CHAPTER TWO
An Experience of Unfortunate Visitors and Caramel
Cool mist swept through the balmy breeze from below the white ocean cliffs. It left a muted haze across Adventuras Island, promising a humid night.
Em left her dad’s camels at the edge of the grassy yard, the empty feed bucket knocking against her legs and skirt with hollow thunks.
The sandy path around her parents’ property crunched underfoot as she trudged along, good for the camels’ hooves.
Her afternoon had been as ordinary as the rest of her birthday—finish her less exciting classes at Sanderson for the day, mix the herbs and pull out the salt licks for the camels, then finally when she got back to the house, begin tackling the piles of dishes her mom left in whatever chaotic wave of baking she’d started that day—and unfortunately, she’d avoided making any plans when her chores were done in case her story started.
And it hadn’t.
The mindless routine left her restless. Hopefully, something unusual happened soon.
It had to.
Even if it was considered cliché to start a story on the Main Character’s birthday (and she’d seen countless classmates get just that), Em just wanted her impatient itch to be satisfied.
After all, until her book began, she was a mere nobody.
That image of empty chairs in Mr. Doe’s class hung in the back of her mind, and she grit her teeth.
She paused between the camel pen and her parents’ cottage to crane her neck toward the bright blue skies, watching the gulls dart about between billowy clouds.
Their loose circular flight paths stirred a pit of jealousy in her.
What she wouldn’t give to be that free. But if she left too far from home to search out a plot, she might stumble into someone else’s story and become stuck as a Side Character.
Em squeezed her eyes shut, internally pleading for just one ounce of good birthday luck other than her perfect score on her trope’s test.
Please, she prayed to the faraway Great Authors, not sure if they could even hear her. Please. Just give me anything.
Girl, you don’t want that.
As always, silence was the answer. Em chewed her lip in disappointment, kicked a loose pebble, and wandered back into her family’s cottage.
The shelves along the walls closed in on her, bearing her parents’ trophies, relics, and awards: Warg fangs carved into pins, mermaid scales beaded into fake flowers, framed fan art, and an assortment of walking sticks with dates or locations carved into their polished sides.
Prized books towered in the rewarding clutter, containing Mom’s and Dad’s adventuring lives.
Em imagined a book amongst the glory with her name printed in gold leaf along the spine. Passion burned within her imagination.
Please.
Okay. If you really say so.
“Do you want caramel taffy?” Mom called across the cottage, shattering her thoughts.
“Caramel?” Em leaned in the kitchen doorway. “In taffy?”
Her mom rolled glossy balls of candy. It smelled as sticky as it looked.
She wrinkled her nose, already anticipating how much it would cling to her teeth, and how awful washing the hundreds of bowls her mom had wasted on this new hyper-fixation.
Apparently, Mom hadn’t lost interest in her wild baking habits from her previous small-town romance book.
Em just didn’t understand it; her parents had both taken on various lovers throughout their dozens of adventures.
She never really understood how they made an open relationship work or could stand reading each other’s stories.
But whatever floated their boat, she guessed.
Everyone had their quirks, and she’d never been the passionately idyllic type herself.
The sleek appliances around Mom were in stark contrast to the fantastical interior of the rest of the cottage. Dad liked the convenience of a running dishwasher and refrigerator despite their more medieval-aesthetical lifestyle.
“Yep.” Mom wedged the candy against the counter to remove air bubbles. It snapped in protest. “I learned to make it with the ninja hobbits in Tolk-Town.”
Em huffed, jealousy mixing with her amazement. No one saw ninja hobbits anymore. Tolk-Town had become overwhelmed with so many Fan-fiction Theaters and cliché plots that anyone with any originality in their bones had scattered to avoid catching the bad karma of tropes.
She couldn’t decide if she idolized her mom or envied her for it.
Maybe both.
“What’s it like being in a story, Mom?” Em leaned forward on her elbows.
Mom grinned, her fingers pausing over the baking sheet. “You’re going to find out soon. Just stay patient.”
“Ugh.” Em pouted. “You always say that.”
“I don’t want to ruin your fun.”
“Waiting isn’t fun; it sucks ass.” She huffed.
“Language, Em,” Mom snapped.
“Whatever.” Em slumped onto the tile floor, tucking her legs under herself, despite the creaky chairs near the counter. She half-heartedly accepted a candy ball from her mom’s gooey hand.
“Maybe at least go for a walk in the woods for a bit to clear your mind. There’s no reason for you to be moping around on your first birthday as an adult,” Mom suggested. “It’ll be good for you. Maybe even call up Gair. You can’t assume a story will just come to you.”
“But I’ve already tried everything.”
“I know, I know.” Mom’s lips thinned, and she barely side-eyed Em before focusing on her candy making again. “Maybe you need to not be so picky. You’ll get more stories if you allow yourself to settle…”
“You know what I want,” Em interrupted. She squeezed the gooey ball in her hands, and some of it squished between her fingers.
“It’s just not realistic,” Mom said, the same debate they’d been having all month leading up to today. But Em wasn’t caving in.
“I don’t want to be like everyone else; I want to be unique. I want to be original.” Heat simmered in her veins, so Em let out a deep breath to steady herself. “Mr. Doe says tropes are taking over Novella too quickly, and books are all beginning to look the same to readers…”
“Or, maybe people just truly enjoy those kinds of stereotypical stories,” Mom retorted.
Never mind. She knew deep down that her mom’s opinion would never be swayed.
Mom’s experiences from her previous stories gave her such a sense of “rose colored glasses” that she just assumed any adventure was worth it.
Didn’t matter how cliché or unoriginal the plot was, Mom jumped on board and would disappear for weeks on end somewhere in the vast realms of Novella.
Em popped the taffy into her mouth, and her tongue drowned in an instant in an abundance of sugar. An unexpected flavor interrupted the taste. She grimaced at the sweetness. “Did you add cherry?”
“Yep.” Her mom’s hands flexed into the bowl of remaining taffy, massaging the goo. “That’s what the ninjas served the octopi-overlords. Like it?”
“Cherry and caramel are two different things.” Em wiped her hands on her apron and succeeded in gluing frays of hay to her palms. Groaning, she rushed to the sink, diving her hands into the dishwater. She rubbed them together, and the clingy candy fell loose.
If there was one thing Em couldn’t stand, it was anything sticky on her hands.
Yeah, me too.
“But the octopi loved it.” Mom’s shoulders drooped as she stared at the bowl like it’d hurt her feelings.
“Never mind.” Em sighed, drying her wet hands on the front of her dress. “I’m sure Dad will like it when he gets back from Raecleaver. He’s less picky than me about food.”
“Is he trading with those Harpies again?” Mom glared out the window above the sink. Her eyes narrowed toward the road twisting down the sea cliffs towards Raecleaver, the Wet Realm.
“They have good cabbage,” Em shrugged.
Mom’s frown curved deeper.
“Oh, c’mon, Mom. Chill out. Dad wouldn’t go flirting with those winged freaks.” Em didn’t believe her own words, though—open relationship and all.
A knock on the front door rattled the house, cutting off whatever Mom meant to say.
Em jumped, her pulse skipping a beat.
The knock sounded again.
No one in Adventuras knocked twice, except for Dad, as a joke. The camels grunted from the field, announcing a stranger on the porch. A stranger, possibly looking for an adventurer.
Outside, the orange sunset began to sink on her birthday.
She waited with bated breath for a third rap.
Please.
Your wish is my command, girl.
The third knock came.
In a flash, Em raced to the door, flinging her apron off, her mom hot on her heels. This was it. Her dream moment.
Em bounced on her toes and knotted her fingers, restless throughout the entire half-second Mom took to swing the door open.
An old man leaned against a stave on the porch. Glowing runes carved along the entire length except for the handle, which had been strengthened in a Mithril coating. His gray robes and long white beard were the worst part.
She blinked in disbelief.
A typical wizard mentor.
Shit.
Mom took an awkward step back into her, as if the old man were cursed.
“Hello,” his deep voice said behind a whiskered smile. “My name is Faylorn. Faylorn of Rowling, Institute of Magics, trained by Frank. I am looking for someone to go on an adventure with. For to travel is to live, and all who wander are not lost.”
A cliché wizard with a cliché opening statement with his precious cliché wand that could probably blow up the world if he wanted, and his cliché everything.
“Um…” Mom moved to shut the door, but the mentor stuck out the bottom of his stave, which stopped her. She might’ve been telling Em to settle earlier, but some archetypes were just too cliché to associate with. “I think you’re lost.”
Please not me. Em’s heartbeat hammered against her chest as her stomach somersaulted with her nerves. Please not me.
“Em Smith.” Faylorn tipped his wide-brimmed, pointy hat at her. “I do believe I have quite the story in store for you.”
She wanted to scream or even punch the old man’s glittering gray eyes, but instead she swallowed back her string of curses. Behind a glaze of disappointed tears, she glared at him. “What if I don’t want to go?”
“I’m sorry,” Faylorn said. “But you are to be the Almighty Queen of Stars, Princess of the White Rose Valley, and Heir to the Cursed-But-Once-Uncursed-Tower. You can’t refuse this adventure.”
“How?” Em could almost hear Gair laughing at her. She sank further into the house, still wary of the old man’s unoriginality like it might spread to her.
“What does that even mean?” Em demanded.
“Em…” Mom scolded, but she didn’t pay her mind. Neither did the wizard.
“This story is meant for you,” Faylorn insisted.
“You could always find someone else nearby,” Em retorted. “There’s plenty of other perspective Main Characters on Adventuras Island who are more than qualified…”
“Except, you’re the Chosen One.”
Fuck.