I’d never believed in magic—much less Fairy Godmothers, much much less Fairy Bookmothers—but there was no denying I was really in a forest. I had felt the appearance of the flower crown on my head and seen the dress bloom. No one else was around to deliver the satchel. And the way Sorrel floated there? I’d never seen anything like it. And...and what?
A thrill went through me.
I was really here.
If I turned my pages just right, I could meet him.Ironclaw. Become a notch on his belt, so to speak. Oh God, I was feeling some of those human emotions Sorrel referenced.
I grabbed my bag and sprinted through the forest.
––––––––
WAIT, AMIthe experiment?
I’d grown winded running through the trees and the thought cooled the thrill in my belly. I broke into a trot.
Sorrel said they were testing this new division...as in present tense. Did they have other tests going on or was it me? I tried to recall exactly what she had said. This wasn’t my real body, I would go home when the time was right—that was vague—and I was supposed to fix book five. That was not a short order. Fans, myself included, had many complaints about this last book. If I was going to have a chance at changing anything, step one was to get out of this forest.
I ran throughLandsome Roadslore in my head. I definitely wasn’t in the southern lands, so that meant no bog crocs, winsome nymphs, or lions to worry about. But in the north, there were druid cults, cave bears, and dart flowers. Then the Dark Mage, of course, the villain of the series.
I slowed my pace even more. Of all of those, my biggest current risk was running into a thicket of dart flowers. Sorrel said I couldn’t die, but those would still render me unconscious, and if that happened, I’d be sleeping in the forest that night.
I pecked my way through the trees, uncertain of direction. I wasn’t much of a hiker but knew enough to look for the sun. The problem was I had no direction in mind as a goal.
As I walked, my brain had nothing to do but spin. Sorrel said I was to fix book five. If I was really here, if this was really happening, I would have wished for book two. Like any story though, magic never seemed to side with what was easy or fun. Book five was the one that needed the help.
My heart sank when I remembered Sherry Whitehorse was gone. What would she have wanted for the rest of the series? She would never have added so many battle scenes and would have wanted her characters to come to proper endings. The interloper writer left a lot of holes at the end of the book.
I brightened as I realized how easy this was going to be. All I needed to do was guide a few key events so there were fewer battles, more romance, and fix the biggest complaint of the fandom—that the queen dumped Ironclaw at the end. I could...would...mend their relationship after I’d gotten a night or two on my own with him.
Other ideas and problematic plot points were surfacing when I came across a wagon wheel rut. It was long overgrown. Besides Sorrel’s magic, that was the first sign I wasn’t just in the woods somewhere in North America.
With the trail came my first real decision—I could follow it one way or the other. I looked at the sky. East and west? I wondered why Sorrel didn’t drop me off outside a castle or at least tell me what direction to head in. A thought seized me. What if I never found Ironclaw? The queendom stretched across a continent. I could walk for years, always missing him.
I rubbed my hands over my eyes.Okay,I told myself,you’ve been training your whole life for this.I knew the series inside and out and, just as importantly, I understood books. I’d committed my life to character arcs and plot in a way I never had for accounting. I just had to follow my instincts. Find a wizard with a side quest or a village that would trade information for help. I could...show them how to make electricity?
I realized I didn’t really know how to do that either. Maybe Sorrel had given me money.
I crouched at the side of the trail to dig through my bag. Right on top was a sheathed dagger with a lovely scroll over the grip. I exposed the blade slightly—yep, it was real—and set it aside.
Then I turned my attention to the three unfamiliar zipped pouches that filled the rest of the bag. The largest held pants, a tunic, and underwear. Something told me those skimpy styles didn’t fall within the world-building guidelines.
Another pouch had a collection of snacks and a reusable water bottle, filled. I took a long drink, easily polishing half of it off.
The third pouch was divided in two. One side held a mess of loose papers, quills, and a tightly stoppered bottle of ink. The other, toiletries. Oh my God. Was thatlubricant? My cheeks reddened. I’d never owned a bottle before. I almost called out to Sorrel to berate her—or ask if she’d be watching—but stopped myself in time.
The dress had proved difficult to navigate the woodland in, so I pulled the pants out of the bag. The corset was an odd thing to unfasten, but the dress came off easily enough overhead. The forest, comfortable just moments before, now felt cool. I neatly rolled the dress and put it into the organizer.
A twig snapped.
I left the bag on the mulchy forest floor and straightened. I froze, looking left and right for any dangerous beast. Then I saw it.
Him.
“Hey!” I barked. “What do you think you’re looking at?”
A man in forest green garb and a short thicket of black whiskers flinched. He was young, my age, his skin a deep umber, and he turned to advert his eyes. “Begging your pardon, only you shouldn’t be in this part of the forest. Go home to your husband, woman.” He stared pointedly at the ground exposing neat cornrows on the top of his head but didn’t leave.
I hurried into the long pants and tunic. “You don’t tell me what to do,” I snarled. In all my haste, I’d overlooked the fact that, by and large, this world was one of patriarchy. “I don’t have a husband. I’ll go through this forest if I want to.”
