Chapter One

There have always been whispers surrounding Shiz Academy for Gifted Girls. Whispers like the third floor is haunted, or a woman's shadow appears in the clock tower window late at night, or if you set foot into the passageways below the school you'll never come out again.

Most of them are untrue.

This one, though? This whisper?

Pay attention, now.

This one is true.

Glinda Arduenna craned her neck to stare out the windows of her carriage. The sky outside was gray, dark clouds hanging heavily overhead. It looked like rain. A summer storm.

Oz, she hoped it wasn't. She was already late, and a storm would only slow the carriage more. The last thing she wanted was to make a spectacle of herself walking into Shiz.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her Ama couldn't even come to see her off; a bad fall had caused her to delay the trip. And Glinda's parents certainly weren't going to see her off either; that's what Ama Clutch had been for.

At least her driver wasn't bothering with small talk. He'd merely nodded when she said where she was going, and Glinda suspected he'd driven plenty of young, ambitious women along this route.

How many he'd driven back, she didn't want to ask.

That was one of the many rumors about Shiz—everyone knew it was competitive; the only serious conservatory for the arts in the Emerald City, and the only one for women in all of Oz. Getting in alone was a struggle, but the real task was staying in. Whispers floated around of girls who couldn't take the pressure and left in the middle of the night so as not to disgrace their families.

Glinda shivered. She wouldn't leave. She knew that. No matter how difficult it got. She had fought tooth and nail to be sent to Shiz, the only woman from Gillikin to be accepted in the last twenty years. Her spellwork had been rusty, she knew; and she also knew that the main reason she'd been accepted was on account of her voice. It was all anyone talked about back home.

Little did they know her voice wasn't the only reason she'd applied to Shiz. She'd flipped through the glossy pages of the brochure so many times they'd become matte, the oils from her fingers wearing them as she traced the lines of what she really wanted to study. The brochure was tightly tucked at the bottom of her suitcase, a reminder of why she was there. A reminder to not fail.

The carriage pulled up in front of the gates to the school, and the driver stopped. Glinda stepped outside and wordlessly took her trunk from the driver, giving him a small nod as she passed him a coin for a tip.

"Will you be needing anything else?"

"No, thank you," she said. She glanced up at his face and had to fight back a gasp.

He was an Ape. A Chimpanzee, if she was being more accurate. Oz, she hadn't known—and if her parents had...

"I'm sorry," she said instinctively, though for what she was apologizing, she did not know.

"It's quite all right."

"What's your name?"

The Chimp blinked at her. "Chistery."

"I... how many girls do you drive here?" Glinda asked. The shock of seeing an Animal and her nervousness about being at Shiz had made her bold.

"Too many, Miss Glinda."

"How many do you drive back?"

"Ah, that's the real question isn't it?" He smiled at her. "Too many, as well."

Thunder crackled above them, and Glinda flinched. Chistery handed her her trunk.

"I would hate," he said, "to drive you from this place. Be careful here, Miss Glinda. Not everything is as it seems. If you're going to survive Shiz—and I do hope you do—don't take everything here at face value."

Glinda nodded. "I won't," she said, though she was wondering what kind of cryptic warning was that?

"Best get inside," Chistery said. "Wouldn't do to be late on your first day. Madame Morrible does not tolerate anything but punctuality for the first assembly."

He climbed back onto the carriage, and Glinda didn't know how she hadn't realized he was an Ape before, the fluid way he moved.

Glinda clutched her trunk tighter in her hands and headed up the long walk to the Academy entrance. The sound her shoes made on the cobblestones was oddly satisfying.

And then—

Lightning sparked overhead and Glinda found herself caught in a downpour, rain coming down suddenly, in sheets, drenching her before she had time to react, to realize. She picked up her trunk and ran down the cobblestones, nearly slipping. By the time she'd reached the stone archway she was soaked. She muttered a quick spell to attempt to dry herself, but all she managed to do was steam her clothing.

"Hell and Oz," she whispered. She grasped the bronze handle of the doors to the entranceway and pulled, and the doors creaked open and Glinda stepped foot inside Shiz.

Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor, a great grandfather clock by the staircase telling her she was a few minutes late. Chistery's words echoed in her head, and she shivered.

Where was she supposed to go? The hallway was empty, the chime of the clock the only thing filling the space. "Hello?" she called, and her voice echoed. She'd been given no instructions, only a time to arrive and a vague knowledge that there was an assembly. Was she just supposed to know these things?

Mechanical whirring caught her ear, and she turned. A golden TikTok thing was speeding towards her, and she squealed as it came to a halt.

It didn't speak. Its eyes were glass, staring slightly past her. It creeped Glinda out, but she tried not to show it.

"Where do I go?" she asked, then felt foolish. Surely it wouldn't answer, surely it couldn't understand her.

The TikTok turned and she picked up her bag, unsure of if she was supposed to follow. She hesitated, but when it stopped only a few feet ahead of her and whirled around again, she followed it, footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

She followed the mechanism down so many hallways she lost count—how had the other girls found the place for the assembly, anyway?—until they came to an ornate stone door which Glinda could tell immediately was from the early Lurlinist period. The faces carved into the stone stared menacingly down at her, and she shivered.

What kind of a school was this?

The machine knocked on the door, which swung open almost immediately. Glinda moved to step inside, but the machine blocked her way, one of its spindly arms reaching out for her bag.

"No," she said, thinking of the brochure tucked at the bottom, "I need this."

"Grommetik knows which room to take your things to," said a deep voice behind her, and Glinda jumped, turning.

A woman stood behind her—no, towered might be a better word. She was dressed in a rich burgundy velvet that made her look oddly like a curtain, though Glinda would have never dared say this to the woman's face. On the subject—her face was wide, her eyes wider apart still, giving her a pale, fishy look. She had no lips to speak of, though Glinda could see the outline of the dark red lipliner she'd used in an attempt at drawing them in herself.

"G-grommetik?" squeaked Glinda, and instantly regretted it. This was the kind of woman who would take any amount of weakness Glinda showed and use it against her, she could tell that much just from looking at her.

The thing whirred at the mention of its name, taking its place by the woman's side. Glinda tried very, very hard to not show any fear on her face.

"You're late for the assembly, dear," the woman said. "I don't like taking my time to have to fetch my students."

It clicked, then, who this woman was. Madame Morrible. The head of Shiz Academy. Oh Oz, she hadn't wanted to embarrass herself, yet here was the head in front of the school standing before her, knowing Glinda was late.

But why was she here? Had she been sent to fetch her?

Glinda was about to open her mouth to apologize, to say that the carriage had been late, or to complain about the storm. But before she could she heard footsteps down the hall, and the unmistakable sound of wheels.

Madame Morrible turned. A man was coming down the long hallway pushing a wheelchair, a girl sitting in it. From far away she looked frail and timid, yet as she got closer Glinda saw she was sitting straight-backed, a shawl draped elegantly about her shoulders.

"Apologies, Meilyr," the man said, and Glinda dropped her gaze. If the man was important enough to be able to address the Head by her first name, then Glinda would have to wait to address him.

"No worries, Frexspar, we're delighted Miss Nessarose is able to join us this year," Morrible said. Glinda couldn't see her facial expressions but she could hear the smile in the head's voice. "I trust you found your way?"

"Quite," Frex said. The Head gave a murmur of approval. "It wasn't difficult. Are we to head to the chapel for the opening?"

"I was just on my way," the Head said. "Miss Arduenna and I would be quite pleased to accompany yourself and Miss Nessarose."

"I must head home," the man said, looking at Morrible almost... sheepishly, Glinda thought. "Sermons won't write themselves."

"Of course. We'll be happy to see to your daughter. It was good to see you again, Frexspar," she said, and as the man left Morrible turned on her heel and walked down the corridor, clearly expecting Glinda and—Nessarose, was it?—to follow.

Glinda started off down the hallway, but a sound came from behind her that stopped her—a cough. She turned. Nessarose was sitting primly in her chair. Glinda had expected her to follow her, too, even to wheel herself, but as she peered closer...

"Oh!" she exclaimed, hopefully soft enough the other girl had not heard. The shawl draped around her shoulders wasn't only for looks, but to disguise the fact she had no arms.

"Did you... want me to push you?" Glinda asked.

"If you wouldn't mind," Nessarose said, though how she would have gotten down the hallway if Glinda had minded, she didn't know.

Glinda walked up behind Nessa's chair and began to push, the chair gliding easily on the stone floor. She wondered, then, about the lack of arms, though she never would have dared ask. Was it genetic? Some sort of defect? Had she had an accident as a child? A man back from Glinda's town had no leg, but she'd seen the doctors there build a contraption out of gears, a sort of mechanical leg, so the man could walk unassisted-and if he was wearing pants, you'd never know it was there.

But maybe Nessa had her own reasons for not trying such contraptions. Surely it wasn't because of money, if she could afford to attend Shiz. And by the elegant work on her chair, the subtle gold flaking in the wood, she could definitely afford it.

As if sensing her thoughts, Nessarose inclined her head. "You're wondering about my chair."

"I…"

"Everyone does," the girl said. Her voice was thin and reedy, yet, Glinda could hear a strength underneath it, a wire pulled taut. "This body is mine created by the Unnamed God. To tamper with it, to add to it, would directly blaspheme His design."

"Even if it makes things easier?"

Nessarose coughed again, yet this time, Glinda could tell it was meant to be derisive. "Ease is for those who have no faith."

"But you have to have others do things for you."

"What, and I should be striving for independence? That's not what a woman is designed for." She lifted her chin. "Are you religious, Miss…"

"Glinda. And no, I'm… I was raised in the church, but it's… been awhile."

"Hm," Nessarose said again, but she fell silent as Glinda wheeled her down the dark hallway.

The chapel in which the assembly was held was the same stone as the gates out front, a dark, imposing color. Glinda thought it may not have been the best idea architecturally to use the same, but then again, the chapel looked as though it had been built long before the school, so perhaps that was what had been available.

She and Nessarose filed into the back. Glinda took her seat on a pew, and already could feel so many pairs of eyes on her, could hear the whispering of the other girls.

Oddly enough, none of it seemed directed at Nessarose, whom Glinda was sure would have been the source of much attention. Then again, Madame Morrible hadn't acknowledged how late she was, had only done so pleasantly, in fact.

Already she was beginning to get a sense of the hierarchy around Shiz Academy, then.

The Head stood at the podium, and Glinda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She couldn't see Grommetik, and she desperately hoped it had deposited her things in her room like she'd wanted.

"Welcome to another year here at Shiz," Madame Morrible said, and Glinda realized with a sinking feeling that the girls in front of her were sitting according to their year and major. So she had already lost out on an opportunity for social advancement—not even advancement, just fitting in.

Oz.

But she wasn't leaving. She'd made that promise to herself. She'd stick it out. Girls had been cruel to her and loved her in turn at home, and any tricks they played, she could play better. Her mother had been reminding her of her own station since she was a small child. She knew the games of manipulation and trickery well, and more importantly in a school like Shiz, she knew how far ahead talent could get you.

And she was talented, everyone at home had told her so. So.

Morrible went on about the school and its history, almost word-for-word from the brochure Glinda had memorized. How classes began on the first day of the week, giving the girls only one night to get fully settled in. How intensive Shiz was, and how there was no room for error—but how well previous graduates had done.

How if these girls could make it in Shiz, they could make it anywhere in Oz. Morrible herself had been a Shiz graduate, after all, though no one could quite recall what she'd studied.

Glinda wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. Morrible hadn't said a word about their schedule, and she hoped to the Unnamed God it wasn't one of those things she was just supposed to intrinsically know again.

Strict schedules for the first week. Classes, a long break for the weekends, three meals a day at the proper times. Things would grow lax a bit, especially for the music students, once rehearsals started.

Glinda swallowed and looked around. Already the girls in front of her had their heads bent together, whispering about roles and parts. Already she could see their outfits were far more lavish than hers, their manner with each other easy, their knowledge of what place they were in exact.

She was going to survive.

She had to.