“That’s not what you’ve been telling me,” I said. “All along, you said it was the thing that made me different.” I couldn’t say why I wanted to spare Pete. Nox was right: so far, kindness had done nothing but get me nearly killed in Oz. But if Oz’s magic was changing me into some kind of monster, maybe my willingness to forgive Pete was proof that it hadn’t swallowed me up entirely.

Relief flooded Pete’s face. “You mean you’ll just let me go?”

“Not so fast,” I told him. “I might be willing to keep Nox from killing you, but that doesn’t mean I want you around. You’ve been basically nothing but trouble since the day I showed up in Oz.”

“I saved you when you were in Dorothy’s prison!” he protested.

“That was a long time ago,” I said. “Anyway, you didn’t save me—Mombi did.”

At the sound of Mombi’s name, Pete grimaced. I knew there was no love lost between him and the witch who’d enchanted him in the first place. Mombi probably had motives of her own when it came to Pete, and I didn’t want to deal with them. My life was complicated enough as it is. “I want you to leave,” I said. “Like, now. For good. I don’t ever want to see you again. Is that clear?”

Pete looked at me for a long time, his dark eyes thoughtful. Once upon a time, I’d felt something for him. But that was long gone. Now he was just trouble.

“It’s clear,” he said finally.

“Good,” I said. I turned to Nox. “I can help you set them free. The shoes will protect me.” I sounded a lot more confident than I felt.

Nox looked like he wanted to protest, but he only nodded. He closed his eyes, raising his hands and resting them on Pete and Ozma’s chains for a second time. Whatever I’d told Nox, I didn’t trust the shoes completely yet. I’d leave the bulk of the magic up to him. But I knew he wasn’t strong enough to free Pete and Ozma alone.

Nox grunted with the effort of sustaining the spell. I put my hands over his, concentrating hard on my magic boots. Help me, I asked them. Help me help Nox. I could feel them respond, the magic within them humming to life. And I could feel Oz’s magic, too—the dark, dangerous pull of more power than I could handle, urging me to just let go, reminding me of how good it felt to be consumed by magic, transformed into an unstoppable monster. I concentrated instead on the shoes, willing the darkness to stay back. I could feel its disappointment as if it was a living thing.

Nox gave a final gasp, and Pete and Ozma’s chains shattered into harmless pink fragments. I slumped backward in relief. That was close, I thought. Maybe too close. Were the shoes on my side? Or was the feeling of safety they gave me some trick of the Nome King’s?

Nox saw my face. “Are you okay? What happened? And you said something before about the shoes somehow letting you be able to kill Dorothy?”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I was right. The shoes can protect me from the effects of Oz’s magic. I don’t want to push my luck, but I can use magic if it’s necessary. And yeah—whatever was binding me to Dorothy before—the shoes have undone.” Nox shook his head, but he didn’t reply. I knew he thought I was wrong, that magic was too much of a risk. I knew, too, that there was a strong possibility he was right.

“Get out of here,” he said to Pete. “And if I see you again . . .” He trailed off, but the threat was clear.

“Do you want to teleport me away, or should I use the door?” There was no mistaking the note of sarcasm in Pete’s voice—or the hurt.

“The door is fine,” I said. Pete’s eyes met mine, his expression unreadable and his mouth set. I wondered if I’d just made us a new enemy.

Pete turned and hugged Ozma close. Her eyes opened wide, and for a second I saw a spark of clarity. “Checkmate,” she murmured, burrowing into his shoulder. Pete closed his eyes, stroking her long dark hair, before pushing her away gently. “Take care of her,” Pete said to us. He half raised one hand as if to wave, and then shrugged helplessly and dropped it. Before he turned away I saw that his eyes were filling with tears.

“Good-bye, Pete,” I said quietly. I watched his back recede across the long, dusty hall.

“I hope we’re not going to regret this,” Nox said quietly.

“So do I.”

“Checkers?” Ozma asked, pointing to the board.

TWENTY-SEVEN

That night, a mournful group of the Wicked filled the Tin Woodman’s palace. Four beat-up, exhausted witches, a handful of battered soldiers, a half-tin girl, an unusually quiet army of monkeys, and me. <