Fans of the Land of Stories and the Descendants series are sure to find the lighthearted fantasy adventure of 100 Dresses a perfect fit!   Inside an enchanted castle, there’s a closet—a closet with one hundred magical dresses that only Darling Dimple can wear . Each one disguises her as somebody else.   It turns out that Darling needs disguises. A thief is on the loose! Someone is causing an uproar among the servants—moving things around, stealing clothes from the laundry, and even pocketing Princess Mariposa’s jewels. Then Darling and her friend Roger think they spot a ghost roaming the halls. Could the culprit be a spirit? Can Darling and Roger get to the bottom of it all? With the help of the one hundred dresses, there just might be a ghost of a chance. "The charming, persistent, and astute dandelion-fluff-haired Darling . . . remains an underdog to cheer for." — Kirkus Reviews Praise for If the Magic Fits (100 Dresses #1):   “A cheery start to a new series, this fairy-tale-style fantasy will brighten the cloudiest of days.” — Kirkus Reviews   “ A spunky and lively narrator, Darling Dimple is easy to love.” — School Library Journal   “A charming new fairy tale! Readers won’t want this adventure to end!” —Jessica Day George, New York Times bestselling author of Tuesdays at the Castle Susan Maupin Schmid is the author of 100 Dresses: If the Magic Fits. She grew up next to a cemetery. She never saw a single ghost. Not one. But she did have a favorite tombstone: Princetta Blakely’s sparkly black granite monument. Susan liked to imagine what life would be like with such an amazing name. And she read books. So many that she exasperated her local librarian. When her parents built a summer home by a lake, she pocketed a library card at that library. Through the years, Susan has continued to read, imagine, and collect library cards. To find out more, visit SusanMaupinSchmid.com and follow her on Twitter at @maupinschmid. 1     I slipped into Queen Candace’s closet, gripping the canary’s cage in my fist. My friend Roger hovered outside the door. Moonbeams silvered the dresses and poured across the rose-patterned carpet, bleaching it to blues and grays. The stained-glass canary in the great peaked-arch window shone like a lamplit jewel.   It had been three months since I’d exposed that thief--and imposter--Dudley. Three months of jumping and fetching, of pressing mountains of handkerchiefs, towels, and sheets, of doing a portion of the Wardrobe Mistress’s job. But now things had settled down. The Princess had appointed a new Wardrobe Mistress, and I had a little free time.   A little free time and a closet full of unworn dresses. Not to mention the promise I’d made Roger to show him my secret.   “Are you sure this is safe?” Roger asked.   “I’m sure,” I said, motioning him inside the closet.   I set the birdcage on the small table by the window. Lyric chirped drowsily in a puddle of moonlight. A quiver ran through the waking dresses. One hundred of them hung on silver hangers marked with numbered gold badges. They had all belonged to Queen Candace, the grandmother of Princess Mariposa. And although the dresses had been in this closet for years, they looked as bright and as new as they had on the day they were put there. Well, all except for one, Eighteen; faded rags were all that remained of the original dress.   Roger sidled into the closet and eased the door shut.   “The others are all downstairs,” I pointed out.   “Okay.” Roger swept his cap off and ran his fingers through his sandy hair.   The dresses rattled their hangers. Roger jumped.   “Be nice,” I told them. “You have a guest.”   The dresses clattered their hangers more urgently. They’d helped me thwart Dudley and his accomplice, Cherice. Those two had meant to unleash the dragons chained to the castle roof. Instead, Dudley had been carried off by the gryphon, and Cherice had escaped. The dragons were still captive. What more could the dresses want?   “Do you think the dresses are alive?” Roger whispered.   “Yes,” I whispered back. “Sort of. They’re full of magic, so they seem alive.”   “So are they or not?” he asked, tucking his cap into his back pocket.   I chewed on my lower lip. I wasn’t sure I could explain it. The dresses had a mind of their own; that much was sure. They slept when Lyric wasn’t in the closet. And they could be killed. Eighteen was proof of that. I’d left it off its hanger overnight. And though I’d hung it back up as soon as I could, Eighteen no longer woke with the others.   “Can anybody wear the dresses?” Roger asked, distracted by a flapping sleeve.   The sleeve belonged to One, an aqua gown with gold-trimmed sleeves and a full skirt. It waved, straining its seams to catch my attention.   “No,” I said, pulling One off its hanger.   I didn’t know if this was true. Marci, who used to be the Head Scrubber but now was the Wardrobe Mistress, had worn the dresses when she was a child, but that was years a