“You have Black’s heart?” Tinker asked Oilcan.
“I have no heart.” He thumped on his chest and it echoed.
“That was a different tin man.” Esme butted between the two of them. “We need to find the wizard! Only he can solve all our problems.”
“I can take you to the wizard.” Oilcan squeaked as he moved his arm to point down a yellow brick road that lead into a dark forest of black willows. “But we don’t need to hurry, it’s only six o’clock.”
“We’ve murdered time,” Esme took out a pocket watch. It seemed to be coated with butter. “It’s always six o’clock — we have to run to stay in the same place.”
“We will have to go through the trees.” Pony’s cattail danced nervously behind him.
“I don’t know if that’s smart,” Tinker said.
“Of course you don’t, you have straw for brains.” Esme picked straw out of Tinker’s head to prove her point. “Look! See!” She held out the straw of evidence. “We have to get to the wizard. He’s the only one to give you brains so you can solve this problem.”
“But the road ended with the tree.” Tinker pointed out as they crept forward, clinging to one another.
“It’s not the tree,” Esme said. “It’s the fruit.”
The trees turned, their gnarled faces looking at them with wooden eyes. They were black willow trees but there were apples — red and tempting — in their branches.
“You need the fruit.” Esme pushed her hard toward the trees.
The trees plucked the apples from their branches and flung them like hard rain at Tinker.
Tinker flailed her way out of her sheets to sit up in bed. It was very early morning by the pale light in the window — the birds hadn’t yet started to stir. Windwolf was awake though, and dressing.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He came to kiss her. His shirt was still unbuttoned, and she burrowed into his warmth.
“I had another dream about the Black, Esme and the black willow.”
“Esme?”
“I figured out who White was — she’s Lain’s sister.”
“Ah, the one in white — you’re dreaming that she’s dreaming.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair.
“Hm? Oh, yes, the Escher thing.” Gods, it felt so right to be held by him.
“Have you talked to Stormsong?”
“Yeah. She — we fit.”
He tipped her head back to gaze intently into her face. “You’ve accepted her? To be your beholden?”
She gave a tiny nod. It sounded like some kind of wedding vow. Was this what elf society was all about — getting married again and again, only without sex? “Yes. To be mine.”
Windwolf gave her his smile that warmed her to her toes. “I release her to you. But—”
“But?”
“But that is not what I meant. You should talk to Stormsong about your dreams. She has some training in yatanyai. She might be able to help you determine what they mean.”
“She does?”
“It was thought she would be an intanyei seyosa but in the end, she had too much of her father’s temperament.” Windwolf kissed Tinker again and slipped out of her hold. “I need to go. True Flame expects me. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”
She eyed the bed. She was still tired, but to sleep would most likely mean another dream.
“I’ll send Pony to you.” Windwolf buttoned up his shirt.
“I’d rather have you.” She settled back into the warm softness.
Windwolf smiled. “I am glad of that, but alas, you can not have me, so you must make do with Pony.”
Did he really know what that sounded like in English? She curled into ball and resolved to be asleep before Pony joined her. And she was.
Another day, another dress. She really had to do something about clothing. She picked out the Wind Clan blue dress and had the staff add pockets to it while she ate. Breakfast proved that Windwolf’s household was still intent on mothering the life out of her. They stacked the garden table with plates of pastries, omelets, and fresh fruit. Tinker eyed the collection of dishes with slight dismay.
“If they keep this up, they’re going to make me fat,” Tinker complained.
“Eat.” Stormsong pointed at bench, indicating that she was to sit. “You and Pony both lost weight since Aum Renau.”
Pony nodded, acknowledging that this was the truth. “You should eat.”
“Pft.” Tinker began loading a plate. “Fine, but you both have to eat too.”
A sign of their “fit,” they ate at first in companionable silence, then drifted into a conversation about which of the sekasha would work well with them. Of Windwolf’s four Hands, they came up with a list of seven possible candidates to fill the three open positions of Tinker’s First Hand.
“We can spend a few days pairing with others to see who works best with you.” Pony meant Tinker. “Windwolf chose all of his sekasha so we work well together, and we’ve had years to learn each other’s ways.”
“What are your plans for today?” Stormsong asked. “Are we finished with that tree?”
“I don’t know,” Tinker whined. “I had another dream about it. Windwolf said I should talk to you about it.”
“You dream?” Stormsong said.
“I don’t want to believe that I do,” Tinker said, “but things keep showing up out of my dreams.”
“Dreams are important,” Stormsong said. “They let you see the future.”
“Oh gods help me if this is my future,” Tinker muttered.
“Tell me this dream,” Stormsong said.
“Well, I had a couple, and they’re all centering around two people, and the tree.” Tinker explained the first dream and then the discovery of Esme’s identity, and then last night’s dream, ending with, “And I don’t have a clue where all that weirdness came from.”
Stormsong cocked her blue head with a faint disbelieving look on her face. “It sounds like Wizard of Oz.”
“What’s that?” Tinker asked.
“It’s a movie,” Stormsong said.
Tinker had never heard of such a movie. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about — It’s about — It’s odd.” Stormsong said. “Maybe you should just see it.”
Since Tooloo rented videos, Tinker gave her a call.
“I’m looking for the Wizard of Oz.”
“Well, follow the yellow brick road,” Tooloo said and hung up.
Somehow, Tinker had totally forgotten how maddening it was to deal with Tooloo. She hit redial, and explained, “I’m looking for the movie called Wizard of Oz.”
“You should have said so in the first place.”
“Can you set it aside? I’ll be by to pick it up.” And while she was there, she’d find out why Tooloo had lied to Nathan.
“No, you won’t.” Tooloo said.
Amazing that someone can give you an instant headache over the phone. “Yes, I will.”
“You can come but the movie won’t be here.”
“Oh, did someone else rent it?”
“No.”
“Tooloo!” Tinker whined. “This is so simple — why can’t I rent the movie if no one has it?”
“I never had it.”
“You didn’t?” Tinker asked.
“It was fifty years old when the first Shutdown hit, and I couldn’t stand it after having to watch it every year for thirty years running.”
Should she even ask why Tooloo had to watch it every year? No, that would only make her head hurt more. “So that’s a ‘no’?”
“Yes,” and Tooloo hung up.
Tinker sat drumming her fingers as she considered her phone. Should she call Tooloo back and try to find out why Tooloo was telling people she wasn’t married to Windwolf? Go and visit the crazy half-elf in person? She suspected that even if she could understand the logic behind Tooloo’s action, she wouldn’t be able to change it so the half-elf would stop.