“Astrid!” Jellia hissed. “What are you doing?”

I shushed her and watched as the Tin Woodman led the guard to a sunny bed of overgrown sunflowers. They stopped there, the guard still pointlessly struggling. I wondered what Wandering Eye meant. Had he checked out Dorothy? What was the punishment for that?

The sunflowers shuddered, then parted, and there stood the Lion, stretching in his sun-drenched napping spot. I couldn’t believe it. Here I’d been dumbly sweeping away while Dorothy’s beast slept right outside the door. The Lion looked totally recovered from his battle with Gert. His thick muscles rippled under his coat of golden fur as he drew himself up, looming over the guard.

The Tin Woodman exchanged words with the yawning Lion but I couldn’t hear them. I had to stop myself from casting a listening spell, again remembering Nox’s warning about using magic. Whatever they said, it made the guard collapse to his knees.

A moment later, the Lion crooked one claw delicately against the guard’s face, the motion so smooth I almost missed it. Something that looked an awful lot like a Ping-Pong ball sailed in an arc away from the guard’s face and into the waiting, open maw of the Lion.

It was his eye, I realized. The Lion had flicked out the guard’s eye and swallowed it. I backed slowly away from the door.

“What did they do to him?” Jellia whispered, her curiosity proving to me that the maids weren’t entirely oblivious and brainwashed.

“You don’t want to know,” I replied. “We should get out of here.”

So this was what I was up against. A psychotic midwesterner with a reservoir of magic who was never alone, surrounded by loyal killers that would disfigure one of their own without a second thought. Meanwhile, I’d received no further instructions from Nox or the Order, and hadn’t seen any sign of Pete, my one sort of friend in the palace.

Sure. This whole assassination thing would be a piece of cake.

On the third day, there was a flutter of activity among the staff. Someone important had arrived in the palace.

“The Wizard!” Hannah whispered in excitement as she headed off to clean the north wing while I gathered my materials to handle the south.

“The Wizard?” I asked, hoping for more details. But Hannah was already scurrying away.

Neither Glamora’s lessons or Gert’s had ever touched on the Wizard. Honestly, I’d forgotten all about him. Hadn’t he gone back to the Other Place in his balloon? What was he doing in Oz? As usual, I was two steps behind.

But the Wizard was definitely here. I decided to detour past Dorothy’s solarium, knowing that if she kept to her regular schedule she’d be in there. It wasn’t on Astrid’s normal cleaning route for the day, but that was a risk I’d have to take. I needed to find out more.

The hallway was totally clear, and I made sure to keep my footfalls light. The door to the solarium was ajar, probably because Dorothy figured no one would have the guts to eavesdrop. I pressed myself against the wall outside the open door, peeking into the room. Inside, Dorothy was stretched out on a green velvet divan with ornate, gold legs. Next to where she reclined, a tower of little finger foods and pastries overflowed with snacks. Dorothy wasn’t even bothering to lift a finger: the cookies were floating right from the tray and into her mouth.

I did a double take when I saw who was sitting across from her on a brocade couch: Glamora.

No. Of course not. It was Glinda. She was wearing a slinky pink slip dress, her red hair piled in a perfectly coiffed updo, and she was sipping primly from a pink teacup.

“I don’t trust him,” Dorothy complained. “Why does he have to come here at all? I let him do what he wants; I let him get away with using magic. Can’t he just stop pestering me?”

“The Wizard may be an irritating ally,” Glinda replied. “But he would make a dangerous enemy. Let’s keep him happy.” It was freaky how much they looked and sounded like each other. Hearing Glamora’s voice coming from Glinda’s mouth made me miss her sister a little. Even if I’d never liked her that much in the first place.

“I don’t see why I can’t just kill him,” Dorothy complained. “It would make everything so much easier. I hate him, and I hate his dumb little hats.”

“The Wizard is from your world,” Glinda reminded her. “That makes things more complicated. His magic is unpredictable. Trying to kill him could easily backfire. As long as we keep him on our side, he’s harmless. He might even be able to help us. You know as well as I do that we share . . . similar goals.”

“Hmph,” Dorothy said. “I just want him out of my life.”

“Patience, Dorothy,” Glinda warned. “Why don’t we take a look and see what he’s up to? I agree that it’s better to keep a careful eye on him.”

Dorothy let out a loud sigh of frustration. She clapped her hands together and I snuck a peek to see what they were doing. Their attention was directed at a painting of a pleasant woodland scene that hung on the wall, over the fireplace. I took the opportunity of their distraction to watch more closely.

“Magic picture!” she barked. “Show us the Wizard.”

At Dorothy’s command, the picture began to rearrange itself, like the paint was still wet and an invisible brush was creating a different scene. Suddenly the trees became a face I recognized: the Tin Woodman. Then another face formed. This was one I’d never seen before. But I had a good guess as to who it was. It was an older man with a narrow face, mischievous eyes, and overgrown, almost hornlike eyebrows. He had a small, jaunty top hat sitting on the baldest part of his almost entirely bald head.