No Place Like Oz by Danielle Paige Page B

almost felt like she wanted me to be impressed.
    I was a bit surprised that she seemed to care so much about my opinion—she was the princess after all, a descendant of the fairy Lurline, supposedly, and the heir to the greatest kingdom in the world. I was just an ordinary farm girl from dusty, gray Kansas. What did I know about interior decoration?
    â€œIt’s very nice,” I said, as if I saw beautiful, grand things all the time and this was just another one of them. “You’ve made it so much nicer than when the Wizard lived here.”
    â€œYes, well, he did have a bachelor’s taste, didn’t he? Anyway, all this is thanks to you, Dorothy. You saved my kingdom when I was”—she paused—“you know. Indisposed. If it wasn’t for you, the witches would probably be living here now.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine what they would have done with the place? You have no idea how much I owe you.”
    I looked around at this dream palace full of treasure and beauty and luxury, and suddenly I had a pretty good notion of what she owed me, actually. Maybe I was just the teeniest bit jealous that she got to live like this, all thanks to me. There was a part of me that wondered if I would have been the princess if I’d stayed.
    â€œOf course,” I said, forcing a smile. “Oz was in danger. I only did what any decent person would have.”
    â€œNo, Dorothy. Not everyone would have done it. You did it. You’re more special than you know.”
    How could I argue with that? “Okay,” I admitted modestly. “Maybe I’m a little special.”
    Ozma threw her head back and let out a lilting, musical giggle. “I think we’re going to be great friends,” she said, wrapping an arm around my waist and tipping her head against my shoulder. She led me through the great entrance hall to a series of French doors that looked out onto a lush, expansive garden dotted with fountains and topiary sculptures.
    â€œSo do I,” I said, remembering what the Scarecrow had told me. If I was going to find Glinda, it appeared that I had to make Ozma trust me. I had to become her friend. Truthfully, it didn’t seem like it would be very difficult.
    â€œIt’s a beautiful day,” Ozma said. “Well, it’s always a beautiful day here, but still. Let’s take a walk in the gardens. I’ve got so much to ask you. Starting with how in the world you got here!”

Twelve
    In Ozma’s gardens, the hedges were tall and greener than green, and were sculpted into strange, looming figures that were three times as tall as either of us. Some of them were covered in strange little blossoms, others were grown over with vines and fragrant honeysuckle and jacaranda and flowers that I didn’t recognize.
    Some of the flowers had tiny little eyes like the funny little puffballs that were growing all over the old farmhouse back in Munchkin Country. They all twisted in my direction to stare at me.
    If you’ve never had fifty plants with human eyeballs stare at you, you have no idea how disconcerting a feeling it is.
    A path wound its way through the grounds, forking off into other trails that led into little grassy valleys, groves of orange trees, little sitting areas with wrought-iron benches. Back home what passed for a garden was usually a couple of tomato plants and maybe some scraggly old petunias. This was something else.
    Ozma wandered down the main path idly, her scepter slung casually over her shoulder and the train of her dress trailing on the ground behind her.
    â€œDon’t keep me in suspense,” she said. “So what was it? Another cyclone? I know it’s not easy to get here from your world, believe me. I’ve looked into bringing you here myself, actually—we’ve had some political trouble, and since you were so good at handling it the first time—well, but that kind of magic is very