“Pay them no mind,” Jasyn says, pressing his palm into my back. “Just a couple of old crows on about the latest gossip. Odessa has heard it all before.”
At the street’s end lies a circular square, and at its crest looms a building that could only be governmental with its iconic columns and domed roof. It could almost be mistaken for a cathedral in Tuscany, but much less grand and not at all pretty. Cold. Structured. Not a place I’d visit by choice.
And we’re headed straight for it.
Odessa has to take two mini steps on every stair up to the main double doors. What did Jasyn call her before? Governor? Perhaps she’s in charge here. The thought should make me feel more secure. Too bad it doesn’t.
A security guard sporting a pea-colored jacket with brass buttons eyes her through a pair of comical square glasses. “What’s your business here, Munchkin?”
Rude. She has a name, guy.
Odessa pushes her own petite glasses up her nose, apparently not at all bothered by the guard’s degradation attempt. “I’m here to speak with Her Grace.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The man is tall, but his nasally voice makes him less intimidating.
“Now is not the time for prejudice, Reginold. Think what you want of my people, but I assure you we were not responsible for the most recent Shadowalker attack.”
Shadowalkers lurk here too? Is it the same throughout the Reflections?
“Of course they weren’t.” Reginold’s assurance does not match his cynical manner. “Just like you Munchkins had nothing to do with the southern drought. You think because you have a longer life span than the rest of us, you own the place. Slower to age doesn’t equal a higher intelligence, shrimp.”
Now he’s gone too far. I don’t know Odessa well, but no one deserves to be treated with such disdain.
Ouch. Hypocrite. I treated Ky that way, didn’t I? But wasn’t my disdain somewhat justified? I mean, he did make me black out and shove me into the back of his car. I’d say I have more than a little right to hold something against him.
The fists I’m just realizing my hands have formed loosen. What is wrong with me? If I can argue justification in hatred, what’s to keep anyone and everyone else from doing the same?
Nothing. And this, oh my chronicles, this is where the birth of a Shadowalker begins.
Even I, the vessel of the Verity, am not immune. No more than the original vessel was able to stop the darkness once she chose to release it. Well, hate to break it to you, dark side, but I won’t be giving in to my Vader anytime soon. The change starts now. Whatever Kyaphus did, I choose not to hate him. I choose to let it go.
“Blaming the Sixth’s problems on us won’t change anything.” Odessa holds her own as she continues to argue. “We must work together if we desire to return Oz to its former grandeur.”
He gives no response. I wasn’t too sure about Odessa before, but I kind of like her now. She’s got spunk. And she certainly doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, least of all this intolerant sentinel.
“Proceed,” he finally says, moving aside.
Once we’re within the building’s walls, Odessa leads us to a small alcove beneath a curving double staircase. It’s so similar to the one in the Second’s castle I can’t help but reminisce. My first kiss with Joshua lit a fire inside. Thinking of it now gives me butterflies I very much wish I could turn myself into. They fly away quickly, leaving me with an empty, gaping hole.
Odessa digs into her handbag, withdraws a compact, and checks her appearance. “Do not say a word until you are addressed, is that clear?” Is her command meant for me or Jasyn or both? “Her Grace is fierce and will devour you without cause.”
Her Grace? Who could it be? “If that’s the case, why are we even here?” When I was a kid, Return to Oz played on HBO or Showtime or some other film channel we had a free trial for. Gave me nightmares for weeks. There was this lady with a bunch of different heads she kept in glass cases. Mombi. Chills, and not the good kind, raise every hair on my skin. I’ll cross my fingers she’s not who’s waiting to greet us.
After closing her compact and storing it once more, Odessa cleans her glasses with the edge of my blouse. Oh yeah, don’t mind me. Go right ahead, lady.
“Her Grace does not tolerate shows of bravery or independence. You will get nowhere with her should you choose to act as if you don’t need what she has to offer. Humility is the only way to get on her good side. I suggest you begin pondering how best to show her you truly seek her help without malicious intent.”
Malicious intent? Is she serious? “If Her Grace is so fearsome, what’s the point of even trying? Surely there’s another way to accomplish getting me home.”
“This is the only way, my dear.” Jasyn straightens his tie with one hand, his hat with the other.
I wish he’d stop calling me “dear.” The term bothered me when he was three times my age. Hearing it come from someone younger than I am is a little much.
“Time travel is a rare and tricky business. There may be other avenues, but none so close nor direct as what we have before us here.”
I clear my throat. Tuck in my blouse. Finger comb my hair. It’ll have to do. If Her Grace has a problem with my appearance, oh well. What does she expect from someone who just traveled by tornado? “What about the Wizard? Or Glinda? Or the Wicked Witch of the West?” I’d rather face her than some human-devouring monster woman. Then again, maybe Her Grace is simply another name for the most feared woman in all of Oz.
Odessa scoffs. “The Wizard? Witch of the West? What in Oz are you talking about?”
All right, maybe not. I look to Jasyn for help, but he offers none. MGM’s The Wizard of Oz released in 1939. They have to know I expect something at least remotely similar.
Understanding softens Odessa’s eyes. “I see. You think this is like the motion picture? The one with the girl in the blue dress and the dancing scarecrow?”
I shrug. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think, to be honest. In all the movies and plays, the Wizard of Oz is never who you expect him to be. He never has the power to change anything at all, not really. I guess I’d hoped the real-life version would be different. That there really would be a wizard who could help me get home.
The Munchkin woman shakes her head with a tsk. “This is not L. Frank Baum’s Oz, girl. You will not find a pair of ruby slippers, and there is no Good Witch of the North. If there were, don’t you think we’d have petitioned her for help by now?” She dusts off one high-heeled shoe with a handkerchief, then another. “L. Frank Baum was a child who became an author who dreamed of something more for the Reflection from whence he hailed. He had outlandish ideas he wished to become reality.” She peers up at me.
I return her mocking gaze with a leveled glare.
“This is the real Oz. Poppies don’t make you fall asleep simply by smelling them. Munchkins don’t speak as if they have inhaled helium. There is only the Lioness, who is far from cowardly, and she has a continued thirst for hunters to join her army. This story has no hero, and the villain is the last person you’d expect. So, once again, I suggest you figure out a way to humble yourself. It is very rare the Lioness grants a need to a stranger. She can get you to your time, there’s no question about that, but it will cost you.”
Do I dare ask? “Cost me what?”
“What else?” Odessa asks. “Your heart.”
I cover my chest with my hand. Odessa can’t actually mean the Lioness wants to take my physical heart from my body. But if she doesn’t, that means she requires something far costlier than the beating muscle pumping blood through my veins. And it’s then I realize . . . Jasyn wasn’t the first ever to create a Soulless.
What the Void have I gotten myself into?