by Sarah Noffke
“Why?”
“Because you need something that breathes.”
“You’re so weird.”
“You have no idea.”
“Again, I’m sure I’ll learn. What will you do tomorrow?”
“I’ll do what I do,” he replied as if that was a sufficient answer.
“I don’t know anything about you except that you’re a high maintenance squirrel with a strangely large vocabulary.”
“The truth is in the details,” he remarked in a sage tone.
When she didn’t respond to this enigmatic statement, he added, “I’ll explore and start my research for understanding how this interesting and mysterious place operates.”
“And you’ll cackle at that orange cat named Casanova as squirrels tend to do, right?” she joked.
“I think we both know that I won’t.”
“Since you don’t do anything that a normal squirrel does,” Paris guessed.
“I do the main things such as sleep, eat and breathe.”
She sighed. “Which every living creature does.”
“Technically—”
“Okay, many living creatures then,” Paris corrected. “You’re all about the semantics, aren’t you?”
“I’m nothing if not precise.”
“Well, while being precise and doing your research, stay out of trouble,” she warned.
“I feel that advice is better suited for you,” he admitted.
Paris nodded. “I fear that I’m destined for trouble here.”
“I hypothesize that you are, based on the current evidence.”
Paris wanted to argue, but she knew it was useless. She fell silent, thinking of her current predicament and how confusing it all was.
“If it makes you feel better,” Faraday began in a consoling tone. “I think that cat, Casanova, senses me here. He’s the only threat I’m aware of that will rat me out.”
Paris laughed. “Rat you—the squirrel—out, by a cat. Nice one.”
He sniffed. “I don’t get the joke.”
“You have to have a juvenile sense of humor like me.”
“I’m sure it will wear off on me,” he stated. “Don’t worry, you’ll find your place here, or you’ll make one, or you’ll move on to something else. It’s important to remember that we are never at a dead end in life. Only new turns that we inevitably have to take when the straightaways disappear.”
“That was strangely very helpful.” She was surprised by how comforting the squirrel’s words were. He was right. If this didn’t work out, then Paris would…well, she’d go to jail. But she’d make the most of that and pick up a new hobby while serving her time. She’d always wanted to learn how to throw a bullseye with a dart or maybe read a book or two. The latter might take up most of her sentence since Paris wasn’t a very good reader.
For some unknown reason, the seemingly easy skill had always been difficult for her making it so she immediately became uninterested in whatever she tried to read. At the age of twenty, she’d never read a single book and didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. She didn’t know why some people spent all their time curled up, devouring stories. However, that didn’t mean she didn’t envy them and want to know what it felt like. Those who read got to go on tons of adventures. The ones that Paris had were all her own and usually resulted in bruised knuckles and scuffs on her boots.
She sighed into her fluffy pillow and pulled the soft covers over her shoulder as she closed her eyes. “Good night, Faraday.”
“Good night, Paris,” the squirrel squeaked.
“I hope tomorrow is better than today.” She recalled all the strangeness from the day: Nearly getting stampeded by a horse, dumping pie on a bully’s head, and the scrutiny at the dinner table.
“If I was a betting man, which I am not—”
“Because you’re not a man,” she interrupted.
“Precisely,” he agreed. “But if I were, I’d say the odds are low that it will be less stressful than today as you start your new classes and assimilate into a magical school full of fairies who have their own established mindset, which is much different than yours.”
“You could have lied and said that it would be better,” she muttered into her pillow.
“I’ll never give you lip service, Paris. It simply will do you no favors.”
“Fine,” she groaned. “Get me new socks. How about that?”
“Straight away,” he promised. “And Paris…”
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow will be what you make of it. Be alert. Be engaged. Most importantly, be true to yourself so you don’t have any regrets. At the end of the day, no matter your reason for coming here, you need to feel good about what you do and what this place does to you. Remember, we don’t become anything without allowing it.”
Paris suddenly felt wide awake, thinking that the squirrel’s advice seemed similar to Mae Ling’s. Whereas before she doubted this approach, now it seemed like the only path for her. She didn’t have to become the type of fairy godmother they wanted her to be. She had to learn their ways and be open-minded, but in the end, who Paris Westbridge became was up to her.
“Thanks, Faraday,” she finally said and closed her eyes once more.
“You’re welcome.” He settled down in the drawer. “Good night.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The lynx hadn’t moved from his spot in the Bewilder Forest all day, watching as Paris nearly got run over by an out-of-control horse, then made her way up to the mansion. It was time for him to stop watching her, as hard as that was for Plato to admit. He’d watched Paris from the shadows all her life, but now that role had passed to someone else.
Also, other things demanded the black and white cat’s attention—things that needed to be set in motion for when Paris was hopefully ready. Not to mention that Plato was seriously behind on returning messages on social media and looking after his stock portfolio.
Before he said adieu for now, he needed to lift one of the many spells placed on the fairy a long time ago. They were all there to guard her in one way or another. Some spells had made it so Paris wasn’t overly curious about who she was or her background. Others simply protected her. Those weren’t supposed to last forever—and technically they couldn’t. The moment that Paris learned the truth, the wards would break. That had been one reason it was crucial that she not know who she was.
The spell Plato was presently lifting had been one of the hardest to put on the young fairy. Children should love to read. They should always be allowed to fall in love with the magic of books. But everyone feared that if Paris read too much, she might run across a certain history and that would lead her on a path to the truth.
So the young fairy had been spelled not to read well and be disinterested in every book after only a short while. That spell, after all these years, was being lifted. When it was, it took a weight off Plato’s soul.
Now Paris would read with ease, and that would open up so many avenues for her. Hopefully, she’d learn things rapidly, whereas before her online education had to be restricted. He hoped she’d dive into book after book, falling in love with stories. Hopefully, she’d become everything that Plato knew she could.
The time for Paris Beaufont to blossom and bloom was approaching, and it would change everything.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
To Paris’ surprise, she awoke before her alarm which was a tiny little fairy figurine that played the harp to rouse her and threw pixie dust on her head. That had been the second surprise when she was lying in bed, trying to figure out why she suddenly felt so different. Sure, she’d woken up in a new bed at a college for highbrow fairies who were all about romance. That was enough to make her feel different. There was something else…like she’d grown a few inches overnight. That seemed unlikely since Paris stopped growing at age thirteen without reaching the average adult height.
Uncle John had always said that she was better off being small. “Everyone always l
ikes small people because they’re cute and unintimidating.”
“Gnomes are short, and they can be mean as hell,” she retorted to this reasoning.
Being short hadn’t made putting poorly behaved giants in their place harder. On the contrary, Paris could slide easily through their arms and dodge their attacks due to her size.
However, after the fairy alarm went off, she stood and didn’t find her pajamas any shorter so it was unlikely that she grew overnight. Yet, she felt different somehow. Like she had changed in a major way, but she reasoned this was related to the new adventure before her.
After getting ready, Paris found that she still had loads of time left before breakfast.
“I think the other students spend more time getting ready and brushing their hair, and that’s why they wake you up so early,” Faraday had offered when Paris glanced at the clock. “By more time brushing their hair, I mean any at all.”
Paris looked in the mirror on her dresser, ran her hands through her blonde hair, and shrugged. “Why mess with a nice bedhead?”
She slid her leather jacket on, leaving the blue gown hanging on the door where she’d found it.
“You’re not going to wear the uniform?” Faraday observed.
“I’m allergic to dresses,” she answered while lacing up her boots.
“It’s highly unlikely to be allergic to a style of clothing,” he replied. “Now, the type of fabric is possible. I, for one, can’t wear polyester.”
“Because you’re a squirrel,” she muttered matter-of-factly.
“Because it gives me hives,” he countered.
She threw her hands up with mock surprise on her face. “That’s the same thing that happens to me when I wear a dress!”
“Are you going to take the extra time you’ve created before breakfast to explore the Enchanted Grounds?” He climbed out of the drawer where he’d slept and onto the dresser, looking out the open window.
She shook her head. “I figure there’s plenty of time for that. No, instead I’m going to try and fix my mistakes.”
“Oh, you’re going to apologize to Becky for dropping the banana cream pie on her head?” he guessed.
She shot him a look of surprise. “I didn’t tell you about that. How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I’m remarkable at observation.”
Giving him a curious expression, she said, “No. That wasn’t a mistake. I think I let Becky the Bully off pretty easy. Next time she gets two pies to the face.”
“You’re going to apologize to Headmistress Starr for not eating your dessert last night?”
Again, Paris arched an eyebrow at the squirrel. “How do you know that I filled up on dinner and was given a punishing look for not having dessert?”
“People talk,” he chirped and scurried for the open window.
She shook her head at the squirrel. “No. I’m not giving myself an upset stomach because a fairy godmother tells me that desserts will make me sweeter. Maybe being sweet isn’t my thing.”
He agreed with a nod. “No, I’d say there are a lot of characteristics that label you, but sweetness isn’t one of them. However, that doesn’t mean you don’t have a lot of heart, and I think that’s probably better.”
Paris pulled the door open, again struck by the strange squirrel. It was so similar to what Uncle John always said about Paris: “You may not be overly sweet but you sure as hell have a lot of heart, Pare. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
Shaking her head at Faraday, Paris waved at him. “See you later and stay out of sight.”
“Oh, I will.” He slid out the window. “Have a good day, Paris. I’m sure it’s going to feel like your whole world has opened up all of a sudden.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Still feeling oddly struck by the talking squirrel’s words, Paris made her way down to the first floor of FGE. She heard singing from the kitchen before she rounded the corner into the room. At the threshold, she saw Chef Ash buzzing about, stirring several pots and Wilfred on the opposite side of the kitchen cleaning and singing a song she didn’t recognize. She guessed it was opera, not that she’d ever seen or heard one.
The kitchen, which was filled with so many wonderful competing aromas, was unsurprisingly huge with industrial-sized stoves and ovens. Large mixers lined countertops at the back, and giant bags of flour, sugar, and other ingredients were below. There was a walk-in freezer on one side along with a bank of refrigerators. Hanging overhead were pots and pans of every size.
Paris watched for a moment, amused by how the chef and butler worked, their backs to her. They seemed happy as they cooked and cleaned. Magic was also clearly at play, helping to make the meal for breakfast. Bowls were suspended in the air, pouring batter into muffin tins and a floating spatula turned the bacon and sausages in a frying pan over the stove.
Knocking loud enough to be heard over all the noise, Paris stole the attention of the two.
Chef Ash turned, appearing confused, the short pencil behind his ear again. Wilfred spun, holding a sponge and also seeming perplexed by the interruption.
“Are you lost?” the butler asked in his refined voice.
Paris had followed Chef Ash to the kitchen after dinner the night before, so she wasn’t lost and had intended to be there right then.
“No, I had some extra time before breakfast and thought I’d stop by to see if Chef Ash needed some help,” she replied.
This deepened the confusion on the two men’s faces.
“Paris, you understand that students aren’t expected to help with chores, right?” Chef Ash asked.
She nodded. “Yes, but I made more work for you both yesterday since Wilfred had to clean up the banana cream pie and you had to remake it. I figured that since I caused you extra work yesterday that the least I could do was offer to help out with a chore or two.”
Chef Ash glanced at Wilfred with an expression that seemed to say, “Oh, this poor dear. Bless her heart.”
“It was your first day,” he said consolingly, looking back at Paris. “As I said last night, the reason for having to remake the banana cream pie was worth it. Becky Montgomery gets away with too much in my opinion.”
Wilfred nodded while drying his hands on a damp rag. “Yes, Ms. Montgomery isn’t punished for her bad behavior.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid that discipline is simply not the strong suit of the headmistress.”
Chef Ash twirled his finger, and the pot he was stirring began stirring itself. He turned to Paris and leaned his elbows on the workstation between them. “So you see there? You did us all a favor.”
Paris slumped. “I don’t think Headmistress Starr wants me taking on the role of disciplinarian. She’d probably be right that it’s me overstepping my boundaries. I simply can’t help it. If I see something unjust, I have to intervene. Maybe it’s because my uncle is a detective.”
Wilfred nodded. “It would make sense that the trait ran in your family.”
Chef Ash pulled the pencil from behind his ear and jotted some notes in a notebook but kept flicking his eyes to Paris, giving her part of his attention. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with what you’ve said. I think more should want to step in when injustices happen.”
Paris watched as he drew a box with levels, curious what he was doing.
“Although your offer to help is generous,” Wilfred began. “It’s unnecessary. There may only be three of us on the staff of Happily Ever After College, but we manage quite well, I dare say.”
“That we do.” Chef Ash laughed and snapped his fingers three times in the air over his head. A moment later, a jar of spices levitated and tilted over the boiling pot three times, sprinkling its contents into the pan.
“I had the opportunity to see your class schedule this morning while serving Headmistress Starr her tea,” Wilfred stated. “Unfortunately, it’s quite rigorous, and therefore, I’d advise you to take this bit of respite while you can.”
Paris suddenly felt overwhelmed. “Oh,
that sounds daunting.”
Wilfred nodded. “I fear that it will be, at least at first.”
She glanced back at Chef Ash, who was drawing another diagram of sorts. “What are you doing?”
He looked up. “Oh, I’m working out the recipes for today’s breakfast.”
Paris’ face must have registered her confusion. She totally was since she clearly saw the chef drawing a picture rather than writing a list.
“Chef Ashton has a fascination with carpentry,” Wilfred explained, reading her expression. “He approaches all of his culinary endeavors from the mindset of a carpenter.”
The chef nodded enthusiastically. “I like to think of it as building flavors.”
“Oh, that’s fascinating.” Paris smiled wide at the idea.
He grinned back. “Then with baking, well, there is a fair bit of construction with that. So often I draw out the designs, and that helps when I’m formatting the plans and spells I’ll use.”
“What a neat concept.” Paris watched as the two returned to work. She realized then that she was serving as a distraction during their busy time before breakfast. Feeling remorse again for causing them trouble, she retreated to the door. “Well, I’ll go and enjoy the time off, as you said.”
“See you around,” Chef Ash cheered.
In the hallway, Paris found herself smiling. She liked those two. They were easy to talk to, even if Wilfred was a little uptight…and a magitech AI. Still, she felt at ease with them and thought she’d find herself in the kitchen a lot more than in the study rooms on the second floor with all the students.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
With time to spare, Paris went to the study area on the second floor of FGE. It was deserted since apparently the other students were combing their grayish-blue hair or putting on makeup or whatever girly girls did. Paris didn’t know. It wasn’t that she had anything against makeup or one doing their hair. It merely wasn’t for her. She had her style, which pretty much consisted of looking like she rolled out of a biker gang, sans having the motorcycle or tattoos or a boyfriend named Duke…or a boyfriend.
