In the beginning it had been easy to take Swords and Shadows in surprising new directions. Bob enjoyed choreographing elaborate fight scenes, coming up with grisly new ways for characters to die, and creating love triangles where each side seemed equally worthy. Whenever he got bored with existing characters and plotlines, he added new supernatural powers and creatures. For the most part, he invented his own mythology. It wasn’t like there was a flying unicorn he could interview. But the world he’d created was so big that Bob could no longer keep it all in his head.

Then Bridget had shown up, the answer to all his problems.

I can still see Bridget trembling at Powell’s. Just a skinny little kid with milk-pale skin and russet hair. But when she spoke about the books, it was clear she was a savant. She was a walking encyclopedia of the world I had created, effortlessly remembering details I had just thrown out there over the years.

And then I learned about her dead mother. Such an echo of my own life. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and alone.

A muffled thump outside his window made Bob jerk, adrenaline running down his spine like an electric shock. But it was just a tree branch that had bent under the weight of falling flakes until it finally flexed far enough to spring back, shaking the snow free.

Maybe he could learn from it. Derrick wanted a book, but who said it had to be the real Eyes of the Forest? Maybe all Bob needed to do was to write something, anything, and pretend it was the book. Then he would bide his time, looking for the right moment to break free.

BRIDGET

Like in Real Life

When Bridget walked into physics class, her heart gave a little leap at the sight of Ajay. He offered her a crooked smile as she slid into her seat.

She took a deep breath, glad there was no one near them. “I brought you something.” Sliding her backpack off her shoulder, she unzipped it.

“What?”

Before Bridget could lose her courage, she handed over her copy of King of Swords. This would be the first time she had loaned it out. It wasn’t that she was a collector. Collectors prided themselves in owning books that hadn’t been read, but that certainly wasn’t true of her copy. It was far from pristine. Instead of being wrapped in clear protective plastic, the cover was faded and tattered. Inside, a couple of pages were spotted from an unfortunate incident involving peanut butter–chocolate chip cookie dough.

Ajay took it gingerly, almost reverently. “This looks well loved.”

Bridget’s shoulders loosened. “Just trying to get someone else to join the cult.”

Looking uncomfortable, he extended the book back toward her. “I know how much it means to you. I don’t feel right taking it.”