It was surprisingly easy to pass unseen into the Emerald City. In fact, the hardest part was the afternoon spent waiting outside for the sky to get dark enough. Elphaba sat, huddled out of sight of any passing travelers or guards, and used every last ounce of self-control to keep herself from continuing north. It would take another day, maybe two, to reach Shiz from here. One day of walking, and she could be back at the closest thing to a home she'd ever had.

Elphaba wrapped her arms around her torso and screwed her eyes shut. Night couldn't come soon enough.

The Emerald City was strange in the dark. It seemed to glow, but eerily so, as if it were absorbing and pulsing light rather than reflecting it. Everything near the walls had a green tint, a fact she immediately resented, and there were no stars. At least not here, around the city's border.

At a main gate, it would be impossible to pass through without a full on inspection from a member of the Gale Force. But Elphaba wasn't aiming for the city's upper districts, and there were dozens of smaller entrances that led into the lower parts.

She adjusted her cloak and tugged the hood down far enough that it hung over her forehead and shadowed her face. A thin pair of gloves covered her fingers, and the scarf that Ama Clutch had made her was pulled up to the bridge of her nose. She was dressed warmly for late summer, but the city was far enough away from Munchkinland's heat that the nights were a little cooler. Besides, no one so much as spared her a glance as she passed beneath a thin archway made of a twisting green metal. The color looked pale and…sickly, almost. She kept walking.

She was reminded immediately of the inn that Dillamond had stayed at when he met her at Shiz. The streets were just as filthy here, the buildings just as run down. But as she moved on through the neighborhood, there was one big difference.

Here, there were no Animals.

Elphaba slowly came to a stop and looked around her. No Animals. Not a single one. Not even here, in the lowest, darkest, dirtiest parts of the city. There were people everywhere, huddled on doorsteps or around trash bins, moving hurriedly through the streets, ducking into alleyways and speaking in hushed voices. There were Munchkins—ones who had, willingly or not, left their farms and homes to live here, like Boq's family workers. There were a few Gillikinese, with clothes that looked as if they were once valuable but were now so torn and covered in filth that they were all but useless. A few of them eyed her dangerously, and she remembered to keep walking.

The houses she passed were more like shacks than anything, shabby and patched up and, judging from the brief glimpses she got through the windows, filled with more people than they could fit. Every face that bothered enough to look up at her was wrinkled and shadowed. Elphaba didn't know what she had expected, but this wasn't it.

Despite it all, the city stretched out before her—unfamiliar and untouchable and far, far too daunting to face. She didn't know what to do. She didn't even know why she was there.

She started to tremble, but not because of magic. Instead of brimming with power, she suddenly felt completely and horribly helpless. Sweat beaded her forehead; her chest and throat tightened. Spots began to dot the edges of her vision, and her breath grew short and shallow.

Her mind raced. She stumbled over to one of the smaller alleyways and fell back against the wall, sinking to the ground. One of her palms pressed against the wall behind her, trying to grab hold of something, anything that would steady her. She brought her knees to her chest and placed her head between them, trying to stop the spinning.

Time passed. She was hidden enough that no one bothered her, and eventually Elphaba regained some control. When she lifted her head again, the city blurred around her. Her eyes felt heavy—no, everything felt heavy. She couldn't fathom even climbing to her feet like this, let alone brushing herself off and continuing through the city.

This was as good a place as any, she supposed. She scooted further into the alley, out of sight, and twisted her fingers into the edges of her cloak, pulling it shut around her like a blanket. Her eyes fell shut and she leaned more heavily against the wall. It flashed briefly through her mind how vulnerable she was, but she was too exhausted to care. Her last thought was of how she had been in the Emerald City—the place she had been moving toward and avoiding for months now—for less than an hour, and already she was falling apart.

That desperate, helpless feeling came again, but she was asleep before it could even fully register.

Just as she had told Fiyero, Glinda apologized to Boq the next day. He was understanding, of course, but Glinda wasn't as easy on herself.

Something was different in their group. Something that should have been obvious the day Elphaba left, but because she had so thoroughly shut herself away, she was just now feeling the consequences of it.

"She brought us all together," Glinda mumbled. The friends were taking up a bench near the fountain in the main square, and the words weren't meant to be said aloud.

Boq looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the concrete. He nodded seriously. "Yeah. Yeah, she did."

Fiyero was sitting on her left side. He brought a knee up to his chest and rested his cheek on it. His gaze was thoughtful. "Is that what you worry about sometimes?" he asked.

Glinda shrugged. On her other side, Crope was playing with Tibbett's hair. He reached over and slipped his free hand beneath hers, squeezing gently.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Tibbett said, tilting his head back so it rested on Crope's knees. "We're much too charming for you to leave behind."

She smiled and squeezed Crope's hand back. "I know it hasn't seemed like it much this summer," she said quietly. "But…"

"We know," Boq said. His eyes were soft when they met hers. She wasn't sure what passed between them, but it was something. She relaxed a little and gave him a tiny smile. "We know."

"Good afternoon, class."

Glinda barely looked up as Professor Nikidik strolled into the room. She was in the middle of sketching a house into her notebook. It was plain and small and sat nestled into a hill so that grass and wildflowers were able to grow on the roof. There was nothing really fancy about it. Flowerboxes hung under a pair of square windows in the front, and there was just enough space above the doorway to hang a small welcome sign, or maybe a family crest. She wondered what she would put there, if the house were hers. There were a few incantations that could work as a sort of blessing, maybe. And what would be inside the house? It would have to be big enough for two people, of course. There would be a kitchen, and a fire place whose chimney stuck up from the hill, and…

"Perhaps you can tell us, Miss Glinda."

Glinda looked up, but she couldn't even think of what Nikidik had asked. From the look on the professor's face, he had been counting on that fact.

"No, sir, I don't believe I can," she said quietly. There was a flash of triumph in his eyes, and a couple of quiet snickers throughout the room, but she tilted her head down again and ignored it all. The sketch stared up at her from the notebook, cozy and inviting and absolutely ridiculous. She dragged her pen across the drawing, scribbling until it was almost unrecognizable.

When the bell chimed the hour across campus, Glinda took her time packing her things. She kept her head down as her classmates passed by.

"Not so smart without the green bean, are you Glinda?"

She didn't even look up. "You're one to talk, Miss Pfannee. How many finals did you fail last spring?"

"Miss Glinda," Nikidik called from the front of the room, cutting off the conversation. "A word in my office, if you will."

Pfannee huffed and stalked off. Rolling her eyes, Glinda lifted her bag onto her shoulder and made her way to the front of the room.

"I have another class to get to, Professor," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm sure you can be a few minutes late," answered Nikidik. "This is concerning your grade in this class. I believe that's more important than—"

"The year just started," Glinda replied heatedly. "My grade in your class is fine. If you're seriously worried about how I didn't answer your question today, then rest assured the only reason was that I didn't care enough to pay attention to it. However, since I'm pretty sure the real reason you asked to talk to me was just to mock me, I'm going to have to again say that I have another class—Madame Morrible's class, to be exact. So unless you have something important to tell me, I'm leaving."

He could do nothing but glare at her. By the time he managed to string together a few words, she was already walking toward the door. Some small part of her knew that was going to come back to bite her later, but she couldn't really bring herself to care at the moment.

She was able to take advantage of her anger in sorcery class. Morrible all but set the class loose throughout the room, telling them to spend the period practicing endurance and control. To Glinda's surprise, the magic came naturally to her. She made her way around the room practicing various spells—casting flames at a metal target until it glowed red, lifting the heaviest pieces of furniture and setting them back down without dropping them, speeding up the growth of a plant, forming a tiny rain cloud over a small tub of water.

She poured all of her focus into her work, and time passed quickly. When Morrible called out to tell them they were dismissed, Glinda was shaking with fatigue. She felt tired and gross, but her irritation had faded.

The headmistress's eyes were on her as she grabbed her bag, but she slipped into the crowd of students leaving and managed to make it out the door without being stopped.

Glinda's thoughts wandered as she made her way across the campus. Maybe her recent struggles with magic were simply due to a summer without practicing. Maybe it just took her a while to adjust, and now she would be fine. Of course, if this was the case, then Morrible would be even more insistent about her pursuing sorcery.

She slowed her pace as the turn leading to Crage Hall came up. She didn't want to go back to her room. Not just yet. The evening was too nice and her dorm had become too stifling. She walked on, letting her feet carry her wherever they pleased. She kept her head down just out of habit, and it almost took her by surprise when she looked up to see the library in front of her.

"Really?" she mumbled out loud, shaking her head. But she didn't have anything else to do, either, so after staring at the front doors for a long moment, she let out a sigh and went inside.

It was too early in the year for most students to be studying in the library. Most of the chairs and tables were empty, and the bookshelves looked as though they hadn't been touched since last semester. The place smelled of ink and parchment. It made Glinda smile, just a little bit.

She wandered automatically to a back corner of the building until she found a small table with an old armchair that sat beside the window. It was just one of the many places Elphaba had claimed as her own in this building, and Glinda sank gladly into it. She swore she heard the quiet scratching of a pen against paper, smelled a hint of pinewood oil, but when she looked around, she was alone. Swallowing hard, she curled up in the chair and closed her eyes, breathing in the memories that came with this place.

"It smells like rain," Glinda said, staring out the window. They were trapped in here by the storm, and it didn't seem like they'd be able to leave for a while.

"I know," Elphaba muttered. "I don't like it."

Glinda shifted in her seat, looking from Elphaba to her paper and back again. "Are you done?"

Elphaba didn't even look up from her books. "No. And I know you're not, either."

"I might be."

"Glinda."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh come on, Elphie. I know you hate this just as much as I do."

Elphaba's eyes flashed, and Glinda immediately regretted her words. Of course Elphaba hated this. The library had once been her favorite place on campus, and now Morrible was practically haunting it.

"I'm sorry," Glinda said quietly.

"It's fine."

"No, it's not." She thought for a moment, then looked around. "But I can make it up to you."

"Oh yeah?"

Glinda stood up and walked around the table to stand behind Elphaba. She wrapped her arms around thin green shoulders and rubbed their cheeks together.

"Yeah," she breathed, letting her lips linger against Elphaba's jaw. "I think so."

Elphaba shivered and sat upright, untangling herself from the blonde. Glinda had a split second to doubt herself, then Elphaba was grabbing her by the wrist and tugging her away. They ended up pressed against a wall between two shelves, Elphaba's fingers sliding up the inside of Glinda's thighs, and suddenly it didn't smell like rain anymore.

Glinda shivered and curled up even tighter. She kept her eyes closed and let herself relive the memory over and over again. Sometimes it felt as if there were no moments like that. Glinda felt as if she and Elphaba had been robbed of their time together. Whatever life they were supposed to have had been taken away. Maybe it had burned alongside Dillamond's journal. Glinda didn't know. All she knew was that moments like the one in the library were painfully sweet and devastatingly rare.

But there are more, she thought to herself. She ducked her head into her knees and breathed in. There was the night they had snuck onto one of the rooftops and watched the skyline. Or the afternoons huddled around a jar of pink flames, where she sat happily in Elphaba's embrace. There were dozens of lazy mornings, where they woke up slowly, wrapped in nothing but each other. And there was that golden day they had all spent out by the lake, and that same night when she and Elphaba first…

And there were times long before any of that. There were quiet nights of studying and loud meals of never-ending laughter. There were hours spent curled up beside Elphaba, playing with her hair, sharing her secrets.

She suddenly became aware of the fact that her cheeks were wet. She blinked her eyes open and looked out the window. The sun had disappeared from the horizon, but the sky was still tinged pink.

It blended nicely with the deep green of the trees.

Elphaba learned quickly how to stay out of sight.

The Emerald City had a way of moving around her. She wasn't the only person with her skin covered and her head low, and blending in turned out to be easier than she thought. On the few occasions that someone ventured too close, she would send them away with the most dangerous glare she could muster.

It reminded her a little of being at Shiz.

Days passed, turning into weeks, and then the weeks passed, too. There was a rhythm here, flowing relentlessly through the city's darkest places. And intimidating as it was, she found herself falling into it.

If she kept to herself, she was left alone. She slept curled up and tucked away—near trash bins or behind abandoned shacks. Most of the time she moved around, though there was one roof that she kept coming back to—a corn exchange, near the edge of the district.

She learned how to read the neighborhood around her. A few of the faces became familiar. She figured out who would give her a knowing look or a quiet nod, and who would give her a half-snarled warning or a raised fist. She discovered the boundaries—where the lower districts ended, where the Gale Force patrolled, which alleys were too dangerous to walk through, even in broad daylight. She even learned where she could get information, whether it was through gold or threats or just by hanging around the right spot at the right time. She preferred the latter, but carefully filed the other options away for reference.

Slowly, she became a part of the area. It was a quiet life, secluded, and she would often go days at a time without saying a word. Her only verbal interactions came from the food venders she would visit once in a while, when she dared to spend money on an actual meal. All the stands were run by Munchkinlanders, and some of them recognized her. She didn't worry too much, though. They were too worn down to care who they served anymore. That much was clear in their dead stares and hoarse exchanges. Besides, confidentiality, she realized, was the silent agreement of those lower districts—the tie that held the entire place together.

And, if she was being entirely honest, she wanted people to know she was there. At least, some people.

She looked for them, and found them almost immediately. It was shocking, how easy they were to track. But at the same time, if she hadn't known what she was looking at, she would have no idea.

It was small stuff—quiet yet blunt, and often covered up quickly enough that the only people who whispered about it were the ones who whispered about everything. A group of people in dark clothes were chased out of a park one night. A Wolf that had been tethered to a post in the market was cut loose.

A woman was kicked out of a bakery in one of the middle class districts. The shopkeeper had forcibly thrown her into the street and spat on her, cursing her and all other "sick Animal lovers." The scene gathered so much attention that the woman ended up fleeing the neighborhood before the surrounding crowd could act on their threats toward her.

When Elphaba heard about this, she was almost certain of what would happen next. She crept through the city one night until she found the bakery. There was no doubt this was the same place. Even in the dark, the damage was unmistakable. Slurs and threats were carved into the door. The entire front wall was nearly destroyed. Parts were burned or carved into. More threats had been painted in a deep crimson that reflected the dim lights of the streetlamps. Through the shattered windows, Elphaba could see that the shelves and shelves of loaves and rolls and pastries had been robbed clean.

She knew she should leave, but something kept her in place. She found a nearby alleyway where she could still see the shop, and she waited.

Morning came, and the baker was enraged when he found the state of his store. He ran into the building, cursing and screaming threats into the air. A crowd had been slowly gathering in the street, and a couple men went inside to grab the shopkeeper and sit him down.

It wasn't long before two hard-faced men in stiff green and gold uniforms came walking down the street. Their boots clipped against the road, echoing in the sudden silence. The Gale Force officers walked through the crowd and straight up to the baker. After a few quiet words, he led them into the shop.

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring to themselves and shaking their heads. Elphaba began to retreat, but before she could disappear into the shadows she paused, the back of her neck prickling. She looked back at the street, trying to find the gaze that she knew was on her.

She saw nothing.

Elphaba revisited that bakery a few times in the days that followed. The windows and door were quickly repaired, and the front wall was sanded down and repainted. Sometimes she could see the baker through the window, and though he had a constant look of irritation, nothing much seemed to have changed. No one was even talking about the incident—the only time she heard about it was when a pair of older women were passing by, their arms full of shopping bags.

"I wonder who did it?" one asked, glancing at the bakery.

The other woman made a distracted noise. "No one knows. But those officers said they would take care of it. I wouldn't worry too much."

Elphaba had returned to the slums both shocked and oddly pleased. The whispers she heard in the lower district that night were much different. Phrases like they're getting bolder were flying around, and she stayed up later than usual, staring out into the street and letting her thoughts work themselves out.