The Librarian (Book Two: Unhappily Ever After) (9 page)

The woman was rocking back and forth, cradling something in her arms like a baby. "Sat on a wall," she mumbled. She didn't look up. Her words were barely audible.

"Ma'am?" Taylor repeated. "Are you okay?"

"Sat on a wall... had a great fall..."

Her words were rhythmic. Like a chant. Or a poem.

Footsteps sounded as someone came onto the porch. Taylor and Wes whipped around. Hope had finally worked up the courage to climb the steps and was now watching from just inside the door. "That her?"

"Quiet!" Taylor whispered sternly. "Jeez!"

Taylor turned to find that the old woman was now looking up at her. Tears were streaming in muddy tracks down the woman's cheeks. Her skin was the lifeless color of spoiled milk. Her eyes were bloodshot, each shadowed by a black circle like the dark side of a crescent moon.

"Are you here to take me away?" she asked softly. She let her toothless mouth hang open. Her tongue was pale and bloated like the belly of a dying fish.

"Why would we do that? We're here to help."

"Oh!" If there was any sign of relief in her voice it quickly gave way to madness. "Oh! Good!" She began to cackle, her boisterous laughter like fingernails on a chalkboard. "We could use an extra hand around here!" The old woman tossed the item in her lap toward Taylor who caught it on instinct. "Lord knows he doesn't have one to spare!"

The woman's manic laughter reached a fevered pitch as Taylor looked down to see what she was holding. She knew almost immediately. She turned the silver sphere over and saw the Tinman's face staring up at her. His eyes were wide, his mouth twisted into a silent scream.

RAIN WAS PELTING the cabin's roof when they finally got the old woman off the floor and into a rocking chair near the fire. Wesley took her spot on the floor and began inspecting the pile of parts that was once the Tin Woodsman.

The old woman seemed to be lost in her own little world. She had barely acknowledged their presence since tossing the Tinman's severed head. Her eyes were vacant as she continued to mutter nonsense beneath her breath.

Hope knelt so she could look the strange woman in the eye. "What happened here? Why is the Tinman in pieces."

"Tin, tin. Little boy, bumps on his chin." She looked over at Wesley and smiled a little black grin. Wesley had a screwdriver in one hand, but his other was already self-consciously fingering a small blemish just below his lip.

Hope grabbed the woman's chin, forcefully shifting her attention back where it was supposed to be.

"Hey!" Taylor shouted. "Is that necessary?"

Hope ignored her. "We're looking for the young woman who lives with you? Do you know where we can find her?"

The woman pulled away from Hope's harsh grip, eyeing her for a long moment before the mischievous grin reappeared. She folded both hands in her lap and began to rock in her chair.

"Follow the yellow brick road!" She sounded like a kid who'd spent half her birthday hiding in a closet sucking air out of balloons. "Can't do that anymore, can we?"

"Do you know what happened?" Hope demanded. "It's like someone waved a wand and the whole thing just disappeared."

"Better find a new tune to sing! Ah!" Her shrill laughter returned. Taylor's skin crawled. She finally had to turn away, scrambling to join Wesley on the floor.

She picked up one of the parts Wesley had brought over from the table. It was the Tinman's left arm.

"His body is hollow," Wesley said. "I'm surprised he doesn't blow away in the wind."

"Can you fix him?"

"I don't know," Wesley shrugged. "The screws are stripped. Even if they weren't, the screw heads are weird. This one is shaped like a moon. This one's a star." Taylor took one of the screws and began to inspect it. "Without the right tools we don't have a chance."

Hope joined them. "We're not getting anything out of that hag."

"Don't call her that," Taylor said.

"Can you put him back together?"

"Not here," Wesley said. "Even if I do, that doesn't mean he'll be alive." Taylor could tell Wesley didn't know if that was the right word.

"Great," Hope smirked. "Alright, I promised to get you here, but if there's nothing you can do we need to go back. You two can wait in the library, and I'll get the amulet to the librarian myself."

Taylor ignored Hope. "What about the Tinsmith? The man who put him together."

"That's not a bad idea," Wesley said.

"Now wait a minute—"

Taylor turned to the old woman who was pumping her feet in-and-out to make the chair rock. "Ma'am? Is there a town nearby? Someplace we might—"

"Wheelers and monkey wings. These are a few of my favorite things!"

Hope rolled her eyes and started for the door. "If I have to spend one more minute with this woman I'm going—"

"WAIT!"

The woman's command came from deep inside and left them frozen in place. It wasn't the voice of a lost soul, only the cry of a frightened woman with nowhere to go.

"Don't go!" she begged. "Please! I can't get on alone. I can't do this myself."

The woman rose from her chair then slowly crept toward the children. Taylor stiffened as she drew near, petrified as the old woman took the Tinman's limb from her.

"You don't understand," the woman explained. "I did this to him." She held the cold metal to her wrinkled cheek. "I did this to
them
." Wesley and Taylor exchanged a confused look. "He was a good boy. So nice, so respectful. I just couldn't be alone." She looked at Taylor. "They took her, you know? They came, and they took her. That poor little girl."

"Who?" Taylor asked.

The woman smiled like a rotten kid who'd just lured her baby sister into an elaborate trap. "Wheelers and monkey wings. Favorite things!"

Her grin grew, and Taylor saw she had teeth after all. Some were grey, others black. They looked like tiny headstones jutting out of the wet ground.

Wesley stepped toward the woman and gently took the metal arm from her and put it into a large burlap sack he'd found near the fireplace. "Let's go, Tay."

They finished stuffing the Tinman's pieces into the sack then joined Hope in the doorway. Hope left the cottage, and Wesley disappeared into the darkness behind her.

"Little girl?"

Taylor turned. For a moment, the madness had left the old woman. She was no longer the crazy lady they'd found. No longer the slave driver who had cut a deal with the Witch and worked the Munchkin Maiden to the bone. She was just a scared old woman sitting by the fire to stay warm. Someone's grandmother, perhaps.

"If you find them, tell them I'm sorry."

"I will," Taylor promised.

"If I'd known this would happen..."

She didn't finish. With Taylor, she didn't have to.

"I know exactly what you mean," Taylor explained.

She nodded a polite goodbye to the old woman before moving through the doorway and into the night, quietly hoping the rain would wash away any tears that came and the guilt that went along with them.

TAYLOR STEPPED ONTO the porch where Wesley and Hope were waiting with the sack of Tinman parts at their feet. She had to shield her eyes from the rain. They were standing beneath an overhang, but gusting wind was sending some of the rain their way.

Wesley slung the backpack from his shoulder and pulled his copy of
Oz
from its pouch. "I'm not sure, he said, "but I think there's a map in here." He flipped to the back. "Yeah. See?"
 

There was an illustrated map near the back of the book that was spread across two pages. It was quite thorough, showing all the major features and landmarks within Oz.

Wesley pointed to the drawing of a small cottage. "It says this is the Tinman's cabin. And look, there's a village pretty close to that." He slid his finger across the page and stopped near a few hand drawn buildings.

"How do we know that's the right one?" Hope asked.

"Why
wouldn't
he go to the closest Tinsmith?"

Hope shrugged. That was a good point.

Taylor leaned forward so her nose was just inches from the page. "Look at that!" she exclaimed. "Look what's happening to the yellow brick road!" There was a dashed line that cut through the drawing toward Emerald City in the center of Oz. The line was half gone and seemed to be disappearing a little at a time from the page.

"What's happening?"

"I don't know," Wesley answered.

"Great," Hope said. "If the map's changing, how do we know we can trust it at all?"

Wesley slammed the book shut. "It's all we've got."

"You're right," Hope said. "Do we even have a
plan
?"

Taylor and Wes looked to one another, both hoping the other would answer. Hope shook her head with disgust.

"You know? You should really know what you're trying to do before you set off on a quest like this. Take the ring away from Frodo and all you've got is a bunch of guys with hairy feet walking around the forest together."

"We'll have a plan once we've put the Tinman together," Taylor sighed. "C'mon. We're wasting time." Taylor grabbed the burlap sack and started down the steps.

"Are we really going to walk around in this rain?" Wesley had to speak up so he would be heard over the storm. "Maybe we should go back inside and wait this out. It's like a freakin monsoon out here!"

Taylor turned to face them. "We're pushing forward."

"What?" Wesley asked. "Why?"

"Because the map is changing, Wes. This isn't over. Things might get even worse."

"She's right," Hope said. "You guys don't know what's waiting in these woods now that the sun has set. Let's go back to the library and—"

"No!" Taylor exclaimed. "We're not going back!"

Exasperated, Hope shook her head.

"Fine," Wesley said. "The rain won't be as bad once we're in the forest, anyway."

Taylor smiled at Wes then heaved the heavy bag of metal parts over her shoulder and started up the hill that had gotten slippery with mud in the rain.

Hope turned to Wesley. "She feels bad about this, huh?"

"It's more than that," Wesley explained. "Things were bad for her when we got back. It's like her whole life got turned upside down."

"That sucks. But it doesn't mean she should be in charge, Wes. Do what you want, but I thought she would have learned to listen to you by now."

THE WICKED WITCH of the West looked nothing like the actress who portrayed her in the movie. The real Witch was a frumpy woman. Her skin was green, but this woman's skin was wrinkled and sagged away from her face. Her clothes were a wild mismatch of style and color. She wore a regal shirt with a ruffled collar and paired it with black pants embroidered with strange images. Her hair was braided in three messy ponytails that extended from beneath the tall pointed hat atop her head.

Randy watched the Witch lean on her umbrella as she approached them. If he had seen her in the real world – and she wasn't green – he would have assumed the Witch to be an old bag lady who'd lost her way. It was easy to imagine given her rumpled appearance. He wouldn't have feared her at all. In fact, he wouldn't have feared
this
version of the Witch if it weren't for her eye.

The Witch had but one good eye. Never blinking, it bulged from its socket so grotesquely that Randy couldn't understand why it hadn't popped from her skull and fallen to the floor. The red veined marble was constantly moving, taking everything in, no doubt looking for the one responsible for the black patch that covered the void where her other eye had been.

"You don't look like a sorcerer," the Witch hissed.

"I'm not," Douglas answered coolly.

"Ah! My guards tell me you are quite powerful." Her voice sent a shiver up Randy's spine. "Of course," she continued, "my guards are foolish and know little. I can never trust what they tell me."

As if on cue, one of the guards who had escorted them into the castle offered Douglas's pistol to the angry woman. She snatched it from his hand, snarling at him until he backed into the corner and looked away.

Douglas waited patiently as she studied the weapon.

"They say you used this noisemaker to kill my best man. They say its sound tore through his armor and left a gaping wound in his chest."

"It wasn't the sound – not exactly."

"Then what manner of magic
is
this?"

"We don't call it magic where I'm from," Douglas explained. "Most aren't believers there. Where I'm from we call it something else. We call it science."

Randy flinched when the Witch's eye look up sharply at his father. "You're from beyond the Deadly Desert, then?"

"You could say that."

She moved her attention back to the gun in her hand. She turned the heavy weapon over and squeezed the pistol's wooden stock in her fist.

"Be careful," Douglas whispered.

Her long fingers found the trigger and instantly understood its purpose. She lifted her arm and leveled the gun at Douglas's chest.

"Dad!"

She pulled the trigger.
 

Randy breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the only sound that came was a hollow click. Douglas smiled, as if he'd seen the exchange coming from a world away.

The Witch grunted in frustration and shoved the weapon toward him. Douglas waved it off.

"Keep it," he said. "Please. I brought it for you. You're going to need a little outside help if you're ever going to conquer Oz the way you've dreamed."

She stood motionless, her one eye fixated on Douglas for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, she came alive in a fit of shrill laughter.

"Oh, my dear! You are a stranger to these lands. There isn't a corner of Oz that hasn't fallen under my rule." She gestured with a long arm toward a nearby window as if the view alone would back her grand declaration.

Douglas sighed. "You don't rule over anything, ma'am. Not even Winkie Country. I'm sorry, but it's true."

The guards in the corner shared a nervous look.