Page 24 of Witch Queens: Tales from Oz

Suddenly I felt tiny and used.

Sensing my dismay El quickly came around the table, “He isn’t hurting you or anything is he?”

To my horror, there were tears in my eyes, “No! Goddess, no, nothing like that. It is just—nothing, honestly.”

Mombi put her arm out to place a hand on my arm, “You are awfully upset for nothing.”

“It’s this case,” I lied, “I just want Dorothy captured so that my people are safe.”

“Do you want our help?” El asked kindly, and I leaned into my twins embrace.

I wanted to say yes, but they had their own territories to run. And I knew that this was my test. I had done what I needed to in telling them of the chance that she might come their way. But for now, Dorothy was mine.

“No,” I sat up, breaking away. “I can do this. I just wanted to warn each of you. If she comes your way, I will pursue her.”

Mombi raised a hand, “Actually, I think we should make a vow that whoever has her in their territory has the right to deal with her however they see fit.”

I nodded slowly, “I can agree to that. I will also vow that I will not willingly push her into another territory, but I will let one of you know if she leaves mine.”

Mombi looked at El and Glenda, “Are we in agreeance?”

El raised a hand, “Witches honor.”

We turned to Glenda who had been filing her nails.

She sighed daintily and then finally agreed, “Witches honor.”

I smiled, “That bitch Dorothy won’t know what’s coming to her.

**

LATER THAT NIGHT Iwas lying in Scarecrow’s massive bathtub trying to get my muscles to relax when he walked into the bathroom.

I smiled up at him in the doorway. His jaw reflected the day's growth of stubble and his muscles stretched out his black t-shirt. My eyes flitted down to his torn jeans, and I wondered if he had any underwear on.

I doubted it.

Scarecrow wasn’t smiling.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

He stared for a moment, “Jake said that you were crying today with your sisters.”

My face heated.

Shit. Double and triple shit.

“Yeah?” I tried to feign innocence.

“What was it about?”

“Nothing,” I said brightly, “I can get out if you want the bath.”

“I don’t want the fucking bathtub, Indy. I want to know who made you cry.”

His voice was hard, scary almost.

“Nobody made me cry,” I shot back. “I was just upset about the murders.”

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