as well as of Tedros and her friends. At the same time, with so many people clogging the yellow streets, clamoring for a coveted “green ticket” into Emerald City (either you won one by lottery or you scalped one from a dodgy vendor), Agatha assumed she’d go unnoticed.
Which turned out to be a mistake.
Everywhere she looked, there were WANTED posters in different languages fixed to the market stalls, glowing in the torchlight—
As the wizard only granted a few meetings a day, the search for Agatha had become a manic treasure hunt. Vendors hawked magical “Agatha-Vision” goggles to spot her, luminescent Lion lassos to capture her, Tedros voice boxes that emitted the prince’s voice to bait her, faux-crystal balls to track her, even maps of Gillikin with notations where Agatha had supposedly been spotted.
“If I meet the wizard, I’m gonna ask him for a new leg,” Agatha overheard a limping boy tell a scraggly vendor as he bought one of the maps. Agatha lingered behind the boy, six or seven years old, as he unfurled the parchment and scanned the tiny cartoon Agathas with witchy hair and gnashed teeth, dotted around the map. The boy looked up. “You sure you saw her?”
“Came and bought a map from me,” said the vendor, smiling, “just like you.”
“Then why didn’t you catch her yourself?” the boy asked.
The vendor’s smile flattened. “Uh, well, because I didn’t have a Lion lasso like this one here!”
The boy peered at him skeptically . . . then started counting coins from his pocket.
Overhead, glittery floodlights scanned the crowds, projected by clouds of invisible fairies joining the hunt, the same fairies who’d once protected Agatha from Evil and now sought to deliver her back to it. The iridescent spotlights flushed across the market, about to light up her face—
Agatha dove behind a stall, crashing into a pine hedge and landing hard on the bag carrying Dovey’s crystal ball. Cursing silently, she picked pine needles out of her chin, listening to the din of the market: the conversation in languages she didn’t recognize . . . the sizzle of food carts selling “wizard” burgers (gold-dusted patties in green palm leaves) and “fairy” creams (hot buttermilk with sparkle-foam) . . . the sharp voice of a stall barker, drifting over the crowd: “Step right up! Gilly’s Ticket Hub! Best price on tickets in the Woods! Emerald City passes! Caves of Contempo tours! Fairy flights to Beauty and the Feast! Reservations available tonight! Step right up! Come to Gilly’s!”
As Agatha lumbered to her feet, she saw that the stall she’d crashed behind was selling both Wizard of Oz merchandise and King Rhian memorabilia in tribute to the new alliance, the shop packed with tourists waving bags of coins at the three vendors frantically dispensing Lion mugs, shirts, masks, bags, and candy.
“But I thought Agatha and Tedros were Good,” said a young girl to her mother, who was jostling in the crowd, trying to buy a cheap gold pen that resembled the Storian. Only it wasn’t meant to be the Storian, Agatha realized, because engraved in the gold surface was the word . . . LIONSMANE.
Lionsmane? Agatha peered closer at it. What’s that?
“You used to tell me Agatha and Tedros’ fairy tale every night before bed,” the young girl was badgering her mother, “and they ended as king and queen, remember? That was their Ever After—”
“Well, turns out Agatha and Tedros were only pretending to be king and queen, while the real king was out here in the Woods,” her mother assured. “King Rhian killed the Snake, while Tedros did nothing. King Rhian is the leader of Good now. And Sophie will be his queen.”
“He’s the leader of Evil too,” rasped a black-cloaked hag near them, who was also waiting to buy one of the gold pens. “That’s why he’s marrying Sophie. To bring us all together. Rhian is king of the whole Woods now. And Lionsmane will make sure you never hear a fake fairy tale like Agatha’s again. King Rhian’s pen is going to tell real stories.” She grinned toothlessly at the little girl. “Might even write yours.”
Rhian’s pen? Agatha thought, bewildered.
The young girl blinked between her mother and the hag.
“But why does King Rhian have to kill Tedros?” she asked. “And why does he have to kill him at his wedding to Sophie?”
Agatha’s stomach wrenched so hard she felt it in her throat.
Tedros killed at Rhian and Sophie’s—
Impossible. They couldn’t kill King Arthur’s son at a royal wedding. It could never happen. Sophie would never let it happen. Sophie would protect Tedros . . . She’d plot against Rhian from inside the castle . . . She’d never marry that monster!
Agatha tensed. Or now that Sophie was about to be Queen of Camelot, worshipped by the entire Woods, would she suddenly turn back into—
Don’t be stupid, Agatha scoffed. She’d seen Sophie’s face when Rhian had trapped her at swordpoint. This wasn’t the old Sophie, who’d betrayed her best friends for love. This time, they were all on the same team against a fake king.
A fake king who was planning to kill the real one.
Agatha expected to feel a rush of panic—
But instead a sense of calm came over her.
If she didn’t find a way to get to Tedros, he would die in the worst possible way.
There was no time for helplessness.
Her prince needed her.
She slipped out from behind the stall, past the distracted vendors, and deftly stole a hooded shirt with Rhian’s face on it as the crowd jostled for Lion merchandise. Pulling the hood low over her head, she wove her way through the wall of shoppers, the bag with Dovey’s ball tight against her shoulder as she headed towards the blinking stall in the distance.
She passed more booths thronged with people buying phony Agatha hunting gear, while she hustled past, puffing out Rhian’s face on her chest, pretending she was his biggest fan. She was approaching Gilly’s now, the barker’s voice growing louder: “Step right up! Best tickets in tow—”
Something collided with her.
Agatha looked up to see two hulking green hobgoblins in Agatha-Vision goggles, toting full bags of Lion souvenirs. They gaped at her through their goggles . . . then slowly lowered them.
“Gaboo Agatha gabber,” said the first goblin.
“Gaboo shamima Agatha gabber,” said the second goblin.
“No no Agatha gabber,” Agatha said, pointing in the other direction. “Gaboo went that way.”
The goblins narrowed their eyes.
Agatha pointed at Rhian on her shirt. “See. King. Ooooh.”
The
