Mombi and Gert exchanged glances. “I don’t like the sound of that at all,” Mombi growled.

“Is it possible . . .” Glamora trailed off and the witches stared at each other.

“Glinda brought Dorothy back to Oz,” Gert said. “We’ve assumed all along that she’s been orchestrating Dorothy’s return to power in order to put herself behind the throne. But if she’s been working with the Nome King . . .”

“Or under his control,” Mombi said quietly. “We have no real idea how powerful he is. He can move back and forth between Ev, Oz, and the Other Place. He’s wanted to take power in Oz for centuries.”

“Centuries?” I asked.

“He’s very, very old,” Glamora said. “Some say he’s even older than Ozma’s ancestor Lurline, the first fairy who came to Oz.”

Magic’s dangerous for outlanders. You’re not built for it. Nox had warned me what felt like a lifetime ago, when I’d begun my training in the secret underground caverns of the Wicked. “Dorothy’s not useful to him anymore because Oz’s magic has corrupted her,” I said. If Dorothy’s magic was so destructive it had transformed her from the sweet, innocent girl who’d written about her chickens and her dog into the bloodthirsty, insane tyrant she was now, what was it going to do to me? Because as soon as I started thinking of her as a real person, it was easy to see how much like me she had once been. The Nome King had told me I was stronger than Dorothy, but Oz’s magic had already turned me into a monster.

Gert nodded, reading my mind. “That settles it,” she said. “You can’t use magic any longer, Amy. It’s too dangerous.”

“But how can I fight without magic?” I protested. “You’re the ones who trained me. You made me into what I am. You want me to just pretend none of that ever happened?”

Nox had been quiet as we talked, but now he spoke up. “It’s not worth it, Amy,” he said. I remembered the conversation we’d had what felt like months ago but had just been a few days. If Oz’s magic turned me into another Dorothy, the Quadrant would have to kill me. And I knew Nox would do it, too. He’d see it as an act of mercy—and it would be. I thought of what Dorothy had done, and shivered. I’d rather die than end up like that. But how could I protect myself in Oz if I couldn’t use my powers? I had Dorothy’s shoes, but what if using them again was just playing further into the Nome King’s plans?

Suddenly, I thought of my mom. Magic for me was as destructive as pills had been for her. The same addiction—and the same results. I’d fallen in love with power the way she’d fallen in love with oblivion. I’d hated her for what her addiction had done to her—to us—but was I really any different?

Where was she now? What did she think had happened to me? What time was it in Kansas? How much of the school had been destroyed by the tornado? Someone must have told her I was gone again by now. Another tornado sweeping me away—what were the odds of that one? This time, Dustin had watched me get swallowed up by the storm. And Dustin—had he survived the battle with the Nome King? Eventually, the police would have to declare me dead. How did that stuff even work? How long would it take before my mom was forced to give up hope for good? And what then? Would she start using again with no reason to stop, no one to stay sober for? If she thought I was never coming back, there was no telling what she might do. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I was stuck in Oz with no ability to protect myself, dependent on a boy who couldn’t love me, unable to save my mom from the thing that was going to destroy her. It was too much to think about.

“I need some air,” I said, shoving my chair back from the table.

“Amy, you have to be careful,” Gert said. “Dorothy could be anywhere.”

I heard Mombi behind me, murmuring, “It’s all right, let her go. We can protect her if anything happens.”

I didn’t know where to go, so I took the first staircase up I saw, and then the next. After a few minutes of stumbling through the palace, I came to a big room that looked like it had once been a bedchamber. The air smelled faintly of machine oil. There wasn’t a bed, only a tall wooden cupboard at the far end of the room that was blackened as though someone had tried to set it on fire. I remembered the Tin Woodman’s chambers at the Emerald Palace, and I felt a creepy shiver up my spine as I realized what I’d found. He slept standing up. I was in his old bedroom.

Directly across from where I assumed he stood was a portrait of Dorothy. I had taken the heart right out of his chest, but standing here now in his room I realized—if he had never met Dorothy, he would never have become so evil. I wonder what I would be if I had never met Nox. <