Chapter 2
Glinda burned the note, of course. She wanted to keep it — a small reminder of Elphie, and proof that she hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing — but she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t get caught with it.
So she smiled over breakfast like nothing had changed, like she hadn’t received a message from her dearest friend, like she hadn’t memorized the curve of the Wizard’s fingers.
But she couldn’t avoid the way he watched her try on dresses, something deeply appreciative that made her skin crawl. He was old enough to be her father, after all, even if he was the Wizard of Oz.
She went to her lesson with Madame Morrible, and she thought of the Wizard, and she couldn’t focus. So she thought about Elphie instead. The last time she’d seen her, broom shooting off into the sky, cape billowing behind her, eyes glowing with pride. She thought about pink bubbles pink not green pink not green not green not green and wondered how it felt to fly away.
A few bubbles fell from the tip of her wand. Pink, not green.
“Try harder, dearie.”
Glinda remembered Elphie reading from the Grimmerie for the first time, the words glowing gold, her voice getting louder and louder. She fell into the memory of the chanting, and willed the bubble to become larger. And larger, and larger. It dropped from her wand and hovered in front of her, almost large enough to stand in.
She looked at Madame Morrible, who smiled. “Excellent work, Miss Glinda.”
She didn’t write a note that night. But the next night, she stood on her balcony and waited for a raven to appear. It tilted its head curiously, but it stayed still as she tied the paper to its leg. It flew off into the night, and she wondered if she’d made the right choice.
I can’t leave, but thank you. I miss you too.
I love you, she thought, but she didn’t write it.
She didn’t tell Fiyero about the note. She barely saw him at all now, just enough to smile and brush hands in the hall sometimes. His work kept him so busy, and she was proud, but Oz, she missed him. His easy laugh, his shameless flirting, the way he made her feel like the center of the world. He was right here, but it wasn’t enough.
So she should’ve been suspicious when he knocked on her door late at night.
“Come in,” she said, absurdly hopeful and relieved to see him.
He did, but he didn’t kiss her. He just held her, and she relaxed into him. He was familiar, and maybe a little too shallow, but still loyal. She trusted him.
Eventually, he released her and took a step back. “I’m going back to the Vinkus tomorrow.”
“The Vinkus?”
He smiled, but it didn’t look happy. “Winkie Country. My family needs me home.”
“Do they?” she asked softly, and he pressed his lips against her forehead, unusually gentle.
“Maybe it’s just bad timing.” Maybe, like he saw it too. Like he knew that he’d never been to a gala with her, like he remembered the Wizard interrupting their date, like he was also suspicious of the way their schedules were so far apart. “I…I’ll write.”
“I love you, Fiyero, but do you really think I’ll get your letters?”
He reached for her again, and she leaned into his chest. This felt precious. Fragile. “I want to hold you,” he said, “and I want you to talk to me. Tell me all the things you can’t tell them.”
Glinda thought she wanted nothing more, but she said, “You’re not in love with me.” He didn’t deny it. “You’re in love with her. Of course you are. How could you not be?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She was surprised to realize she meant it.
“You’re in love with her too.”
She didn’t answer, but she let him pull her down onto her bed and hold her, and she told him the true story of the day they met the Wizard. She didn’t tell him about Elphie asking her to fly away, and she didn’t mention the note.
The next night, Glinda stood on her balcony and waited for a raven to appear. She wondered where they stayed, and how Elphie had trained them.
Fiyero went back to the Vinkis today.
The reply came the next night.
It’s Vinkus.
She laughed so hard that she cried, and then she was just crying, and she cried more when she set the note of fire, and every single person in all of Oz loved her, and she was completely and utterly alone.
The Wizard appeared everywhere. When she was eating lunch, when she was walking outside, even in her lessons with Madame Morrible.
“You’re spending a lot of time with me,” she told him. “I thought there would be more work involved in running Oz.”
“Oh, I’ve got that all sorted out,” he said with a wink. “Now, don’t you have some dresses to try?”
Something heavy and unfamiliar settled in her stomach, and she ignored it. She’d always loved shopping for clothes. “Yes, of course.”
He caught her wrist before she could leave. “Before we go, do you have time for a drink?”
“I really should—”
“I insist.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared with two glasses, and he filled them liquor from his green bottle.
She held hers hesitantly. “It’s a little strong for me.”
He gave her a kind, understanding smile. The same smile that had asked her to stay. “Indulge me.”
And this was the Wizard of Oz, and maybe she missed the feeling, just a bit, so she took a sip. She coughed as alcohol burned her throat, but the second sip was better, and the drink carried a warm, floaty feeling that was hard to place. She didn’t protest when the Wizard refilled her glass, filling it a little higher this time. The green bottle looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it.
The Wizard reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “The dresses,” she managed.
“Quite right. The dresses.”
But he led her to Madame Morrible instead. The two of them had a silent conversation, and Glinda distracted herself by trying to count to a hundred. It was harder than she’d expected; she couldn’t keep the numbers in order.
Madame Morrible turned to her. “Our lesson for today has been moved up.”
She blinked, trying to remember what came after thirty-two. “I thought I was going to try on dresses.” She had thought that, hadn’t she? Where had that come from?
Madame Morrible clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “A sorceress must always be prepared for the unexpected. Magic doesn’t wait until we’re ready. You do want to be a sorceress, don’t you?”
“More than anything.” It was a reflex; her wants were all buried under the floating.
Did thirty-five come after thirty-one? Why was she thinking about that?
Madame Morrible put something flat and gold on the table, and she reached out to touch it. “Shiny.”
The professor slapped her wrist, and she jerked back. “Levitate the coin.”
Glinda waved her wand, and nothing happened. She tapped it against the edge of the table. “Come on coin, levitate. Leeeee-viiiiiiii-taaaaaaaate.” It didn’t budge. But there was a memory, something about this room… “Bubbles?”
“Yes,” Madame Morrible said indulgently. “We were working on bubbles.”
“Bubbles,” she repeated, frowning. The coin felt far away — untouchable — but she waved her wand again, and a green bubble appeared around it.
Green was bad. She couldn’t remember why, but green magic was bad bad bad. She needed to— she waved the wand again, and the bubble turned blue. Again, and it was pink. Then clear, then she touched it and it popped and she was giggling, because she’d made a blue bubble and the coin was shiny and she was floating like the bubbles.
She looked up at Madame Morrible, who gave her a gentle smile and put a hand on her shoulder. The sting of the slap felt distant, almost unreal. “Well done, dear.”
She sent a note the next night.
I made a coin levitate yesterday. Used a green bubble.
The reply was simple.
Please be careful.
She thought about the green bottle, about floating and not being able to count to fifty, about the Wizard’s fingers digging into her hip like he had some type of claim on her.
I will.
She hoped that she could keep that promise.
Glinda wasn’t sure how many days had passed since Fiyero left. She couldn’t even remember how long she’d been here. At least two years, she thought. Maybe longer.
She wrote it on a slip of paper.
What day is it?
She didn’t know her own age, she realized, and the shame settled hot and heavy in her stomach. She decided not to send the note.
Glinda didn’t choose her own dresses anymore. Her image had always been her most important trait, and it was strange to give control to someone else. She felt untethered, like she was losing herself.
She tried on a beautiful pink dress with a pattern of roses swirled into the fabric, and her only thought was I hope the Wizard likes this one. It was the exact color of the flower that Fiyero had given her on the night of the Ozdust, the same flower that she’d tucked into Elphie’s hair.
She wanted this dress.
The Wizard stepped up behind her, and she watched their reflections. Her, and the powerful man in Oz. A dream come true. “This looks good,” he said. He reached around her waist and pressed his hand against her stomach, fingers spread wide. “But I think it needs to be taken in here.”
Candles wavered in the corners of the room, but he didn’t seem to notice. He kept his hand there for a moment longer before he stepped back. “Wear this one to the dinner next week.”
She ducked her head. “Of course, your Ozness.” She stepped behind the privacy screen, and bit down on her fist to stifle a sob.
She sent another note to Elphie, because she couldn’t keep it to herself.
I’m scared.
The Wizard’s hand had lingered like it had every right to be there, like he owned her. But he did, didn’t he? He’d made her into Glinda the Good.
Elphie’s reply came the next night.
Just say the word.
Her heart was pounding, because she could. She could write Please, and it would all be over. But, in spite of everything, in spite of the Wizard, she was still doing good. People cheered when they saw her. She guided them. She helped them. And they saw her.
Her vision blurred as she set the note on fire, and she wished she had something to feed the raven.
Glinda was surprised when someone knocked on her door late at night; she never had visitors, and especially not this late. Not since Fiyero—
“Miss Glinda.” The young woman curtsied. More of a girl than a woman, really; she couldn’t have been older than fifteen. Old enough to know that she shouldn’t have come here. “I work in the kitchens. I thought you might be interested in a game of chess.”
Glinda smiled — the charming, practiced smile of Glinda the Good. “I don’t know how to play.”
“Then I can teach you.”
She knew it was mistake, but she nodded. She could play one game. She could give herself that much freedom.
But the girl came back a few nights later, and Glinda didn’t tell her to leave. The company was nice, and she liked the game; it gave her a reason to think.
Glinda had never been as smart as Elphie. She’d never buried herself in books and causes and numbers, but she’d tried to understand. She certainly hadn’t been brainless, and she felt brainless now. She was turning into the shallow image that she’d built, and it scared her.
So she liked thinking about the chess, even though she wasn’t very good. “It’s all about strategy,” the girl told her. “You need to pick a plan and commit.”
The girl thought she wasn’t brainless. She thought Glinda the Good was more than just an image. “I’ll try.”
On the first night that she won, Glinda asked, “What day is it?” The girl told her. “And the year?” The girl’s eyes went wide, but she answered. It was the tiniest slipup, a tiny crack in her perfect, pretty mask, but she didn’t care.
Three and a half years. Three and a half years as Glinda the Good. Three and a half years of being adored by everyone in Oz. Three and a half years since she’d seen Elphie. She was twenty-two now. Elphie was twenty-five.
She wrote down the date. She would never forget again.
They played seven games of chess in the next thirty-two days. By the thirty-eighth day, Glinda was suspicious. By the forty-third day, she was sure; the girl wasn’t coming back.
Glinda wasn’t brave enough to find out where she’d gone. And, even if she had been, she didn’t know the girl’s name.
The Wizard brought a chess board to their next planning session, and Glinda thought she might throw up. “Do you know the trick to a good game of chess, Miss Glinda?”
“Strategy?”
“Never underestimating your opponent.” There was a warning edge in his voice, but his smile was kind. Her stomach churned.
And it wasn’t even a competition; he beat her every time.
She wore the dress with the roses to another gala. It really was beautiful. A perfect color and gorgeous design, something she would’ve chosen for herself. Something she would’ve chosen for Glinda the Good.
The Wizard, naturally, never left her side, and his hand stroked along her ribcage when no one was looking. He handed her a drink, and she took a few sips, just for appearances, and left it on a table when his back was turned. But it made the tips of her fingers tingle, the tiniest hint of floating.
He walked her back to her door that night. “You know, Miss Glinda, I really do have a weakness for beautiful things.” And she did know. She knew they were alone in this hallway, and he was still holding onto her, and if she’d had more of that drink—
He was still smiling, that same, comforting smile that had always drawn her in. The smile that told her to trust. The smile that had brought her home.
And she suddenly thought of Madame Morrible, welcoming her to the palace, telling her that she could do good. The gentle hand on her shoulder, the soothing tone — and somewhere, in the back of her mind, there was a sting on her wrist.
She’d always wanted to make her proud. She’d always wanted to be seen. She’d always wanted to do good.
The Wizard’s hand drifted higher, and she finally said, “I have to go.”
The voice didn’t sound like hers, but the Wizard was too shocked to stop her; she slipped out of his grip, and her door didn’t have a lock
didn’t have a lock
didn’t have a lock
She dragged a chair in front of it, her whole body shaking, and it took her three tries to write the note.
Get me out of here.
She waited anxiously for the raven to appear, and she tied the note to its leg and watched it fly off into the night.
Glinda didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning. She wanted to stay there and hide from the world, but she was Glinda the Good, and Glinda the Good couldn’t do that. So she curled her hair. She did her makeup. She put on a pink dress. She looked in the mirror and practiced her smile until it seemed real.
She spoke to the citizens of Emerald City, and the words blurred together in her ears. Just smiles and laughter and the Wizard, a steady presence at her side. He didn’t mention the night before, but his fingers dug into her waist, owning, claiming, possessing.
She went to her lesson with Madame Morrible, and she couldn’t follow a single instruction. “Is everything okay, dearie?”
Glinda smiled. “I drank a little too much last night. I’ll do better next time.”
Morrible nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was an easy dismissal, and Glinda wondered how much Morrible knew. She didn’t want to make her proud.
Elphie arrived that night. Riding her broom, wearing that stupid, ugly, lovely hat that Glinda had given her, not even bothering to hide. Of course she wouldn’t; she’d never had even a modicum of tact.
Madame Morrible burst into Glinda’s room and grabbed her, nails digging into her arms. Because Morrible knew Elphie, and she knew why she was here. Glinda dragged her towards the edge of the balcony, needing to be closer. And she realized how stupid she’d been.
The balcony below them was covered in guards, and they poured into her room, swarming around her, and every single one of them wanted to kill Elphie. They all wanted to kill the Wicked Witch of the West, and this was all Glinda’s fault. She’d brought Elphie here. She’d put her in danger.
And Glinda suddenly didn’t care what the Wizard did to her. She would drink out of his stupid green bottle until she forgot who she was. She would wear his dresses and stand by his side and let him touch her. But he would not set a hand on Elphie. Ever.
“Elphie, run!”
Elphie shook her head frantically. I’m scared, she’d written, and she should’ve known that Elphie would never leave her again.
“Jump!”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?” Glinda didn’t need to answer; she was already putting her life in Elphie’s hands. “Then jump!”
Feeling absolutely insane, she tore herself out of Madame Morrible’s grip, nails cutting across her arms, and she tumbled off the balcony. For a moment, she was falling towards the ground, and she knew she was about to die.
And she was absolutely, positively certain that she would rather die than go back.
But something hit her from behind, and then Elphie was holding her, and they were flying into the sky. Away from the Emerald City, away from the Wizard. And Glinda sobbed, gripping the broom with one hand, clinging to Elphie to make sure she was real. She was with Elphie. She was safe.