“The road is wise in its own way,” Lurline said. “As I told you, there is much still that is not clear to me. I’m a fairy, not a clairvoyant.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “But I do know that Langwidere is crucially important to your quest. You must gain her trust.”

“She hates us,” I said.

“She is hurt,” Lurline said simply. “More than you can imagine. So are you. In fact, so is Dorothy. But as you are learning, my dear, we must come to terms with the wounds of our past if we are to survive the future. And I have some hopeful news that will cheer you.”

The air in front of me shivered and almost solidified. It was as if I was flying toward a giant window that stayed just out of reach. And behind the solid barrier, I could see—

“Is that Oz?” I gasped, recognizing the ruins of the Emerald City where Ozma had held her coronation. Hundreds of tiny figures surged back and forth. I realized I was watching a battle.

“It is indeed, and right now there is a great battle,” Lurline’s voice said gravely, reading my thoughts. “Look more closely, child. All is not yet lost.”

The vision on the other side of the window sharpened and zoomed in. I saw battalions of Glinda’s soldiers in their identical armor, wielding weapons and fighting like demons.

But they were battling my friends. There was Lulu, whirling through the fray, her pistol firing shot after shot and her mouth open. Although I couldn’t hear anything, I knew from the look on her face that her howl was one of glee. Winkies, Munchkins, and monkeys—Winged and Wingless Ones—battled side by side, matching Glinda’s soldiers blow for blow. Gert was standing in the middle of them all, leveling a dozen of Glinda’s soldiers with an appropriate pink wave of smoke.

Despite the chaos, I could see it: Glinda’s army was losing. It was a beautiful sight. For the first time in a long time, something that felt like hope flared up in my chest.

And then the vision shifted to a different part of the battlefield, and this time I gasped in surprise: Ozma hovered over the melee, her beautiful wings unfurled, hurling bolts of magic at Glinda’s army. And beside her was Mombi.

“Mombi’s—Mombi’s alive?” I said in shock. I couldn’t wait to tell Nox. I had been terrified by her the first moment I met her—purple webs and all. But I was glad she was here—and I knew Nox would be, too.

The figure next to Mombi turned and I recognized the gorgeous profile that once upon a time I had crushed on before I fell for Nox. Pete.

“Pete is fighting for us?”

“Ozma and Pete are still connected, you know,” Lurline said. “He betrayed you to save himself. But the guilt haunts him still.”

“It should,” I muttered.

“And Mombi survived the Nome King’s attack. He was distracted trying to rescue Dorothy from the Emerald Palace. Ozma’s army is fighting the last battle of Oz. She is a credit to us all.” Lurline’s voice was filled with pride.

And then I almost shouted out a warning: Glamora was zooming toward Ozma on a wave of crackling pink magic. There was no mistaking the truth now: all of Glamora’s kind benevolence was gone. Her face was twisted and evil, and the terrible scar that Glinda had given her looked ugly and raw, as if her sister’s controlling her body had opened the wound all over again.

But Ozma saw her coming and was ready. She moved her hands, and a web of golden threads spun itself around her as Glamora hurtled forward. Glamora crashed into Ozma’s net in a burst of sparks, but Ozma’s defenses held. And when Glamora pulled away I could see a network of fine, smoking lines all over her body where Ozma’s web had burned her.

The witch and the fairy clashed again and again. And while Ozma looked fresh and strong, Glamora was clearly flagging.

“The magic holding her to her sister is exhausting her,” Lurline said. “Glinda has warped too much power for too long, and now it is costing her. Stealing magic from Oz, enslaving Munchkins, refusing death when it was her time . . .” I could feel disapproval in Lurline’s voice, but there was something more than that, too.

Regret.

“Is there another way to stop her?” I asked. I was watching Ozma battle Glamora toward the ground but I was also thinking of someone else who needed to be stopped.

Lurline sighed. I could almost feel her shrug.

“Power will always corrupt those who have not learned to serve it properly,” Lurline said. “What is happening now has happened before, and what has happened before will happen again.”

“The same thing?” I asked in astonishment.

“Some cycle of it,” Lurline said.

I reflected on that as, in front of me, Ozma struck the final blow. A powerful bolt of golden lightning hit Glamora in the chest and knocked her out of the sky. As the witch lay powerless on the ground, Ozma extended her hands. I turned my head away, not wanting to watch the killing blow.

I had no love for Glinda. But Glamora had once been my friend. And whatever she was now, I didn’t want to see her suffer. Although I believed that the Order was wrong in trying to use our love to move Nox and me around like chess pieces, I loved the witches—all of them. They had taught me about magic. They had helped me shed Salvation Amy and become me.

“Isn’t there something you can do?” I asked desperately.

Lurline shook her head. “It’s up to her now. Glinda and Glamora have been battling for so very long. Imagine that much Good and that much Wicked occupying the same body. But you should look now.” Reluctantly, I raised my head.

Ozma’s face was peaceful and calm. Almost gentle. Rays of golden light flowed from her fingers, wrapping Glamora in ropy cords that solidified in front of my eyes. Within her bonds, Glamora’s form grew blurry and indistinct.

And then Ozma lowered her arms with a fierce motion, shouting an incantation I couldn’t hear, and Glamora and her bonds disappeared.

“She didn’t kill her,” I breathed. “But what if she escapes?”

“What if she does?” Lurline said. “She will remember Ozma’s mercy. And, while it might not shift the course of what she chooses next, the balance of compassion will be preserved.”

Compassion, I thought. Not Good. Not Wicked.

Forgiveness. And empathy. And love. But who had she saved? Was it Glinda or Glamora?

Ozma looked up from the battlefield and for the briefest second her eyes met mine. She squinted—and then smiled.

“Good luck, Amy,” she mouthed.

“She can see me?”

“She can see me,” Lurline corrected. “But she knows you are with me now. Don’t lose heart, Amy. Your path lies through Ev. You must complete the task you were brought here to do. You must defeat Dorothy.”

The vision of Oz disappeared as if someone had flicked off a television.

“I couldn’t do it, Lurline,” I said. “I couldn’t kill her.”

And then I realized what she’d said.

Not kill Dorothy.

Defeat her.

I was right. There was another way. That was what Lurline was trying to tell me. That was why she’d shown me the battle Ozma had just fought. The Wicked had been wrong. Killing Dorothy wasn’t the only way to defeat her. But if that was true, it was up to me to find another way.