Dorothy Must Die (34 page)

Authors: Danielle Paige

BOOK: Dorothy Must Die

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Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. It didn’t matter whose fault it was. It didn’t matter about the why of it all. Life isn’t fair. And I wasn’t doing this for myself. I was doing it for Indigo, and for Maude, and for Jellia, and for everyone else who had suffered because of Dorothy. People like Dorothy couldn’t be allowed to run things. They didn’t deserve a place like Oz.

My knife crackled with blue energy as I plunged it down. It sank into the Tin Woodman like a needle puncturing a balloon.

As I did it, his face collapsed in agony. He started to cry in earnest—sobbing really, his body heaving in pain. He began to look strangely human.

“Please,” he managed to spit out. “Please take pity on me.”

It was too late. I sliced diagonally across his chest and then drew the knife out only to plunge it right back in, drawing an
X
along his left side with the blade. It made a satisfying hissing noise, and met with almost no resistance. It was as simple as popping the top on a can of soda. In the end, he was only made of tin.

His jaw continued to open and close, but he wasn’t speaking anymore.

I reached into the hole I’d just made and found his heart. It was soft and velvety but a little slimy, too. I yanked it, and there was a snapping sound as it came free of the threads of artificial muscle that had held it in place.

The Tin Woodman stopped moving entirely. His eyes were wide and bulging, his face frozen in place, now a record of his fear and pain. It reminded me of the statues in the sculpture garden in the palace.

I held the heart in front of me. I had done it. It was glowing and glittering, pulsing in my palm.

“Give it here, little dear,” a voice said. “Don’t you worry. Everything will be all right as long as you hand it over.”

I spun my head around in surprise and saw Glinda standing right behind me in her frilly pink gown. The only thing that suggested everything was less than perfect was the smeared crimson around her mouth—it could’ve been messily applied lipstick, but it looked an awful lot like blood.

I jumped to my feet, still clutching the heart, and prepared to fight again. But before I could attack, a bolt of green lightning snapped through the air and hit Glinda right in the stomach. As she lurched backward, she pulled a wand tipped with a glowing star from her bodice.

“Amy!” the Wizard shouted. “I’ll hold off Glinda. Take Ozma! Ollie and Maude will take you to the rest of the monkeys.”

I whirled around. Ozma?

And then I saw. The green bubble that the Wizard had built around Pete to protect him was dissolving, and as it did, his body began to dissolve, too. Where the mysterious gardener who was my friend had been just a moment ago, Oz’s One True Princess now stood. She blinked.

“Amy,” she said. “Amy Amy Amy Amy.”

Just like I’d been hiding behind Astrid’s face, Ozma had been hiding behind Pete’s.

“Duck!” the Wizard screamed, and I reflexively followed his instructions just as a neon-pink beam of magical energy crackled above my head.

“How . . . ,” I started to say, staring at Ozma, but then the Wizard sent another one of his bolts shooting for Glinda just as Ollie swooped down from out of the sky and scooped me into his arms, carrying me up and away. I looked over my shoulder and saw Maude, carrying Ozma, right behind us. On the ground, the Wizard was locked in battle with Glinda.

In the distance, the Emerald Palace was burning, alight with flames.

I wondered if Nox was still in there. I wondered where Mombi and Glamora were.

But what I really wanted to know as we soared into the clouds, the jeweled city burning below us and the Tin Woodman’s evil heart still pulsing in my hand, was where Dorothy was. I didn’t know what was going on or where I was going, but I knew one thing: this wasn’t over. Even if I had failed tonight, at least I was one step closer. No matter how long it took—no matter who I had to destroy first—Dorothy was going to die.

Writing this book, stepping onto the Yellow Brick Road, has been the most incredible of journeys, and one that I could not have walked alone.

Special thanks to my beautiful family. My mom and dad and sister, Andrea, who have taken every step down every road with me, no matter what the color, with unwavering love and support. And who have always dreamed bigger for me than I have for myself. I share this and everything that comes after with them. Mom, you showed me how to love, to read, to write, and to try.

Thanks to my brilliant editor Bennett Madison, without whom Dorothy would not have been possible. His encyclopedic knowledge of all things Oz and his belief in Dorothy and me made him more than an editor—he’s an invaluable creative resource and friend.

James Frey for his amazing support and faith in this book.

To my amazing team at Harper. I am so lucky to have Tara Weikum, Jocelyn Davies, and Chris Hernandez, whose enthusiasm for Dorothy and support for me has made this all a dream, and whose fabulous editorial instincts and insights helped shape Dorothy and bring Oz into focus.

Ray Shappell for the gorgeous cover.

Sandee Roston and the terrific publicity team at Harper. Thanks for educating me and for giving Dorothy such an extraordinary amount of love and attention.

To my friends—

Lauren Dell, my forever friend, for being there from the beginning and still being here now. Annie Kojima Rolland, for saying you should really write a book before anyone else did, and for giving me a second family to love. Paloma Ramirez, for really becoming my friend a million years after we were floormates at Columbia. Leslie Dye, for understanding. Leslie Rider, for listening and for worshipping at the same altar of perseverance and loyalty. Carin Greenberg, for showing me how it’s done and for fancy lunches and Great American ones. Jeanne Marie Hudson for advice and last minute photographers. And Bonnie Datt, for being on call, with empathy and humor, advice and heart . . . who knew that a Nanette Lepore dress could be the start of a beautiful and absolutely essential friendship.

To the rest of my girls’ night girls, Lexi, Lisa, Sarah, Kristin, and Megan. My friends from the soap world, especially Jill Lorie Hurst, who was my very first mentor and is still a constant friend and cheerleader in my life. Claire Labine, Jim Brown, Barbara Esensten, Paul Rauch, and Tina Sloan, who always inspires and advises and shines.

And to the readers, thank you, thank you, thank you for picking up this book. I hope it has what I love in a book—takes you to another place, makes you think, makes you feel, and gives you a touch of magic.

To Josh Willis, Don and Sandy Goodman, Sue and Harry Kojima, Chris Rolland, Kerstin Conrad, Nancy Williams Watt, Jim and David Sarnoff, Josh Sabarra, Paul Ruditis, and to the many friends and family members not included here, but are so loved and appreciated!

And special thanks to Judy Goldschmidt who has been the most generous of friends and has opened countless doors for me. I am forever grateful.

To L. Frank Baum, for creating Dorothy and Oz. I hope he wouldn’t mind too much that I borrowed her for a little while.

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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.

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BOOKS BY DANIELLE PAIGE

No Place Like Oz: A Dorothy Must Die Prequel Novella

(Available as an ebook)

CREDITS

HAND LETTERING BY ERIN FITZSIMMONS

COPYRIGHT

DOROTHY MUST DIE

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