Many of them held what looked like brains floating around in some kind of glowing green liquid. I stepped closer. They were pulsing. They were still alive, I realized in horror. It wasn’t just brains—there were other body parts, too, ears and hands and tiny little white wings. From baby monkeys? I shuddered.

I turned my attention to a wooden drafting table, which was papered with sketches and anatomical diagrams. There were monkeys, Kalidahs, a chicken, and a few other animals I didn’t even recognize.

I tore my eyes away and began looking for signs of actual life. “Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone here? Maude?”

I wasn’t really expecting an answer, but then I heard a noise, a barely audible moan coming from behind a metal door I hadn’t noticed in the back of the room, on the other side of the boxy machine. The moan came again, louder this time, and I knew that as afraid as I was, there was someone, or something, on the other side who had it a lot worse than me.

I held my breath before opening the door, picturing all the terrible things I might find.

The next room was smaller and filled entirely with rusty metal gurneys. They were caked in dried blood, but at least there were no bodies on them.

Then I saw her. In the back of the room, a tiny monkey in a frilly pink dress was cowering in a metal cage that was barely big enough to contain her. Feathers from her twisted, mangled wings poked through the bars.

“Maude?” I asked gently. “Is that you?”

She looked up at me with scared, big brown eyes. They looked like Ollie’s only minus the mischief. But the rest of her was not at all like Ollie. Her head was freshly shaved and her arms were wrapped with cloth bandages.

I crouched down next to her. “I’m here to get you out,” I said in the gentlest voice possible.

“Who . . . ?” she croaked wearily.

“I’m Amy. Ollie sent me.”

“Ollie?” Her eyes filled with momentary hope before clouding over again. “No,” she said. “He would never . . . why would he help me when I was so terrible to him?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” I asked.

“He was right about everything. I should have listened.” Her eyes rolled back into her head.

“Maude,” I said, snapping my fingers in her face. “Can you move? We need to get out of here.”

She nodded, but otherwise she didn’t budge. She was out of it; I’m pretty sure she thought I was a dream.

I started looking around for the keys to her cage, then realized I didn’t need them. The Scarecrow would know Maude had escaped, so screw it. I bashed the lock with my dagger until it broke open.

The banging seemed to wake Maude up a bit and her eyes focused on me. I leaned in and helped her out of her prison and onto the ground, but when I tried to lift her into my arms to carry her, she brushed my hands away.

“I can walk,” Maude said. As an afterthought, she reached over her shoulder and felt for her wings, like she had forgotten whether or not she still had them. As she brushed her fingers through the matted feathers, I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

She didn’t say anything—she just reached up and grabbed my hand and hobbled along beside me, past the gurneys and through the door into the main lab.

I could hear the crows outside, their mad ka-caws echoing down the passageway. We weren’t going to be able to leave that way.

“Is there another way out of here?” I asked.

Maude either didn’t hear my question or chose to ignore it. Her eyes had filled with rage. She was staring at the Scarecrow’s machine.

“Did he use that on you?” I asked, my voice somber.

Slowly, she nodded.

Hell with it. Why stop wrecking stuff now? I walked to the machine and shoved it over. It crashed loudly to the ground, its gears spilling out and spiraling across the floor like loose change. I looked back at Maude.

“He’ll only fix it,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “But I’d love to see the look on his stupid straw face when he finds it.”

Her cracked lips twitched, not quite smiling, but I thought I saw a spark of happiness in her tired eyes.

“What did he do to you? I asked. “What is the Scarecrow building down here?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember.”

She put a hand up to her shaved head, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. I couldn’t tell if it was physical or mental. Did it hurt to think? Or did it hurt to remember what had been done to her?

“He drained me . . .” Maude knuckled the back of her head. “He’s trying to make himself smarter.” I thought of Ozma and wondered if maybe the Scarecrow had drained her brain, too.

“But why?” I asked, looking around at all the equipment. The wall of specimens. It had to be something more than the Scarecrow having brain envy; nothing went on in this palace that didn’t somehow benefit Dorothy.

“He’s trying to . . . he’s going to . . .” She drifted off, going hazy.

And then, suddenly, the birds went silent.

“What has gotten into you? Be quiet, you dreadful beasts!” I heard the Scarecrow shouting at the ravens. He was back. The fire must’ve been put out. We were out of time.

“Oh no . . .” Maude moaned, her knees went weak, and I felt her almost collapse next to me.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me there’s another way out of here.”

She shook her head, her eyes drifting toward the staircase. “Only through there.”