Tin (Faeries of Oz Book 1) Read online

  “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dorothy.” He looked defeated while worry lines etched into his forehead. “I just think you’ve had a hard time. When we were kids, after the tornado, and you said you’d come back from a faerie world called Oz, you changed. But just because you think something is real, and it isn’t, that doesn’t make you crazy.”

  Perhaps the missing piece of why her heart could never be his was because he’d never once believed that maybe her story was true. “I still can’t marry you. The right girl is waiting out there for you. I know it.”

  Jimmy didn’t say a single word as he studied the ground.

  She couldn’t handle the silence any longer. “Now just break it to me. What’s to become of the farm? Is there any saving it?”

  He scooped up his hat from the ground and placed it gingerly back on, then silently pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. My father isn’t keeping it or I could have tried harder. It’s worth more to auction off to a buyer.” Glenn was lead at the bank, and Jimmy worked for him. But even with Jimmy pushing his father to help her out, it was no use. The farm was just in too much debt.

  Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out an off-white envelope and handed it to her. “I’m sorry, Dorothy. All it says is that the house will be claimed in two days. I really do wish my father would have listened to me.” His hand pressed softly against her cheek again. “If you ever need a door open for you, mine will always be.” He turned and walked away, his shoulders slumping a bit more than when he’d originally arrived.

  “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered to herself. Sorry he’d believed she would have loved him. Even then, she hated Glenn and wouldn’t have wanted to see the man’s face as her father-in-law. She silently hoped Jimmy would never turn out like his father, but something told her he’d always be a proper gentleman.

  She watched the car back out and drive off, kicking up the dust of the road once more. She plummeted to her knees when she knew he could no longer see her. Dorothy should have asked Jimmy to stay with her a little longer, not as a lover, but a friend, the one who had always defended her in front of everyone. Yet Dorothy truly believed that deep, deep down in his heart, he thought her to be crazy, too. She wished someone believed her about her past.

  Wicked Witch. Glinda. Slippers. Scarecrow. Lion. Tin Man. Emerald City. Home. She pressed her palms to her head and pushed as hard as she could, trying to shove away the thoughts of creatures that everyone told her weren’t real. She screamed across the wheat and corn fields again and again until her voice cracked and her throat felt rough.

  “It isn’t real. It isn’t real.”

  “It is real. It is real.”

  The silver slippers that had taken her back home hadn’t been on her feet when she’d awoken ten years ago in the wheat field. If it was real, then where were they?

  “Stop it!” But she couldn’t control her spinning thoughts.

  Leaving everything sprawled out across the ground, except for the shovel, she ran toward the house. Once she crossed the threshold, she stomped to the living room and smashed the shovel across the family portraits resting on the work bench, the paintings from the walls, the knickknacks on the shelves, then slammed the tool against the wooden table where no one ate but her. Fighting back her tears, Dorothy struck the wall, creating a large dent before tossing the shovel to the wood floor with a clang. “Why couldn’t you two believe me?” she screamed to the ghosts of her aunt and uncle, wherever they were. “If you two loved me so much, then why couldn’t you just listen to me!”

  Dorothy didn’t feel like eating, even though she’d slaughtered the last remaining pig that morning to prepare one final stew. Now, there were no animals left to worry about either. She’d sold all the chickens and cows in an attempt to save the farm. There was nothing left to sell anymore.

  With heavy eyelids, she walked over broken glass and prepared a bath. She stripped herself of her dirty clothing and slumped down into the warm water. Closing her eyes, she repeated the words there’s no place like home, until she drifted away, praying she would wake in the Land of Oz.

  Something sounded, jolting Dorothy out of her deep dreamless world she’d entered. She’d fallen asleep in the bath—the water was no longer warm but freezing, her skin covered in gooseflesh.

  The sound came again, a light tinkling of metal against metal. Snatching up a towel from the sink, she wrapped it around her wet body and hurried into her room. She tossed on a sleeveless white button-up shirt with a collar, paired with a clean set of striped overalls and black flats.

  Remaining as quiet as possible, Dorothy fished out her uncle’s rifle from beneath her bed. Numerous wolves had come on to the farm that she’d had to shoot so they wouldn’t harm the other animals or destroy the crops. But this disturbance sounded different. There was always the chance of an intruder, too. Everyone in town knew “Crazy Dorothy” lived by herself out on the farm with no nearby neighbors. It would be so easy for someone to break into her house and take what little she had. But she had her rifle prepared, and because of Uncle Henry, she knew how to use it well.

  The noise came again, out the window, somewhere in the wheat field. She scrambled to light a lantern as she opened the front door while holding the rifle awkwardly in the other hand. A sharp thrash echoed directly in the middle of the wheat, the tall stalks swaying with the wind under the silvery glow of the moon. This time, the noise was accompanied by a trickle of emerald green light, illuminating the wheat stalks. Flashing once, twice, and continuing as though it were signaling her to draw closer. She inhaled sharply, setting down the lantern. That brilliant green was something she knew all too well, despite the ten years that had passed since she’d been eleven.

  “Oz,” she whispered, almost dropping the rifle. “No, no. That can’t be it.” Aunt Em would be ashamed if Dorothy chose to believe, if she slipped down that yellow brick road of insanity again. After all the work Aunt Em had put in to reversing Dorothy’s delusions.

  Aunt Em was no longer there to make Dorothy think she could be wrong.

  I could be right. I could have always been right.

  Heart galloping in her chest, she took off toward the field, skirting around stalks of wheat, like she was eleven years old once again. Except the last time there was emerald illumination, she’d been inside of her house within a tornado. But that light had been there, too.

  Right then, she would do anything for the yellow brick road to lead her anywhere else but here—instead of remaining in a world with nothing. She was supposed to be out of the house in two days’ time, but if she could find a way back to Oz—a place where no one thought of her as Crazy Dorothy—she would take the opportunity and not look back.

  Pushing away tall and thin stalks of wheat, while avoiding the scurrying of mice feet, Dorothy followed the flickering light until, in front of her, there stood a green outline shimmering in the air, resembling a doorway.

  “Dorothy,” a male’s deep voice called—one that was all-too familiar. “Dorothy, you need to come back. Now.”

  It was real. It was real. It was real. She wished Aunt Em and Uncle Henry were alive to see this, to believe her. And she wished Toto was by her side, as he’d been the last time. But even her little dog had passed on to a new life.

  Breathing in the night air and the heavy scent of her farm, she pressed her hand into the doorway and wiggled her fingers. She tugged her arm back and peered down at her palm. To see the land of Oz in all its glory, all she had to do was step through. With a smile she couldn’t contain, Dorothy pressed her hand into the flickering green once more. Something roughly grasped her palm and yanked her within the portal, not leaving her enough time to scream or even yelp as she dropped her rifle in the dirt.

  Chapter Three

  Tin

  The moment a delicate hand came through the portal, Tin snatched the wrist and hauled the rest of the human into Oz. A human that was supposed to be Dorothy. Had he gotten the location wrong? He’d traveled far to reach the same dwarf-infested village she’d dropped into ten years ago, but this was distinctly not a little girl.

  This was … a woman. Wearing tight striped overalls that accentuated her curves and a white collared shirt that barely contained what was underneath. Her hair was dreadfully tousled and sopping wet from the shoulders down, but the wonder filling her eyes made something crack deep inside him. Tin threw her arm from his grasp, his lip curling in disgust at the thought.

  “Oz.” Her voice was barely audible as she slowly turned away from him, taking in the dwarf village.

  He followed the mortal woman’s eyes as they took in the decrepit town. Dozens of fire-lit posts highlighted the short, white buildings with round straw roofs. All the color in town came from the broken shutters, paint-chipped doors, and crooked flowerboxes, though it was difficult to see any of it at night. Stone paths led from each doorstep to the main square, which butted against the swirled end of the yellow and red brick roads. Where Dorothy’s house had fallen on the Wicked Witch of the East stood a golden statue of the girl with a braid over each shoulder and, beside her, that wiry, four-legged creature she was so attached to.

  “This is Oz,” Dorothy said a bit louder.

  “Where the hell else would it be?” Tin stepped in front of her, jaw clenched. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s—” Her eyes fell on his face for the first time and she gasped.

  Tin grabbed the woman by the upper arms before she could run, screaming, and alert every fae in town. The iron tips of his gloves pricked her skin when he squeezed. “Who. Are. You?”

  “Dorothy.” She struggled to free herself but he held firm. “It’s me, Tin. Dorothy. Now let go.”

  He scowled at her, and she scowled right back. There was no way thi
s was the same human who’d destroyed the Wicked Witch of the West—Reva. The real Dorothy was at least a foot shorter with a rounder face and an overall naivety about her. The statue directly behind this fraud was a perfect likeness, from the ribbons holding her braided hair, right down to the ruffled socks on her feet.

  “Imposter,” Tin snarled.

  “Of course it’s me!” She fought against his grip again but only managed to dig the iron tips on his gloves deeper into her arms.

  Tin glared menacingly. Mortals aged faster than the fae, but this progression seemed extreme. “That’s Dorothy.” He spun her around to face the dulled statue and pointed. “See the difference?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “They made me into a monument?”

  “Stop lying!” he roared.

  “It’s been ten years, you oaf!” she snapped. “I grew up. And speaking of looking differently, what happened to your face?” Her lips parted as she studied him, seeming to grow concerned.

  Tin released her as fast as one would drop a red-hot ember. Everyone knew what happened to his face—he had become a story parents told offspring to make them behave. Do as I say or the Tin Man will snatch you from your bed. It made sense this woman didn’t know specifics, but she wouldn’t ask what happened if she hadn’t seen him before the branding.

  “If you’re Dorothy,” he said carefully, “Where’s your little rat, Tutu?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Toto.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “My dog died, not that it’s any of your business.” She crossed her arms, the movement pushing up her cleavage. Tin couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking downward. “You are Tin, aren’t you?”

  He held out his arms as if to say who else would I be? They were both quiet for a long moment before Dorothy broke the silence.

  “That’s impossible. The Tin I knew wasn’t a self-righteous prick.”

  A surprised laugh burst from his chest. Tin leaned in closer, smelling the light scent of her soap, and cocked an eyebrow. “The fae you knew ten years ago wanted to be good.”

  “Which is why the Wizard broke the curse on your heart.”

  “An entirely useless organ. I’m glad it turned back to stone.” He took in the statue of Dorothy again and considered the drastic change. Lion better not try to weasel out of payment, especially if Tin had to put up with her shit for very long. Lion’s macabre lover wanted to wear Dorothy’s head? Well, this was the only one Dorothy had. His gaze flicked back to the grown woman to find her staring, lips parted in horror at his revelation—an expression he was used to—and sighed.

  “Your heart is stone again?” She gripped her chest as though he would rip her heart from beneath her ribcage to replace it with his.

  There was nothing for her to worry about. He wouldn’t touch her fragile mortal organ. The Gnome King had done him a favor when he’d cursed Tin’s parents—the Heartless Curse had turned his heart to stone in retaliation for the lack of mercy they’d shown the Gnome Queen. The queen had begged for their help to hide her from gremlin marauders but, understandably, his parents bolted their door shut instead. When the queen was cut down on the doorstep of Tin’s childhood home, the king had needed someone to punish. Perhaps the avenging king wouldn’t have cursed Tin’s mother if he’d known Tin grew in her womb—damning an innocent child to the same fate—or if he’d found the gremlins responsible. He was grateful the Gnome King hadn’t known because if the few short years with a beating heart had taught Tin anything, it was that emotions made a mess of everything. It was a welcomed event when Oz’s magic wore off and his heart solidified again. Dorothy could keep her wretched thing thumping in her chest.

  At least until Lion got ahold of her.

  “And this fae doesn’t give a fuck.” Tin ground his teeth. “We have to get off the road before we’re seen, unless you want to be ripped apart by the night beasts tonight.”

  Dorothy grew rigid and stayed silent. Finally, an action from her that pleased him.

  She shifted her concerned gaze to the dwarves’ lantern-lit homes. Each door was painted a different pastel color and the inn where Tin had already secured a room was no different. He gave her a small push toward the pink door at the edge of town. Unfortunately, he hadn’t factored his strength—or her mortal body—into the motion, and Dorothy stumbled forward.

  “What the hell?”

  He winced at the volume of her voice. The last thing they needed was to wake the dwarves this time of night. There was no telling whether they would get cranky miners, peppy singers, or, gods forbid, someone who recognized the woman beside him.

  “Apologies,” he mumbled to quiet her. There was nothing to be sorry for.

  It seemed to pacify her despite the insincerity in his tone. “Where are the munchkins?”

  “The mun—oh. Right. The dwarves.” He’d forgotten Dorothy called them that.

  She looked at him skeptically. “Glinda said they were munchkins.”

  “Glinda is an idiot,” he snapped and tucked Dorothy into his side. She shifted away from him as he hid her beneath his cloak. Was she going to make everything difficult? This was why he preferred jobs that ended in blood. Heads didn’t talk once they were removed. “Stop fussing. Oz isn’t how you remember it.”

  Some residual trust must’ve lingered inside Dorothy because she relaxed into Tin and allowed him to lead her into the inn. They hurried through the closed tavern with the long liquid-stained tables, worn stools, and wooden steins hanging from hooks behind the bar. Small barrels rested on shelves, ready to be cracked when the tavern opened again the next night. The sound of shuffling feet in a back room had Tin hauling Dorothy upstairs to their room. Every squeak of the planked floor had him wincing, and he nearly had to bend in half to fit through the doorframes, but they made it all the way to the room without seeing anyone else. Langwidere expected Tin to deliver Dorothy within the next week, alive, so her head could be properly removed, but he needed to rest first. Not flee in the middle of the night.

  The click of the lock seemed to mean something completely different to Dorothy, however. “Where’s Glinda?” Without waiting for an answer, she asked, “Why isn’t Oz how I remember it? And what happened to your heart?”

  Gods. Will this girl shut the hell up already?

  Once his cloak was folded on the chair, he lifted his axe from his waist and tucked the head of the weapon beneath his pillow. The room was almost too warm, the bed too soft, and the ceiling too low, but it was more comfortable than the forest floor. Tin pulled his shirt off next, along with his gloves, and tossed the black fabric over the painted statue of a young Dorothy that sat on the nightstand. A vase of red flowers tipped, spilling water all over the floor, but that was fine with him. There were more on the windowsill, dresser, and round table anyway. He flopped down on top of the bed covers without sparing Dorothy a word.

  The weight of Dorothy’s stare on his abdomen made his muscles flex involuntarily. If she asked about the handful of scars decorating his skin, he wouldn’t lie. The jagged one on his side came from an ogre, and the puckered circle on his shoulder from a poisoned spear. He couldn’t remember where he got other smaller ones, but the important thing was that every wound ended with a big, fat payday. Something told Tin that Dorothy wouldn’t appreciate hearing how his new profession was murder.

  “See something you like?” he asked with a lazy grin. She blushed bright red. Tin yawned, satisfied with her reaction, and shut his eyes. The silver key to their shared room was securely in his right pants’ pocket, which meant Dorothy was securely in his grasp. They would leave at dawn, after the dwarves settled into their routines for the day, to avoid unnecessary attention.

  “Tin!”

  He cracked one eye to find Dorothy flushed with anger. “Are you really not going to tell me anything?”

  “I don’t see why any of it matters,” he grumbled. She made a choked noise. “Fine. If it will get you to shut up. Glinda hasn’t come out of the South in years. She’s too busy doing whatever it is she does. My heart is my business. Oz isn’t the same because the Wizard is a faerie fruit addicted fool who left the Emerald City, which is now in chaos. And you’re back because I opened a portal and brought you here. The last bit was rather exhausting though, so do me a favor and stop talking.”