by Emma Savant
“And what? You’re supposed to watch over me or something? Like a guardian angel?”
“I hope not,” I said. “Nobody’s got time for that. No, I’m assigned to you for a really specific case. Your dad hired me. Well, technically, he hired my supervisor, but my supervisor got hit by a drunk driver and she’s recovering.”
I’d received a slightly panicked paper airplane from Tabitha only this morning, saying that Lorinda had been updating her on the case but to please contact her if I needed anything, followed by about a hundred tips on how not to screw this up. I was fast on my way to breaking most of them.
“I’m only with you until your dad’s wish comes true.”
“What the hell would my dad wish for me?” Elle said. She set her glass down on the table with an angry clink. “He’s not trying to get me out of Pumpkin Spice, is he?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “He actually…” I looked at her, shook my head, and sighed. “Elle, your dad is clueless.” And I explained precisely what he’d hired us for.
Elle listened with a faintly shell-shocked expression on her face. When I wrapped up, she repeated slowly, “A ‘perfect teen movie’?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Like I said.”
“Oh my God,” Elle said. I felt a little rush of validation: She sounded exactly as disgusted as I’d thought she would. “He’s, like… You want to like him. But then you realize how incredibly not there he is and it’s like, big surprise.”
Imogen tilted her head. “Have you ever had therapy?” she asked. I kicked her under the table. Elle didn’t dignify the question with an answer. She was already too busy putting together the next pieces of the puzzle.
“Tyler Breckenridge,” she said, turning an accusing gaze on me.
I held up my hands in surrender. “Most popular boy at your school,” I said. “I know it’s the world’s worst idea, but I have to honor the terms of the wish. That’s my job.”
“What a crappy job,” Elle said.
I suddenly wanted to hug her. Finally, someone understood, without my having to explain a thing. “I’m only in it to save up for college,” I said.
“Kind of like I’m only putting up with my dad’s stupid business practices to save up to buy the place from him,” Elle said. “I hear you.”
“It’s not worth it, though,” I said. “The past couple weeks have sucked. I’m bowing out and I’ll try to close your case instead of getting it transferred. I like you, and I respect you too much to push you into such a stupid situation. That’s the bottom line.”
Elle leaned back, one hand playing with the stem of her martini glass. Her brown eyes surveyed me, tracing my face like she was looking for something. “Don’t quit just yet,” she said. “Maybe we can find a way to work it out. Maybe there’s a way to modify the terms. You said I’m a Cinderella what?”
“Archetype,” I said. “You’re supposed to live out the Cinderella Story.”
“Why?” she said.
“Brings balance to our world,” I said. I shrugged. I didn’t really understand how it worked. No one but the Oracle, the Faerie Queen, and a bunch of obscure Glim academics did.
Imogen had a theory, though. “The Stories that have become Archetypes are the ones that have played out thousands of times,” she said. “History repeats itself. If you have enough signs, you’re a Cinderella. And history tells us there’s only one way Cinderella’s Story ends happily: She goes to the ball with her prince. A godmother’s job is to get you to ‘happily ever after.’”
“And what if my idea of ‘happily ever after’ doesn’t match?” Elle said.
It was a question we were never encouraged to ask, because we already knew the answer. Stories that didn’t wrap up the way they should ended badly, and the godmother who had failed was left standing in front of the Oracle as the Oracle ignored her, denying her right to even ask for payment. It was the worst thing that could happen to a godmother. And that was only what usually happened. I’d heard whispers of curses for people who’d messed up badly enough. Being a lowly intern would keep me safe from that. Or at least that’s what I was betting on.
“Stuff doesn’t go well,” I said. “I have to meet the terms of your wish.”
“My dad’s wish,” Elle corrected.
“Your dad’s wish,” I agreed.
Elle bit her bottom lip, then looked up at me and offered a small smile. “Thank you,” she said. “For being honest with me. And for sticking your neck out like that.”
“You deserve to know,” I said. We don’t judge, we do, a little voice in my head reminded me. I mentally swatted it away like it was an obnoxious fly.
Queen Amani had brought me to her palace to tell me she thought I had what it took to be the Faerie Queen. I didn’t want the job, but that visit had told me one thing: She must have thought I was capable of making important decisions if she’d considered me for the role of ultimate judge and arbiter of our world.
“No one should try to run your life without your consent,” I said.
“Thanks,” Elle said again, as Imogen sent me a good job feeling and a smile from across the table. “This drink is amazing.” She leaned in, her eyes alive with interest. “Tell me more about magic.”
Chapter 18
I was a junior godmother, but I was also still an intern, which meant most of the tedious work fell to me. Most weeks, I dreaded the Saturday shift and watched the clock until it was over. This week, I walked past the first spring sparrows hollering at each other from between the trees outside Wishes Fulfilled with a lightness in my step I couldn’t blame on the fairy dust in last night’s drink.
Last night had been spectacular. Elle had bombarded me with questions about magic. We’d spent an hour brainstorming ways I could get out of forcing her and Tyler to attend prom together, and the next two hours dancing in the middle of the floor, crushed between the Glimmering elite, who, it turned out, knew how to throw a good party.
Last night had been the first time I’d felt like maybe I could do this godmother thing after all, and that made the prospect of a Saturday spent filing case reports and booking client meetings feel like just another feather in my classy professional cap.
The confident euphoria lasted until about two steps through the office door.
“What did you do?” Lorinda barked. She swooped down on me, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she crossed the room, each one sounding like a tiny distant gunshot. Her baby blue business suit stood in direct contrast to the look of outrage on her face. I felt my body shrink in on itself.
“You are a faerie godmother at Wishes Fulfilled,” she bellowed. I couldn’t tell if she was shouting or if the anger pulsing outward from her just made it seem that way. “You have certain responsibilities, not the least of which is to honor client wishes regarding confidentiality!”
I didn’t know what to do. Playing dumb seemed like a stupid option at this point. I scrambled to regain some sense of last night’s confidence. It was gone.
“What are you talking about?” I said, playing for time. I didn’t even sound convincing to myself.
“You were specifically and explicitly told to keep your client unaware of her connection to the Glimmering world,” Lorinda said. “Your client should not even know our world exists. And yet, last night, you willfully disobeyed your instructions and told her everything. Is that or is that not correct?”
She looked up, and I followed her gaze. Imogen stood in the corner of the room, staring at us in horror. Lorinda’s eyebrows snapped high onto her forehead, and Imogen turned quickly away to go back to making copies.
“Well?” Lorinda demanded. I sent a silent plea to Imogen to rescue me, but knew she couldn’t do anything.
“That’s correct,” I said. I wished I could make the rest of myself as small as my voice.
“Why?” Lorinda said.
I couldn’t speak. Hot pressure welled up behind my eyes and I could feel my face flushing with red heat. I swallowed, hard. Don
’t cry, I ordered. You’re at work. Do not cry. Don’t cry. After a few slow, calming breaths, I said, still in the tiny voice, “I don’t know.”
How could I not know? I’d known last night. I’d been all hear-me-roar last night. Now, every justification I’d had about respect and free will was melting in the face of Lorinda’s glare.
Lorinda put one of her hands on her hip. I could barely tell, because my gaze was glued to the floor. I couldn’t force myself to lift my head. “Not good enough,” she said.
Everyone’s eyes were on me, their energy piercing through the air like a dozen hot sunbeams. I glanced up to the side. Imogen had stopped pretending to make copies and was watching me. She drew her eyebrows together and tried to send me sympathy through her look. I tried to smile back, but my face wouldn’t cooperate.
I took a deep breath and tried to push the words out. “I didn’t think it was right,” I said. My voice came out in a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I think it’s wrong to be a godmother to someone without their knowledge,” I said. I swallowed. Everything about my throat seemed huge and dry. “People deserve to have the opportunity to consent before we start playing God with their lives.”
Lorinda’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows shot up. It was probably the most audacious thing anyone had ever said to her. I wished someone would turn me into a toad so I could hop away and hide under the nearest desk.
“It’s wrong to be a godmother?” Lorinda repeated. She enunciated every word, making each one of them sound like either stupidity or accusation, sometimes both. “You think what we do here is wrong, Olivia?”
I swallowed again, hard enough to make my throat hurt, and said, “It’s wrong if we don’t have our clients’ permission.”
Her mouth opened again, this time in disbelief rather than offense, and she blinked at me several times. “I really don’t know what to say,” she said, then continued to say things. “I don’t think I can even speak to you right now. You have a lot of work to do. I suggest you get started, and maybe prove to me that I shouldn’t fire you. Because I am this close.” She held up her hand. Her manicured thumb and forefinger quivered barely a hair’s breadth apart.
She held her hand there in the air, waiting for the image to sink in, then scoffed, turned around, and stalked back to her office. She slammed the door behind her and closed her blinds.
A long moment of silence passed while I watched the ground, giving everyone in the room the chance to pretend they hadn’t been watching. Then I made a beeline for my cubicle, sat down, and threw up a privacy glamour that looked like a solid gray cubicle-colored wall. Imogen walked through it a moment later, the glamour rippling around her.
“Oh my God,” she said. She waved her hand, magicking a spindly gold stool into the small space, and sat down. “Are you okay?”
I spun around. “Did you tell her?” Imogen couldn’t have told her, I thought. Imogen never would have done that to me. But she had been the only person in that conversation besides me and Elle, and Elle had barely even heard Lorinda’s name.
Imogen looked hurt. “No,” she said. “Of course not. Why would I do that?”
I propped my elbows on the desk and let my head drop into my hands. “I don’t know,” I said. “Of course you wouldn’t.” I felt defeated. The one thing about all of this that had felt right had turned around to bite me in the butt. What kind of omen was that for the rest of my life?
“I have no idea how she found out,” Imogen said. “Maybe someone overheard us.”
“We were in a quiet bubble and the room was super loud,” I said. “Anyone who eavesdropped would have had to use magic, and I would have felt it.”
“Sometimes I think Lorinda sees everything,” Imogen said. “Lisa’s the same way.” Lisa was her boss over in the Department of Tests & Quests. She and Lorinda shared an uncanny ability to know exactly what all their staff were doing at any given moment, but this was above and beyond even what I’d expected.
The air was too hot in this tiny box. I pulled my wand out of my hair and stirred the air with it, sending a cool breeze circling inside the gray walls. For extra measure, and because the beach sounded like a hell of a lot nicer place to be than here, I gave my wand an extra flick and added the salty scent of the sea. It was calming, if only because it reminded me that places other than Wishes Fulfilled existed.
“I thought I’d have a chance to tell her myself.”
“I know,” Imogen said. “I’m so sorry, Liv.”
“I hate this,” I said to my keyboard, which was lying between my elbows like it was as deathly sick of this job as I was. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Maybe that’s because you shouldn’t be here,” Imogen said. She wrapped an arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “You’re supposed to be in college studying dumb plants with a bunch of boring Humdrums, remember?”
I laughed a little, though I wasn’t totally sure whether I was laughing or just trying not to cry.
“Why are you still here, Liv?” Imogen asked. “You’ve never wanted this job.”
“I thought you were excited for me,” I said.
“I was,” she said. She scooted her seat closer so she could prop an elbow on my desk. “But that’s because I was paying attention to me, not you. Like, I wish I my supervisor would land in the hospital so I could be a real Proctor. That sounds bad,” she said, and amended, “I don’t actually wish she was in the hospital. But you know. It would be awesome to get fast-tracked on my career like that. But the way you were last night with Elle? It made me realize that you’re not me. You don’t want what I want. You don’t want to be doing this. So why do it?”
I sniffed. Every time I cried, or even got anywhere within a ten-mile radius of crying, I started leaking like my face was a badly built roof and my emotions were the storm of the century. I took the tissue Imogen handed me and tried to mop up some of the mess. “I can’t pay for college if I don’t do this,” I said.
“There are other jobs,” she said.
“Because flipping burgers is going to be so much better.”
An ominous feeling suddenly loomed over my cubicle, like the sun had just gone behind a cloud. Imogen looked at me, and I looked at her, and then we both looked at the glamoured door. Imogen swore under her breath.
“Get out of here,” I said. The tears dried up in an instant.
“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “Is that what I think it is?”
I took a deep breath and steeled myself. I’d recognize that particular storm cloud anywhere. “Seriously, Imogen,” I said. “You don’t want to stick around for this. I’ll meet up with you later, okay? I get off at four.”
She squeezed my shoulder again, nodded, and then darted back through the glamoured wall. A few second later, I heard footsteps. I set my jaw, waved my hand, and let the glamour fall away.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
There was no point letting him know I’d been crying, or suggesting that maybe my professional failures were none of his business. He walked into my cubicle like he owned it, looked down his Grecian nose at me, straightened the perfectly straight collar of his suit, and waited for me to say something.
But I wasn’t stupid. I kept my mouth shut.
We waited, each sizing the other up. If the standoff had gone on a few seconds longer it would have been time for a spaghetti western theme to start up and tumbleweeds to roll through the office, but he finally spoke.
“I am disappointed to call you a Feye,” he said.
I immediately tried to convince myself that didn’t sting. Who wanted to be a Feye? I thought. I’m working here so I can get out of that trap. But the words were just shields I’d thrown up too late. It didn’t help that his voice boomed loud enough that I was sure all my coworkers had heard it. I put out my hands to create a quiet bubble like the one I’d made for Elle, but he held up a hand. “No magic,” he ordered. “I question whether you have even earned your right to use magic.”
; I didn’t say anything. There was no point.
He didn’t care what I had to say, or what the extenuating circumstances might have been, or that I was perfectly capable of making my own decisions. He only cared about the sound of his own voice. As always when faced with Reginald Feye’s disapproving expression, I thought about Imogen’s dad, who was sweet and dorky and liked to listen to Aerosmith while reading European travel guides, because, he said, it made him feel “well-rounded.” Reginald Feye didn’t do any of that. Reginald Feye attended the enchanted opera only when he needed to make an appearance, read work papers and the Glimmer news web, and hadn’t done an endearing or dorky thing since he was born, as far as I could tell. My mom sometimes claimed he’d been handsome and romantic when he was young, but I thought she’d been fooled by his swarthy I-eat-marathons-for-breakfast good looks and completely forgotten to check for a personality.
“You have betrayed your boss, who went out of her way to ensure there was a place for you here,” he was saying. “You have failed in the primary duty of a faerie godmother, which is to grant her clients’ wishes and follow their instructions exactly. You have broken an important confidentiality agreement, which shows a deplorable lack of character. You were raised better than that, Olivia Feye.”
Obviously not, I thought, but I would never dare say it out loud. I zipped my energy up tight to keep any of my emotions from leaking through to him. It was one faerie skill I had perfected early out of necessity. Emotions were nothing but weapons to him.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.
I said exactly what I was supposed to say. It was easier than the truth. “I made a mistake,” I said. “I take full responsibility. I’m sorry.”
He scoffed, like he didn’t believe me. His eyes were the same hazel as mine, but I didn’t think mine ever looked as cold and annoyed as his did now. “And your client? How do you propose to undo that damage?”
“I don’t,” I said.
This surprised him. His lips tightened and he looked down at me, making me feel like I was three years old and no taller than his knee. “No suggestions? You don’t think a memory glamour might be appropriate just now?” He spoke like I was stupid, like he was feeding the idea to me and trying to let me think I’d come up with it all by myself.
