Pleased. Sure. I was burning with anger. Being mauled by a lion and becoming one of the Scarecrow’s gruesome science projects was supposed to be an honor now? As the heat rose in my chest, I felt my invisible knife again, pulsing along with my heartbeat somewhere inside my body. It wanted to come out. It wanted to do some damage. I willed it away.

“Is the Lion still here? In the palace?”

“No,” Jellia replied as we turned a corner and headed up the grand staircase toward Dorothy’s quarters. “Glinda decided it would be best for him to return to the forest for the time being. We don’t want another incident, and he hasn’t been himself since—” Suddenly she stopped herself.

“Since what?” I’d wondered if he’d been affected by what Gert had done to him in the woods but I couldn’t see anything specific the day I saw him in the garden.

She looked away. “Never mind that. Aren’t you excited about your new assignment?”

I was excited, but not for the reasons Jellia thought I should be. I was scared, too. Getting close to Dorothy was part of my mission, but this was all happening so quickly.

I knew from listening to the other girls at mealtime that being one of Dorothy’s ladies-in-waiting was a coveted position, reserved only for the most cheerful and pliable of the servants.

“Why me?” I asked.

“You’ve impressed the princess over the years. And you’ve impressed me.” Jellia lowered her voice and leaned in close. “You work well under pressure, dear. You’ll need that.”

I thought about our encounter with the Tin Woodman in the tight confines of the garden annex. I assumed Jellia had blocked that incident out, stored it down in her special utility closet of denial. Apparently, it made more of an impression than I thought.

“That, and . . .” Jellia glanced over at me, sidelong, “the Wizard also put in a good word for you.”

I stopped in my tracks. “The Wizard?”

“Oh yes. He came to me just last night and told me how pleased he was with your dusting. True, the Wizard is always full of compliments, but not usually when it comes to housekeeping. You must have made quite the impression. I thought it was only fair that you get your chance.”

“I was just doing my job,” I said, still not sure what to make of all this. Was the Wizard trying to help me? Was he working for the Order, helping me make my way into Dorothy’s inner sanctum?

Jellia turned to me and looked me up and down, mistaking my confusion for reluctance. “If you aren’t up for this, Astrid, I’m sure any of the other girls would jump at the chance.”

“No, of course I am. It’s just—poor Hannah.”

“This isn’t the time for mourning. We go on,” she scolded. “We only have one job, and that’s to please Dorothy.”

Yeah, Jellia kinda needed a slap. But all these maids were so brainwashed, I couldn’t fault her for being callous.

We arrived at the door to Dorothy’s private chambers. It was green and heavy and gaudy as hell, carved from solid emerald and etched with an ornate floral pattern, the grooves lined with gold and jewels.

Jellia gave me a last once-over before we entered.

“Here,” she said, digging into the pocket of her apron and pulling out a little gold pot. “We’re not really supposed to use it, but just a little bit won’t hurt.” She unscrewed the lid and held it out to me.

I cautiously dipped my finger inside and came back with a glob of shimmering, greasy stuff that reminded me of lip gloss. Indigo’s face popped into my head and I closed my eyes for a second, remembering what she’d told me about it. I smeared it across my lips, feeling a tingle as the PermaSmile took effect. It wasn’t exactly comfortable—it felt like the corners of my mouth were being held apart by clothespins—but I guessed that was better than accidentally letting Dorothy see me frown.

I returned the canister to Jellia and she took a little for herself, refreshing her smile before placing the goop back in her apron. When her hand came back out, she handed me a silver hairbrush.

“Remember—it’s a thousand strokes. Not a thousand and one and not nine hundred ninety-nine. Don’t lose count. Dorothy will know. She always does—we’ve lost more than one girl that way. If there’s one thing to say about Hannah, it’s that she certainly could count.”

Jellia knocked on the door and, after getting no response, pushed it open. As she entered, she looked over her shoulder and whispered back at me with one more bit of advice. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don’t touch the shoes.”

Dorothy’s room was wall-to-wall pink. Pepto-Bismol pink, cotton-candy pink, sunset pink, and every nauseating shade in between. A canopied bed was encircled with pink silken drapes; the floor was wall-to-wall pink shag carpet; and the ceiling overhead was covered in what looked like pink rhinestones that would probably make you go blind if you stared at them too long.

If Madison Pendleton ever made it to Oz, I thought, she could probably get a job as Dorothy’s personal interior decorator.

In the center of the room, a few feet from the bed, some kind of green powder had been sprinkled onto the carpet in a wide circle. Inside it, a little black terrier was racing around in excitement, chasing his own tail.

I knew exactly who that was. Toto. When he spotted us, he bared his tiny teeth at me and growled.

Jellia stepped carefully around him. I did the same, and as I did, Toto lunged at me but hit an invisible barrier. Undaunted, he got back up on his little feet and tried again. I jumped, despite myself.