“Are you leaving?” I finally asked.

“Are you searching for a way to stop Aeslinn?” she shot back.

I spread my arms. “Well, what do you think I’m doing here?”

She scowled some more. But after a moment, the scowl concentrated, focusing on my dress. I waited hopefully.

Nothing changed, except for some sweat trickling down my back, because this part of Faerie was steamy.

I waited a while longer, then wondered if it would help if I pictured a pair of jeans in my mind. “Do you want me to—”

“No! Just stand there!”

I stood there, alongside Rhea, who was looking hopeful, too. Probably because she didn’t want to tromp through a wood in full Edwardian regalia any more than I did. But we were both disappointed.

“I can’t,” Guinn finally said, panting slightly. And resting a hand on a nearby tree until she remembered where we were, and abruptly snatched it back.

“Why not? If we’re just some kind of mental projection—”

“I don’t know why not! I’ve never done this before! And thanks to whatever you did, I can’t even tell whether you’re in my mind, or I’m in yours. But try as I might, nothing changes.”

Great. I was stuck in mental hell, in an outfit that was sure to trip me up every five feet. Not to mention being lined and damned hot, despite the fact that I hadn’t bothered with a petticoat. I hiked up my skirt and felt around underneath.

“What are you doing?” Guinn demanded.

“Checking for a crotch slit.”

“What?”

Oh, thank God. Edwardian ladies didn’t always stitch up the seam on their underwear, because going to the bathroom in a corset and half a dozen petticoats was hard enough. This led to the infamous crotch slit, which was exactly what it sounded like, and was often so wide that it made me wonder why they bothered with underwear at all.

But this pair of bloomers had actually been sewn up. I tore the sagging dress off at the waist, leaving me in a lace top and a cute set of wide legged cotton shorts, voluminous enough to look like a skirt and modest enough to preserve my dignity—whatever I had left. It wasn’t a perfect solution, since I still had the high-necked, long sleeved, lace shirt to contend with, but it would have to do.

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Guinn asked, apropos of nothing.

“Stop whining,” I told her. “And come on.”

~~~

“Stop,” Guinn said, what felt like hours later, and I gladly followed orders. I flopped down on the ground, panting heavily. The forest was a nightmare, tall and close and dark, with roots that tried to trip you up when they weren’t doing even worse.