Thanks again to all reviewers. Here's the next bit!
Glinda
Madame Morrible greeted Glinda and Elphaba the next morning with a smile as predatory as it was false. "Well, dears," she purred as they stepped hesitantly into a small private chamber in one of the towers, "did you have a good night's rest?"
Elphaba, as usual, chose not to answer. This time - after her customary useless glance to her roommate for guidance - Glinda opted not to respond either. They both regarded Morrible in a cautious silence, both - for Glinda imagined that Elphaba had to feel the same as she did - fearing the moment when the mask of pleasantry must drop and the witch beneath be revealed.
"Elphaba," Morrible said, oozing her way a few inches closer to her, "you did bring the book?"
Visibly fighting not to show her reluctance, Elphaba reached into her satchel and withdrew the Grimmerie. It might have been Glinda's imagination, but it seemed that in this hostile environment the book's power in Elphaba's hands was magnified - it seemed to make the air itself crackle. The hairs on the back of Glinda's neck all stood on end as Morrible reached out and took the book from Elphaba.
"Lovely," Morrible murmured to herself, her eyes fixed greedily on the book's worn leather binding. One thick hand stroked over the letters on the front cover as if she were trying to read them through her fingertips. "Oh, girls," she said, sounding as though she were speaking more to herself than to them, "I don't know if you will ever feel, if you will ever sense, the delicious power that infuses every page of this book - perhaps once you have developed your skills -" her eyes levelled on Glinda "- such as they are."
Glinda willed herself not to flinch as Morrible stepped closer to her, much too close for comfort, wielding the Grimmerie in front of her like a talisman. As she looked unwillingly into the older woman's eyes, she felt again a wave of sensation, similar to the one the day before, slipping its way over her body. This experience was slightly different, however, in that the feeling of revulsion, of repulsion, was not nearly as strong - nor was the sensation itself. Glinda felt rather as if she were being explored, tested, sensed, rather than deliberately overcome. A glance at Elphaba's expression, which was merely curious and a bit suspicious, suggested to Glinda that she was not experiencing the same sensation; that for some reason it was reserved for Glinda alone. That realization made her more nervous than the feeling itself did.
"Glinda, dear," Morrible said, stepping away again. As soon as she did, Glinda felt released from whatever had come over her. "Why don't we see how far you've come, hmm? When I last saw you in class - well, we won't talk about that now. I imagine Elphaba has been . . . opening your mind considerably, in my absence."
Glinda couldn't understand why Elphaba seemed to bristle so at such a simple statement. True, Morrible's syrupy-false tones were deeply unpleasant - if she had been less frightened, Glinda would have said "annoying" - but there seemed to be no specific reason for Elphaba to have gone so much tenser. After all, she had been helping Glinda with her spellwork and they had wanted Morrible to know it - hadn't they?
"Your wand, Glinda," Morrible prompted.
Glinda put her hand into the pocket of her dress and slowly withdrew the spindly training wand. She held it out uncertainly before her, waiting for further instructions.
Morrible removed, with exaggerated care, a blue jewelled brooch from the bosom of her gown and placed it on the room's lone table. "We already know Elphaba's facility with the levitation spell," she simpered, seemingly enjoying Elphaba's stiffened reaction. "But why don't we see how your practice has been progressing?" With a look of false concern she added in Elphaba's direction, "We may wish to step back, in case I cannot immediately address any little accidents." Elphaba only stood her ground and offered Glinda an encouraging look, which made her feel a bit better.
Concentrating as hard as she could on the memorized words of the ancient levitation spell from the Grimmerie, Glinda extended her wand in a shaking hand over the brooch. She clenched her teeth to keep her mouth from forming the words, determined to do this the hard way or not at all, and glared until the brooch began to rise from the table and hovered more or less steadily in midair.
She registered Elphaba's little sigh of relief behind her, and concentrated on carefully lowering the brooch back to the tabletop before she allowed herself to turn and look at Morrible.
The expression of shock on the woman's face was not terribly flattering, but she soon covered it with a simpering smile and a broad laugh. "Well," she said, "it seems Miss Elphaba must be quite the teacher after all."
Glinda's eyes locked with Elphaba's, and she saw again that sort of confused nervousness that Elphie had been giving off all day. Seething beneath it, though, was an anger that was beginning to make itself visible. Glinda truly did not understand, but she suddenly sensed what Elphaba would like her to do. She turned to Madame Morrible and smiled.
"I've learned to do some spells without the wand, too," she said, striving for the once-so-easy tone of an innocent student hoping - and fully expecting - to please her teacher. "Would you like me to show you?"
Glinda had only ever managed one spell entirely without her wand, and Elphaba knew it. Behind Morrible's back she nodded and mouthed something that might have been, "Be careful."
Glinda wasn't feeling very careful. At Morrible's skeptical but broadly beaming nod, she held out both hands and screwed up her concentration, willing herself to feel the power that Elphaba must feel when her magic was working - a rush, a thrumming, a buzzing of strength and adrenaline and something she couldn't name - she closed her eyes without consciously meaning to do so, held her hands as if cupping a large sphere, and threw.
The surge of heat past her hands told her that something at least had happened; Morrible's gasp told her that her spell had most likely been successful; and the fresh surge of heat on her face told her it had been more successful than she ever could have dreamed - it had, perhaps, even been strong. Glinda opened her eyes and gasped. She had created a magical fireball so strong that it hadn't yet burned itself out, but rather had sent up a whole column of flame where it landed. Just as it ought, the magical fire burned without scorching the floor, but its heat and light were impressive and, best of all, Morrible looked afraid. Afraid, of Glinda. Elphaba, although clearly a bit shaken herself, was beaming.
Morrible coughed once, then waved her hands and made the fire vanish. "Well," she said, "it's very informative to see what you can do when you bother to focus, Glinda." Before Glinda could manage a retort, Morrible turned to Elphaba and said, "I wouldn't want to forget, Elphaba - the Wizard wanted to see you by yourself today. You might run along and see him now. I think Glinda and I will be all right on our own for a while."
A sudden jolt of fear shot through Glinda, and she wasn't sure whether she was afraid for herself all alone with Morrible, or for Elphaba sent to deal with the Wizard alone - or both. Elphaba looked desperately at her, but Morrible said with an iron command, "Go on, now. He'll be waiting for you."
With one last look over her shoulder, Elphaba went.
Elphaba
When Elphaba entered the throne room she expected the usual mess - booming false voice shouting all sorts of ridiculous things, golden head dancing disembodied on its throne. Instead she found silence and a stilled mask, and a thin voice calling, "If that's not Elphaba, my guards are all fired."
To that Elphaba wasn't sure what she was supposed to say, so she cleared her throat, walking closer, and called, "It's me."
"Oh, good." The Wizard's head poked out from behind the throne, soon followed by the rest of him. "I've been waiting."
"Oh." She just didn't know what else to say to that.
"So. Elphaba. Here we are." He sat casually on the stairs in front of his throne, surveying her with his chin propped on one hand.
"Y - Yes." She licked her lips nervously. "Was there something in particular you wanted?"
"Just to talk." He spread his hands, a down-home Munchkinland politician, or a fair imitation of one. "Without an audience."
"All right." She smoothed her hands over her skirt, hating the shaking she could feel in them. "About what?"
"Anything." He patted the marble stair beside him. "Come, sit."
Feeling every bit the awkward schoolgirl that she was, instead of the witch she was supposed to be, she crossed the remaining distance to the throne and settled onto a stair, not too near him.
"There we are," he said. "Now. You don't have any questions for me, anything you'd like to discuss? Anything you'd like to know, about your future?"
Elphaba swallowed. "All right. I do have a question."
"Go ahead."
"How many spies do you have on the faculty at Shiz?"
His eyes darkened, brows knitting together. "You're a clever girl, Elphaba," he said, "but a bit lacking in subtlety."
"Subtlety isn't exactly given to me by nature," she pointed out.
"You make too much of that skin of yours, I think," he bit back. "You remind me of someone, you know. You're all thorn and bristle, but deep down you really just want someone to understand." He peered at her as if studying her face. "Yes, you look like someone I know - someone I once knew."
"Who?" she asked, curious in spite of herself.
"I couldn't tell you," he replied. "Can't put my finger on it. Someone though - the eyes especially - and that particular look in them, the one that says you're just so misunderstood."
"You didn't answer my question," she said, feeling herself bristling even as he spoke.
"As many as I need, my girl," he said. "As many as I need."
Elphaba leaned back. "And one of them found something in the Animal faculty housing the other week, didn't they?"
He leaned toward her as if in response to her posture. "How do you know about that?"
"I'm clever," she snapped.
"How's Glinda?" he drawled, still leaning into her.
"Don't do that, I don't believe you anyway," she said.
"Whatever do you mean?"
She took a breath, took a chance. "You like to insinuate you'd hurt her to get to me, but I don't quite believe you would."
He looked affronted, a grandfather crossed by his favorite grandchild. "You're right about that, and wrong about what I'm insinuating, if anything."
"Sure."
"Elphaba." He laid one hand on the stair closer to her. "There is one thing I wanted to say. I was - shocked, and saddened, to hear about Glinda's - trouble. I hope you feel it was handled adequately."
He almost seemed sincere. She shrugged. "Just about. But it's not my opinion that matters, you know. I'm curious why you haven't wanted to talk to her about it."
"My dear girl." He sat back now, leaning his weight on his elbows awkwardly. "Glinda is a lovely girl, and I'm sure she's very sweet. Certainly she's charming. But she's - show."
"She's more than that," Elphaba interrupted harshly. "She's better than that."
"I'm sure," he said easily. "I only meant - better to leave her training, and her handling, to my Press Secretary."
"Handling? She's not a horse."
"Not handling. Guiding. Shepherding, if you'll allow. After all, you can't deny that she needs more training in sorcery, talent and interest aside." He smiled, as if expecting Elphaba to understand, to agree, fully. "You have to see, Elphaba, she and I have nothing in common. You and I, we can talk on the level. I wouldn't have the first idea how to handle Glinda, nor she me. You must agree."
Elphaba's stomach sank guiltily, because she did, just a little.
"In fact," he continued, "I've sort of been wondering since you left - how on earth do you handle her? If you'll permit the word," he added hastily.
"I don't," Elphaba said absently, distractedly, emptily. "She handles me."
"She is astonishingly pretty."
Elphaba felt her face heating up unbearably. She tried, one last time, to distract him. "You think that's all she is, no matter what I say."
"That's not true, Elphaba. But I understand you, I think, and I want to understand you better. We're alike, you and I. And that makes Glinda - other. An effect. A cause. Something to be reacted to, not understood."
"I think," Elphaba said slowly and carefully, "it's dangerous to see people that way."
"Dangerous, Elphaba?"
"It turns people into things," she said. "Effects. Causes. Means. Not people."
"You're on the animals again."
"Animals."
"Forgive me," he said mildly. "Your Ozian accents are so difficult to master."
"I'm sure."
"Look." He placed a hand over one of hers, and she fought to keep from pulling it away. "I like you, Elphaba. If I had had a daughter back in Kansas - well, I highly doubt she would have been green, but other than that - I imagine she might have been something like you. I want you to be happy. And if you want Glinda, then I want her safe. Isn't that enough?" He pressed her hand. "For now?"
"You want me to be happy?" was all she could say. "Is that what you wanted when you sent your soldiers after me?"
"I can't be expected to accept everything," he said slowly.
Their eyes met and locked; she paused. "No. Of course," she said after a moment. "I understand."
"Do you? Good." He nodded toward the door. "Go and join Glinda; I've heard tell she might set my Palace on fire without your supervision."
Halfway to the door Elphaba turned around, an idea fresh in her mind. "If you want to understand me," she said, "you'll learn to appreciate Glinda."
"No doubt," the Wizard replied softly. "No doubt."
Once out in the hall, Elphaba sank down onto the floor in relief, resting her back against the wall. She let the tension flow out of her body, and pressed both hands over her heart, willing it to slow.