"That stuff gave me some crazy dreams." muttered the Witch as they stepped out onto the bustling platform of the Emerald City, squinting against the smoke and dust of the train. She wasn't used to this type of travel anymore, not after years of travelling by broom stick, up alone in the clean, untouched air.
"It tends to do that." replied Ian. "It's like a sleeping pill mixed with acid, I think."
"Then it's a good thing I'm already dead."
It was still cloudy outside, although it had stopped raining. The air was cool and wet, and the sky was white, allowing only a thin film light to come through to colour the City, a dull, cold green. The place looked as worn out as it actually was. But the Witch liked it.
The hailed a cab a few blocks down from the station and took it downtown to the corner of Main street. The Witch recognized the area immediately.
Fae was crouched in the alley across the compound, waiting for her signal, trying to keep composed. Nerves is what causes most screw ups in this sort of thing.
Her colleagues had set up the devices the night before, hidden among the barbed wire. How they managed that, she'll never now since the wall was at least fifteen feet high and guarded. She could hear the start of their morning drill from the other side of the wall, the mechanic, synchronized marching of young Gale Forcers in training, chanting in Gillikin. She steeled herself, feeling the switch in her pocket as if to make sure it was still there, her heart pounding as if to escape it's cavity.
The marching stopped.
"Achtung!" snapped their officer, raising his gun to fire a salute with resounding ''BANG!'
That was it!
Fae yanked the device out from her pocket and pressed the button, bracing herself.
The explosion was deafening. The wall was flung into pieces and hurled outward onto the busy street, people and horses, thrown back from the force of the blast as they were struck by debris. Chaos erupted as Resistance members appeared at the windows of the building above her, aiming their rifles towards the stunned troupe of trainee Gale Forcers. Fae stood up shakily, her ears ringing. She could now see into the compound, at frantic boys in green and black uniforms, darting to and fro like frightened mice before dropping to the ground, spurting, red holes in their backs, in their chest, or through the head.
Their supervising officers were the only ones capable of functioning. They soon gave up on assembling an assault among the boys and went to work amongst themselves, diving for cover before firing back, cheering as a body of the Resistance toppled out from a window, and splattered all over the side walk not six feet from where Fae was standing, wide eyed, mouth hanging open in shock and horror as the agonized sounds of the dying reverberated through her ears...
It was a garden now.
The concrete walls and barbed wire had been replaced with glass panes, over looking an arrangement of summer tulips, low hanging trees and trimmed, grassy paths.
They went inside the same building across the street and up to the second floor where they entered a cafe. It was one of those rare, hole in the wall places that was able to preserve it's point in time, built upon memories of unfinished brick walls, a real fireplace, polished wooden furniture instead of plastic and oil lit orbs that hung by chains in the ceiling, emitting a dim, yellow light.
They took a table by a window overlooking the garden, where Fiyero once sat, looking down into the ruined compound, at the murder of the Bear Cub it's unfortunate kin.
"Can't we move somewhere away from those portraits?" said the Bride, looking up at the series of of frozen faces staring down at them.
"It's not that bad." replied Ian. "Those are the owner's kids aren't they?"
"They're creepy is what they are – and look at that one! The boy with his grandfather's hair stuck into his scalp."
"We're ghosts. " said the Witch, amused. "I think we can handle creepy."
She sat there, looking out onto the garden, her mind absently drifting to her previous life in the City as an idealistic young girl, playing games of espionage, like a secret agent from childhood. She never admitted it of course. She talked seriously and looked sullen but it was thrilling to sneak and snoop around places, planting surveillance devices under desks, in walls, and even in a pair of eyeglasses. She felt like a spy.
But then, right there across the street, came reality, crashing down from a tenth story window, splattering all over her illusion with a gut churning cry. And then went Fiyero...
A couple came towards the table, pulling the Witch from her thoughts.
"Hello Ian, I trust you had a good trip?" said the man, sitting down and motioning the woman to do the same.
"Yeah, it was just swell." he replied, exchanging glances with the Bride.
The man turned to the Witch who stared back at him guardedly. He was an oldish man, younger than her father, perhaps in his late fifties or so. He had a long face with pale skin that seemed to be shrink wrapped onto his skull, with deep set, almost sunken eyes, a long pointy nose and sharp cheek bones. His hair was grey and thinning at the top, complimenting his spindly stature.
"My name is Hank Zhukov." said the man. "And I have to say, it's great to finally meet you, Elphaba Thropp." he extended his hand, his slight smile barely fitting across his thin face.
The Witch was taken aback. "I haven't heard that name in twenty years." she said. "How the hell do you know it?"
"Well what do you think?" piped up the woman with a laugh. "Did you really think I'd keep my mouth shut about you after all this time? Please." She was a young woman, about thirty or so, with sharp, well defined features, red hair down to the shoulders, brown eyes...
"I...I'm sorry." said The Witch. "Have we met before?"
"Oh come on" the woman leaned forward,. "Thirty years isn't that long is it? It's me."
"My memory does not extend as far as thirty years."
"Doesn't it?" the woman smirked. "Even so, who can forget their own mother, Fabala?"
