“We shouldn’t be here.”
“Nonsense, we belong here.”
“Yes, of course. How stupid of me. We definitely belong in a dark alley that reeks of urine.”
“Well, not here, as in this alley. But in the greater sense of things we belong here.”
“This is usually the point where the scary mass murderer jumps out, or a shifty figure in a trench coat beckons us down into a side passage.”
“Well we have weapons.”
“Books do not count as weapons.”
“Depends on who’s holding them. Look. There. I see something.”
“Our impending deaths?”
“No, a door. Just where she said it would be.”
The iron door was only just visible in the pitch dark of the alley. A faded yellow sign hung by one corner, the writing long gone.
She knocked three times and it swung open. Buttery light filled the alley and they both blinked, their eyes watering at the glow.
“I see you made it. Come in to the antechamber.” The woman said, her face shadowed from the light behind him.
“The antechamber for what?”
“Why, my dear. For Oz of course.”