“That phone call was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I can’t believe you would do that to me. You’re supposed to be my friend.” Even if I did well in Landsome, I was still returning to a lost job and a ruined reputation. Sara wasn’t exactly a good friend, but she was the only one I had in Mayfair. Everything I had struggled to build in the competitive corporate industry had been stripped with one phone call.
Something in Sorrel’s eyes darkened. “Friend?” The corners of her lips tipped dangerously. “I’m not your friend, Dottie. I’m your Fairy Bookmother.”
Her radiant orb disappeared, plunging us into darkness, my little lantern nothing compared to her glow of power.
Did she seriously leave me? She’s not going to help?
I had miscalculated. She wanted a humble servant, and I wasted my time bickering instead of asking for help saving Lord Draw. I was furious with myself. It was literally rule one of surviving a fantasy book, don’t insult magical beings—
Then Sorrel was next to me, full-bodied this time. She was petite, and quite a bit shorter than me. Her hair was still down but pulled back by a periwinkle ribbon. The shoulders of the exquisite dress were covered by a cream capelet and her lipstick was a subdued peach to match the elegance of her look. She was timeless. I wondered again what power sustained her and how much a fool I had to be to try to scold her.
“Dottie,” she said. She sounded sad. Patient. The darkness on her face was gone. “You’re a reader. You know the importance of a catalyst moment.”
Sorrel enveloped me in a hug, and the chill of night disappeared. It was more than warm arms, the very air around us shimmered with some effect.
Despite my wave of emotion, I sank into her, relieved to be forgiven. She smelled of chamomile, herbal and sweet.
Sorrel’s voice was gentle as she continued, “And yes, I know all too well they usually hurt.”
“This was supposed to be a story,” my voice broke, “but it’s not. It’s real.”
I wasn’t mad about the call; I was mad about the blurring of lines. What was real, what wasn’t. What I could do, how my actions would reverberate. It felt like too much for someone like me.
Sorrel drew back, her eyes glassy under her thick lashes. She nodded. “That’s the thing about adventures—there’s got to be stakes.”
She released me completely and waved her arms. Two plush chairs appeared among the trees, a little table and steaming teapot between them. I blinked, trying to dispel the surreal. At Sorrel’s urging, I hung my lantern on an iron rod, put my satchel aside, and sat.
She poured the steaming tea. A stronger wash of chamomile filled the air.
Neither of us reached for our cups.
It seemed to be on me to say why I’d summoned her. “It’s hard, much harder than I thought.”
“Because of Lord Draw?” she prompted.
“I don’t wantanyoneto die in the final battle but, yeah, especially him.”
“How lovely it is to fall in love.” Sorrel smiled as if she wasn’t personally responsible for my misery. “We spend much of our lives seeking such a gift and here you are, Dottie, a lucky recipient at last.”
I took a breath. She was right, of course. Sorrel had a track record of being just that. The problem was that when I finally got what I dreamed of, it only introduced a new realm of uncertainty and potential loss.
I tried to organize my head. I had so many questions for Sorrel. My mind flitted back to the paper I’d scribbled notes on, the practical questions about magic Draw had put forth during our many hours on horseback. My worries about tomorrow and the next day and the one after that.
They all came back to one.
“Why did you pick me, Sorrel?”
Sorrel took a thoughtful sip, surely her tea was too hot to manage, as mine was.
“It’s true, other people loveLandsome Roadsas much as you do, but I chose you because you were sad, Dottie. I watched you close yourself away. Spend most of your time at a job you didn’t enjoy. Avoided your friends in favor of reading a few more chapters—yes, Dottie, Sara, Gemma, and Ahmad genuinely likeyou. You’d built such a quiet life, but instead of reveling in the peace you had, your heart broke a little more each day. The hero’s journey isn’t for everyone. It’s for the character who needs it.”
Though I was blanketed by the warmth Sorrel had cast upon us, chills ran up my arms.Iwasn’t a character. I knew that at least. I couldn’t be. That was just how Sorrel spoke.
She smiled languidly, as if she knew what havoc her words were having on my mind. She set her cup down.
“So, let’s talk about the plot,” she said. “Season five is in production so the universe is a bit unstable.”
“I noticed.” I thought of the Badgerden and Lionsgate switch. And Westly’s squad. “The writers for the show put Meg’s fiancé and his group in danger.” I understood what it would seem like to an audience—a minor but sad side story, just enough to make you want to keep watching—but that small change had taken at least one man’s life.
