Page 10 of There's No Place Like Oz

Magic instantly reconnected it to my wrist, and I flexed my fingers to assure the full and perfect joining of my nerves. Then, using my now free arm, I pressed back on the cross that held me, and I shoved myself forward, allowing the wires to cut through me on every point of contact. My ankles, my stomach, my neck. I nonchalantly chopped myself into pieces, then I tumbled into the weeds as a fully disassembled man.

I laid still for a moment, just to revel in the sweet melody of disgust and surprise from my audience. I never wanted to miss a good opportunity to shock and awe.

A munchkin tip toed up to my scattered parts with caution. I waited until he was too close to escape, then I willed myself to snap back together swiftly and suddenly. The magic reassembled me in perfect form in an instant, and I used my newly freed body to knock the nearby munchkin to the ground with a well-placed chop on the back of his neck. His jaw hit a rock at the most perfect angle, and I slammed my heel down on the stupid thing’s head in an expertly executed curb stomp. I waited for the siren song of sharp, horrified gasps that followed.

Music.

This immortal body was the one good thing that came of my failed relationship. She thought eternity would be torture, but oh how I enjoyed the power it gave me.

I rolled my shoulders, then I glanced at the little army. They had all taken a step back, defensive in stance as they regarded me. I could have likely freed myself like this much sooner, but I hadn’t had much reason to. Very little motivated me these days. Something about losing your soul and sentimentality will do that to a person.

But what I lacked in drive, I made up for in sadism. I grinned widely, showing my sharply pointed teeth that had been ground into shape by my barbaric hosts. They thought fangs might scare the crows, but they seemed much more useful for terrorizing these little bastards.

“Boo.”

That single word had them scrambling for their tools—wrenches, hammers, pitchforks, anything they could use as a weapon. I wasn’t going to give them the time to gather their wits, however.

With a nod of my head and a wave of my hand, the crows that circled overhead darted downward, bearing talons and beaks, while flapping their powerful wings at the munchkins. The crows had come to respect me in our many long talks on a dull day. The munchkins had lamented my inability to protect their crops from the birds, and now they were about to lamenttheirinability to protect themselves from me.

I yanked the barbed wire from the cross, and I whipped it in a violent circle. The slaughter was effortless. One, two, ten—I took them out one by one, not sustaining so much as a single hit.

I cackled at the sight, feeling rather satisfied up until a pitchfork came careening through my back. The cursed little troll gored me through and sent me stumbling forward. I hit the dry dirt chest first, and the pitchfork punctured the earth like I was a steak on a sponge cake. The successful munchkin hopped atop me in his attempt to feel like a big man.

What a victory.

He really thought he did something there.

I placed my hands on the ground beside myself, and I pressed through my biceps to lift myself from the ground. I rose up on hands and knees, making no effort to remove the fork from my torso. No, I let it penetrate my body further, dragging myself upward along the pointed length of its spikes, just to show how much Ididn’t fucking care.

The Munchkin’s eyes grew wide. He fell from my back, hit the ground, and scooted back on his butt, trying to make distance. Though this display of dominance had him so entranced, he didn’t think to get up and run for his stupid fucking life.

He remained mesmerized as I continued to stand, leaving the fork lodged in the ground, just so I could make a show of tearing myself through the entire length of the handle. It was a shameless flex of intimidation and power.

On my feet, I used both hands to feed the handle of the pitchfork the rest of the way through my chest, then I yanked the decorative end from my body with a pop. It was a lightweight and easy to use tool in my hand. I twirled it in my grip and pointed the sharp end at my host.

The stupid imp started to whimper, but he was paralyzed by the image. I laughed in a tone that only beget horror, then I lunged it through him swift and hard.

“Didn’t quite work out how you imagined there, now did it?” I smirked while I hoisted my enemy to the sun.

I quite enjoyed a good slaughter. It had been far too long. When I worked and lived as Hildy’s whore, I was tasked with keeping the little men in line often. But now that I was Hildy’s exile, I’d instead been tasked with nothing but cultivating my boredom. “Such a shame that you couldn’t have amused me longer.”

With that, I walked my grip down the handle until I had the little dying thing good and close. Then, unceremoniously, I bit into his neck and drank him dry of his essence until a warmth started to return to my flesh. It wasn’t much, and the blood wouldn’t last long in my system, but it was enough to feel alive again. I slammed the pitchfork into the ground when I was done with him, savoring the final grunt and gurgle as the last of the air in his lungs was expunged.

My chest healed near instantaneously, closing the open hole as if I’d simply stuck my finger into a pile of loose sand. I dusted myself off, then I smiled gently at the carnage around me. Ten little trolls, slaughtered by their own scarecrow. What foolish little demons. The munchkins were heinous things after all. No one would miss them, other than their equally heinous families, and I certainly had no love lost for any of them.

Once I’d stretched and found myself satisfied by this freedom, I turned to face my new companions. I fixated on this woman who was so very fetching in painful bondage. Dangerously fetching. “Thank you for drawing the munchkins up here for me. I’d been meaning to do that for weeks now.” I removed my straw hat and took a deep bow. My long and messy black hair hid my face. Advantageous, as I may have scared her if she saw the expression I let slip. I would prefer this lovely little toy not have any inkling of the things I wanted to do to her.

“Crowe is my name.” I added. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, my sweet girl?”

Chapter 7

There were dead bodies everywhere, and the field was dyed a deep, dark red. I stared at the horrific battlefield before me, too numb to acknowledge the zombie-like man at my feet, smiling so pleasantly up at me.

“Your name, my lady?” He said in a way that was so polite that the contrast of it was jarring. He gazed into me with two eyes that were completely black, save the red irises that formed glowing rings in their center. He may have been the devil himself for all I knew. I stopped believing in god a long, long time ago, but since arriving in Oz, I’d become less and less certain that this was not, in fact, purgatory.

“D-Dorothy.” I managed. “My name is Dorothy.” I spoke carefully, trying not to exacerbate the wounds around my neck. The barbs had dug in deep enough already.

“Dorothy. I’ve never heard such a name.” Crowe rubbed his chin while he looked me over. “From where did you get it?”

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