Madison’s lip quivered and her eyes flashed. “Fuck you, Amy. I thought we were something like friends. But you can go to hell for all I care. I’m stuck in this horrible weirdo universe, and it’s all your fault.”
It was no use. She was already stalking away from me and back into her room. She slammed the door behind her with a reverberating crash. I put my head on my knees, fighting back tears, and wondered if anything else could go wrong in the last few hours I had to live. And I still needed to find a costume.
SEVENTEEN
The lead-up to Dorothy’s wedding was turning out to be a serious bummer.
Madison wouldn’t speak to me, and Nox and Lang were barely talking either—they’d almost gotten in a fistfight over some stupid argument about who got to have which knife. We weren’t a team—we were a circle of hate. If I didn’t rescue the mood, our chances of saving Oz from Dorothy and the Nome King were about as good as my chances of winning a Nobel Prize in physics. (Do they even have those?)
“We’d better get ready,” I said into the miserable silence. No one would even bother to look at me.
And then I lost my temper. Like, for real. Why was I trying to pretend everything was okay? If they didn’t get it together we were all going to die. Like, for real.
“Are you all children?” I snapped. “We’re about to take on the biggest bitch in Oz and you can’t even talk to each other?” I grabbed one of Lang’s knives off the table and threw it at the wall, where it hit with a resounding clang. “Get your shit together!” I yelled.
Madison jumped. Her scowl cracked. And she started to laugh.
“Dude, you should see your face right now,” she said. “You’re bright red.”
“I’m fucking pissed!” I yelled. And then I began to laugh, too. A second later Nox and Lang joined in. Lang’s beetle servants must have thought we were all nuts. But the laughter relieved the tension. And when we finally stopped, the air felt lighter.
“I have your disguises,” Lang said, wiping tears from her eyes. She wasn’t going to apologize, and neither was Nox, but they finally seemed willing to let the argument go at least. She snapped her fingers, and one of her beetles scuttled forward.
It showed us down a hallway I hadn’t noticed before to a huge room lined with mirrors, and piles of clothing stacked on a long bench. Madison stripped out of her jeans and sparkly T-shirt and I stepped out of my borrowed clothes.
“Whoa,” Madison said. “Where did she even get this stuff?” Her long blond hair hung down her back in loose bedhead waves, and her face—clear of the seventeen layers of lip gloss and foundation she typically applied—looked surprisingly young and almost vulnerable. Madison, I realized suddenly, was actually really pretty.
“They’re not clothes,” I said. “They’re costumes. Look.”
For Madison, there was a pair of tight leggings and a shirt covered with beautiful, shimmering silver scales and an elaborate, delicate headdress that suggested some kind of glorious tropical fish. I touched the leggings and realized they were made of some light but incredibly strong metal.
For me, Lang had provided a sleek fiery orange bodysuit painted with red and gold scales that gleamed softly in the light. They were made of the same material as Madison’s costume—flexible and almost weightless, but incredibly strong. A ribbed cape of thin, soft gold leather hooked on to the bodysuit at my shoulders and wrists and spread out to look like wings. The coolest part was the mask—a gold head shaped like a dragon, with fierce-looking ivory teeth showing in a snarl. As I put the mask on, it molded seamlessly to my face, the way Lang’s silver mask did. I couldn’t feel it at all. But when I touched my face, I felt how strong the material was.
Our costumes weren’t just costumes. They were armor. They fit perfectly. I had no idea if Lang had some kind of giant closet stuffed full of crazy outfits in all sizes or if she’d used magic to create them, but the costumes were beautiful and practical. I felt like I was wearing my old fighting gear back in Oz—the costume had the same familiar, protective feel.
We might not make it through Dorothy’s wedding alive. But at least we looked good. And pretty badass, if I said so myself.
I took the mask off for now; although it had molded to my face, it came off easily. I’d put it back on when we were under way.
“Dude, you look amazing,” Madison said, echoing my thoughts.
“So do you,” I replied.
She fidgeted. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. About all that Kansas stuff.”
“Forget it,” I said, meaning it. “I know you want to go back. You have someone to fight for now. I get it. It’s just that . . . Like I said, it’s not simple.”
“Dorothy just did the heel-clicking thing,” Mad said, looking down at my boots.
“Yeah, I don’t think they work like that anymore. Dorothy’s shoes also weren’t combat boots.” I sighed. “I’m going to find a way to get you home, Mad. I promise. No matter what it takes.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Me?”
“If—when—you figure out how to get back. Are you going to come, too?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
She nodded. “I thought so.” She paused, as though she was trying to decide whether or not to say whatever she was thinking. “We’re going to die out there, aren’t we.” It wasn’t really a question. I felt a fierce surge of protectiveness.
“I am not going to let that happen,” I said firmly. “You’re going home, Madison. Nobody’s going to die except Dorothy.” I said the words with such conviction that I almost convinced myself. And why not? I’d faced worse odds before and survived.
Okay, maybe not worse. But definitely almost as bad. Besides, I was tough as hell. So was Madison. So was Nox. And I was pretty sure, tough as we all were, Lang was tougher in spades. Despite the insane risk we were taking, we were stronger together. This was what I had trained for, sacrificed for. This was what Nox had worked his whole life for. This was all Lang wanted.
Maybe, just maybe, we were going to make it.
“I’m going to find a way,” I said again. “As soon as this is over. You’re going back to Kansas.”
Madison looked at me for a long time. “Okay,” she said. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” I could tell the strength in my voice had reassured her.
Back in Lang’s main room, Nox’s expression confirmed how good Mad and I looked. The tension between Nox and Lang seemed to have finally dissipated, and I said a silent prayer of relief. The two of them had finished sorting through weapons, and had a whole stash of knives that could be easily hidden under our costumes. Nox was dressed as a panther, which seemed appropriate. His suit was velvety black, and a ferocious cat mask rested on the table, waiting for him to put it on.
“Good,” Lang said approvingly, looking Mad and me up and down. “Very good. Give me a moment to change, and we can leave.” She disappeared into her room. Nox put an arm around me, and I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes briefly.
“I’ll just, um, get my stuff together,” Madison said, looking at us. She vanished into her own room and shut the door.