The Wicked Will Rise

Then I understood.

“Blood,” I said. It came out in a whisper.

“Good girl. It’s your big moment. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?”

“I . . . ,” I started to say. But even in my blissful, hypnotized state, I knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It didn’t feel right.

The Wizard noted my hesitation. “You’ve always been so strong-willed,” he said. “It’s what makes you so special, and I respect that. But it’s your choice, Amy. This is what I promised could happen, if you brought me everything I needed. And you’ve succeeded—after a fashion, I suppose. So go ahead, take your prize. Everything’s in place, so fetch yourself a weapon.”

My blade appeared in my hand of its own accord, and I held it out in front of me.

“Just a moment,” the Wizard said. “Before you get carried away. Just one more piece of business. In order for me to draw upon the Old Magic that comes from Kansas and rule over Oz as its rightful king, I’ll need a queen. A real queen.” He turned his attention to Ozma, took her hand, and kissed it in a way I guess was supposed to be gentlemanly. It made my skin crawl.

“How would you like to reclaim your throne?” he asked her. “Would you like to be yourself again? Would you like to be my bride, and sit at my side as Oz’s fairy queen?”

Ozma looked confused. But she was already beginning to change. A pair of huge, shimmering, golden butterfly wings—fairy wings—had unfolded from her back. Her green eyes were glowing, and her black hair was whipping wildly in every direction. She began to hover a few inches from the ground.

“Ah, yes,” the Wizard mused, looking admiringly at her. “I’ve always wanted to see the true aspect of a fairy. Even in my past dealings with them, I knew that they were only revealing themselves in a form that masked their true selves. I can’t wait to see what you blossom into once the Old Magic is truly unleashed.”

Ozma didn’t say anything. But she looked into the sky, where slowly and then quickly, a whirling, black vortex appeared. As it grew in size, I saw what it was: a tornado. A cyclone. Except that it was upside down and inside out, and we were on the other side of the funnel, as if looking down on it from above.

The Wizard was staring at it almost lovingly. “Right on time,” he said. “It’s always so nice when things go as planned. Now, Amy, as someone who hails from the Other Place, from the very spot where the fountain draws from, and who has learned to channel its Old Magics with such ease, I’ll let you do the honors. It’s time for Dorothy to die.”

I held my knife over my head, and felt power pouring into it from out of the funnel in the sky.

I felt the Wizard’s spell in the back of my mind urging me on. I felt the darkness calling to me, too. Rise, the voices seemed to be saying.

Dorothy stood there in front of me, her face frozen into a silly, shy smile, and I almost thought I could see the person she had been: the girl who had come to Oz, stopped the witches, and saved the kingdom. Not because she wanted power, but because of her innocence. Because she was good.

I knew what would happen if I killed her. I would be accepting the mantle I’d been promised. Finally, I would be Wicked. Really Wicked. And there would be no going back.

Rise, the voice hissed again.

It was time. I drew my knife back to do it. To kill her.

But just as I was about to bring it down, I heard Nox’s voice. “Don’t do it!” he screamed. “It’s a trick! He’s fooling you!”

I spun around to see him pushing out from the hedges.

“Do it!” the Wizard hissed. “Do it now.”

Then Ozma began to scream, her gossamer wings flapping wildly, and Pete burst out of her chest.

It wasn’t like the other times he had transformed. Ozma was still there, still wailing and clutching herself in agony. But Pete was here now, too. He tumbled across the cobblestones, jumped up, and grabbed the Wizard’s throat.

The maelstrom above us swirled. The Wizard cried out—like that, his spell was broken. I blinked and dropped my knife. It clattered to the cobblestone ground. I wasn’t feeling so calm and contented anymore. I was feeling pretty terrified.

Dorothy emerged from her trance.

“Traitor,” she said. She flung a hand out, and, like she was pulling a marionnette string, Pete flew away from the Wizard. She wanted the Wizard to herself, and now, as she approached him, his face went white. “I should have done this long ago,” she said. “Now, let’s hear you scream.”

She clapped her hands together, and the Wizard did scream. His body began to ripple and twitch as Dorothy’s spell moved through it, and then it was like something was eating him from the inside. “No!” he yelled. “Help me! Amy, help!”

But there was nothing I could do. The spell was quick. In an explosion of blood, guts, and glitter, the Wizard was no more.

The sky opened up. And Kansas rained down on us.