhere. The headless body of a Winkie lay on the ground, and a line of Winkies crouched before me, shaking in terror.

“Did I—did I do that?” I asked Norbert, confused.

He looked at me in astonishment. “Yes sir,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, sir. You said—you said you needed an army.”

The army! Of course. Dorothy’s army. I wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened, but if it meant I had an army to bring to my princess, it was surely for the best. I’d bring her an army, and then tell her how I truly felt at last. How could she say no, when she saw the evidence of my devotion?

“We march for the Emerald City at dawn,” I told the blood-spattered masses trembling at my feet. “Shirkers and deserters will be executed.” I turned my back on them and walked into the palace.

SEVEN

The Winkies who gathered again in the courtyard the next morning were a far cry from the nattering, cheerful crowd who had assembled the day before. Some of them, I was certain, hadn’t moved from their spots since I had executed the traitor in front of them the preceding morning. They were silent, their heads bowed, their pathetic possessions gathered on their backs or hastily stuffed into small carts they towed behind them. A flash of doubt ran through me. They didn’t look like an army, they looked like a few dozen refugees. None of them had weapons, let alone armor. None of them had ever fought a battle in their lives. But I shook my head, dismissing the thought. We would all rise to the occasion. Even the humblest among us. Dorothy needed them almost as much as she needed me if she was to be safe in the Emerald City. I would turn them into an army if it was the last thing I did.

It took my ramshackle army a long time to find the Road of Yellow Brick, and when we did finally find it the bricks looked old and crumbly and were stained with a faint red hue—not the color of Dorothy’s shoes, but the color of blood. I remembered my vision in the palace the morning Dorothy had met with us and told us that Ozma had betrayed the country. I remembered the way Glinda had looked at me. Had she known what I would have to do? Had she been trying to warn me? I frowned, unwilling to allow any more uncomfortable thoughts. I wasn’t proud of what I’d done, but it had been necessary. There’d be no reason to have to do anything like it again. I avoided looking at my inexplicably transformed hands. Maybe Dorothy could help me change them back to the way they’d been before. After all, she was the one with magic.

The Road of Yellow Brick led us miles out of the way, almost as if it were trying to keep us away from the Emerald City. We walked for a long time through the Forest of Fear, the trees shrieking terrifying things at the Winkies, who flinched and wept and then, looking back at me fearfully, trudged onward. Some of them stuffed up their ears with cloth. Others held hands. I let their cowardice slide. There would be plenty of time for discipline once we reached the city. I wasn’t a monster.

Finally, after hours of doubling back and leading us astray, the road seemed to realize it couldn’t stop me from reaching the palace and straightened itself out. The bricks grew solid and polished again, and the hedges lining the road were neatly trimmed and bursting with flowers that periodically caroled us in trilling, high-pitched voices as we passed. The Winkies were still subdued, but their mood seemed to improve a little, and some of them perked up enough to look around them as we walked. A few of them dug cheese-and-marmalade sandwiches out of their bags—the Winkies were fanatical about cheese-and-marmalade sandwiches for some reason, and I had never known one of my subjects to travel anywhere without a ready supply—and munched as we marched. At last, I could see the green spires of the Emerald City on the horizon.

By now, several of the Winkies were stumbling with exhaustion. I did not allow them to rest. They’d have to learn to toughen up. The sun was on the horizon as we marched at last through the Emerald City’s broad gates. One of the Winkies collapsed, only to be hastily pulled to his feet by the others and propped upright. I selected a small delegation of the most alert-looking Winkies and called for Munchkin servants.

“Give them chambers in the palace,” I said curtly. “And see that they’re fed. I’ll be back for the rest of them later.” The Winkies I had chosen to accompany me, among them the chancellor, watched longingly as the others were led away to rest.

“You’ve served me well today,” I told them. “You will be rewarded in the princess’s army, never fear.” They did not seem very interested in the prospect of their reward but they did not protest as I led them into the palace and sent another servant to tell Dorothy to meet me in the Council Chamber.

She kept us waiting for a long time. One of the Winkies had pillowed his arms on the table and fallen asleep by the time she swept into the room, her auburn hair done in an intricate updo and her dress a slightly different version of the shimmery gingham she’d worn to tell us of her plans. I leapt to my feet when she entered the room, bowing deeply and surreptitiously kicking the chair of the Winkie who’d fallen asleep. He leapt to his feet, too, with a yelp of fear and stood looking around him, blinking frantically.

“My dear Woodman,” Dorothy said. Was that a hint of irritation in her voice? “Why on earth have you disturbed me? You know how busy I am now.”

“I have important news,” I said, my heart flooding with joy just to look upon her beautiful face. I reached forward to take her hand, but then remembered my new fingers. I did not wish to hurt her.

She ignored the gesture and looked at me with impatience. Suddenly I was overcome with doubt. Why wasn’t she happier to see me? “Well? What is it?”

“Princess Dorothy,” I said, going down on one knee before her. “You know your safety is my utmost concern, and your new position puts you at terrible risk.”

“Well, yes, that’s true,” she agreed, fluffing her reddish-brown curls. “Glinda says I must pay careful attention. I think it’s sort of exciting, don’t you? Nobody in Kansas was smart enough to understand how special I am. But here—well, look how far I’ve come!”

“I will remain at your side always, your knight and your protector,” I said. My heart pulsed again with that eerie power. “But a bodyguard is not enough, not even one as devoted as I. My beloved princess, I have brought you an army the likes of which Oz has never seen.”

Dorothy’s eyes widened and she gasped in delight. “An army? Oh, Tin! You’re incredible! I’ve never even dreamed of having an army before! Is it very splendid? Do they have horses and banners? Where are they? I want to see them right now!”

I rose to my feet and took her arm, indicating the Winkies with a sweeping gesture. “These are your generals. Your army awaits you in the palace.”

Dorothy stared at the trembling Winkies with confusion, her eyebrows knitting together. “But, Tin—I don’t understand. These are Winkies.”

“As are all your soldiers,” I explained. “For now,” I added hastily. “Of course, I’ll soon have more recruits. Perhaps the Lion knows a few beasts who would be willing to serve. I’ll oversee their training. Soon you’ll have a fearsome force to defend you.”

A flurry of emotions crossed Dorothy’s face. She was overcome, I realized. Overcome by what I’d done for her. By the lengths I’d gone to. She was so overwhelmed she didn’t even know what to say. I was so happy to see her delight that it took me a moment to understand that she was laughing not from joy, but from exasperation.

“Tin,” she said. “This is really sweet of you, but they’re Winkies. That’s like having an army of stuffed animals. I really wish you hadn’t bothered me with this—Glinda and I were having the nicest time going through nail polishes.”

“But, Dorothy,” I said in consternation. “You must understand, Oz has never had soldiers—”

“Tin, just get rid of them,” she interrupted. “They’re a bunch of furry midgets terrified of their own shadows. Look at them.” The Winkies, it was true, were staring at us in alarm, and the chancellor might have actually been crying. I was about to answer when the Scarecrow came into the room, drawn by Dorothy’s raised voice.

“Well, well, well,” he remarked, taking in the scene. “What exactly do we have here?”

“The Woodman has lost his mind.” Dorothy giggled. “He’s brought me these creatures and says they’re going to be an army.”

“An army?” the Scarecrow said, and looked at me thoughtfully. “But that’s not a bad idea at all, Doro—er, Your Eminence.”

Your Eminence? I thought, reeling. Since when was Dorothy Her Eminence, other than in my heart? And why couldn’t she see the nobility of my gift? None of this was going as I had planned, none of it at all. I looked around the room desperately, as though the answer was under one of the Winkies.

“I don’t want an army of vermin,” Dorothy snapped, and the Scarecrow raised one painted eyebrow. “Wasn’t it enough to have to toil in servitude with these dreadful creatures under the Wicked Witch of the West the first time I came to Oz? There’s a reason I didn’t go back after I killed that old cow.”

And then my error hit me. Of course. How could I have been so stupid? The Winkies could only remind Dorothy of that terrible time in the Wicked Witch of the West’s palace, before Dorothy had heroically killed her and liberated the Winkies like the noble woman she was. Her anger hid another, deeper emotion—her pain. And now, like a fool, I was reminding her of it. No wonder she was so upset.

“Well,” the Scarecrow observed, “they’re here now. Might as well do something with them.” I wanted to throw him from the room. He didn’t understand anything, and he certainly didn’t understand Dorothy. Not the way I did.

“I don’t want them within a mile of my palace,” Dorothy snapped. “They probably have lice.”

“The Winkies are a very clean people,” I said hastily. “Dorothy, I lived among them for years. I ruled over them, don’t forget.”

“Tin, just make them go away.” She stared at me, narrowing her beautiful crystal-blue eyes. “If you really do care about me,” she said coolly, “you’ll do as I ask without questions, Tin.” With that, she swept out of the room, leaving me staring after her in despair.

“What have I done?” I moaned. “She’ll never forgive me. How could I be such an idiot?”

“What do you mean?” the Scarecrow asked.

“Instead of bringing her an army, I brought her a reminder of a terrible time in her life. How can I possibly earn her trust again?” I sank into a chair next to the chancellor, who made a small, terrified noise, and put my head in my hands, nearly sticking myself in the eye with my sinister new fingers.

“Tin,” the Scarecrow said slowly, “are you actually in love with Dorothy?”

“Of course I’m in love with Dorothy!” I shouted, so forcefully I startled us both. “Who wouldn’t be in love with Dorothy? She’s beautiful, and kind, and generous, and we’ve been through so much together. I thought she felt the same way. I was going to tell her when I brought her the army. But now I’ve ruined everything.”

The Scarecrow was silent for a moment. I could practically hear the stuffing in his head rustling, but I didn’t want to know what he was thinking since it was probably along the lines of what a complete failure I’d made of myself. “What will you do with them?” he asked casually.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I mumbled unhappily into my palms. “Send them home, I suppose. There are dozens of them here.” At the word “home” the chancellor perked up visibly, although all of them still looked at me as though I was going to tear off their heads, too. I felt badly about what I’d done, I really did, but if they’d just obeyed me—their king!—from the beginning none of that business would have happened.

“Seems a shame to just waste them,” the Scarecrow said. “Now that they’re here and all.”

“I can’t put them to work in the palace,” I replied. “You heard Dorothy. She doesn’t want to see them again.”

“There are . . . other options,” the Scarecrow said, and I looked at him. His flat black eyes were expressionless, but something in his voice sent a shiver down my tin spine. If you want to know the truth, I’d always thought the Scarecrow was a little creepy. Even on that first trip to Oz, pretending to be such an idiot, dithering around—no, he’d been planning something all along, you mark my words. The Lion, for all his uncouthness, is relatively honest. What you see is what you get, even if what you get is tacky, boorish, and bad for your nice furniture. And me—well, as you know, I’m just a man in love. But the Scarecrow isn’t like either one of us. He’s crafty, and he only got craftier once the Wizard filled up his head with sawdust brains. I didn’t like the look on his face, but I wasn’t about to let him know that he’d unnerved me.

“What do you mean, ‘other options’?”

He thought for a moment, as if considering how to present a complicated subject to a simple person. “Glinda and I have been . . . discussing a few things,” he said eventually. “You know, she’s really a magnificent woman. Very sharp. Very sharp indeed. She has some other very impressive assets, too, if you know what I mean,” he added with a wink.

“I’m sure I don’t,” I said coldly. “What’s your point?”

“She thinks that Oz isn’t going to be universally happy about Dorothy’s plan to restore the stolen magic.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Oh, you know,” the Scarecrow said vaguely, waving one cloth hand at the window. “Doubts about the process. Something with the constitution.”

“Oz doesn’t have a constitution.”

“Line of succession,” the Scarecrow said. “All of that. You know, people really love their fairies. All those wings and sparkles and whatnot. Dorothy’s just a girl. And you have to admit, this whole story about the battle with Ozma is a little suspicious.”

“Dorothy is certainly not just a girl,” I said sharply. “And what on earth do you mean by ‘suspicious’? Ozma betrayed all of us. Of course it’s shocking, but once people realize the truth, they’ll know right away that Dorothy only has the good of Oz at heart.”

“Shocking, yes,” the Scarecrow said mildly. “Quite shocking. Not to mention sudden. Some people are already saying it was a little too sudden, if you get my drift. Dorothy coming back to Oz? Glinda reappearing out of nowhere? Suddenly Ozma’s a babbling idiot? Come on, Tin, I know I have all these brains now, but even you aren’t that stupid.”

“So you’re just going to betray Dorothy?” I said in disbelief. “Because of some palace rumor mill?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that at all. Not at all. Look at us, Tin. We’re back in the Emerald City. Let’s face it, we belong here. We’re not just helping Dorothy. We’re making a better life for ourselves. If Dorothy stays in power, well . . .” He trailed off, his eyes glittering, his expression distant. If I knew one thing for sure in that moment, it was that the Scarecrow had a plan. I wondered if Dorothy knew what it was. If I should keep an eye on him, just in case. Maybe the Scarecrow wasn’t just a little sinister. Was it possible he was actually a traitor to the woman I loved?

The Winkies were following this conversation with enormous eyes, and it occurred to me we should probably be more discreet. I jerked my chin toward the chancellor, and the Scarecrow laughed.

“Don’t you worry about our little furballs over there,” he said. “I told you, I have an idea for what to do with them. Glinda’s shown me some . . . alterations that can be made to Oz’s creatures. Nothing drastic, mind you. Just a few improvements.”

“Alterations?” I asked suspiciously.

“I’ve been working exclusively with the winged monkeys,” he said, ignoring me. “But I’d love to diversify. I think you’re on the right track with this whole army business. Dorothy just wants to frolic around the palace in petticoats and lipstick like the Emerald City is some kind of giant slumber party. But Glinda has a real vision.” I made a noise of protest, and he laughed.

“Oh, come now, Tin. I know you’re head over heels for the girl, but you have to admit she’s done nothing since she got back except play dress-up and use her supposedly all-powerful magic to give herself new hairdos. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but I’m interested in the bigger picture. And so is Glinda.”

Talking to the Scarecrow was like wrestling with an eel. Suddenly everything I’d been trying to say was all turned around. “I think you’re all wrong about Dorothy,” I said angrily. The Scarecrow only shrugged, and I sighed in exasperation. “Do you really think you can use the Winkies to win her back to my side? What will you do with them?” I asked.

“Think about it,” he said, getting excited. “We do need an army; even you figured out that much. But what if we had an army that was invincible? Glinda thinks we can do it with magic, but you and I can’t use the magic of Oz that way, not directly. We don’t have any power. It may be possible for us to create weapons that use Oz’s magic—I’m working on that, too—but right now we can’t do much else. But what if I engineered soldiers using magic? She’s been helping me the past few days, and I’ve made all sorts of advances. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been able to accomplish in such a short amount of time. But my experiments are, um—” He paused, a little sheepishly. “They do sort of eat up resources,” he said. “I need new subjects, and quickly. And you’ve just shown up at the palace with several dozen of them.”

“Are these experiments harmful?” I asked. Beheading my unruly subjects was one thing, but turning them over en masse to the Scarecrow for some kind of creepshow science project was something else.

“Oh no, no, no,” he said quickly. “Not really, no. Fatal sometimes, but definitely not harmful. And Dorothy will be so happy when you come to her with a real army instead of these little guys.”

“But she said she never wanted to see them again,” I said. “So even if you do turn them into soldiers, I’m still not in her good graces.”

“They won’t really be recognizable when I’m done with them,” the Scarecrow said. There was a chilling silence. One of the Winkies at the table made an agonized noise and then clapped his hands over his mouth. “She won’t even know they’re Winkies. So, Tin, what do you say?”

“I don’t know,” I said reluctantly. “I mean, they’re still my subjects. The Wizard said I was supposed to take care of them.”

“They won’t feel a thing,” the Scarecrow assured me. “They might even enjoy the process. Just think—all your life, a boring old Winkie, and suddenly you’re an enhanced soldier in the princess’s army? Not a bad opportunity, right? Plus, Dorothy will never take you seriously as a suitor unless you’re willing to do what’s necessary.”

I didn’t entirely like his plan, but that last sentence won me over. “I’ll do anything for Dorothy,” I said firmly, putting one hand over my heart. Next to me, Norbert started crying again.

“Oh, believe me,” the Scarecrow said, his grin growing even more sinister. “I know.”

EIGHT

That night, after I’d moved my things to my official new chambers in the palace—these rooms equipped with a closet I could stand in to sleep, as I’d requested—I stood lost in thought for a long time. Everything in Oz was changing so quickly. Dorothy back, Glinda and the Scarecrow probably cooking up some secret plan behind my back, the Lion chomping down bones in his room in the palace like it was his own home. Except that now the Emerald City was his new home. It was all of ours. I was overjoyed to have Dorothy back—more than overjoyed. I’d thought I would never see her again, and here she was, within reach. But everything else was so confusing, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about sharing her with Glinda, the Scarecrow, and the Lion.

Over breakfast, the three of us talked about the first time Dorothy had come to Oz. “Do you remember when you had to rescue me from the poppies?” the Lion roared happily, chomping on a chop and spraying bits of food as he talked. “All those mice!” We laughed, for a moment united again in our shared history.

“Everything was so much simpler then,” I said, a little sadly. “We only wanted obvious things. A heart, courage, brains—and Dorothy gave us all of that, and more.”

“Of course,” said the Scarecrow, eyeing me keenly. “And that’s why you must do exactly what she asks of you, Tin.” I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t say “we.” When had my friends changed so much? Was it really true that I could no longer trust him? I didn’t want it to be, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind.

Even before I’d known I loved Dorothy, I’d been her champion. When the Wicked Witch of the West had sent wolves to kill us, I’d slain them all without a second thought, to protect Dorothy. I’d done whatever was necessary on our quest to keep her safe. Wasn’t killing the Winkie in my courtyard almost the same thing? If it was, why did I still feel so bad about it? Why did everything have to be so complicated now?

I wandered through the palace in a daze for the next few days, confused and often alone. I barely saw Dorothy, who was holed up constantly with Glinda, and if I didn’t know better I would have said that she was avoiding me. After that first breakfast the Scarecrow, too, was nowhere to be found, presumably working away at his mysterious experiments. To my surprise, I even missed the Winkies—especially Norbert. He had been a good, reliable, and kind companion over the years, and he knew a tremendous amount about the history of Oz. I should have kept him at my side, I realized belatedly. The Scarecrow didn’t need all my Winkies for his project. Norbert would have been good company—and a good adviser in this strange new palace life.

Only the Lion had as much free time as I did, and although I often found him wearisome—all he talked about was hunting—at least when I was around him I didn’t have to think about a lot of things I didn’t understand. On the rare occasions when the Scarecrow emerged—I’d see him in passing, or at meals, which we attended as Dorothy’s closest companions even though we didn’t eat—he refused to talk about his work other than to say it was progressing well. His clothes were often smeared with blood, and sometimes bits of other, gorier things that I preferred not to examine too closely. He would spend the meal practically bouncing in his chair, and then rush away as soon as the dishes were cleared. “Be patient,” the Lion counseled in his meaty-breathed growl. “Only the best for Dorothy, you know.” I sighed. Did everyone in the palace know how I felt except her? She, too, sat at meals most of the time, but took the place of honor at the head of the table, where she laughed and carried on with everyone but me. Glinda was always by her side. I tried every day to catch her alone, before or after lunch or dinner, but she always said gently, “Not now, Tin,” and hurried away. Could it be possible that I’d disappointed her so much she was avoiding me? The Lion, who witnessed most of these failed attempts, gave me consoling pats on the shoulder as I stared longingly after her glittering heels retreating from me time after time. Those shoes! These days, they were all I could think about, glittering at the back of my mind like my own heartbeat. How could I make Dorothy see me? How could I make her understand how much I cared for her? I had to find a way to make her mine. I simply had to. Even if she couldn’t see it, we belonged together.

Finally, one morning a few days after he’d taken away the Winkies, the Scarecrow found me in my chambers, where I was staring out the window. “Are you busy?” he asked politely, though I obviously wasn’t. I’d been thinking about how Dorothy might look in a wedding dress, walking down an aisle toward me. Would we marry in the palace? Perhaps the gardens? The Scarecrow cleared his throat.

“Oh,” I said, remembering where I was. “No, not really.”

He actually rubbed his hands together with glee. “I have something to show you,” he said. “Something I think will interest you very much.” I waited. “In my workshop,” he said impatiently.

I sighed and got to my feet, squeaking audibly. I hadn’t been so good about oiling my joints in the last few days. Nothing seemed very important anymore if I wasn’t going to see Dorothy.

I followed him through the hallways to the suite of rooms Dorothy had given him. I didn’t think we’d been in the palace long enough for the Scarecrow to amass the kind of clutter that filled his chambers. Every surface was filthy, cluttered with piles of paper and old books and pens and tools. A bookshelf was so stuffed with volumes that they threatened to burst from its shelves. A large table covered in leather straps and mysterious stains dominated one end of the room. Though the day was bright and sunny, the Scarecrow’s workshop was as cold as an icebox, and if I hadn’t been made out of tin I would have shuddered.

“What did you want to show me?” I asked, trying not to let him see how creeped out I was by his whole setup. I’d known the Scarecrow was weird, but I’d had no idea he was this weird. He gestured toward the broad table, which was covered by a dirty, bloodstained blanket. I moved closer. The blanket was lumpy and misshapen, suggesting it covered something fairly large. Something, I realized, that was moving.

“What is it?” I asked. The Scarecrow smiled.

“Not it,” he said cheerfully. “He! An old friend of yours, in fact.” He flipped up the bottom half of the blanket, revealing a gruesome mess of bloody flesh and metal. I bent down, trying to figure out what I was looking at. It seemed to be the lower half of an animal, but no animal I had never seen. The torso was covered with fur, so stained with blood and grease it was impossible to determine the original color. Bloody, gaping wounds slashed here and there through the fur, crudely sewn together with thick black thread. “Not all the implants take, you know,” the Scarecrow said, seeming just a touch defensive. “This is very complicated work.” Where the animal’s legs should have been, its torso was fused to a single rusty wheel, like a unicycle. The line where flesh met metal was red and angry, bulging with scabbed-over skin and glistening red meat that looked suspiciously like organs. I swallowed at the gruesome sight.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What is this?”

The Scarecrow smiled and clapped his hands together. “Tin, old friend, meet your new general!” he cried, and whipped away the rest of the blanket. I gasped.

The creature strapped to the Scarecrow’s table was—or had once been—Norbert. One eye stared sightlessly up at me, but the other side of his face was a mess of metal and wires and exposed bone, the eye socket sprouting a glowing red bulb. His fur was matted with blood and oil, and in other places it had been cut open, revealing the pulsing red of his muscles. One arm ended in metallic pincers, not unlike the implements my own hands had transformed into. His chest heaved as he struggled for breath. “Sir,” he wheezed beseechingly. “Sir, it hurts. Please help me.” Impossibly, this awful ruin of my former chancellor was alive.

“What have you done?” I whispered.

“I thought you would be pleased!” The Scarecrow beamed. “Unrecognizable, am I right? Unfortunately, most of the other little fellows didn’t quite make it through the process, but this one gives me hope. In no time we’ll have fully mechanized soldiers for your army. I’ll even allow you to be the one who tells Dorothy, as long as you give me proper credit, of course.”

“What do you mean, didn’t make it through the process?”

The Scarecrow clapped me heartily on the back. “Science involves sacrifice, my boy! You wouldn’t know that, I suppose. I’ve been imagining a project like this for a very long time, you know. Glinda’s return has given me the opportunity, and Dorothy’s return has given me the excuse. But truth be told, I’m in it for the knowledge, not the power. Just think of what advances I can make next!”

“You killed them?” I asked in disbelief. “All of them?”

“Not killed!” he exclaimed. “Sacrificed. It’s not like I murdered them in cold blood! I had no way of knowing they wouldn’t be strong enough to survive the initial round of trials. I have a few of them left, though, and soon I’ll have them all fixed up and ready to go. This little fellow was my first success. He’s a real trouper—no pun intended. Let me put him through his paces for you.” He undid the straps that held what had once been my chancellor to the table, lifted him up, and set him on the ground so that he balanced on his wheel. “Show the Woodman your stuff,” he ordered. Obediently, the chancellor scooted back and forth, and then creaked around the room in a little circle. His one good eye wept. “Please, sir,” he whispered again. “Just make it stop.”

“See? Right as rain,” the Scarecrow said. “Nothing wrong with him a little oil won’t fix, and I’m sure you’ve plenty of that lying about. It was you who gave me the idea, actually. A machine-animal mix? What could be better. All your sturdiness, with a bit of muscle and brain thrown in for good measure. The soldiers will be engineered not to think too clearly, of course. Wouldn’t want them to mutiny. So I suppose they’ll take after you more than me.” He laughed.

I didn’t entirely understand what he was saying. As I watched the chancellor make his horrible circuit of the room, my heart sank. This wasn’t what I had wanted at all. Norbert had served me faithfully for years.

“Come now,” the Scarecrow said quickly. “Now’s no time to be squeamish, Tin. You want Dorothy to be impressed, you have to be willing to go the extra mile.”

“She—she approves of this?” I asked, finding my voice.

“Approves! Tin, when you tell her what I’ve done—what we’ve done—she’ll be over the moon. Look at what you’ve done for her! Given up your servants, your old life? Transformed these useless little creatures into real weapons? She’ll be at your feet!”

“Are you—” I swallowed. Norbert had come to a stop and was leaning against the table, staring dully at nothing. Trickles of fresh blood seeped down his fur. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do? It’s what she wants?”

“Dorothy doesn’t know what she wants,” the Scarecrow said confidently. “It’s up to you to tell her. And”—he lowered his voice significantly—“to make sure she knows she wants you. A girl as pretty as that? Someone else is bound to snap her up if you can’t manage to tell her how you feel. What better way than with a gift like this?”

I didn’t like what he’d done to Norbert, but his words were persuasive. It was true that every gain comes with some kind of cost. Presumably the Scarecrow had perfected his technique, and further sacrifice wouldn’t be necessary. And if I could go to Dorothy with an army—a real army—she’d finally forgive me for my missteps.

“But he said it hurts him,” I said.

“Hurts him?” The Scarecrow chortled. “Nonsense. Look at him. Happy as a clam.” He snapped his fingers in the chancellor’s face and Norbert began his squeaky circle of the room again.

“He does seem content,” I agreed.

“The process is harmless, really, now that I’ve got it down. It was Glinda’s idea, actually. Magnificent woman. I’d been bandying about ideas, as I said, but she was the one who gave me the final push. She had the idea to start with myself.”

“What do you mean?”

He tapped his head with one finger. “The brains the Wizard gave me are helpful, don’t get me wrong. But there’s so much more I want to know. She helped me soup up my brains—no machine parts, obviously, but magic’s the ticket. Once I did that, I was a new man. Dove right into this project, and look how much I’ve accomplished.”

“You’re fooling around with the Wizard’s gift?”

“The Wizard was a fine fellow, but his magic wasn’t even real—not back then, anyway, though Glinda says he might have found his own store of Oz’s magic when he controlled the Emerald City. But the stuff she and Dorothy are throwing around, that’s the good stuff, my boy, that’s the good stuff. She came to me practically the minute she was back in the palace, making an offer I couldn’t refuse. You wouldn’t believe the leaps I’ve made with my new, improved brains. I never would have thought to experiment on living creatures of Oz before Glinda used her magic on me, and I never would have been able to do it either.” He looked at me keenly. “It’s a new order, Woodman. A new time in Oz. We’re at the center of it. You’re not going to get left behind, are you? I don’t think Dorothy would like that.”

Dorothy. The Wizard’s gifts. The Scarecrow had improved himself so that he could do better. What if I did the same? Then she’d know I deserved her love. If I came to her with an army, and a heart that was even bigger and better? If I showed her I’d done it all for her?

“Can you do something like that for me?” I asked him. “For my heart?”

He smiled. “Had a feeling you might ask. So did Glinda.” He turned to the chancellor. “Go fetch Glinda,” he said, and Norbert squeaked obediently out the door.

We waited in the dim, cool room until the chancellor wheeled back in, with Glinda hovering above the ground a few feet behind him. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair was braided into an elaborate updo, and she wore a shimmering pink gown that looked like it was sewn from thousands of delicate pink spiderwebs. It fitted closely to her tiny waist and belled out again, cascading down to her pink slippers in shimmering waves. Her nails and lips were painted a matching shell pink, and pink gemstones glittered at her ears and throat. She was not as beautiful as Dorothy, and she never would be in my eyes, but I saw the Scarecrow’s point.

“My dearest Woodman,” she cooed. “How good it is to see you. The Scarecrow’s little pet tells me you are here to improve yourself for the glory of Oz?”

“For Dorothy,” I said stubbornly.

Glinda laughed kindly. “Your devotion is admirable, sweet Woodman. Dorothy is certainly lucky to have such a suitor.”

“Do you think so?” I asked, allowing my doubt to show.

“Of course,” she said gently. “You must understand that Dorothy is very busy right now, and overwhelmed by the responsibility that has been placed upon her shoulders. She’s concerned about you—you mustn’t ever imagine otherwise—and I know she loves you. But right now she needs you to be brave and strong and self-reliant. She needs you to be there for her, and to ask nothing of her.”

“She loves me?” I looked up at her eagerly. “She told you she loves me?”

Glinda’s mouth turned up at the corners in a beatific smile. “Not in so many words, but she doesn’t have to. It’s plain as day. All of us can see it. Can’t we, Scarecrow?”

“Oh, sure,” the Scarecrow said absently, adjusting one of the chancellor’s gears.

“See?” Glinda said to me, beaming. “I told you. It’s obvious. Now, are you ready to do your part for Oz—and for Dorothy?”

The Scarecrow turned away from the chancellor, his face alight. “Get him on the table,” he said. I made as if to climb on the table myself, but an invisible hand grabbed me and carried me through the air, dumping me unceremoniously on my back. I looked up at the single overhead light that shone down on my chest. “Will this hurt?” I asked.

“You won’t feel a thing,” the Scarecrow said, looming over me. He held a set of tin snips in one hand and a mysterious, multipronged metal tool in the other. I took a deep breath as he began to cut through my chest, peeling back a metal plate about the size of a fist. He was right; I didn’t feel anything. Glinda peered down at me, her smile unwavering. There was something almost menacing about the way she was looking at me, but I reminded myself I was doing this for Dorothy.

The Scarecrow lowered his tool into the cavity of my chest and I felt its prongs close around my heart. I gasped in surprise, but Glinda was already moving her hands through the air, summoning that now-familiar glowing red material that filled the room as though we were inside an aquarium. It coalesced into a mass that hovered over me, pulsing with its eerie light, and as I gazed up into it the glow started to look exactly like a miniature thunderstorm. Red lightning flashed, and thunder boomed through the room. The clouds began to swirl faster and faster, forming a whirlpool that stretched downward into the long funnel of a cyclone. The cyclone’s spout reached lower and lower until it touched the metal gadget that held my heart in place.

Energy coursed through me, sending red sparks shooting in all directions. Maybe I should have been afraid, but instead, I felt incredible—as though I held all of Oz in the palm of my hand. No wonder Dorothy was different, if she had power like this. I could control anything, do anything—and I was just a conduit for the power the Scarecrow was channeling into my heart. The little cloth heart floated upward, crackling with light as Glinda’s magic poured into it.

“That’s enough, I think,” Glinda said. Slowly, the cyclone of magic lowered the heart back into my chest. When it was in place, the Scarecrow pulled away his tool and the red light faded, the magical storm dissipating in the dank air of his room. “See?” he said happily. “Piece of cake. Nothing to it. You’re a new man.” He grabbed a soldering iron off a shelf and briskly patched the hole he’d made in my chest. I sat up slowly, patting the patch. I could feel the difference in my heart. It was difficult to explain. Heavier, but also somehow more real.

“How do you feel?” Glinda asked, moving closer and putting one slender hand on my shoulder.

I looked down at my hands, at the needles and knives that had sprouted up where my fingers used to be. Suddenly they seemed exactly right. They were tools, that was all. Tools I would need in Dorothy’s Oz.

“I feel great,” I said, and she relaxed a little. Maybe they hadn’t been as certain as they’d seemed that the Scarecrow’s magic doohickey would work. But that didn’t matter now. It had worked, and I was different. Stronger. Braver. Even more ready to do whatever it took to defend Dorothy.

The Scarecrow smiled at me with satisfaction. A little too much satisfaction, if you asked me. How long had he been working in secret on these experiments? What else were he and Glinda keeping from Dorothy? But I was careful not to let my suspicions show. Two could play at that game, and now I had the Wizard’s new, improved heart up my sleeve. Or in my chest, as it were. I could feel it ticking away, radiating power.

“Bring in the remaining Winkies and prepare them for their transformation,” I said. Norbert looked up at me sadly with his one good eye.

“But sir,” he whispered. “This isn’t natural. What you’ve done to me—”

“I’ve had enough of you,” I snarled, striding toward him. “There’s no room for dissent in the new order. Scarecrow, I want the next batch more obedient.” With one swift, decisive move, I whipped out my hands and cut Norbert’s throat. Blood poured out over his chest as he slumped to the ground. “That one was defective,” I said. “Do better next time.”

The Scarecrow and Glinda looked at me, their expressions unreadable. “As you wish, Tin,” the Scarecrow said. “As you wish. Dorothy’s army will be the most perfect force I can create. Now go get me some soldiers.”

“By the time I’m done,” I said, “you’ll have every Munchkin in Oz for Dorothy’s army.” Their delighted laughter echoed behind me as I strode out into the hall.

There was no doubt about it. Dorothy’s Oz was going to be a very different Oz indeed.

NINE

After the Scarecrow patched me up, Glinda left us, saying she had business with Dorothy to attend to. The Scarecrow watched her go, sighing in admiration. “What a woman,” he said wistfully. “Do you think I have a chance?”

“No,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”

There were only a handful of Winkies left.

The Scarecrow brought out each of them in turn, pleading frantically for his or her life no matter how many times we explained we weren’t doing anything but improving them. “I don’t know why you couldn’t have gotten yourself appointed king of a people with more dignity,” he muttered. I ignored him.

We operated on six Winkies in total. All but two of them survived the process. The Scarecrow lined them up at the far end of his chambers as he finished, where they stood blinking and quiet, waiting to be summoned.

When we were done at last he cleaned the blood off his stuffed body with a rag. “Need to get an apron,” he remarked, dabbing at a tough stain. “This stuff is the devil to get out. You ready to show these fellows to Dorothy?”

I had been confident and sure of myself as we worked, but now that I faced the prospect of going before Dorothy again, I was flooded with doubt. What if she didn’t approve? What if the soldiers weren’t good enough? The Scarecrow was watching me sharply, and I was aware that my emotions must have been plain. I didn’t want to fail her again. I couldn’t bear it.

The Scarecrow ordered the Winkies to march, and they did so in eerie unison, moving their arms and legs as stiffly as robots and at the exact same time. We followed them out of his chambers. I flagged down a Munchkin servant, who eyed the Winkie soldiers with discomfort and told us Dorothy was taking the rays in her solarium. The Scarecrow let me direct the soldiers down the hall. They responded to my commands with the same mindless, automated precision they had to his, and I was reassured by their obedience. How could Dorothy not be pleased?

My beloved was reclining on a luxurious couch in her solarium, dressed in a long, soft robe and holding out one hand to a servant, who was painting her nails. Another girl behind the couch was brushing her hair. She still wore her glittering heels, and they glowed with an atomic-red light that called up in me an answering flare of clockwork emotion. A little black ball was curled up at Dorothy’s feet, and I belatedly recognized it as Toto. He jumped to his feet, barking excitedly, and raced to meet us, running around our feet in yapping circles. I stooped to scratch awkwardly behind his ears with my knives.

Dorothy looked up as we came in, her perfect face drawn into a scowl. “What on earth are you doing here? I didn’t send for you.” Her eyes widened when she saw the soldiers. “And what on earth are those? Woodman, I told you I never wanted to see those filthy Winkies again. What’s wrong with their arms?”

I sank down to one knee before her, but her expression didn’t change. “Dearest Dorothy,” I began, “you must understand, your safety is of our utmost concern. We’ve been working to perfect an army for you, as I promised.”

Dorothy’s scowl deepened. “I told you I wanted a real army, Tin, not this—this petting zoo.”

The Scarecrow stepped forward, interrupting smoothly. “Ah, Dorothy, of course. And that’s why the Woodman and I have worked day and night to create a new kind of soldier for you. Take a closer look, Your Eminence.”

The scowl lessened a little, and she stood up, sending the nail polish jar flying. The servant girl scurried after it frantically. She walked toward the mechanized Winkies, Toto racing back and forth between us, and studied them carefully.

“The Woodman will demonstrate their commands,” the Scarecrow prompted. I scrambled to my feet and ordered the Winkies to march around the room, and then to execute several coordinated maneuvers. Dorothy watched them with astonishment, clapping her hands in delight as they pivoted back and forth in front of her.

“But this is wonderful!” she cried. “You thought of this?” I began to answer, and then realized she was speaking to the Scarecrow.

“I had some assistance,” he said modestly. I waited for him to mention the hours I’d spent helping him, but he said nothing.

“You’ve done wonderfully,” Dorothy said, flinging her arms around him in an embrace that should have been mine. The ticking of my new heart pulsed faster, and I was filled with fury. I was the one who’d brought the Winkies, I was the one who’d had the idea to build an army for Dorothy, and I was the one who loved her. How dare he usurp the gratitude that should have been mine?

Dorothy released the Scarecrow and turned to face me. “Thank goodness I have someone useful around me.” She sighed.

“But, Dorothy,” I said quickly, “he couldn’t have done it without my help—or my Winkies. And the army was my idea, not his.”

“Oh, Tin,” she said, patting me gently on the shoulder. Her touch was wonderful. “I know you try, I really do. But you keep failing me. How can I possibly count on you? You have no idea how stressful it is trying to run an entire kingdom. It’s practically giving me a migraine, and I can’t even find a servant who can give me a decent foot rub. Do you have any idea the pressure I’m under?”

“No, of course not,” I said humbly. I felt awful. How could I live with myself if I was only adding to her burdens?

“So you see my problem,” she continued. “I need to trust you, Tin. You say that you want to defend me, and that’s very noble of you. I really do appreciate it. But you keep making silly mistakes, and people like the Scarecrow have to clean up after you. I want to appoint you head of my defense team, but I can’t give you that kind of responsibility unless you prove yourself worthy.”

I fell to my knees, clutching her dress. “I’ll do anything!” I cried. “Anything at all!” At that moment, Glinda swept smoothly into the room, her eyes full of concern.

“Dorothy, what on earth are you going on about? I can hear you all the way down the hall,” she said, looking from me to Dorothy to where the Scarecrow surveyed us, gloating. Then she saw the Winkies. “Oh,” she breathed, “what excellent work! Scarecrow and Woodman, you’ve outdone yourselves. They’re perfect protectors for the new ruler of Oz.”

Dorothy’s mouth snapped shut, and she looked at me in surprise. “You helped?”

“Yes, Dorothy,” I said quietly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked impatiently. “Honestly, Tin, I don’t know what to do with you sometimes. Where are the rest of them?”

“The rest of them?”

“Well, this is hardly what I’d call an army,” she said, her voice cooling noticeably. “Surely there are more?”

“Dorothy,” the Scarecrow said, “we’ve only just begun. You have to give us time.”

“Hurry up, then,” she said. “I haven’t got all day. Just imagine what it will be like when I have an army of my very own!” She twirled around the room like a little girl, and my heart soared. I wanted to do what I could so that she’d always be this happy. And once she was happy, she’d really, truly be mine. I wasn’t going to fail her again. I knew what I had to do.

“I will build you an army, Dorothy,” I said. “I’ll build you an army the likes of which Oz has never seen. No one will harm you, or even dare to try.”

Dorothy stopped her dance and threw her arms open wide. “If only Aunt Em and Uncle Henry could see me now!” she cried. Behind her, Glinda was smiling, although the smile didn’t reach her eyes. The Winkies were frozen at attention, their grotesque metallic hands to their foreheads in matching salutes. The Scarecrow was snickering next to me, and Toto yapped and ran around the room. Inside my chest, my new heart swelled with such joy that I thought it might burst out of its patchwork housing, and I could almost see the pulsing glow that matched the flaring red of Dorothy’s shoes like a beacon shooting out from my chest. I turned to the Scarecrow.

“Prepare your workshop,” I told him, loud enough for Dorothy to hear. “The soldiers and I ride out into the countryside tomorrow. Dorothy’s army must have new recruits.”

“The people aren’t going to like that,” the Scarecrow said quietly.

I heard rather than felt the ticking of my heart. “The people don’t have a choice,” I said, and Dorothy laughed in delight. For her, I would raze the villages of Oz to the ground if I had to. Everything was different now, and everything was going to keep changing. Dorothy had come back to Oz at last.

EXCERPT FROM NO PLACE LIKE OZ

SEE HOW DOROTHY’S RISE TO POWER BEGAN:

ONE

They say you can’t go home again. I’m not entirely sure who said that, but it’s something they say. I know it because my aunt Em has it embroidered on a throw pillow in the sitting room.

You can’t go home again. Well, even if they put it on a pillow, whoever said it was wrong. I’m proof alone that it’s not true.

Because, you see, I left home. And I came back. Lickety-split, knock your heels together, and there you are. Oh, it wasn’t quite so simple, of course, but look at me now: I’m still here, same as before, and it’s just as if I was never gone in the first place.

So every time I see that little pillow on Aunt Em’s good sofa, with its pretty pink piping around the edges and colorful bouquets of daisies and wildflowers stitched alongside those cheerful words (but are they even cheerful? I sometimes wonder), I’m halfway tempted to laugh. When I consider everything that’s happened! A certain sort of person might say that it’s ironic.

Not that I’m that sort of person. This is Kansas, and we Kansans don’t put much truck in anything as foolish as irony.

Things we do put truck in:

Hard work.

Practicality.

Gumption.

Crop yields and healthy livestock and mild winters. Things you can touch and feel and see with your own two eyes. Things that do you at least two licks of good.

Because this is the prairie, and the prairie is no place for daydreaming. All that matters out here is what gets you through the winter. A Kansas winter will grind a dreamer right up and feed it to the pigs.

As my uncle Henry always says: You can’t trade a boatload of wishes for a bucket of slop. (Maybe I should embroider that on a pillow for Aunt Em, too. I wonder if it would make her laugh.)

I don’t know about wishes, but a bucket of slop was exactly what I had in my hand on the afternoon of my sixteenth birthday, a day in September with a chill already in the air, as I made my way across the field, away from the shed and the farmhouse toward the pigpen.

It was feeding time, and the pigs knew it. Even from fifty feet away, I could already hear them—Jeannie and Ezekiel and Bertha—squealing and snorting in anticipation of their next meal.

“Well, really!” I said to myself. “Who in the world could get so excited about a bit of slop!?”

As I said it, my old friend Miss Millicent poked her little red face out from a gap of wire in the chicken coop and squawked in greeting. “And hello to you, too, Miss Millicent,” I said cheerily. “Don’t you worry. You’ll be getting your own food soon enough.”

But Miss Millicent was looking for companionship, not food, and she squeezed herself out of her coop and began to follow on my heels as I kept on my way. I had been ignoring her lately, and the old red hen was starting to be cross about it, a feeling she expressed today by squawking loudly and shadowing my every step, fluttering her wings and fussing underfoot.

She meant well enough, surely, but when I felt her hard beak nipping at my ankle, I finally snapped at her. “Miss Millie! You get out of here. I have chores to do! We’ll have a nice, long heart-to-heart later, I promise.”

The chicken clucked reproachfully and darted ahead, stopping in her tracks just in the spot where I was about to set my foot down. It was like she wanted me to know that I couldn’t get away from her that easily—that I was going to pay her some mind whether I liked it or not.

Sometimes that chicken could be impossible. And without even really meaning to, I kicked at her. “Shoo!”

Miss Millie jumped aside just before my foot connected, and I felt myself lose my balance as I missed her, stumbling backward with a yelp and landing on my rear end in the grass.

I looked down at myself in horror and saw my dress covered in pig slop. My knee was scraped, I had dirt all over my hands, and my slop bucket was upturned at my side.

“Millie!” I screeched. “See what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything!” I swatted at her again, this time even more angrily than when I’d kicked her, but she just stepped nimbly aside and stood there, looking at me like she just didn’t know what to do with me anymore.

“Oh dear,” I said, sighing. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. Come here, you silly hen.”

Millie bobbled her head up and down like she was considering the proposition before she hopped right into my lap, where she burrowed in and clucked softly as I ruffled her feathers. This was all she had wanted in the first place. To be my friend.

It used to be that it was all I wanted, too. It used to be that Miss Millicent and even Jeannie the pig were some of my favorite people in the world. Back then, I didn’t care a bit that a pig and a chicken hardly qualified as people at all.

They were there for me when I was sad, or when something was funny, or when I just needed company, and that was what mattered. Even though Millie couldn’t talk, it always felt like she understood everything I said. Sometimes it even almost seemed like she was talking to me, giving me her sensible, no-nonsense advice in a raspy cackle. “Don’t you worry, dearie,” she’d say. “There’s no problem in this whole world that can’t be fixed with a little spit and elbow grease.”

But lately, things hadn’t been quite the same between me and my chicken. Lately, I had found myself becoming more impatient with her infuriating cackling, with the way she was always pecking and worrying after me.

“I’m sorry, Miss Millicent,” I said. “I know I haven’t been myself lately. I promise I’ll be back to normal soon.”

She fluffed her wings and puffed her chest out, and I looked around: at the dusty, gray-green fields merging on the horizon with the almost-matching gray-blue sky, and all of it stretching out so far into nothing that it seemed like it would be possible to travel and travel and travel—just set off in a straight line heading east or west, north or south, it didn’t matter—and never get anywhere at all.

“Sometimes I wonder if this is what the rest of life’s going to be like,” I said. “Gray fields and gray skies and buckets of slop. The world’s a big place, Miss Millicent—just look at that sky. So why does it feel so small from where we’re sitting? I’ll tell you one thing. If I ever get the chance to go somewhere else again, I’m going to stay there.”

I felt a bit ashamed of myself. I knew how I sounded.

“Get yourself together and stop moping, Little Miss Fancy,” I responded to myself, now in my raspy, stern, Miss Millicent voice, imagining that the words were coming out of her mouth instead of my own. “A prairie girl doesn’t worry her pretty little head about places she’ll never go and things she’ll never see. A prairie girl worries about the here and now.”

This is what a place like this does to you. It makes you put words in the beaks of chickens.

I sighed and shrugged anyway. Miss Millie didn’t know there was anything else out there. She just knew her coop, her feed, and me.

These days, I envied her for that. Because I was a girl, not a chicken, and I knew what was out there.

Past the prairie, where I sat with my old chicken in my lap, there were oceans and more oceans. Beyond those were deserts and pyramids and jungles and mountains and glittering palaces. I had heard about all those places and all those things from newsreels and newspapers.

And even if I was the only one who knew it, I’d seen with my own eyes that there were more directions to move in than just north and south and east and west, places more incredible than Paris and Los Angeles, more exotic than Kathmandu and Shanghai, even. There were whole worlds out there that weren’t on any map, and things that you would never believe.

I didn’t need to believe. I knew. I just sometimes wished I didn’t.

I thought of Jeannie and Ezekiel and Bertha, all of them in their pen beside themselves in excitement for the same slop they’d had yesterday and would have again tomorrow. The slop I’d have to refill into the bucket and haul back out to them.

“It must be nice not to know any better,” I said to Miss Millicent.

In the end, a chicken is a good thing to hold in your lap for a few minutes. It’s a good thing to pretend to talk to when there’s no one else around. But in the end, if you want the honest-to-goodness truth, it’s possible that a chicken doesn’t make the greatest friend.

Setting Miss Millicent aside, I dusted myself off and headed back toward the farmhouse to clean myself up, change my dress, and get myself ready for my big party. Bertha and Jeannie and Ezekiel would have to wait until tomorrow for their slop.

It wasn’t like me to let them go hungry. At least, it wasn’t like the old me.

But the old me was getting older by the second. It had been two years since the tornado. Two years since I’d gone away. Since I had met Glinda the Good Witch, and the Lion, the Tin Woodman, and the Scarecrow. Since I had traveled the Road of Yellow Brick and defeated the Wicked Witch of the West. In Oz, I had been a hero. I could have stayed. But I hadn’t. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry were in Kansas. Home was in Kansas. It had been my decision and mine alone.

Well, I had made my choice, and like any good Kansas girl, I would live with it. I would pick up my chin, put on a smile, and be on my way.

The animals could just go hungry for now. It was my birthday, after all.

TWO

“Happy Swoot Sixtoon,” the cake said, the letters spelled out in smudged icing. I beamed up at my aunt Em with my brightest smile.

“It’s beautiful,” I said. I’d already changed into my party dress—which wasn’t that much different from the dress I’d just gotten all dirty in the field—and had cleaned myself up as best as I could, scrubbing the dirt from my hands and the blood from my knee until you could hardly tell I’d fallen.

Uncle Henry hovered off to the side, looking as proud and hopeful as if he’d baked it himself. He’d certainly helped, gathering the ingredients from around the farm: coaxing the eggs from Miss Millicent (who never seemed in the mood to lay any), milking the cow, and making sure Aunt Em had everything she needed.

“Sometimes I wonder if I didn’t marry a master chef!” Henry said, putting his arm around her waist.

Even Toto was excited. He was hopping around on the floor yipping at us eagerly.

“You really like it?” Aunt Em asked, a note of doubt in her voice. “I know the writing isn’t perfect, but penmanship has never been my strong suit.”

“It’s wonderful!” I exclaimed, pushing down the tiny feeling of disappointment that was bubbling in my chest. A little white lie never hurt anyone, and I didn’t doubt the cake would be delicious. Aunt Em’s food might not usually come out looking fancy, but it always tastes better than anything else.

Oh, I know that it’s how a cake tastes that matters. I know there’s no point in concerning yourself with what it looks like on the outside when you’ll be eating it in just a few minutes.

But as it sat lopsided on the table with its brown icing and the words “Happy Sweet Sixteen” written out so the e’s looked more like blobby o’s, I found myself wishing for something more.

I just couldn’t let Aunt Em know that. I couldn’t let her have even the smallest hint that anything was wrong. So I wrapped her up in a hug to let her know that it didn’t matter: that even if the cake wasn’t perfect, it was good enough for me. But then something else occurred to me.

“Are you sure it’s big enough?” I asked. “A lot of people are coming.” I had invited everyone from school, not that that was so many people, and everyone from all the neighboring farms, plus the store owners at every shop I’d been to on my last trip into town. I’d invited my best friend, Mitzi Blair, and even awful Suzanna Hellman and her best friend, Marian Stiles, not to mention a reporter from the Carrier who had taken a special interest in my life since the tornado. Plus, Suzanna would be dragging her horrible little sister, Jill, along.

Aunt Em glanced down nervously. “There was going to be another layer, dear, but we were running low on eggs . . . ,” she said, trailing off, her weathered face suddenly rosy with embarrassment.

Uncle Henry came quickly to the rescue. “I just won’t have a second helping,” he said, rubbing his belly, which is not small. “It wouldn’t hurt me to skip a first helping, come to think of it.”

My aunt swatted his arm and chuckled, her worry momentarily gone. All those years of hard Kansas life had taken their toll on her, but when she was around my uncle, her eyes still lit up; when he made a joke, she still laughed a laugh that sounded like it belonged to a girl my age. “You’d eat the whole thing if I let you!” He swiped a bit of frosting with his finger and grinned.

Seeing them together like that, happy and playful and still as much in love as they’d ever been, I felt a swell of affection for them, followed immediately by sadness. I knew that, once upon a time, they had been as young as I was. Aunt Em had wanted to travel the world; Uncle Henry had wanted to set off to California and strike gold. They just hadn’t had the chance to do any of those things.

Instead, they had stayed here, and when I asked them about those days now, they waved away my questions like they were ashamed to admit that they’d ever had dreams at all. To them, our farm was all there was.

Will I be like them, someday? I wondered. Happy with crooked cakes and gray skies and cleaning out the pig trough?

“I’m going to go hang the lanterns outside,” Henry said, walking to the door and reaching for his toolbox. “People expect this place to look nice. After all, they helped build it.”

“Only after you got it started,” Aunt Em reminded him.

After the tornado had swept our house away—with me in it—everyone had figured I was dead. Aunt Em and Uncle Henry had been heartbroken. They’d even started planning my memorial service.

Imagine that! My funeral! Well, sometimes I did imagine it. I imagined my teachers from school all standing up one by one to say what a wonderful student I was, that there was something truly special about me.

I imagined Aunt Em all in black, weeping silently into her handkerchief and Uncle Henry the very picture of stoic grief, only a single tear rolling down his stony face as he helped lower my coffin into an open grave. Yes, I know that without a body there could be no coffin, but this was a fantasy. And it was at that moment in my fantasy that Aunt Em would bolt up, wailing, and would race forward to fling herself in after my corpse, stopped only at the last minute by Tom Furnish and Benjamin Slocombe, two handsome farmhands from the Shiffletts’ farm. Tom and Benjamin would be crying, too, because of course, they both harbored a secret admiration for me.

Well, if one’s going to daydream, one might just as well make it a good one, don’t you suppose?

Of course, I know it’s vain, and petty, and downright spoiled of me to do such a thing as daydream about my own funeral. I know it’s downright wicked to take even the slightest pleasure in imagining the misery of others, especially my poor aunt and uncle, who have so little happiness in their lives as it is.

I try not to be vain and petty and spoiled. I certainly try not to be wicked (after my experiences with Wickedness). But we all have our bad points, don’t we? I might as well admit that those happen to be mine, and I can only hope to make up for them with the good ones.

There was no funeral anyway, so no harm was done. Just the opposite, in fact! When I showed up again a few days after the cyclone—without so much as a scratch on me, sitting by the chicken coop, which had somehow remained undisturbed through everything—people had assumed that my survival was some kind of miracle.

They were wrong. Miracles are not the same as magic.

But whether you want to call it a miracle or something else, every paper from Wichita to Topeka put me on the front page. They threw a parade for me that year, and a few months later I was asked to be the head judge at the annual blueberry pie contest at the Kansas State Fair. Best of all, because I came back from my adventures minus one house, everyone in town pitched in to build us a new one.

That was how we got this new house, to replace the old one that was still back in you-know-where. It was quite a spectacle to behold: it was bigger than any other for miles around, with a second story and a separate bedroom just for me, and even an indoor commode and a jaunty coat of blue paint, though that was just as gray as everything else in Kansas soon enough.

Henry and Em didn’t seem particularly happy about any of it. They were humbled, naturally, that our neighbors had done all this for us, especially seeing as how they had all suffered their losses in the cyclone, some of them bigger than ours. Of course we were grateful.

But when the neighbors had done their work and gone home, my aunt and uncle had examined all the unfamiliar extravagances and had concluded that the old house had suited them just fine.

“An indoor commode!” Aunt Em exclaimed. “It just doesn’t seem decent!”

How silly they were being. Grumbling about the gift that had been so kindly given to us.

On the other hand, I had to admit that even I felt that the new house left a few things to be desired. Nothing could compare to what I had seen while I had been gone. How do you go back to a two-bedroom farmhouse in Kansas when you’ve been in a palace made of emeralds?

Once you’ve seen castles and Munchkins and roads of yellow brick, once you’ve faced down monsters and witches and come face-to-face with true magic, well then, no matter how much you might have missed it while you were gone, the prairie can seem somewhat dull and—truly—downright dreary.

All I wanted to do upon my return was tell my aunt and uncle everything about what I’d seen. The whole time I’d been in Oz, I’d imagined Aunt Em’s amazed face when I told her about the fields of giant poppies that put you right to sleep, and I’d thought about how Uncle Henry would sputter and spit his coffee back into his cup when he heard about the town where all the people were made of china.

They hadn’t given me quite the reaction I’d been hoping for. In fact, they’d hardly reacted at all. Instead, they’d just exchanged a worried glance and told me that it must have been some fanciful dream I’d had when I hit my head during the cyclone. They warned me not to repeat the story, and to get some rest. They said nobody liked a tale-teller.

Never mind that a bump on the head didn’t explain where the house was now, or why no one had ever found it. And it didn’t explain how I’d gotten home. When I told them about the magical Silver Shoes that had carried me back across the Deadly Desert, they seemed even less convinced than ever. After all, the shoes had slipped from my feet somewhere along the way.

I can see why some people might have thought I was crazy, or a liar, or had made the whole thing up. Around here, they don’t believe in anything they can’t see with their own two eyes.

Aunt Em and I brought the cake into the living room and set it on the table by the modest spread of food she’d already laid out. As I looked at the room, all spruced up and decorated with a careful, loving hand, I reminded myself of how much they were doing.

The birthday party had been my aunt and uncle’s idea—I’d overheard them talking just a few weeks ago about how blue they thought I’d seemed lately, and how a big birthday party might be just the thing to cheer me up.

I’d asked them not to do it, of course. I knew we didn’t really have the money to spare.

Even so, I must admit that I was secretly pleased when they insisted on doing it anyway. As my “wild ride”—as so many people called it—had begun to recede further into memory, I was growing eager for something to break the monotony of the farm and school and then the farm again.

“Dorothy, what is your scrapbook doing out?” Aunt Em asked, noticing the book with all my newspaper clippings sitting on the table next to the buffet. “Your guests will be here any moment.”

I quickly picked the book up and moved it aside so that it didn’t fall victim to any smudges of icing or stray crumbs. “Oh,” I said. “I thought someone might like to look through it at the party. A lot of people who are coming were quoted in the articles about me, after all. It might be fun for them to see their names in print.”

Aunt Em didn’t appear to think that was a very good idea, but she didn’t try to dissuade me. She just shook her head and started humming one of her old songs again as she scurried around, busying herself with last-minute tasks.

I sat down and began to flip through the pages of my scrapbook myself. Toto hopped up into my lap and read along with me. At least I had him. He knew it was all real. He’d been there, too. I wondered if he missed it the same way I did.

THE GIRL WHO RODE THE CYCLONE.

That headline, from the Star, was my favorite. I liked the way it made me seem powerful, as if I’d been in control rather than just some little kid swept up by forces of nature.

In Oz, I hadn’t been just some little kid either. I’d been a hero. I had killed two witches and freed their subjects from tyranny; I’d exposed the humbug Wizard and restored order to the kingdom by helping my friend the Scarecrow, the smartest creature I’ve ever met, claim the throne.

If only those things were in my scrapbook!

Here, I knew that I would never, ever make as much of myself as I did in my short time in Oz. It just wasn’t possible. Here, it wasn’t even considered proper to think about such things.

And yet I had wanted to come back here. All those brave things I’d done: I wasn’t trying to be a hero. I was just trying to get home.

It would have been too cruel to leave Uncle Henry and Aunt Em all alone here, thinking that I was dead. It wasn’t all to spare their grief either. I would have missed them terribly if I had stayed. All the magic in the world—all the palaces and beautiful gowns and fields full of magical flowers—all the friends I’d found—could never have replaced the people who had taken me and raised me as their own after my parents had died. I would never have been able to be happy with them here and me there.

But sometimes I still wondered. Could there have been another way? Was this really home at all?

“Oh, Toto,” I said, closing the cover of the scrapbook harder than I intended to and tossing it aside onto the couch, where it landed just next to Aunt Em’s embroidered throw pillow. Maybe the words on that pillow were more right than I knew. Maybe you couldn’t go home again.

Either way, it would have been a nice consolation if I’d gotten to keep those shoes.

EXCERPT FROM DOROTHY MUST DIE

FOLLOW AMY GUMM’S MISSION TO TAKE DOWN DOROTHY:

ONE

I first discovered I was trash three days before my ninth birthday—one year after my father lost his job and moved to Secaucus to live with a woman named Crystal and four years before my mother had the car accident, started taking pills, and began exclusively wearing bedroom slippers instead of normal shoes.

I was informed of my trashiness on the playground by Madison Pendleton, a girl in a pink Target sweat suit who thought she was all that because her house had one and a half bathrooms.

“Salvation Amy’s trailer trash,” she told the other girls on the monkey bars while I was dangling upside down by my knees and minding my own business, my pigtails scraping the sand. “That means she doesn’t have any money and all her clothes are dirty. You shouldn’t go to her birthday party or you’ll be dirty, too.”

When my birthday party rolled around that weekend, it turned out everyone had listened to Madison. My mom and I were sitting at the picnic table in the Dusty Acres Mobile Community Recreation Area wearing our sad little party hats, our sheet cake gathering dust. It was just the two of us, same as always. After an hour of hoping someone would finally show up, Mom sighed, poured me another big cup of Sprite, and gave me a hug.

She told me that, whatever anyone at school said, a trailer was where I lived, not who I was. She told me that it was the best home in the world because it could go anywhere.

Even as a little kid, I was smart enough to point out that our house was on blocks, not wheels. Its mobility was severely oversold. Mom didn’t have much of a comeback for that.

It took her until around Christmas of that year when we were watching The Wizard of Oz on the big flat-screen television—the only physical thing that was a leftover from our old life with Dad—to come up with a better answer for me. “See?” she said, pointing at the screen. “You don’t need wheels on your house to get somewhere better. All you need is something to give you that extra push.”

I don’t think she believed it even then, but at least in those days she still cared enough to lie. And even though I never believed in a place like Oz, I did believe in her.

That was a long time ago. A lot had changed since then. My mom was hardly the same person at all anymore. Then again, neither was I.

I didn’t bother trying to make Madison like me anymore, and I wasn’t going to cry over cake. I wasn’t going to cry, period. These days, my mom was too lost in her own little world to bother cheering me up. I was on my own, and crying wasn’t worth the effort.

Tears or no tears, though, Madison Pendleton still found ways of making my life miserable. The day of the tornado—although I didn’t know the tornado was coming yet—she was slouching against her locker after fifth period, rubbing her enormous pregnant belly and whispering with her best friend, Amber Boudreaux.

I’d figured out a long time ago that it was best to just ignore her when I could, but Madison was the type of person it was pretty impossible to ignore even under normal circumstances. Now that she was eight and a half months pregnant it was really impossible.

Today, Madison was wearing a tiny T-shirt that barely covered her midriff. It read Who’s Your Mommy across her boobs in pink cursive glitter. I did my best not to stare as I slunk by her on my way to Spanish, but somehow I felt my eyes gliding upward, past her belly to her chest and then to her face. Sometimes you just can’t help it.

She was already staring at me. Our gazes met for a tiny instant. I froze.

Madison glared. “What are you looking at, Trailer Trash?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was I staring? I was just wondering if you were the Teen Mom I saw on the cover of Star this week.”

It wasn’t like I tried to go after Madison, but sometimes my sarcasm took on a life of its own. The words just came out.

Madison gave me a blank look. She snorted.

“I didn’t know you could afford a copy of Star.” She turned to Amber Boudreaux and stopped rubbing her stomach just long enough to give it a tender pat. “Salvation Amy’s jealous. She’s had a crush on Dustin forever. She wishes this were her baby.”

I didn’t have a crush on Dustin, I definitely didn’t want a baby, and I absolutely did not want Dustin’s baby. But that didn’t stop my cheeks from going red.

Amber popped her gum and smirked an evil smirk. “You know, I saw her talking to Dustin in third period,” she said. “She was being all flirty.” Amber puckered her lips and pushed her chest forward. “Oh, Dustin, I’ll help you with your algebra.”

I knew I was blushing, but I wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. It was true that I’d let Dustin copy my math homework earlier that day. But as cute as Dustin was, I wasn’t stupid enough to think I’d ever have a shot with him. I was Salvation Amy, the flat-chested trailer-trash girl whose clothes were always a little too big and a lot too thrift store. Who hadn’t had a real friend since third grade.

I wasn’t the type of girl Dustin would go for, with or without the existence of Madison Pendleton. He had been “borrowing” my algebra almost every day for the entire year. But Dustin would never look at me like that. Even at forty-pounds pregnant, Madison sparkled like the words on her oversize chest. There was glitter embedded in her eye shadow, in her lip gloss, in her nail polish, hanging from her ears in shoulder-grazing hoops, dangling from her wrists in blingy bracelets. If the lights went out in the hallway, she could light it up like a human disco ball. Like human bling. Meanwhile, the only color I had to offer was in my hair, which I’d dyed pink just a few days ago.

I was all sharp edges and angles—words that came out too fast and at the wrong times. And I slouched. If Dustin was into shiny things like Madison, he would never be interested in me.

I don’t know if I was exactly interested in Dustin, either, but we did have one thing in common: we both wanted out of Flat Hill, Kansas.

For a while, it had almost looked like Dustin was going to make it, too. All you need is a little push sometimes. Sometimes it’s a tornado; sometimes it’s the kind of right arm that gets you a football scholarship. He had been set to go. Until eight and a half months ago, that is.

I didn’t know what was worse: to have your shot and screw it up, or to never have had a shot in the first place.

“I wasn’t . . . ,” I protested. Before I could finish, Madison was all up in my face.

“Listen, Dumb Gumm,” she said. I felt a drop of her spit hit my cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. “Dustin’s mine. We’re getting married as soon as the baby comes and I can fit into my aunt Robin’s wedding dress. So you’d better stay away from him—not that he’d ever be interested in someone like you anyway.”

By this point, everyone in the hallway had stopped looking into their lockers, and they were looking at us instead. Madison was used to eyes on her—but this was new to me.

“Listen,” I mumbled back at her, wanting this to be over. “It was just homework.” I felt my temper rising. I’d just been trying to help him. Not because I had a crush on him. Just because he deserved a break.

“She thinks Dustin needs her help,” Amber chimed in. “Taffy told me she heard Amy offered to tutor him after school. Just a little one-on-one academic counseling.” She cackled loudly. She said “tutor” like I’d done a lap dance for Dustin in front of the whole fourth period.

I hadn’t offered anyway. He had asked. Not that it mattered. Madison was already steaming.

“Oh, she did, did she? Well why don’t I give this bitch a little tutoring of my own?”

I turned to walk away, but Madison grabbed me by the wrist and jerked me back around to face her. She was so close to me that her nose was almost touching mine. Her breath smelled like Sour Patch Kids and kiwi-strawberry lip gloss.

“Who the hell do you think you are, trying to steal my boyfriend? Not to mention my baby’s dad?”

“He asked me,” I said quietly so that only Madison could hear.

“What?”

I knew I should shut up. But it wasn’t fair. All I’d tried to do was something good.

“I didn’t talk to him. He asked me for help,” I said, louder this time.

“And what could he find so interesting about you?” she snapped back, as if Dustin and I belonged to entirely different species.

It was a good question. The kind that gets you where it hurts. But an answer popped into my head, right on time, not two seconds after Madison wobbled away down the hall. I knew it was mean, but it flew out of my mouth before I had a chance to even think about it.

“Maybe he just wanted to talk to someone his own size.”

Madison’s mouth opened and closed without anything coming out. I took a step back, ready to walk away with my tiny victory. And then she rolled into her heels, wound up, and—before I could duck—punched me square in the jaw. I felt my head throbbing as I stumbled back and landed on my butt.

It was my turn to be surprised, looking up at her in dazed, fuzzy-headed confusion. Had that just happened? Madison had always been a complete bitch, but—aside from the occasional shoulder check in the girls’ locker room—she wasn’t usually the violent type. Until now.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones.

“Take it back,” she demanded as I began to get to my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Amber a second too late. Always one to take a cue from her best friend, she yanked me by the hair and pushed me back down to the ground.

The chant of “Fight! Fight! Fight!” boomed in my ears. I checked for blood, relieved to find my skull intact. Madison stepped forward and towered over me, ready for the next round. Behind her, I could see that a huge crowd had gathered around us.

“Take it back. I’m not fat,” Madison insisted. But her lip quivered a tiny bit at the f-word. “I may be pregnant, but I’m still a size two.”

“Kick her!” Amber hissed.

I scooted away from her rhinestone-studded sandal and stood up just as the assistant principal, Mr. Strachan, appeared, flanked by a pair of security guards. The crowd began to disperse, grumbling that the show was over.

Madison quickly dropped her punching arm and went back to rubbing her belly and cooing. She scrunched her face up into a pained grimace, like she was fighting back tears. I rolled my eyes. I wondered if she would actually manage to produce tears.

Mr. Strachan looked from me to Madison and back again through his wire rims.

“Mr. Strachan,” Madison said shakily. “She just came at me! At us!” She patted her belly protectively, making it clear that she was speaking for two these days.

He folded his arms across his chest and lowered his glare to where I still crouched. Madison had him at “us.” “Really, Amy? Fighting with a pregnant girl? You’ve always had a hard time keeping your mouth shut when it’s good for you, but this is low, even for you.”

“She threw the first punch!” I yelled. It didn’t matter. Mr. Strachan was already pulling me to my feet to haul me off to the principal’s office.

“I thought you could be the bigger person at a time like this. I guess I overestimated you. As usual.”

As I walked away, I looked over my shoulder. Madison lifted her hand from her belly to give me a smug little wave. Like she knew I wouldn’t be coming back.

When I’d left for school that morning, Mom had been sitting on the couch for three days straight. In those three days, my mother had taken zero showers, had said almost nothing, and—as far as I knew—had consumed only half a carton of cigarettes and a few handfuls of Bugles. Oh, and whatever pills she was on. I’m not even sure when she got up to pee. She’d just been sitting there watching TV.

It used to be that I always tried to figure out what was wrong with her when she got like this. Was it the weather? Was she thinking about my father? Was it just the pills? Or was there something else that had turned her into a human slug?

By now, though, I was used to it enough to know that it wasn’t any of that. She just got like this sometimes. It was her version of waking up on the wrong side of the bed, and when it happened, you just had to let her ride it out. Whenever it happened, I wondered if this time she’d be stuck like this.

So when I pushed the door to our trailer open an hour after my meeting with the principal, carrying all the books from my locker in a black Hefty bag—I’d been suspended for the rest of the week—I was surprised to see that the couch was empty except for one of those blankets with the sleeves that Mom had ordered off TV with money we didn’t have.

In the bathroom, I could hear her rustling around: the faucet running, the clatter of drugstore makeup on a tiny counter. I guess she’d ridden it out again after all. Not that that was always a good thing.

“Mom?” I asked.

“Shit!” she yelped, followed by the sound of something falling into the sink. She didn’t come out of the bathroom, and she didn’t ask what I was doing home so early.

I dropped my backpack and my Hefty bag on the floor, slid off my sneakers, and looked over at the screen. Al Roker was pointing to my hometown on one of those big fake maps. He was frowning.

I didn’t think I’d ever seen America’s Weatherman frown before. Wasn’t he supposed to be reassuring? Wasn’t it, like, his job to make us feel like everything, including the weather, would be better soon? If not tomorrow then at some point during the extended ten-day forecast?

“Hey,” Mom said. “Did you hear? There’s a tornado coming!”

I wasn’t too worried about it. They were always predicting disaster around here, but although nearby towns had been hit a few times, Dusty Acres had always been spared. It was like we had cliché to shield us—Tornado Sweeps Through Trailer Park, Leaves Only an Overturned Barbecue. That’s something that happens in a movie, not in real life.

My mom emerged from the bathroom, fussing with her hair. I was glad to see her vertical again, freshly scrubbed with her face all done up, but I had to wince at the length of her skirt. It was shorter than anything I owned. It was shorter than anything Madison Pendleton owned. That could only mean one thing.

“Where are you going?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. “For three days, you’re one step away from a coma and now you’re heading to the bar?”

It was no surprise. In my mother’s world, there were only two pieces of scenery: the couch and the bar. If she wasn’t on one, she was in the other.

She let out an accusatory sigh. “Don’t start. I thought you’d be happy that I’m back on my feet again. Would you rather I just lie on the couch? Well, you might be content to mope around the house all day, but some of us have a life.” She fluffed up her already teased hair and began looking for her purse.

There were so many things wrong with everything she’d just said that I couldn’t even begin to process all the ways it was infuriating. Instead, I decided to try the sensible argument. “You’re the one who just told me there’s a tornado on the way. It’s dangerous. You could get hit by a tree or something. Won’t Tawny understand?”

“It’s a tornado party, Miss Smarty-Pants,” Mom said, as if that explained things. Her bloodshot eyes lit up as she spotted her purse lying on the floor next to the refrigerator and slung it over her shoulder.

I knew there was no point arguing when she got this way. “You need to sign this,” I demanded, holding out the slip of paper Strachan had given me. It was to show that she understood what I’d supposedly done today, and what the consequences were.

“I got suspended,” I told her.

It took her a few seconds to react, but when she did, her face registered not surprise or anger, but pure annoyance. “Suspended? What did you do?” Mom pushed past me again to get to her keys. Like I was just a thing that was in the way of something she wanted.

If we lived in a regular house, with one and a half bathrooms, I wondered, would she still hate me this much? Was resentment something that grew better in small spaces, like those flowers that Mom used to force to bloom inside in little vases?

“I got in a fight,” I said evenly. Mom kept staring. “With a pregnant girl.”

At that, Mom let out a long, whistling sigh and looked up at the ceiling.

“That’s just great,” Mom said, her voice dripping with something other than motherly concern.

I could have explained it to her. I could have told her exactly what happened; that it wasn’t my fault. That I hadn’t even hit anyone.

But the thing is, at that moment, I kind of liked having her think I’d done something wrong. If I was the kind of girl who got in fights with pregnant girls, it meant it was on her. And her stellar lack of parenting skills.

“Who was it?” Mom demanded, her plastic purse slamming into the counter.

“Madison Pendleton.”

She narrowed her eyes but not at me. She was remembering Madison. “Of course. That little pink bitch who ruined your birthday party.”

Mom paused and bit her lip. “You don’t see it, do you? She’s already getting hers. You don’t need to help it along.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who was suspended.”

Mom flung her hand out and gripped the air, mimicking a pregnant belly. “I give her a year. Two tops before she’s got a trailer of her own around the corner. That boy she’s with won’t stay. And she’ll be left with a little bundle of karma.”

I shook my head. “She’s walking around like she’s God’s gift. Like she and Dustin are still going to be prom king and queen.”

“Ha!” Mom hooted. “Now. But the second that kid comes, her life is over.” There was a pause I could drive a truck through.

For a split second, I thought of how things used to be. My before Mom. The one who’d dried my tears and challenged me to a cake-eating contest at that fateful birthday party. “More cake for us,” she’d said. That was when I was nine. After Dad left, but before the accident and the pills. It was the last time she’d even bothered remembering my birthday.

I didn’t know what to do when she acted like this. When we were almost having a normal conversation. When she almost seemed like she cared. When I almost saw some glimmer of who she used to be. I knew better but I leaned into the kitchenette counter anyway.

“One second, you have everything, your whole life ahead of you,” she said, fluffing her hair in the reflection from the stove. “And then, boom. They just suck it all out of you like little vampires till there’s nothing left of you.”

It was clear she wasn’t talking about Madison anymore. She was talking about me. I was her little vampire.

Anger pricked in my chest. Leave it to my mother to turn any situation into another excuse to feel sorry for herself. To blame me.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “You’re right. I’m the one who ruined your life. Not you. Not Dad. The fact that I’ve been taking care of you every day since I was thirteen—that was just my evil scheme to ruin everything for you.”

“Don’t be so sensitive, Amy,” she huffed. “It’s not all about you.”

“All about me? How could it be, when it’s always about you?”

Mom glared at me, and then there was a honk from outside. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. Tawny’s waiting.” She stormed to the door.

“You’re just going to leave me in the middle of a tornado?”

It wasn’t that I cared about the weather. I wasn’t expecting it to be a big deal. But I wanted her to care; I wanted her to be running around gathering up batteries for flashlights and making sure we had enough water to last through the week. I wanted her to take care of me. Because that’s what mothers do.

Just because I’d learned how to take care of myself didn’t mean I didn’t still feel panic setting in every time she left me like this—all alone, with no clue when she’d be back, or if she’d ever be back at all. Even without a tornado on the way, it was always an open question.

“It’s better out there than in here,” she snapped.

Before I could think of a good enough retort, she was gone.

I opened the door as she slid into the front seat of Tawny’s Camaro; I watched as Mom adjusted the mirror to look at herself and saw her catch a glimpse of me instead, just before the car vroomed away.

Before I could have the satisfaction of slamming the door myself, the wind did it for me. So maybe this tornado was coming after all.

I thought of Dustin and his wasted scholarship, and about my father, who’d left me behind just to get out of here. I thought of what this place did to people. Tornado or no tornado, I wasn’t Dorothy, and a stupid little storm wasn’t going to change anything for me.

I walked to my dresser, pushed up flush against the kitchen stove, and opened the top drawer, feeling around for the red-and-white gym sock that was fat with cash—the stash of money I’d been saving for an emergency for years: $347. Once the storm cleared, that could get me bus tickets. That could get me a lot farther than Topeka, which was the farthest I had ever gone. I could let my mother fend for herself. She didn’t want me. School didn’t want me. What was I waiting for?

My hand hit the back of the drawer. All I found were socks.

I pulled the drawer out and rifled through it. Nothing.

The money was gone. Everything I’d spent my life saving up for. Gone.

It was no mystery who’d taken it. It was less of a mystery what she’d spent it on. With no cash, no car, and no one to wave a magic wand, I was stuck where I was.

It didn’t matter anyway. Leaving was just a fantasy.

In the living room, Al Roker was back on TV. His frown was gone, sort of, but even though his face was now plastered with a giant grin, his jaw was quivering and he looked like he might start crying at any second. He kept chattering away, going on and on about isotopes and pressure systems and hiding in the basement.

Too bad they don’t have basements in trailer parks, I thought.

And then I thought: Bring it on. There’s no place like anywhere but here.

BACK ADS

DISCOVER
your next favorite read

MEET
new authors to love

WIN
free books

SHARE
infographics, playlists, quizzes, and more

WATCH
the latest videos

TUNE IN
to Tea Time with Team Epic Reads

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DANIELLE PAIGE is a graduate of Columbia University. Before turning to young adult literature, she worked in the television industry, where she received a Writers Guild of America Award and was nominated for several Daytime Emmys. She currently lives in New York City.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

BOOKS BY DANIELLE PAIGE

Novels

Dorothy Must Die

The Wicked Will Rise

Yellow Brick War

Novellas

No Place Like Oz

The Witch Must Burn

The Wizard Returns

Heart of Tin

The Straw King

Ruler of Beasts

Order of the Wicked

Collections

Dorothy Must Die: The Other Side of the Rainbow Collection

COPYRIGHT

HEART OF TIN. Copyright © 2015 by HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

ISBN: 978-0-06-240394-0

EPub Edition © July 2015 ISBN 9780062403940

Version 10182016

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

FIRST EDITION

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Canada

2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor

Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca

New Zealand

HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive

Rosedale 0632

Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz

United Kingdom

HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk

United States

HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

195 Broadway

New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com