“The fairies mocked you.”

“Our line is . . . different from our kindred,” said the voice, and now it seemed impossibly sad. “The burdens of ruling Oz alone have changed us. Lurline’s descendants are true to Oz, but the other fairies have become corrupt and weak. They see only themselves. If you choose Oz, Wizard, you must be wary of them.”

He drifted through the dark water, confused and lost. “What about Pete?”

He could almost hear the voice smile. “What do you think of Pete?”

“I think he’s a jerk.”

Now the voice was definitely laughing. “Do not be so quick to judge, Wizard. Pete has his own burdens to carry, and his own secrets. All will be revealed to you in time—if you choose the people of Oz. If you do not . . .”

“If I don’t, the fairies will kill me.”

“The fairies are malicious, but not evil. Whatever they told you, they will not kill you. You will be returned safely to your own time, your own home. All of this will be behind you.” The voice grew sad again. “You will forget your time here, even as Oz ceases to exist. But you must know what you were, before you can choose what you will become. I give you your memories, Wizard.”

The terrible vision of Oz, of Iris with her bound and bleeding wrists, vanished. And suddenly, his memory—the memory of who he had been, what he had done, his days in the palace and in the Other Place, the entire long, tangled ribbon of his life, spilled back into his head like wine pouring from a jar, until he was dizzy with it. The petty tricks he had played on the people as soon as he had arrived in Oz, the deceit—forcing them to build him the Emerald City, betraying the monkeys, avoiding the witches like the plague lest he be exposed as the fraud he so essentially was. His entire time in Oz had been marked with his craven cowardice and chicanery. He had made the worst possible choice at every turn. No wonder the monkeys had cursed him; no wonder Pete had treated him with such contempt. He was filled with an overwhelming shame. How could he face the people of Oz after what he had done? How could he possibly stay here? The only answer was to go somewhere no one knew him and start over.

It hardly seemed like a choice at all. “I choose—” He opened his mouth to ask her to send him back, send him home at last—but something stopped him at the last minute. What would happen to him if he returned to the Other Place? If he left behind what it was he had found here—the possibility that he was something far more than an ordinary man? He had felt the power of Oz’s magic running through him like a drug in his veins. To abandon that forever, once he had tasted it—what would that do to him? All the money and fame in the world could never come close to that elation, that exhilarating moment in the clearing when he had felt the full power of Oz coursing through him, when almost anything had seemed possible. What if that power was the chance to redeem himself? What if it would make him a better man than he had been? If he left now, if he went back to the Other Place, he would live with the regret of his loss for all the rest of his years. He would lose the chance of undoing the terrible things he had done, and never be able to forgive himself for it. And more than anything else, even if he went back to riches and fame, he would never use magic—real magic—again. Never know what it was like to summon the power of Oz. Never find out what he was truly capable of, now that he could tap into Oz’s magic. And he knew, deep down, that regret would undo him, like a cancer in his heart.

“I choose Oz,” he said. All around him, he could hear the fairies crying out—in joy, in exhilaration, in triumph, he could not say. “I am the Wizard!” he cried aloud, and then all at once he had the sensation of flying through the air at a tremendous speed until he landed with a sudden, ungainly thump on the carpet at the fairy king’s feet, stark naked and dripping wet.

The fairy king sneered down at him. “So you have chosen us after all, Wizard,” he said, and beckoned to one of the fairies behind him. “Bring our Wizard a towel,” he added, laughing mockingly. “If you are truly to be the savior of Oz, Wizard, you might want to start by putting on some clothes.”

TWELVE

The fairies bustled about, wrapping him up in soft robes, rubbing dry his hair until he batted their hands away with irritation. They tried to dress him, but he turned his back to them and put his clothes on with as much dignity as he could muster. He was acutely conscious of the king’s amused gaze. A fairy brought him a mirror and a comb, and as he tidied his hair as best he could he saw that the face in the mirror was his own, his real face; Pete’s disguise had melted painlessly away. Another fairy offered him a glass of something hot and steaming. The surface of the liquid appeared to be glowing from within. “What is that?” he asked, eyeing it dubiously.

“Sunfruit Schnapps!” the fairy said cheerfully. The Wizard took a cautious sip and the fiery liquid slipped down his throat, setting him to coughing furiously. But soon a warm glow filled his stomach, and he found he didn’t mind the burn nearly as much after another few sips. The fairies tittered as he chugged down the rest of the liquor and waved his cup around, which magically refilled itself.

“You have made your choice,” the fairy king said, and the excited buzz of the fairies fell silent at once.

“I have,” the Wizard said.

The fairy king smiled, a smile that did not reach his eyes. “We do not give, Wizard, without asking something in return. We have given you back yourself; we have offered you the power of Oz itself. And now, we will ask of you a tiny favor before you devote yourself to the glory of Oz.” Again, it was almost as though the fairy was making fun of him, the Wizard thought, his mind racing. Pete had been infuriating, but the Wizard had never doubted how much he cared about Oz. The fairies seemed different, though. The voice in the pool had said they were corrupt and weak. Was it possible they were trying to trick him? Was Pete working for them—or being used by them?