As quickly as it had come upon them, the thunderstorm dissipated into a few scattered clouds that veiled the bright sun and cast long shadows across the now-chilly meadow. Hex shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. Iris gaped at the staircase, her expression so comical that Hex would have laughed if he himself had not been filled with fear at the sight of it.

“This is as far as we go,” Pete said calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “I’ll see Iris safely to the edge of the Sea of Blossoms, and then I must return to the palace. I’ve already been away far too long. Dorothy will be suspicious.”

“What about me?” Hex said, his voice more plaintive than he would have liked.

“I wouldn’t go down there if you paid me,” Iris said vehemently.

“You’re not the one who has to,” Pete said to her. He pointed to Hex’s pack. “Change into the clothes you brought with you before you go,” he said. “You won’t need anything else.”

Hex swallowed. “What if I refuse?”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “If you refuse? Do you really want to wander around forever like the village idiot, never knowing who you are and where you came from?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I’m happy this way.”

Pete shrugged. “In that case, you’re no help to us. I’ll take away your protection—and your disguise. There are a lot of people in Oz who won’t be too happy to see you as you are—and you won’t even know why, or who to protect yourself from.”

“You’d leave me to die?”

“We do what’s necessary for the greater good of Oz,” Pete said dismissively. “Nothing comes without sacrifice.”

Iris was looking back and forth between the two of them, her eyes wide. “I think you should probably do what he says,” she said to Hex. “He sounds kind of serious.” She limped forward and stuck out a paw. After a minute, Hex realized she meant for him to shake it, and obliged. “You started out kind of a rat,” she said. “But then you made up for it. You’re not so bad, human. Thanks for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, bemused. “Good luck with your—”

“Double-entry accounting is not a matter of luck,” she said. “It is an operation of skill.” She limped off toward the Sea of Blossoms, not looking back to see if Pete was following.

“Good luck,” Pete said. “Iris is right, you know. You are doing a pretty good job lately, for a human.” His tone had the same begrudging respect he’d had back in the clearing, after Hex had fought the Lion to save Iris.

“Can’t you at least warn me what the last test will be?” Hex asked.

Pete laughed. “You should know better by now than to even ask. But when it comes time for you to make a choice, remember: you’re the Wizard. Once you ruled Oz, and now Oz is a part of you. Think about that, before you accept any gifts that are offered you.”

With that cryptic remark, Pete turned to follow Iris. “Good-bye!” Hex called after him, but he didn’t turn around or acknowledge Hex’s farewell. “And thanks for nothing,” Hex muttered under his breath. He dug his old suit out of the pack Pete had left him, feeling a little silly, and changed behind a tree—as if there was anyone around for miles who could see him. He adjusted his top hat on his head and straightened his jacket. The clothes might make the man, but they didn’t tell him anything new about who he was. With that, he laid the pack tidily under the nearest tree, took a deep breath, and started down the stairs.

ELEVEN

Although the lightning had opened up the earth just moments ago, the staircase into the earth seemed ancient. The steps were as worn as if generations of feet had passed over them. Torches burned along the walls at intervals just regular enough to light the way, but their flame was cold and blue, not the cheery orange of real fire, or even the flickering multihued warmth of Pete’s magical campfire. The air was chilly, and Hex pulled his jacket close.

The staircase ended at last at a long, dim corridor that stretched before him into more darkness. He looked around him for some kind of light, but the torches were firmly fastened to the walls. Did he have the magic to make a lantern? Even as he thought it, the air around him sparked and crackled, crystalizing into a kerosene lantern with a metal handle and a cheerful golden flame. He plucked it out of midair: it was solid and unmistakably real. What else could he conjure up? A five-course dinner? A trip home? A fur coat to stave off the chill? But no matter how he concentrated, nothing else happened. Magic, apparently, was fickle. No surprise there. He held the lantern aloft, advancing cautiously down the corridor. After a few minutes, the hallway abruptly ended in a rough wall. He stared in disbelief at the wall. He rapped it with his knuckles: solid stone. Was he supposed to cast a spell? Say a magic word? He racked his brains for any kind of clue Pete had given him, anything that would indicate what he was supposed to do next, but came up with nothing. He was at a literal dead end.

Well, he thought, no one could say he hadn’t tried. He’d done his best to meet the test, and nothing had happened. There was no reason for him to stick around in this big, empty hall. Pete would have to understand. Maybe Pete wouldn’t even know—he could find a nice village somewhere, settle down. Perhaps he’d try being a farmer, or a grocer. What did people do for work in Oz? Maybe he didn’t even need to work, if he was such a powerful magician. He could get a nice set of robes and a wand, maybe teach himself to fly. He could visit Iris and the monkeys, impress them with his powers. Perhaps Queen Lulu would award him some kind of honorary decree. He’d be esteemed above all other humans, loved—and maybe feared, just a little—by all.