Officer Rubio inhaled sharply. “Look, do you know how many times we have been called to his house to deal with a fan claiming she’s married to him, or that they’re really his daughter or son, or the mother of his child? Or they think he really is King Travis or whoever that guy is?”

Bridget started to protest, but Officer Rubio overrode her. “Listen to me. You need to get a life. You need to pull yourself together and snap out of it. You’ve been watching too many movies, playing too many video games. Those fantasy books may be full of excitement and convoluted plots, but this is real life, which, frankly, is pretty boring.”

Bridget resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “But I’m telling the truth. Bob’s been kidnapped. Or why else would he send me a coded message?”

Officer Rubio made an impatient noise. “I’m not going to get deep in the weeds here. Maybe one of your friends is pranking you. All I know is you’re taking this way too personally. Go talk about it at your Comic Con or your fan club or whatever. But you have to stop wasting our time when we’ve got more than enough real problems to deal with.”

BOB

An Odd, Defiant Joy

In the darkest cell, deep under the castle, Ken Pipem was singing. He sang of ancient kings who had gladly laid down their lives for their men. Of the noble unicorns. Of the magical mirror that could both save and destroy. Of betrayal and murder and sacrifice. He sang of Skin Changers and hanged men, of endless love and eternal longing. His voice was full of pain and bravery and an odd, defiant joy.

Sitting in her own cell, Jancy thought Ken’s song was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. It was a golden thread lacing together the patchwork of centuries, scraps of tales old and new, turning them into a tapestry of history. For a moment, Jancy saw she was just one small knot in a larger work.

She tipped her head back against the cold wall of her cell, the limestone damp against her scalp. She considered trying to lick the moisture from the walls. She had had naught to drink for two days, and her tongue was a piece of leather in her mouth. How was Ken even managing to sing? Had a guard given him a furtive sip?

Still, she could not begrudge it, because his strong, sweet voice offered the only respite from her thoughts.

Tomorrow, both she and Ken would die.

“Bob!” Derrick said from the doorway. “Earth to Bob! Come in!”

Bob lifted his hands from the keys. Slowly, the room came back into focus. The rough stone walls became smooth yellow pine. The sounds of Ken singing were replaced by the hum of the treadmill, the soft thud of his footfalls.