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Into the cabin, up the stairs, around a few bookcases, and into a large bedroom I was carried by a massive shaggy wolf. Her speed was dizzying, and my head had yet to stop spinning since being thrown into Faerie. 

That’s where I was, right? Pretty sure that’s what my body thief had said before she flicked me into the notch of a tree. Flicked. . . because I was small enough to be sent flying with such minimal movement now. 

We. . . stopped? I thought, finally able to make full sentences in my mind again. Funny how a destructive windstorm throwing you into tree branches that could skewer you might rob one of their cumulative mental faculties. 

A woman’s voice cut through the air. It rang with instant authority and instantly captured my attention. Her tone was regal but. . . tired as well. 

“There you are, my pet. I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost in the Storm Swamp,” the woman said. Rich but dangerous was probably the best descriptor I could give her voice. Like every word that came out of her lips was surrounded by chocolate-covered daggers.

The wolf sat and nearly sent me for a tumble. I grabbed tight onto her walnut fur, hoping I was still invisible among the forest of wolf hair. 

“I assume that concludes your exercise for the day, Arreis.” 

A resounding bark rattled everything in the room, including my eardrums. And I mean, the wolf’s entire body shook like a bass-fueled earthquake. The beat was deeper than Technotronic’s “Pump Up The Jam.” 

“Very well. Let’s return you to slumber and bring back Sierra,” the woman’s voice said, getting closer. 

My brain thought for a moment trying to figure out who these names belonged to. Arreis was the wolf I’d landed on. But Sierra? What did letting Arreis go to sleep have to do with bringing back whoever Sierra was? Was she someone allergic to dogs?

Maybe she hides in a room until the wolf is put back in her kennel, I thought, rubbing my chin. Wait. . . isn’t Arreis just Sierra backward? 

I didn’t have any more time to ponder these names before a wave of magic raced over every inch of Arreis’ body. Every hair twitched, and every muscle quivered as I was suddenly surrounded by an impenetrable mist. 

What the fuck is happening? I thought, looking around frantically. Did I get bug-bombed? I’m being fogged like a yeti in a storage room! 

I waited for my eyes to start stinging, or the air to become unbreathable, but the mist did neither of those things, instead concealing the wolf and I.  

The ground under me rapidly shifted and altered. I felt myself pulled upward. The wolf’s fur thinned and shifted until I was holding. . . human hair? I watched the color change from walnut to a lighter shade of brown with a bit of curl to boot. 

I clung to the hair with all my might just wishing something, anything would begin to make sense again. Thus far my mind was drowning in a series of unbelievable events. Piskies, body thefts, interdimensional travel, storms of the century, gargantuan wolves, and now a mist so thick that even Stephen King would take notice. 

When would the madness stop? Or was I a permanent resident in the land of confusion now?

As I closed my eyes tight and prayed that I would just wake up and find myself back in the bridal dressing room, I heard another voice. 

“Hello, mistress. How are you feeling this afternoon?” a younger woman’s voice spoke. She was the person I clung to, who only moments ago had bolted through the stormy swamp on all fours.

Mistress?! I thought, eyes snapping open. But all I could see was hair. All I smelled was wet dog in and around the scalp I’d hidden within. 

The first voice chuckled and then sighed. 

“Little has changed, my pet. I am physically well, but my glamour remains minimal. And until it’s restored, I cannot return to Featherstone,” she said. “For my people would lose faith in a weakened queen, even one who will eventually regain her strength in time.” 

What kind of strange play have I stumbled into? I thought. Is it a ‘Doth mother know you weareth her drapes?’ play or a ‘La Vie Bohème’ kind of play?

Silence filled the room, and I began to catch my breath. I needed to think of a way out of here, right? Or should I reveal myself and ask for help? Were the people talking fae like the one who’d stolen my body? Or more benevolent elves who would help me get it back?

Before I could decide, the answer was selected for me. 

“Oh my. Sierra, darling, it seems you’ve tracked in a visitor from the bog,” the first woman’s voice said. Her tone was borderline playful and murderous. I had no clue how she managed that. 

Before I could jump to freedom, I found myself gently snatched by a soft, giant hand. I couldn’t help but yelp. The last giant hand that’d snatched me carried my tiny ass to a tree and flung me into a different realm. What would this hand do?

As I was removed from the forest of hair, I found myself in a tiny-looking bedroom with a hardwood floor, a large bed covered in purple quilts and sheets, a desk layered with parchments both sealed and unsealed and two different wardrobes set against the wall. 

The hand holding me belonged to a girl younger than me with wavy brown hair and inhuman red eyes. Her hair touched her shoulders and dared to grow beyond them if left unattended for a little while longer. The girl’s expression was nothing but curious, and I found myself wondering if I’d actually ridden in on a giant wolf, or if I’d merely imagined it. The girl who held me was just a little more than five feet tall. 

“Oh wow. A piskie,” she said. “I just thought it was a twig or something that got caught in my inner wolf’s fur. Hello there.” 

My mind struggled not to respond with “General Kenobi!” 

Thankfully, my vocal cords seemed entirely frozen. This prevented my brain, which had been thoroughly rotted with pop culture stew brewed exclusively on Reddit, from using my mouth to embarrass me, as it’d done time and time again when I was an Amazon among humans instead of a dragonfly among elves. 

“My name is Sierra,” the girl holding me said as she adjusted her hand so I could sit flat on her palm. “Who are you?”

Before I could answer an invisible force tore me from the gentle girl’s grasp and spun me toward a large figure sitting up in bed. The wind was violent and whipped my newly blonde hair in every direction. This was power. Deadly as night. Magic dark as a midnight storm. And it held me firmly within its grasp. 

The woman who stretched her hand out toward me was even more of an Amazon than I was as a human. How tall was she? Seven feet? My god. Her violet eyes did not seem pleased to find a tiny creature hiding in the hair of her pet. 

Ice ran through my veins as she stood from the bed. Obsidian hair fluttered around her as black feathered wings suddenly grew from her open robe. 

If my voice was paralyzed in the face of the young girl who found me, it was shattered before it could speak in the presence of this woman who wielded such tremendous power. I didn’t consider myself a magic expert given that I’d only discovered its existence over the last half hour, but the only energy I’d felt stronger than this lady’s was the book that ripped out my soul and trapped me in the body of fucking Thumbelina.

Her eyes narrowed as suspicion ensnared her entire face. 

“A million piskies scattered throughout Faerie. Most are content to hide in the hollows of trees or nestle themselves in wildflowers. None are strong enough to survive the Storm Swamp. So tell me, little sprite, how you managed such an impossible feat,” the woman said, the wind continuing to whirl around me, suspending me in place. It grew in intensity each second I didn’t answer, threatening to shred my wings like paper. And I think I needed those. I’d unintentionally traded everything to get them. 

“Speak,” the woman said as I struggled to breathe trapped in her gale. 

“Mistress, please. She’s terrified,” Sierra said. 

Those violet eyes narrowed further, and her magic only grew more uproarious. And yet, I took note that nothing else in the room stirred. The parchment on the desk, the blouse hanging on the armoire, and even the girl’s hair, all remained still. Her entire focus and razor wind were directed at me. And that was a level of control to raw destruction that sent a shiver from the top of my skull down to my insignificant toes. 

I tried to find words among the scattered ruins of my voice, but it was like trying to put a broken ice sculpture back together. 

“Let me tell you what I suspect, tiny fae. I think you’ve somehow beaten the odds on my brother’s defenses here at Featherbrooke to learn what you can about the weakened Raven Queen and sole surviving monarch of Kilgara. So if you’d like the promise of a quick, painless death before I personally send you over the Silver Bridge, I’d reveal who sent you.” 

My heart hammered in my chest, and I could feel my vision narrowing as I sensed an impending doom barreling down upon me. Where had I gone so wrong to wind up being obliterated by this. . . what did she call herself? The Raven Queen?

Fuck, if I knew the alternative to marrying Blake was being shredded by an evil faerie I would have just let him put a ring on it, I thought, tears working their way into my vision and blurring everything. 

“P—please,” I managed to choke out. “I’m not. . . what you think I am.” 

It was no use. My whole body quivered as I stood on the precipice of this monarch’s wrath. The things she said made no sense to me. What the hell was Kilgara? Was this how people who were mistakenly arrested by police felt when officers had the wrong name or address?

One bad wish had left me adrift in the merciless harbor of cruelty. In 30 minutes, my life had gone from “Runaway Bride” to fucking “Maleficient.” 

The Raven Queen gritted her teeth, hand twitching and summoning a deadlier threshold of vortex to draw unknowable answers from me. And just before I found myself torn open like a can of vegetables, I was back in someone’s hand and gasping for non-murderous air. 

“That’s enough, mistress! You’re hurting her,” Sierra said, pulling me back and cradling my entire body in her bosom. 

Wait. . . why is she naked? I thought as I struggled to catch my breath. Her left tit is bigger than I am, and I don’t know if I’m terrified or aroused by that. 

When I looked up, the scene was entirely different than it had been just seconds earlier. The gale was diffused, all magic vanished, and suspicion had been replaced with. . . adoration? What the fuck?

In two seconds, the Raven Queen had gone from a murderous monarch to someone smiling down at their new puppy. And I was nothing less than baffled by the transition. 

“My pet, do you know this piskie?”

She shook her head but still held me firm. 

“Despite this, you’re so invested in this fae’s survival that you dared reach into the Dark Wind, which could have shredded everything from your fingernails to the bones beneath your palm.” 

The girl who I think had once been a wolf said nothing but nodded. 

“Help me make sense of this, little wolf. I accuse this sprite of being a spy, sent to gain intel on a queen whose glamour is vastly depleted, and your first response is to cradle her in your arms as though she is an innocent newborn?”

Sierra cleared her throat, and I watched her face transform into the very definition of puppy eyes. The way they widened and watered to form a shield of innocence and protect the two of us was inexplicable. It was masterful craft, really. I was almost jealous of her talent. 

But there’s no way the woman who was ready to reduce me to dust will fall for this, I thought, glancing up to see the Raven Queen’s response. 

“Mistress. . . look at her. She’s just a little guy,” Sierra pleaded, her voice softened to the point that a sponge was steel in comparison. 

The Raven Queen raised an eyebrow and appeared to be fighting a chuckle. 

Holy shit, is this working? I thought. There’s no way! 

“So, my accusation is spycraft. And your defense of this bothersome sprite is, and I quote, ‘She’s just a little guy.’ Is that right?”

Sierra merely nodded in my apparent defense. 

Sighing, the Raven Queen returned to her bed. All at once, she looked more pale and appeared to be sweating. 

“If this spy escapes Featherbrooke, she’ll not only be able to report that Varella the Raven Queen has weakened, but that she’s softened to an inexplicable degree as well. Fuck me, my pet. I used to dismember spies and toss their body parts into the lake. You realize that, don’t you? I’m a dark queen of Faerie, and you think it’s appropriate to spare even piskies from my wrath.” 

Sierra bowed her head slightly. 

“Mistress, I don’t think she’s a spy. I don’t know how, but she has the look of someone caught in the wrong place at the wrong time,” the girl cradling me said. 

Varella snorted. 

“If we were anywhere but the Storm Swamp I might believe that. But being in the wrong place here means you’re torn to pieces by a centuries-long storm outside. So how did she penetrate the bog’s defense that has stood for years and years?”

A man’s voice spoke up from the door, but when I turned, all I saw was a cat. An ancient, fluffy Maine coon on steroids. His coat carried a smoky fur pattern of black, gray, and silver. The cat’s large and observant orange eyes moved from staring at Sierra to me to the Raven Queen. 

“The piskie did not penetrate my storm’s defenses,” the cat said. 

I blinked as the cat hopped up onto Sierra’s shoulders and then stood over me, a massive form that left me feeling rather like a robin being observed by a predator. My forehead started to sweat as the feline’s pink nose twitched and took in my scent. 

“Oh good. Kit is here. This ought to clear things up. Please enlighten me, storm cat, as to how this piskie stands breathing before us yet did not penetrate your bog’s defenses to spy on me.”

The cat shifted his gaze from me, which allowed my heart rate to slow a little. I still wasn’t used to being outsized by house pets. 

“Anyone tell you that in the week since you woke up after the blast you’ve become irritable and paranoid?”

“Just you, Kit. Twenty minutes ago if I’m not mistaken.” 

I watched the cat grin before turning to look at me again. He cocked his head to the left before speaking. 

“She smells like the mortal world. And this piskie has been touched — no, completely washed over, by a glamour far more ancient and powerful than yours, Var. My best guess? She entered Faerie through a tiny path in the world of humans, and it spit her out somewhere above the swamp. From there, I’d wager she tumbled into my storm out of control and made a million-to-one landing on your pet just before the wind and trees ended her life.” 

Varella raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ll recall that Vyz gifted Sierra with his glamour, which renders moot any effects of my storm upon her.” 

My brain was spinning. More words I didn’t understand, and they came from a talking cat of all things. Glamour? Vyz? It seemed I wasn’t leaving the world of madness anytime soon. And before I could stop myself, I muttered, “That cat is talking.” 

Kit turned his attention back to me and seemed simultaneously amused and confused. 

“What kind of piskie hasn’t met a talking cat before?” he asked. “Are cats not the primary cause of death for your sprites?”

He was talking about me as if I’d always been this way. But he had to know otherwise. They all did, right? Surely they could see by my confusion and horror that I was a prisoner in a body I was far from accustomed to. 

No, I thought. They don’t have a clue. To them, I’m just a tiny intruder. They don’t know I was human half an hour ago. 

Sighing, and wishing I’d just married that goddamn truck mechanic and been quietly miserable instead of winding up here, I realized very few wishes in life come true. So when you have a chance to see your wish granted, it should be taken seriously. It was a lesson I’d learned far too late. But that wasn’t new. I learned a lot of lessons late in life. Chief among them, don’t let your jabberjaw cousins figure out you’re a lesbian. And don’t tell your parents that you’re bisexual just so they’ll get off your back and believe there’s still a possibility you’ll wind up with a nice man who will help in the process of making grandbabies. 

Christ on a cracker my problems were so much smaller before I got smaller, I thought. 

“Your majesty,” I finally chanced as everyone turned to look at me, even Sierra. “I’m not a piskie.” 

Kit narrowed his giant orange eyes. 

“Yes, you are. You’re five inches tall, have glamour so weak a bumble bee could overpower you, and carry wings that look like they were ripped from the back of a dragonfly. That’s the very definition of a piskie,” the storm cat said. 

I sighed again. 

“Okay, I am a piskie. But I wasn’t always one. I was changed into one by this magic book,” I said. 

Varella’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion again. 

“Did this supposed magic book have a name?” she asked, letting fly words that were colder than liquid nitrogen. Could Sierra give her the puppy dog eyes again? I needed that protection. 

Closing my eyes, I thought back to Sylva’s words. What did she call the fucking thing? It had a very specific title. 

“The. . . book of. . .,” I sputtered, trying to recall. 

The book of what, stupid? I thought. The Book of Mormon? The Book of Eli? The Big Book of Baby’s Names? What was it, Anola? 

“The Book of Tevaedah!” I blurted, excitement coursing through me that I’d remembered it. This must be how lawyers felt when they presented a game-changing piece of evidence in court. My eyes were wide with relief. Surely a tome that ancient and powerful was one they’d all heard of. . . right? Especially a dark queen of Faerie. 

We all waited in silence for Varella’s reaction, and my heart sank when she scoffed and scowled. 

“It’s a myth,” she said. “An old legend meant to entertain young fae before bedtime. So would you like to try and spin a better yarn, tiny piskie? Or should I snatch you back from my pet and end your pathetic attempt at spycraft here and now?”

Sierra held me tighter, and I gasped. This queen just wouldn’t accept any answer I offered. And I found myself panicking once more at the thought that she’d rip me apart just as soon as the wolf girl’s defenses failed. 

A rather posh English voice interrupted our violence-filled conversation of hypotheticals as, before my eyes, another piskie flew into the room. She was maybe an inch taller than me and had the appearance of a librarian, her purple hair held back by a tidy bun secured with the world’s smallest pencil. 

“Your grace, pardon my intrusion. May I offer a solution?” she asked, fluttering over to the queen. 

Varella chuffed and motioned for the newcomer to continue. 

“Please allow me to speak privately with this sprite. And I promise you, I’ll return with everything she knows compiled into a neat report.” 

The Raven Queen’s eyes glanced back from the flying piskie to me, and I withered under her calculations. 

“As you wish, Barsilla. Do not allow her to leave Featherbrooke,” Varella warned. 

Barsilla bowed and fluttered over to me. 

Kit hopped down toward the floor and turned to leave in the way cats do when they’ve grown bored with a room and its occupants. 

“Don’t worry,” he called back. “If she leaves the cabin without Sierra to protect her my storm will reduce her to even tinier piskie parts.” 

I gulped at that, trying not to imagine being torn apart by a storm. Somehow I didn’t think I’d come out of it as clean as Jo and Bill. 

Sierra gingerly held out her palm, once more flattened as Barsilla hovered close enough for me to see her eyes. I noted they were the color of coral. 

“Come now,” she said. “I’ve a report to compile. We mustn’t keep the queen waiting.” 

I just stared at her outstretched hand. 

“Barsilla, was it? I. . . don’t know how to fly,” I said with a tone so pathetic that it left me flinching. 

She shrugged and scooped me into her arms with ease. 

“Have it your way,” she said, flying me out of the room as I yipped. 

We traveled down a hallway and into a spare bedroom that didn’t look all that different from the one Varella had been sitting in. A brown rug covered half the floor, and soft white curtains clung to the window’s edges. Outside I saw the storm raging in the bog, pushing trees and limbs this way and that with ease. Rain pelted leaves and pine needles alike. 

That would have killed me if I hadn’t chanced into landing on Sierra’s back, I thought. I still need to ask how she turned into a wolf. 

Sierra was human, right? She didn’t seem quite as elfy as the other fae here. 

Before I could answer, Barsilla dropped me onto the bed, which was covered with a comforter that matched the brown rug. Behind me, the pillows might as well have been ski slopes, cotton threads acting as snow. It left me missing views of Mount Rainier amid the various ski trips I’d made with Michelle. 

There I stood as she quickly flew over and closed the door. Then the piskie landed in front of me. What was that smell? Barsilla smelled like apples and cinnamon. This close I noticed a few blemishes on her cheek that only served to make her more cute. It was a tiny touch of “girl next door” on an otherwise business-only librarian face. 

“Okay, I have a few questions before this interrogation begins,” I started as she walked across the bed to me. 

There was a fierceness in her eyes that left me about to step backward. But behind me was a giant wall of pillows. 

“Sylva Sniffles, you don’t write me for an entire century after our breakup, and then you have the gall to show up without invitation or announcement in the resting chamber of my queen?”

My eyes widened. And I had about a thousand different questions. Breakup? Invitation? Hold on. Then my brain went to the most obvious curiosity. 

“Did you just call me Sniffles? Because that’s too ridiculous, even for — “ I started before she interrupted me with an aggressive kiss. 

With my mind shortcircuiting, I was powerless as Barsilla threw me backward into the pillow wall and drove her tongue forward to meet mine. . . also without an invitation or announcement. 

She pulled back long enough for me to breathe. Oh fuck, I’d only just now realized the piskie had stolen my breath. And I didn’t have enough functioning brain cells to figure out if that was literally or figuratively. Both? 

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” I started. 

Barsilla nodded. 

“On that, we agree. But rest assured, I’ll get to the bottom of your sudden appearance as soon as my tongue gets to the bottom of your throat,” she said as I felt a heat growing between my knees. And before I knew it, her lips were on mine once more. 

Most of my experience in Faerie thus far had been madness. But this. . . well, it was still madness. But it was one I found myself strangely welcoming. 

Shit, I thought. I like interrogations in Faerie. I should commit more crimes.