Sabrina Is As Human As a Faerie Can Be: A Rant Against Hollywood-Style Feminism

I’m going to go off on a writer’s rant for today’s blogpost about how I really can’t stand Hollywood sometimes, especially when it comes to how it portrays women.

No, I’m not going to accuse it of baring all our assets all the time, turning us into a closed box of bedroom fantasy characters. Though that’s true too.

I’m actually going to take issue with how kick-derriere those bedroom-fantasy heroines are these days. They’re physically, emotionally, psychologically and intellectually capable of handling just about anything that comes their way.

In other words, they’re not really human. They’re false portrayals of what feminism can be, giving women everywhere the idea that we can constantly bend a boardroom of hostile coworkers to our will, turn the tables on four – count them: four – bad guys who have us trussed up in an old warehouse without messing up a single hair on our head, and manage our personal lives with the casual cool of… well… someone who has the patent out on being casually cool.

Clearly, I’m running low on awesome metaphors today. I suppose that means I don’t qualify for Hollywood-style feminism. Which just happens to be my point: I’m usually a confident woman, but I do have my limits. There’s no way I can take on everything under the sun.

In writing her dark and twisted novels, including run-away bestseller “Gone Girl,” Gillian Flynn had this to say about how she portrays women: “Isn’t it time to acknowledge the ugly side? I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims [and] soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books.”

While I still quite like my spunky heroines, I understand exactly what Flynn means: Women aren’t perfect. (Before you get all cocky, boys, neither are you.) So why try to depict us otherwise? What’s so wrong with just being human… capable of good, evil and mediocrity?

Now admittedly, with her superior faerie strength, Sabrina does have a physical edge on us non-winged women. And she also successfully handles a lot of psychological stuff in “To Err Is Faerie.”

But as any instructor at Langley will tell you, everyone has their breaking point. And I’m sure if they knew about faeries’ existence, they wouldn’t amend that statement one bit.

My writer’s philosophy is that fiction should reflect reality, even in the fantasy genre. Which is why Sabrina isn’t consistently kick-derriere throughout the Faerietales series. She falls, she breaks, and she needs help putting herself back together sometimes.

Because faerie or not, she’s still quite human in the sense that she’s mortal. Unlike Hollywood-style feminism.

Sabrina’s Trials and Tortures Aren’t Entirely My Fault

Down here at Disney World, everything’s magical. For my Tinker Bell lookalike Sabrina up in Scotland, however, things are anything but in Faerietales Book 2: “To Err Is Faerie.”

I won’t spoil anything for anyone who hasn’t read “Not So Human” yet. All I’ll say is Sabrina is less-than-content at the end of that story, initiating a whole lot of drama as the series continues.

Which is why I have to acknowledge that authors are jerks. We purposely make our characters’ lives difficult however we can, whether romantically, physically, psychologically… You get the picture.

We make them lose their jobs or lose the love of their lives or lose their cool. Heck, the caption I wrote for “To Err Is Faerie” is “Martyrdom is all well and good ‘til someone loses a mind.”

Moreover, authors have full control over their finished works; don’t let them tell you otherwise. If they try to defend themselves after the fact, explaining how they cried over all the nasty things they did to their characters, tell them you have three words for that:

What. Ev. Er.

With all of that said, I feel the need to try to defend myself over all the nasty things I do to Sabrina in this upcoming book. (Yeah, yeah. I know. What. Ev. Er.)

But hear me out for a sec... You see, just because an author has full control over her finished work doesn’t mean she can say the same during the first stages. For example, during the initial draft of “Not So Human,” I found myself wide-eyed, wondering what was going to happen next.

It took me a good second or two to remember that I was the writer, not the reader.

Sounds crazy? Maybe. But remember: It began about a human and ended up a flight of fancy about a faerie princess. So clearly, I’m not always in control of how my storylines flow at first.

I have another novel I swore up and down wouldn’t turn into a love story… until my main character fell in love against my wishes. And I fully intended to kill off my heroine in a separate book… yet she not only thwarted my insidious plot but also inspired two sequels.

In other words, I don’t plot out most of my stories. And when I do, it doesn’t seem to matter. They happen how they happen. And after they happen, well, it’s really kind-of annoying going back and changing the whole thing.

So consider this my apology for torturing Sabrina the way I do in “To Err Is Faerie.” Don’t worry: She gets her Disney-esque happy ending.

Eventually.

Tinker Bell Stole My Credit Card

Here’s a piece of information that won’t shock anyone who knows me or who has read any part of my Faerietales series, starting with the first few chapters of Book 1: “Not So Human.”

I like Tinker Bell. A lot.

I mean, I intentionally created my main character Sabrina to look like Tinker Bell, va-va-voom curves and all.

Back at my apartment, I have Tinker Bell mugs, glasses, throw blankets and a lamp. I named my new flash drive Tinker Bell (for which my family gave me much-deserved grief), and I even have Tinker Bell pillowcases and t-shirts, both of which are safely tucked away in my closet.

I have to draw the maturity line somewhere, and at 32 years old, I figure having cartoon characters on my bed or torso is a bit too much.

Why do I love the pint-sized pixie so much? Well, mainly because she’s a sassy little minx (other less polite words might suffice here as well) who says and does whatever she wants to. Sometimes, I wish I could just tell people what I’m thinking so blatantly too.

Sadly though, my mama taught me to be polite and considerate of other people’s feelings. Drat.

Anyway, I’m mentioning all of this because, this week, I’m going to be down in Orlando, Florida… at Disney World! And therefore, I will be surrounded by Tinker Bell paraphernalia galore.

I’m telling myself that I won’t buy anything. I don’t need it to begin with, and how am I going to fit it all into my suitcase anyway?

That’s my logical side saying all of that. And yes, believe it or not, Tinker Bell fanatics can have logical sides. Remember: I don’t actually wear my Tinker Bell shirts out in public any more.

Unfortunately for my wallet, I also have an illogical side… which is telling me that it’s humanly impossible to resist such concentrated amounts of adorable sass. Maybe faeries like Sabrina can resist such siren calls, but I’m just too weak.

And then there’s my very illogical side. That’s formulating even more ridiculous excuses to go nuts down at Disney. So far, this is my favorite one:

It wasn’t my fault: Tinker Bell stole my credit card!

Dratted pixie.

Creating a Villain. Or Two. Or Three.

In Faerietales Books 1 and 2, I have three main villains… Which, come to think of it, is rather mean of me. Pitting Sabrina against any one of them is bad enough, but all three? That’s definitely an unfair fight, even with her superior faerie strength and sense of snark (i.e. sarcasm).

Oh well. The stories are already written, and I ain’t changin’ them. So she’ll just have to deal.

And yes, if I was Sabrina (which I’m not, since I have short brown curly hair and brown eyes, not straight yellowish hair and green eyes. Such a big difference), I’d hate me.

But moving on to how I created Mr. Smiley, Dr. Morrison and Dr. Stewart.

Believe it or not, I didn’t base them on anyone in particular. Not at first anyway. Stewart did take on a few characteristics of a former creepy coworker of mine, but that was in much later drafts.

The truth is that all three characters are fairly “typical” villains, when you think about it. There’s nothing redeeming about any of them, and unless you’re way too kindhearted for your own good (*cough* *cough* *Mom*), readers are supposed to want them dead. That’s how I intended it.

I could have gone into depth about their good qualities, since I do believe everyone has at least one. I can’t think of a single person who is wholly evil, though some individuals certainly come close.

Simply put though, I didn’t want to. I wanted to show how ugly bigotry (Mr. Smiley), egotism (Dr. Stewart) and unscrupulous pursuits of science (Dr. Morrison) can get.

Warning: Here’s where I might get a bit preachy.

Most of us know that judging people by generalized category is unfair and hurtful. The same goes for being an arrogant little prat, placing our inclinations above everyone else all the time.

But idolizing intellectual studies can be just as dangerous. How so? Try talking to a pretentious English major and you’ll understand pretty darn quickly.

Ok, that’d be more like chit-chatting with Stewart, not Morrison. So check out the Nazis instead.

It’s a documented fact that the Nazis were inspired by Darwinian science. They used it to justify the designation of “sub-humans” suitable for lab rat-status. And the experiments they consequently ran on twins, dwarfs and other individuals with genetic anomalies were revolting.

(If you ever want nightmares, do a study on Nazi doc Josef Mengele. Ugh!)

That kind of intellectual superiority, which doesn’t always show itself so vividly, bugs the heck out of me. Hence the reason why I probably portrayed certain villains as harshly as I did.

Then again, come to think of it, maybe Morrison, et al were inspired by some of my college profs... Hmm.

Some of the Most Fun Book Dedications I’ve Ever Seen! (Mainly ‘Cause I Wrote Them)

No offense to other writers, but I find most book dedications drippy and uninteresting. They’re obviously geared toward one or two people, though presented to thousands… maybe even millions.

For my part, I like having fun with them. I already told you back in January about my historical novel “Maiden America” (available on Amazon.com in print and Kindle copies), which I took great delight in dedicating to some real-life antagonists of my own. (This is why you shouldn’t tick off writers.)

But here are a few more of my favorite ones I’ve written…

Faerietales Book 1, “Not So Human” (available on Amazon.com in print and Kindle copies):

To Danae, who read this story cover to cover repeatedly… Thank you so much for putting that time and effort in. It meant more than I can possibly say. To Christina, my favoritest big sister ever… I owe you for tearing into all the tiny details the way you did. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m certainly glad you’ve got my back. And to Tanja, who caught a few glaring errors as well… I love you. Just not enough to give you money.

Faerietales Book 2, “To Err Is Faerie” (available on Amazon.com in print and Kindle copies on March 24, 2015):

To my usual cohorts, Christina and Danae, for reading this over and telling me when to dial my creative proclivities down a notch or two (or three or four). And to my darling, kindhearted mom, who still loves me even though I didn’t give a certain HPAC villain the redemption story she wanted me to. In my defense, he really didn’t deserve one.

And to my brother… He doesn’t care about my writing, but he is awesome. (He added that in himself.)

My brother really did add that last bit in, and I thought it was way too entertaining to take out.

Dirty Politics Book 1, “The Politician’s Pawn” (available on Amazon.com in print and Kindle copies on May 24, 2015):

To Ashleigh, the best nurse and fellow cookie dough connoisseur a girl could ask for. Thanks for ensuring I didn’t mess up any of the medical details! And to Christina, for lending her ever-thorough eye and making sure I didn’t get eaten by a shark before I could write this story down. Clearly, I owe you big time. Like REALLY big time.

I wish I was kidding about that last part, since getting eaten by a shark is one of my worst fears in life. Christina and I were out in the ocean a few years ago when we saw a shark fin go by. Christina, being the intelligent creature that she is, started walking back to shore since we were only up to our chests.

Me? I tried to swim it, and then panicked when a wave dragged me further out… toward the shark. If you know anything about sharks, then you know that thrashing around like an idiot is the absolute worst thing you can do around them. Yet that’s exactly what I ended up doing.

Christina had to get right in my face, and nearly knock me out, to make me calm down enough to walk to safety.

I have the best big sister ever.

Sending Out Query Letters

Before I start yapping about Faerietales Book 2, “To Err Is Faerie,” which is written, edited and scheduled to be published on March 24…

I’m going to take the next two blogposts to talk about two different topics. Today, it’s the fact that I did something I haven’t done in at least two years.

I sent out a query letter!

For anyone who doesn’t know, query letters are the bane of any novelist’s life. They’re the creative writing equivalent of a cover letter for that job you really, really, really want that about three thousand other people are applying to at the same exact time.

You’re basically supposed to summarize your entire 300-page story into three short paragraphs that manage to wow the socks off of whatever literary agent or publisher you’re soliciting. But much more often than not, you do nothing but waste your time and theirs.

I can’t say I’ve ever cried over the rejection responses my query letters have elicited. I haven’t even wanted to cry. Though I did consider sending a harsh response back to this inexcusably clueless agent who warned applicants that she might put something spiritual into her reply.

When I got it, all it said was “Not interested God bless.”

To me, that was the most insulting answer possible, mainly because she couldn’t be bothered to write a complete sentence and then had the gall to justify her lack of professionalism with some meaningless bit of fluff.

I have to say that most agents are nice enough with their mass “We’re not interested, but best of luck” rejections. (At least the ones that get back to you; a lot of them don’t.) But they get tiring nonetheless. So after sending out I-don’t-know-how-many query letters and receiving I-don’t-know-how-many dismissals over the last 10 years, I decided to go the self-publishing route.

That was until I spoke with one of my coworkers, Lia Mack, who recently signed a publishing contract for her upcoming book, “Waiting for Paint to Dry,” which I’m looking forward to reading! Our conversation on the topic inspired me to go ahead and submit a query letter of my own.

Who knows what’ll come of it. I’m not placing any bets. Though even if it gets me nowhere, I have to say that I’m really happy I went for it.

I can’t say it was a fun experience, per se, but something tells me that it was what I needed to do regardless.

Not So Human - Chapter Three - What You Don't Know Can Kill You

Everyone's heard the saying "what you don't know can kill you." And there's a lot of truth there, I'm sure.

But let's face it: It's just as possible to die by something you DO know. So basically, you're in trouble either way. At least you are if you're Sabrina.

And speaking of Sabrina, this is the last chapter I'm posting here. If you want to read the rest, this baby is being published in both print and Kindle copies tomorrow, February 24, on Amazon.com.

Until then, I hope you enjoy what's below!

CHAPTER 3 

A

 Familiar cheesy tune split the quiet morning air, blasting Sabrina into consciousness and leaving her little choice but to grope around for her cell phone, which doubled as an alarm clock. Generally, she loved her ringtone. Hence the reason why she chose it in the first place. But when it started playing at some wretched hour of the morning – also known as six o’clock sharp – she was less than pleased.

She set it to snooze and crankily collapsed back onto her pillows, rubbing at her eyes. It was with great difficulty that she coerced her inner toddler into submission, but she somehow did it in less time than it took for the alarm to go off again. And then she was up and stumbling headlong into the new day.

 By the time Sabrina was through her morning routine, it was somehow quarter to seven. She hastily ate a pack of instant oatmeal, prepared her lunch, gulped down her vitamins and got her teeth brushed all in time to head out the door a whole minute ahead of schedule. Before the clock had quite struck eight, she was at her desk in the big, bare, boring room she shared with five people she had nothing in common with.

She didn’t fit in there. At all. It was obvious while her coworkers went about their childish chatter like always. Sabrina tuned them out like she always did whenever they discussed immature topics, which meant that she ignored them most of the time. They were all a decent decade or more older than her, yet they acted as if they’d never left middle school.

Sabrina barely heard more than a hum while she checked her email, scanning the inbox for any sign that Alex might want to talk to her again. It had been months since they’d broken up, and she was down to just the tiniest strand of hope. Really, it was more of a bad habit than anything else at that point. But she couldn’t work up any lasting enthusiasm over anyone else. And she still wanted a better explanation than, “I just need time to think.”

Everything had been going so well for the thirteen months beforehand, so she’d been shocked and confused when, within a short week’s time, he’d gone from loving boyfriend, to brooding and distant, to gone altogether. Overall, she blamed Alex for his odd behavior and subsequent disappearance; but every once in a while, she couldn’t help but wonder if it had been her. Had she said something? Could she have done something different?

Sabrina didn’t cry at the thought. She barely blinked when the day’s email proved to be no different than usual, with the exception of a fawning correspondence from Eugene. She was pretty well past that hysterical first stage, rarely even tearing up over Alex anymore. It’s just that she wouldn’t have objected too much if he did decide to come waltzing back into her life.

She signed out of her email and set her mind to accomplishing the single task she’d been given for the entire day. It only lasted so long, of course; and as the minutes turned to hours with painstaking slowness, interspersed with three text messages from Eugene, Sabrina realized she was getting used to it all. Her coworkers’ ignorant comments and her own lack of inspiration were becoming as depressingly familiar as the commute to and from work.

That recognition stuck with her throughout the day, no matter how hard she tried to shake it. So it was with infinite relief that she exited the building beneath an obliviously cheerful, blue sky. Her engine started with a soothing rumble, and she turned on the radio as soon as she pulled out of the smallish parking lot.

Blasting her music as loud as her poor little car could manage, she did the speed limit only because of the traffic congesting the basic two-lane road. That changed as soon as she made the left turn onto Route 222, where she stepped on the gas, reveling in every second that took her further away from the dismal little office with its depressing realizations.

The scenery didn’t change much as the odometer on her dashboard ticked ever upwards. There was still plenty of farmland with scattered stands of trees every which way she looked. But the feel of it was somehow different, and she felt her shoulders relax with each passing mile. It was amazing how such a short distance could mean a world of change.

After living in Lancaster for as long as she had, Sabrina knew most of the places cops liked to hide along the highway. She kept her eyes on the road and her fellow drivers for the most part; but every so often, when she was passing particular ramps, she would take particular notice of her surroundings. Such precautions were necessary when she was hitting eighty-five miles per hour in a sixty-five zone.

That’s why she first noticed the swanky sedan behind her. For one small but disconcerting instant, she thought it was a police vehicle.

Shiny black, its silver trim was clean enough to bounce the sun right at her when she glanced in the rearview mirror. After determining she wasn’t in any immediate risk of getting a ticket, Sabrina wouldn’t have thought twice about the car if it had just continued on its merry course. Cadillacs weren’t something she often did a double-take for.

Yet there was something off about it. It didn’t tail her, but when she switched lanes to get around the law-abiding semi up ahead, it followed.

No big deal really, or at least it wasn’t that first time. It was a popular enough road during peak hours. So while she took some note of the car’s movements, she didn’t find it over-the-top suspicious right away. Nonetheless, Sabrina noticed how it matched her speed when she revved up to ninety miles per hour. And it copied her again when she turned back into the right lane to head toward Route 30. Nor could she disregard the way it didn’t take any of the next three heavily traveled courses it could have, staying right behind her instead.

That’s when Sabrina felt the first pangs of real uncertainty. With the traffic packed much more closely, she snuck a suspicious glance in her rearview mirror. Tilting it to get a better perspective, she took in the details of the driver’s face and instantly didn’t like what she saw.

The man looked like he had just stepped out of some bad Mafia movie with his short, light brown hair, darker sunglasses, and black suit jacket and tie. The color stood out starkly against his crisp white oxford, and his expressionless mouth didn’t make him look any less foreboding. From what she could see, he looked a lot like the man she had seen the other night at the grocery store.

Shifting the mirror’s angle with a growing amount of concern, she could see his passengers, two of whom were wearing carbon-copy clothing. There was a fourth occupant as well, but what he looked like, she had no clue since he was largely out of her sight. All she could make out was one shoulder, and that was covered in what looked like a black jacket too.

Sabrina told herself she was being paranoid. That the driver couldn’t be the man from the other day, and even if he was, so what? But she couldn’t fight off the strange little shiver that ran down her spine twice in rapid succession, and she started really hoping the Cadillac would take any of the upcoming exits.

When it didn’t, and the roadway cleared up in front of her, she hit the gas pedal. Hard.

The other vehicle matched her speed perfectly, never getting too close but never allowing too much space between them either. So by the time Sabrina reached her off-ramp, she was on high alert.

As far as she could tell, there was no good reason for a car like that to be in her neighborhood. She didn’t live in the slums by any means, but her apartment was very close to one of the area’s larger universities. That meant the surrounding communities were mostly populated by college students with their Mustangs and assorted parental hand-me downs. Not Mafia cars.

Sabrina told herself the men behind her were just visiting someone. That she was being ridiculous freaking out.

They were rational words that did nothing for her nerves.

If it had been dark out, she wouldn’t have pulled into her parking lot at all. But since it was still sunny and bright, she forced herself to take the risk. Nobody attacked people in broad daylight anyway. Not on sleepy, central Pennsylvania back-roads lined with perfectly mundane rows of trees and houses like the ones around her.

Telling herself that and convincing herself of it were two very different tasks, however. And even after she parked and the other car drove right past her building, she still didn’t feel safe. Filled with a disturbing amount of unease, Sabrina stepped out of the car only to nearly lose her footing when her phone rang inside her purse. It took a mere second for her to realize what the sudden noise was, and then another to identify the caller. But she still felt jittery when she answered.

“Hey, Za.” Deanda’s voice was soothing in its normality. “I’m thinking we need a movie night.”

“Isn’t that what we did yesterday?” Sabrina balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear so she could unlock the front door.

“Yeah, well, someone at work was telling me about this one horror flick.”

Sabrina cut her off with a sheepish, self-deprecating laugh. “No thank you. I think I’ve already freaked myself out enough for one day.”

“What did your coworkers do now?” Deanda pressed with some disgust in her voice. She had heard too many stories about them already.

“Oh no, it wasn’t them,” Sabrina assured, finally disengaging the lock and pulling the door open. “I just got all paranoid and thought this car was following me. Completely stupid, I know, but I’d say I’m more than jumpy enough without watching stuff that goes bump in the night.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Deanda asked in a rather odd voice, “Someone followed you?”

“No, it was just this Cadillac that was behind me all the way from 222 to the apartment.” Sabrina shut the door behind her, bolting it for good measure. “It freaked me out a little, but they went on to one of the back buildings, I think.

“Did you get a look at whoever was in the car?” Again that overly casual tone that implied too much interest while pretending to have none.

Making her way up into the living area, Sabrina’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “It was some guys in business suits.”

“How many?” Deanda pressed.

“Four.” Sabrina dumped her purse on the couch.

“Were they all wearing sunglasses?”

“Yeah.” Deanda was officially scaring her, a fact she didn’t bother to keep secret. “How’d you know that?”

“Just do me a favor, okay? Make sure the doors and windows are locked. Whatever you do, don’t go outside. I’ll be home in a few.” She sounded like a parent trying to keep a toddler still in the face of a rattlesnake.

Even without that tone, Deanda’s questions weren’t normal. Asking what her alleged tails looked like could have stemmed from mild curiosity, but there was no good reason to wonder whether they had sunglasses on or not. And the command to lock up was pushing the situation into uncomfortable territory. When Sabrina tried to point all that out, Deanda only repeated her warning to secure any entrances, then made her promise to call if anything else happened.

That odd reaction seemed sufficient proof that the paranoia Sabrina had been feeling was actually justified. Recognizing that sent her into a panic, her mind racing to try to figure out what in the world could be going on.

Was Deanda mixed up in some kind of legal affair? Was the state representative she worked for in some kind of trouble? Were the guys outside assassins or something?

Once Sabrina let her mind loose, it picked up speed, going from understandable speculation to sheer insanity in a minute flat. Every improbable possibility from the mob to aliens made a guest appearance in her head.

With those thoughts to spur her on, Sabrina secured the two windows in the living room, checked the downstairs door again, and even stopped to eye the vents distrustfully. They weren’t very large, but could she rule out the possibility that someone or something could get through?

She tried to tell herself she was being absurd.

Considering how she had done that in the first place to no avail, it didn’t work very well the second time around.

Her cell rang again while she was pacing back and forth, back and forth, across the living room. Sabrina had already been standing ramrod straight, but if possible, her body stiffened even further when she checked to see who was calling.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?” She asked into the phone, using a perfectly calm voice. Because really, she knew there was a good explanation for everything. There had to be.

“I’m outside,” Deanda replied instead. “Grab your purse and let’s go. We’re hitting up the mall.”

“I thought you wanted to watch a movie,” Sabrina pointed out even while she did as commanded. Anything was better than staying alone with her ridiculous imagination.

“Changed my mind,” was the terse reply. “Now come on.”

The phone clicked, effectively ending the call, and Sabrina glared at it in frustration before hurtling down the stairs. It wasn’t like Deanda to be so cryptic or bossy. She had always been a take-charge kind of girl, but as a general rule, she exuded that quality in a way that wasn’t the epitome of irritating.

Deanda had parked her red sedan practically in front of their door, so it took Sabrina just a few anxious steps to make it over to her. She slid into the passenger’s seat, taking in her friend’s apparel and appearance like either might provide some kind of clue as to what was going on. But the light grey suit Deanda wore was just as crisp as it had been that morning, and her hair was still captured in a perfect bun. The only telling sign was in her eyes. They kept flickering to the rearview mirror like she expected to be followed.

For the first five minutes, they seemed free of any tails. Sabrina knew because, incited by her friend’s unnerving behavior, she kept glancing backward too. Somehow, it wasn’t until they were out on the highway that she first caught sight of the shiny black Cadillac only three cars behind them.

“What is going on? Are you in some kind of trouble?” She didn’t turn away, almost afraid to not look in the mirror.

Shaking her head, Deanda let out an audible sigh of frustration through her nasal passage. “No. You are. But if you do what I say, we’re both going to get out of this alive, and then I’ll answer all the questions you have. You just have to do exactly what I say for now.”

“Alive?” Sabrina repeated somewhat stupidly. “Get out of what alive?”

“Questions later,” Deanda reminded.

She hadn’t asked for affirmation, but Sabrina gave a nod of acceptance anyway. The situation was getting stranger and stranger with each passing second, and her throat was getting tight.

There wasn’t much distance between their exit off the highway and the local mall, but there were three lights, two of which turned red on them. Stuck at the second one, Sabrina stared into her side-view mirror again, unable to keep her eyes elsewhere for very long. Each time she risked a glance at the car’s occupants, they looked increasingly more frightening.

Who wore full suits in Lancaster County anyway? Dress shirts and slacks, sure, but the men behind her looked like they’d fit much better in the secret service down in Washington D.C. than Central Pennsylvania. It was foreboding.

For that matter, she thought as Deanda pulled into the west side of the parking lot, so was the mall itself. Under normal circumstances, she’d barely take notice of the sprawled-out building, which was large enough to host five department stores and some ninety smaller shops. It was what it was: a familiar part of her surroundings.

But right then, despite the perfect blue sky above and the sunshine streaming down, it just looked dodgy. Like some structure in a movie that the audience knows the heroine shouldn’t enter, but which she foolishly does anyway. It made Sabrina’s insides cringe.

That impression solidified in her mind when the Cadillac stopped right at the curb, and two men – one expressionless blond and the other a brown-haired clone – got out from the back seat, opening and shutting their doors in practically perfect unison. The detail creeped her out even more. Though by that point, she felt like even a child laughing would sound ominous.

“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” she began.

But Deanda was already out of the car. “Let’s go. Stay close to me.”

There seemed little to do but buck up and go for it. Sabrina’s legs felt wobbly as the remaining two men drove the car right past them, the vehicle so close for a moment that she could almost reach out and touch her distorted reflection in the shiny side. Neither the driver nor the passenger turned to look at her directly, but she was sure they were staring behind the sunglasses anyway.

Deanda established a quick pace toward the triple set of double doors leading into one of the department stores, and she didn’t slow down once they were inside. Avoiding the various racks of juniors’ apparel, she grabbed Sabrina’s hand and snaked her way along the jean-laden back wall to the dressing room.

The two men who had gotten out of the Cadillac trailed them, and the darker haired one touched the side of his face briefly like he was trying to get better reception from an ear piece. Between that, their suits and their intimidating bulk, Sabrina was growing more and more certain they were from some type of government operation.

Bewildered, she could only wonder why the powers that be were after her.

Deanda pulled her into the bland and empty dressing room, setting off the censor, which binged with an eerie sound: another horror-movie noise. Sabrina jumped at it, but her friend didn’t even pause, dragging her around the corner and to the back instead. Just as they reached the last stall, two young women brushed by them on their way out, causing Sabrina to turn and gape.

Somehow, someway, the pair looked a whole lot like Deanda and herself. Not perfect replicas, she realized after several startled blinks, but close enough to confuse even her for a second or two.

“What the –”

Her friend clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shhh.”

With that warning, Deanda let her go, though just to yank her into the furthest stall, where there just happened to be two large shopping bags. Sabrina was sure she looked stupid gawking while her roommate began stripping out of her grey suit, but she was also equally sure that she didn’t care.

Looking stupid was far from her worst fear at the moment.

“Change into whatever you find in the bag on the right, and do it fast.” Deanda sounded steady, yet the sense of urgency in what she said and how she said it was unmistakable.

Sabrina didn’t question. She was far and away beyond questioning, so she shimmied out of her work clothes and reached for the pair of jeans at the top of the pile. Survival mode had officially kicked in, because she found herself ready to do whatever it took to get out of the situation she’d found herself in, whatever it was. She was so wound up that, when the censor went off again, she spun around quickly enough to nearly trip herself.

Someone knocked on the stall door, giving Sabrina a new appreciation for the notion of hearts jumping into throats. Her fists clenched at her sides, and she changed her stance as much as she could in the crowded space. But Deanda put a hand on her arm.

“It’s me,” a female voice called out cheerfully, as if the whole entire world hadn’t shifted into an alternate universe. “I’m coming in.”

“Put on your shirt,” Deanda instructed, reaching forward to let in the new arrival.

Obediently, Sabrina slipped the white tank-top on over her head. As a result, she felt the new woman’s presence before she could see her.

“This is Ellie.” Deanda introduced the leggy brunette. She seemed to take great pains to look Sabrina in the eyes once again, like she was trying to ensure that everyone remained calm. “She’s going to put on your makeup, okay? I’ll be in the next stall.”

With that, she grabbed her own bag and sidled out.

Ellie didn’t waste any time on pleasantries, though she didn’t seem unpleasant per se. Contrary to her chirpy demeanor a moment ago, she was now a woman on a mission. That mission seemed to be securing Sabrina’s hair into a long, brown wig and then coating her face with enough cosmetics to satisfy a prostitute.

Sabrina obediently looked down for Ellie to run a mascara wand over her eyelashes. The new direction of her gaze afforded her a less than decent view of her own breasts, which were smashed together to create a sizable amount of cleavage for someone who was only average-sized in that department.

She didn’t need to see past her pushup bra to know that her new pants were a snug fit as well.

Next came the eyeliner, cool, wet and unfamiliar on her skin, since she was normally too cheap and lazy to wear any serious makeup. Her lashes felt far too heavy, and her lips seemed just as weighted after Ellie ran a tube of very pink lipstick over them.

The brunette stepped back to regard her handiwork, then grabbed up a stylish, light pink jacket. “Put this on.”

The cut and oversized logo identified it as something silly girls wore to over-accentuate their sexuality. But Sabrina slipped it on without a peep of protest, just as she did with the black ballet flats and the large silver hoops Ellie passed her once the jacket was on.

Turning toward the mirror to put the earrings in, Sabrina stopped in dumbfounded fascination. Gone was the young professional who had walked into the changing room five minutes ago. In her place stood an immature teenager looking for all the world like she belonged to a completely different line of work.

It was a shocking image and one Sabrina wasn’t given any time to process. With one final fluff at the wig, Ellie prompted her out into the little corridor.

Deanda was already standing there, also converted into something ridiculously different. Her lips flat-out sparkled, and Sabrina was quite sure she’d put on lash extenders along with colored contacts, which turned her violet eyes brown. Somehow, she’d also tucked her long locks into a dark blond bob; and she wore formfitting jeans that were slid into a pair of brown boots. A t-shirt was stretched taut over her chest, drawing even more attention to that area of her anatomy with the words “Fight Global Warming: Let’s Go Green” emblazoned in large block letters.

All in all, Deanda looked like Deanda about as much as Sabrina resembled Sabrina.

She tried not to stare too much as both women escorted her out of the department store, into the greater shopping center and down the opposite wing from where they had parked. Outside the east entrance, Ellie left them as abruptly as she’d appeared. One second she was there and the next she was walking away like they’d never seen each other before, leaving Sabrina in a continuous pool of clueless anxiety. She desperately wanted to know what was going on, and had a dozen or more questions crowding her brain and blocking up her throat.

Still, safety came first, so she kept them all at bay a little longer. Following Deanda out into the parking lot, she looked every which way for black Cadillacs and scary men in suits.

She would have walked right by the unfamiliar grey Honda if Deanda hadn’t pulled out a set of keys like she owned it. For all Sabrina knew, she did. Life had taken enough confusing turns already that she could believe almost anything.

The engine hummed to life under Deanda’s guidance. Yet even as she pulled it out of the space, Sabrina kept her mouth shut, still overwhelmingly concerned that the four men might somehow appear out of nowhere. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, and the girls made it out of the parking lot and onto Route 30 without further trouble. Just to be on the safe side though, it wasn’t until they had left the developments and strip malls of that highway for the trees and open farmland of 222, that Sabrina spoke up.

“What happened to your car?” Now that she had the freedom to ask questions, she found herself focusing on the most trivial of them all.

“This is a loaner. We’ll drop it off when we get to where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away.”

Frustrated, Sabrina shook her head. “No. I want answers, and I want answers now. I’m dressed like a baby prostitute driving ‘away’ in a rented car after four creepy guys just followed me all over Lancaster. Now what was that all about?”

She steeled herself for the answer. Drug deals gone bad. International spy rings. FBI conspiracies. She could take the news, whatever it was. While any mention of aliens would be disconcerting, Sabrina tried to mentally prepare for that as well.

Deanda first glanced in the rearview mirror and then at her. “We’re moving at eighty miles an hour, right?”

Sabrina didn’t bother glancing at the speedometer. “Sure.”

“So you can’t throw yourself out of the car when I tell you what I’m about to tell you. Your brother would kill me if anything happened to you.”

Sabrina got very quiet then, her insides doing their familiar little drop. Unlike Eugene the other night, Deanda was very well aware she didn’t have a brother. So unless she was suffering from some sudden and inexplicable memory loss, she was pulling a very inappropriate joke.

Sabrina stared at her friend for a few seconds.

“That isn’t funny.” The three words were all she could manage.

“I didn’t intend it to be.”

Sabrina didn’t know how to respond to that, so she waited for Deanda to continue. Maybe it was how her eyes were still discolored by the contacts, but they looked very, very serious. And her glossy lips were set in a way that didn’t seem to bode well.

“I’ll tell you everything, but first you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Sabrina nodded, and Deanda took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

“You’re going to think I’m insane, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Looking very nervous, she glanced over and then straight ahead again, her hands digging into the steering wheel.

Sabrina took a deep breath.

“You’re not quite who you think you are,” she continued slowly, like she was pondering every syllable before she spoke it.

In no mood for the elongated version of whatever story Deanda was about to give her, Sabrina interrupted. “Just tell me. Spit it out. Please.”

So Deanda did, uttering the last four words Sabrina ever would have expected.

“You’re a faerie princess.”