I gave him an in your dreams look. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe you did go crazy out here.”

“Maybe,” he said. Then something struck him. “Hey,” he said with a touch of excitement in his voice. “I want to show you something.”

I nodded, figuring that it would be something useful. Something to lead us where we were going. Instead, Nox pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it, carefully smoothing the creases.

“I searched this island up and down. Didn’t find anything. Except this.” He handed me the paper with a cockeyed expression that was both proud and bashful.

It was a photograph. In it, a chubby kid—really just a baby—sat wedged between two handsome grown-ups. On the left, the man was stern-mouthed, but his eyes were twinkling like he was laughing inwardly at a secret joke. The woman, on the right, was beautiful, but with a certain goofiness to her, which was accentuated by the fact that her hair, like Nox’s, was so wild that it looked like she’d just stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Meanwhile, the kid looked like he would never in his life be able to take anything in the world seriously. His face was all scrunched up like he couldn’t stop laughing long enough for the shutter to snap. If it weren’t for the full head of hair so black that it was almost purple, I would never have guessed.

“It’s you,” I said.

Nox nodded, blushing furiously. I didn’t think I had ever seen Nox blush before. It was basically adorable.

“Are those your parents?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t even really remember what they looked like, until I found it. It must have gotten lost when our village got ransacked.”

I looked at the picture again, this time trying to imagine another life for Nox. In the picture, he was just a little kid who couldn’t stop laughing, who had two parents who loved him, and all the opportunity in the world to look forward to. It broke my heart, a little bit, to see him like this, knowing what was in store for him—knowing how the picture would have been different if it had been taken just a few years later.

I wondered who he would have become if Dorothy had never come back to Oz. If his parents hadn’t been murdered when Dorothy’s soldiers had raided his village, if he hadn’t had to be rescued by Mombi and raised to fight, if he’d been able to make his own choices about what he wanted for his life, rather than having them all made for him.

“Things should have been different for you,” I said quietly. I wasn’t sure he would know what I meant, but he did.

“We’re the same like that,” he said. “Aren’t we?”

I had never thought of it that way, but I realized that he was right, sort of. I hadn’t grown up in Oz or had my life ripped apart by a monster like Dorothy Gale, but it’s not like things had gone the way they could have for me either.

Once upon a time, my mother, my father, and I had all lived together in a house that was full of sunlight. On Sunday mornings, I would wake up to the smell of pancakes and bacon and the country station turned up loud to George and Tammy singing a duet, and even when things hadn’t been completely perfect, it had always felt a little bit like the world was just waiting for me to step out into it.

That was before my dad lost his job, before he’d left, before we’d lost the house. It was before my mom’s accident, and the drugs that took her away, too. Before the tornado that brought me to Oz, whether I wanted it to or not.

If those things hadn’t happened, would I have grown up into someone happier and easier, with a smile, someone who could just laugh things off? Someone prettier, more popular, someone who didn’t always feel a little uncomfortable in my own skin?

Would I still have had this angry thing always coiled up inside of me like a rattlesnake itching to strike?

I looked at Nox.

“Sometimes I wish things had been easier for me,” I said. “But in the weirdest way, I’m kind of glad for it, too. Because I don’t think I would have wanted to be anything else.”

“I know,” he said. “Same.” We didn’t have to say anything else. He put a hand on mine and let it rest there for a while.

In its own way, I realized, the island was beautiful. Like us.

It was messed up to think it, but it felt like everything—for now at least—was perfect.

“Do you think Glamora’s somewhere on the island, too?” I wondered aloud.

“Not likely,” Nox said. “I’ve pretty much covered the whole place. There’s no one here. The city is just past the trees. It’s unbelievable; I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I saw the skyscrapers from the water,” I said. “I didn’t realize there was a whole city though. I wonder how it got here. You don’t think there’s anyone hiding out in there?”

“I guess you never know, but if there is, they’re hiding pretty good. Anyway, Glamora’s got to be okay. She’s second to Mombi when it comes to sorcery. Sometimes first. I’m sure she found her way out of the in-between just fine. She’s probably biding her time, resting up until she gets her power back. Like Mombi.”

I hoped he was right.

“So what do you think we do next?” I wondered, casting my eyes across the terrain, trying to see where Ozma had gone. She was still digging through the piles of lost objects, but she was doing it aimlessly, like she had lost whatever trail she’d been following all this time.