What I Wore to Save the World

by Maryrose Wood

  “Practical,” I answered without thinking.

  Wrong answer. His eyes grew wide, and the index card in his hand started to shake. “Oh dear! Oh no! Is someone actually planning to—do they really think they can—does Mother have any idea . . .” His voice trailed off in terror.

  “No one’s going to hurt your mother, I promise.”

  “Oh, I don’t care about that. She’s a repellent monster even on her best days. But she’s going to be very angry, that’s all. Mum’s always been queen, you see. Always! And if she found out I was involved in any way . . . oh my! This is most upsetting!”

  I laid my steady hands across his two shaky ones. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it weren’t really, really important. I mean, literally, the future of the whole world could depend on it.”

  Then I put on my most serious, talking-to-authority-figures voice, which I guess was loosely based on my mom’s ass-kissing voice. “Finnbar, I appeal to you in your official capacity as a part-time librarian. Please help me find the information I need!”

  That did the trick. Slowly getting hold of himself, Finnbar pushed his glasses up his nose, puffed out his chest and spoke in a deep, authoritative voice. “Well, since you put it that way, I will be honored to fulfill your request, Library Patron Rawlinson! If the Rules of Succession are what you need to know, then the Rules of Succession are what I will find.” His voice quavered a bit, but he held firm. “Let the chips fall where they may!”

  Impulsively I gave him a hug. “Thanks, Finnbar. You’re the best.”

  He blushed. “I should warn you—there’s a reason the Book of Horns is rarely requested.”

  “What?”

  “It’s written in unicorn. No one can read it. The verbs are very irregular.”

  That made me smile. “Just get me a copy. I’ll take care of getting it translated.”

  “Fair enough.” He handed me his pen. “Now, if you will finish filling out the request form, I’ll get right on it. Please print clearly in blue or black ink. Thank you for your patronage!”

  i filled out the card as best i could, using castell Cyfareddol as my home address. As I wrote it down I realized that I had no idea how much time was passing in Wales while I’d been touring Oxford. Usually my faery world excursions took next to no time in the human realm, but the sooner I got back, the better.

  “Before you go, would you mind filling out this brief customer survey evaluating your tour? It’s multiple choice; it’ll only take you a minute.” Finnbar looked at me earnestly. “If I get enough high marks I become eligible to win a vacation package. Just so you know.”

  “Sure.” I filled in all the “Excellent—exceeded expectations” bubbles and handed it back to him. He gave an ecstatic squeal when he saw what I’d written, but quickly regained his professionalism.

  “Congratulations, Special Admissions Candidate! The Campus Tour portion of your application process has been successfully completed. Please await further instructions, and on behalf of Oxford University I wish you the best of luck in your future educational endeavors. Now, how would you like to go back?”

  What was the best way to zoom through eighty-plus years and a couple hundred miles in the blink of an eye? There weren’t that many options. I shrugged. “Bubble ride, I guess.”

  “It is the fastest. And extremely fuel-efficient too. I’ll have to make you a new one, though; the old ones must have popped by now.” He reached into his pocket, took out his bottle of Fairy Liquid and plastic bubble wand, and proceeded to blow a very impressive stream of bubbles my way.

  It wasn’t exactly like Glinda the Good Witch from The Wizard of Oz, but it worked. The bubbles surrounded me until all I could see was a field of shiny rainbows. At the last minute I remembered to close my eyes against the soapy sting. Then I felt myself being lifted up, and I floated gently away.

  whoosh!

  A sharp, swirling wind whisked the dense cloud of bubbles away from me so fast it was like someone yanked the covers off while I was sleeping. Cautiously I opened my eyes. I was standing by the reflecting pool, exactly where I’d been before. The water in the pool was clear as glass. Not a bubble in sight.

  I looked up in time to see Colin stride back out of the hotel, now with something under his arm. He did a double-take when he saw the crystal clear water in the pool.

  “Bloody hell, that was quick!” he exclaimed. “I just spoke to the super a moment ago about the soap problem. Must’ve been an easy fix. I got the map ye asked fer, but I couldn’t find any tennis courts and I looked it over twice. See fer yerself. But here’s an odd thing: There was some mail for ye.” He handed me two envelopes: a large yellow one and a business-sized white one.

  Mail? I was confused, but Colin seemed triumphant.

  “Good news, eh? Ye know what they say—every criminal secretly wants to get caught.” He rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Seems like we came out to look for clues, but the clues have found us instead. Yer hacker bloke is the only person who knew ye were comin’ here, after all—it must be from him. Aren’t you going to see who it’s from?”

  I turned the envelope over and saw the familiar Oxford crest. Rubber-stamped in block letters, the envelope read:The Materials You Requested Are Enclosed.

  Thank you for your patronage!

  Regards,

  The Bodleian Library

  Department of Special Collections

  The Rules of Succession from the Book of Horns! I gave a mental shout-out of thanks to Finnbar for the super-fast service. But no way was I going to open this envelope in front of Colin. I didn’t know what unicorn writing looked like, but it was bound to raise questions.

  I shoved the yellow envelope under my arm and turned my attention to the white one. It was addressed to my house in Connecticut, with a handwritten “Please Forward” scrawled next to the address. There was no return address. Please, I thought, as Colin watched me open it, be something halfway normal.

  Inside were two pieces of paper: a cover letter and a form that I was obviously supposed to fill out. The letter read:Dear Special Admissions Candidate Rawlinson,

  Congratulations! Our office has been notified that your Oxford campus tour was successfully completed.

  In order to continue the application process you will be required to attend an interview with one of our distinguished Alumni. At this time we also ask that you provide detailed information regarding your recent or planned community service activities. Please fill out the enclosed form and return it in the envelope provided.

  Note that you must choose from the times/dates listed on the form for your Alumni Interview. List choices in order of preference. We cannot guarantee your first choice can be accommodated, so please list at least three. You will be notified of your appointment time when it is confirmed.

  Remember to dress appropriately for your interview! First impressions count!

  Regards,

  Cornelius Phineas

  Cornelius Phineas, C. G. A.

  “Certified to Give Advice”

  I could feel Colin’s bewilderment reaching massive, blood pressure-raising proportions.

  “Dress appropriately?” I said weakly, knowing there was no way to explain all this. “But all I brought with me is jeans and band T-shirts. What the fek am I going to wear?”

  eighteen

  “what are you going to wear?” he repeated incredulously. “That’s the least of yer worries, don’t ye think, Mor?”

  “I know, I’m just being dumb,” I said lamely. “It’s just all so weird, right?”

  “It’s bloody bizarre.” He snatched the letter away from me and held it up to the sun. “Look at that watermark—this is real Oxford stationery, all right. But how did they know you were here? And what does that mean, ‘Your campus tour was successfully completed?’ And—bloody hell, look at yer three choices for the interview time: ‘Now,’ ‘Soon,’ and ‘Later.’ Ye’d think Oxford could do better than that.” He gave the letter back to me. “Hey, ye
didn’t open the yellow envelope.”

  “What yellow envelope?” I kept the large envelope with the Rules of Succession in it pinned under my arm. “Oh, that! More college stuff, probably. Fek!” I shrieked, out of nowhere. “I just thought of something horrible!”

  Colin jumped back. “What? What is it?”

  Think of something horrible, quick, I urged myself. “Um . . . my parents! All the computers in our house are on a network my dad set up so we could share the printer. If someone is hacking my computer, couldn’t that person get into my parents’ bank accounts and stuff too?”

  “It’s a risky situation, to be sure. But don’t panic—”

  My attempt to change the subject through the use of extreme drama (also known as the Tammy Technique) was working. “And my dad works at a bank! What if they hack into his work account? This could cause, like, a worldwide financial disaster of really large global proportions!” I backed away from Colin. “I have to find Mr. McAlister and call them on the oPhone right away.”

  Colin looked bewildered. “They have courtesy phones right inside the lobby, Mor; if ye’re that upset ye should call them right now—”

  “I can’t!” If I’d known how to make myself froth at the mouth I would have. “They still think I’m at Oxford! I’ll just say my wallet was stolen and they should cancel all the accounts and change all the passwords on everything. That should do it. I’ll see you later. I’m going to find the oPhone.”

  “I’ll come with ye—”

  “Noooooooo!” I was practically whinnying. “You stick to the game plan! Look for clues! That’s more important.”

  Before he could argue with me any more, I turned and ran full speed toward the boardwalk, in the direction of the forest.

  crunch. crunch. crunch.

  Pant. Pant. Pant.

  Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom—

  Surely the unicorns could hear me crashing through the trees like a drunken elephant? Where were they?

  “Epona!” I was so winded from running I could barely get the word out. My heartbeat hammered in my ears. “Unicorns! Show yourselves, already!”

  In the distance, thunder. The ground shook. Then, a trumpet blast—the kind that might come from a long, whorled horn—

  “Em Oh Are! Gee A En!

  “Morgan has come back again!

  “Goooooooo, Morgan!

  “Neeeeiiiigh!”

  It was the unicorns, galloping through the trees like a four-legged halftime show on steroids.

  “You’ve come back!” Epona circled me once and pranced in place excitedly. “Did you find the Rules of Succession?”

  “Yes!” Still panting, I waved the envelope. “I have them right here.”

  “Sweeeeeeeeeet!” Epona whinnied. “Give it up, unicorns: one more time!”

  “Goooooooo, Morgan!

  “Neeeeiiiigh!”

  OMG, I thought wearily. Headache. Rapidly. Coming. On.

  “Where were the Rules hidden?” one of the unicorns asked.

  I was tempted to say in my underwear drawer, of course. But this was no time to wisecrack. “In the library at Oxford. They were written in the Book of Horns.”

  Awestruck whinnies filled the air. When the noise subsided, Epona explained, “The Book of Horns is the most important book in all of Faery, written by the unicorns at the beginning of time. It contains various rules, regulations, points of etiquette, tax codes, the Faery Bill of Rights, emergency phone numbers, that sort of thing.”

  Now I was confused. “So, wait—if it was written by the unicorns, how come you guys don’t have a copy?”

  “We did, once, eons ago.” Epona hung her head. “But we lost it.” There was some background bickering from the herd—You lost it! No, I gave it to you—did not—did so—

  These unicorns are pretty to look at, I thought, but not what I would call geniuses. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. The Rules of Succession are in this envelope.” I held it out to Epona. “Go ahead, open it.”

  “Not so fast! We’ve prepared a ceremony to mark the occasion.”

  I thought of the gargoyles, lurking in the bushes. “No offense, but we don’t have time. The veil is already slipping—”

  Epona blinked at me. “We like to put on a show. It’s a unicorn thing.”

  Then, right on cue, the unicorns did a big light wave with their horns. Two of them, including the little one I’d rescued from Titania, bounded up to me and put wreaths of flowers in my hair.

  “Close your eyes, Morganne.”

  Fine, let’s get this over with, I thought. I closed my eyes.

  “Destiny is written in the stars, but it also must be chosen. Do you choose yours, Morganne?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I felt warm horse-breath on my neck, as Epona whispered, “Say ‘Yes, I choose my destiny.’ That’s the way we practiced it.”

  “Yes, I choose my destiny.” Why did I suddenly feel like a Pokémon master? “But—wait—I still have a few questions about this Queen of the Faeries gig—”

  But it was too late. Epona blew a little trumpet call through her horn. “Summon the Book of Horns!”

  Eyes still closed, I offered the envelope again.

  “That isn’t a book,” someone complained.

  “I know,” I said, annoyed. “It’s a photocopy. The Book of Horns is non-circulating. It’s the best I could do.”

  “Photocopies are acceptable!” Epona assured the unicorns. “And now, for the first time anywhere, at least that we can recall: the Rules of Succession!”

  Epona slit open the envelope with her horn, which also served as a handy booklight. She speared the single sheet of paper it contained and lifted it high.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  “Hmmm.” She stared at it some more. “It’s a bit inscrutable, I’m afraid.”

  “Can’t you read it?” I was getting antsy. “I was told it was written in unicorn.”

  “Oh, it is, it is. But my vision is not what it was.” She shook her horn a bit so the paper slid farther away from her eyes. “There, got it!” she cried. “It’s—drat, it’s a prophecy.”

  “A prophecy, a prophecy!” The unicorns stamped their hooves and flicked their tails in excitement. One of them tried to start a spontaneous cheer: “Pee Are Oh! Ef Ee See!”

  “It’s not Ef, it’s Pee Aitch,” another unicorn interrupted. Then the cheer degenerated into a heated debate about how to spell prophecy.

  “Please, can you just read what it says?” I begged. “The dragon statue on the boardwalk looks ready to take off.”

  The unicorns quickly pulled it together with a deafening “Goooooo, prophecy!”

  Epona returned to the paper and gave a little clearing-her-throat whinny. “It says here: ‘The Rules of Succession are contained in ‘The Prophecy of the Three Clowns,’ which is as follows:To win the throne is easily done;

  The throne is yours when the throne you’ve won.

  The Fey and the Folk are safe at last,

  When the Day of Three Clowns is safely past.”

  All those earnest, shining unicorn eyes were locked on me, filled with hope.

  “Clowns?” I blurted. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Hang on, hang on.” Epona made her horn light a little brighter and squinted. “My bad. It’s not clowns. It’s crowns. Sorry about that. Oh! Underneath the prophecy it reads: ‘P.S.—You’ll understand once you’re Queen.’” Epona looked kind of embarrassed. “That’s it. The Rules of Succession. Any idea what it means?”

  I didn’t even try to hide my grumpiness. “No. But I guess I’m going to have to figure it out, aren’t I?”

  Apparently the unicorns took my sarcasm as a resounding yes. “Out! Out! She’s going to figure it out! Gooooooooooo, Morgan!”

  several more whinnied cheers and some elaborate pyramid formations later (complete with flying stunts), and the party finally broke up.

  Now I was on my own, stomping back through the woods and trying
to make sense of this mysterious “destiny” I apparently had no choice but to choose.

  After all that, and the Rules of Succession were nothing but a joke. To find out how to become queen I had to understand the prophecy, but before I could understand the prophecy I had to be queen. Brilliant. It reminded me of the way my dad complained that you could only buy health insurance if you weren’t sick.

  “Typical faery logic,” I muttered aloud in frustration. And then I heard a crack, like a tree branch snapping. There was a muffled cry. Directly in front of me, something substantial fell with a loud thud to the forest floor.

  Correction: someone.

  Someone about six feet tall, to be precise. Someone I loved more than anything, who was also the very last person I wanted to see sprawled on the ground in a pile of leaves and broken branches, staring at me as if—as if—

  “Fek,” Colin said, rubbing his head.

  I didn’t know whether to help him up or run away screaming. “Colin! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It wasn’t a very high branch. Or a very strong one, apparently. I don’t suppose ye’d believe me if I said I was up there pickin’ apples.”

  His tone was light, but he was staring up at me with the strangest expression on his face. Like he was looking at a ghost—or a half-goddess from the land of faery claptrap—

  Quickly I reached up and yanked the flowers out of my hair.

  “Colin—how much did you see?”

  “Just—ye know—the bit with you and the uh, unicorns.” He sounded like he was about to choke.

  “Oh fek!” I buried my face in my hands. “Fek fek fek fek fek!”

  “That last flyin’ pyramid routine was damned impressive,” he added, his voice strained. “They’re very agile beasts, I must say.” He scrambled to his feet. “I shouldna followed ye, I know. But I couldn’t stand not knowin’ what was really goin’ on.”