Chapter Two The Vacation Day of Doom #2
It was as if Landsome Roads was personally designed to haunt me. I smiled weakly as I tried not to think about the previous night’s phone call of doom.
Regardless, I agreed. The series ended in a weird way, especially for a book that otherwise targeted women looking for moderate drama, a hunky male lead, and a happily-ever-after ending. Instead, book five read like every other military fantasy written for men.
The woman continued, “I mean, where was all the romance? It was as if those scenes were completely stripped from book five and replaced with gory battle ones. And for the queen to desert Ironclaw like that... That was quite the vibe shift.”
I nodded, becoming interested despite myself.
I had given this a lot of thought. In book three, Ironclaw was presented to the queen for the first time and they quickly fell for each other and got engaged in book four, only to break up in book five.
“Many people”—read online forums—“thought Sherry Whitehorse was responding to criticism, trying to make the series more unpredictable.”
“Well,” the woman said conspiratorially, “you know Sherry Whitehorse is a pen name, right?”
My literary antenna tingled. “What! No, I haven’t read that anywhere else.”
“It’s a very well-guarded secret. The publisher has certainly kept it under wraps. Why do you think she did so few signings?”
It was true. I’d tried to find a signing to attend—I’d even been willing to travel—but they were few and far between, held only in select cities and sold out as quickly as they launched. Even on the forums or social media, it was impossible to track down someone who’d met Whitehorse in person.
“Wait, you said ‘did?’”
The lovely blonde in front of me licked her lips, fuchsia lipstick undisturbed. She leaned forward. “Honey, I’m sorry to tell you, the woman who wrote as Sherry Whitehorse died after book four.”
My heart dropped. I always thought...some way or another, I thought I’d meet the author who created the world that meant so much to me. Tell her how she changed my life. Guilt washed over me—I’d spent the morning resenting my fascination with the series, her art.
“That’s awful.”
“And you know what that means for book five, right?”
Pages fluttered in my mind. “It was a different writer.”
“A man!” she squealed.
I brought my hands to my cheeks. “That explains so much. Do you think the final TV season is going to stick to the books?” I hoped not.
“That’s what they’re discussing now,” the tiny woman said. The way she said it though, it was as if her voice was dripping honey.
“No way. You heard something about production?”
“Heard? Honey, I was there!”
At the filming of Landsome Roads? How was that even possible?
I brushed a fluff of brown hair out of my face. “You were on set? I’m sorry about this, but how do we know each other again?”
“How do we know each other? Honey, haven’t you been listening? We know each other from reading!”
Know each other from reading? It’d been ages since I was inside an English classroom, and I hardly had any friends or family members who were readers who could have introduced us.
My literary circle was primarily composed of folks who were paid to interact with me—booksellers and librarians—and I’d seen their faces enough to know this woman wasn’t one of them. What did she say her name was again?
As if she could hear my thoughts, the woman laughed—bells tinkling under blue skies.
I felt a little funny. Faint, almost surreal. My sweater was suddenly too warm.
I looked around the lavish library room again and shivered. The windows weren’t just noticeably absent, the room was downright gloomy. I was lightheaded and panicky, and not only because I was probably losing my job while I whiled away the hours looking for a book I wasn’t going to read.
There was something unsettling about the woman’s wide, white smile.
Her straw-colored hair was longer than before.
I frowned. Wasn’t she wearing a fashion-forward version of a three-piece suit?
The color of the outfit was the same as I remembered—the same shade as her hair, it occurred to me—but why was she in a full gown? In the public library? At 10:00 a.m.?
My mouth was dry, but I made the words come out. “It was really nice meeting you—seeing you again,” I corrected quickly, “but I’ve got to get going. Got to get back to work.”
The woman laughed again. Loudly. Too sparkly, as if I’d just told some amazing joke, but I didn’t think I’d ever told an amazing joke in my life.
She twirled a periwinkle ribbon in her hair that I swear was not there a moment ago. “We both know you’re not going in to work today.”
I was already turned toward the doorway, but I stopped. “How do you know that?” Of course. There was only one person who knew that and she had a terribly big mouth. “What did Sara tell you?”
“Sara? Oh, that poof brain? I wouldn’t want to be friends with her. I want to be friends with you.”
“You said we met already.” I was still angled toward the exit but frozen as my mind raced.
I couldn’t describe how badly I wanted her to say, “Hey, remember that cookbook club you thought about joining but then didn’t?
Well, surprise, you actually did go to the first meetup.
That’s where we met. I complimented you on your strawberry upside-down cake?
It was so gooey. Remember? Remember all that? ”
But she didn’t. Instead, the woman said, “Technically, you haven’t met me, but I’ve met you.
..through books.” She smiled, looking a little vulnerable for the first time.
“Hi. I’m Sorrel. I know you’re not big into fairy tales, so you might not be familiar with my trope.
Well,” she said with an essence of grand reveal, “I’m your Fairy Bookmother. ” Sorrel went into a very deep curtsy.
And there she waited, head bowed, hands lifting the frilled edges of her light gold gown as if waiting for me to say something.
“Is this a prank?”
Sorrel looked up with surprise. “I’m your Fairy Bookmother.”
“My Fairy Bookmother?” I repeated.
She finally straightened. “You know, like Fairy Godmother but for books?”
My face must have been blank because Sorrel’s own was slightly dejected as if I’d put her favorite book on the shelf upside down.
“It’s a new division, we’re still workshopping the name, but, Dottie”—and then she smiled so big I almost had to take a step back—“I’m here to make your dreams come true!
I’m sending you to meet Ironclaw and everyone else in Landsome Roads. Isn’t that exciting?”
It took me a beat to find words, but then I understood. “Sorrel, I don’t cosplay in public. I hope you find a book club or something. It was nice meeting you.” I turned to leave, sweat beading on the center of my back. I had to get out of there.
“Not so fast, missy!” Sorrel moved in front of me, blocking the exit with her gown, which had grown even poofier. Her long eyelashes were tipped with periwinkle to match her ribbon. “Like I said, we’re a new division, and if I’m not going to get sacked, I need some quantitative data!”
“I can’t help you with that. I need to go.”
“But, Dottie,” she wailed, “you’re perfect! You spend all your time rereading the same series, you hardly have any friends—”
I would have admitted as much to myself, but I was offended at being called out by this crazy stranger. “Wait a minute—”
“And it’s not as if you have anywhere else to be right now. Please, please, please? For this spell to work, I need your permission.”
“My permission to what? Go play make-believe at a Ren Faire? I don’t know you.”
“Okay, okay.” Sorrel looked quite contrite with her hands up. “We got off on the wrong foot, and that’s my fault. I’ll let you go, but I have just one question: don’t you wish life could be more like books?” She stared at me emphatically with the biggest eyes I’d ever seen.
I would give this woman one last moment. Say something polite so we could part on neutral terms (even though her question was so obvious it wasn’t even worth answering).
“Of course, I wish real life was more like books,” I said.
“Yee!” she squealed. “That counts! That counts as permission. Get ready for an adventure, Dottie!”
“No, Sorrel, don’t!” I had no idea what she was going to do—throw glitter on me or pop out with a camera—but I didn’t want it.
“Have funnnn, honey!” Her smile was the widest yet, nearly manic with glee. I threw my hands up, but it was too late.
Petals exploded around me and everything went foom!