What I Wore to Save the World

by Maryrose Wood

  “Colin—”

  “I knew ye were keepin’ something from me, Mor, I could tell. Ye were actin’ fairly daft there by the pool. But, holy cow, girl! Queen of the Faeries? It’s a bit much to take in.”

  “You weren’t supposed to see all that,” I said helplessly. “I’m sorry.” I stepped toward him, but he took a step back. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”

  “Ye mean ye’re sorry I found out, don’t ye? Were ye never planning on tellin’ me, then?” His voice was flat, but there was a flash of feeling in his eyes. Was it anger? Hurt? Or something worse?

  “I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “I’m not sure what to believe, to tell ye the truth.”

  He stretched out his hand. For a moment I thought it might be a gesture of forgiveness. But it was my hair he was reaching toward, and he came away with a sprig of violets.

  He held it in two fingers, as if it were a strange and possibly dangerous object. “Is this part of yer faery princess getup, then?” His voice was thick, almost a sob.

  Clearly he was too freaked out to say more, but it didn’t matter. Everything I needed to know was written on his face. Confusion. Betrayal. Disbelief. Colin’s eyes were a transparent blue pool that reflected only the truth. I could see myself mirrored in them with perfect clarity.

  I was a stranger, not the person he’d once stupidly thought he loved.

  I was something freakish, even repellent. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

  I was something he didn’t—refused to—believe in.

  It was over. We’d been, literally, too good to be true. And now that the truth was out—

  Without thinking, my hand went to the locket around my neck.

  He noticed the gesture. “Keep it,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Then he turned and ran, bashing his way through the forest like he was running for his life.

  nineteen

  howling, blubbering noises echoed through the forest, and they were all coming from me. I felt like a lead basketball had lodged itself in my chest. All I wanted to do was stay curled up on the ground and scream into the dirt.

  Every soap bubble of happiness in the world had popped. At the end of each magic leprechaun rainbow was nothing but a steaming pot of misery.

  Colin had discovered the truth of who I was, and now he hated me. Who could blame him? I was a lying weasel of a human being and a completely wimpy excuse for a half-goddess.

  While he was the greatest, funniest, sweetest, not to mention hottest guy in the world.

  Face it, Morgan, my inner voice sneered. He deserves someone much better than you anyway.

  Gulping deep breaths, I made the heroic effort to uncurl from fetal position, and rose to my hands and knees on the damp ground. Yes, he does, I agreed.

  I tried to take some comfort in that realization. Now that he was rid of me, at least one of us would eventually get a chance to be happy. Of the two of us I’d much rather it was him.

  Colin deserved nothing but happiness. He’d never lie about who he was to someone he loved. He wouldn’t be capable of it. His proud Irish heart was as true-blue as the color of his eyes. Even if I lived to be a hundred and fifty, I knew I’d never find anyone like him again.

  If he were lucky, he’d never find anyone like me again, either.

  Guess I might as well become Queen of the Faeries, I thought bitterly, as I finally dragged my sorry half-goddess self upright. There’s nothing left in the human world for me.

  Then I took a deep breath, and something weird happened. Extremely weird. Even weirder than cheerleader unicorns.

  I felt relieved.

  Heartbroken. But relieved.

  It was because I wasn’t lying to Colin anymore. Sure, I’d lost the only guy I would ever love, but for the first time in ages I wasn’t living in fear of losing him. I was free. Free to tell the truth, piss people off, screw everything up and not worry about the consequences. Because really, the worst had already happened, right?

  Or had it? I did a quick mental review of my to-do list:

  I couldn’t stay in the Seahorse Cottage anymore; that much was obvious. I’d have to get my stuff out somehow without having to face Colin or Grandpap.

  And as long as my own life was ruined, I might as well figure out how to de-throne Titania and save the world. Once I did that I didn’t really care what happened to me. X-ray technician? Bring it on.

  And I needed to call my parents and spin some plausible explanation for that bus ticket to Wales, so they didn’t sic the local constable on my runaway ass.

  The fact that Option Three: Deal with Parents seemed like the least horrifying item on my list just proved how insanely bad my choices were. But this new, who-cares-what-the-fek happens attitude of mine made it all strangely easy.

  My decision was made: The first act of my miserable, loveless, post-Colin life would be to go to the Tip of the Iceberg cottage, find Mr. McAlister, borrow the oPhone and call my parents.

  With his expertise in faery lore, maybe he could help me unscramble those stupid Rules of Succession too.

  it’d been less than twenty-four hours since my last visit, but as soon as Mr. McAlister opened the door it was clear that conditions inside the Tip of the Iceberg had gotten shockingly worse—or a lot more “authentic,” depending on how you looked at it.

  The floor now sloped at a sharp angle. All the furniture had slid from one side of the cottage to the other. At the low end there was water seeping up through the floorboards.

  I looked out one of the porthole windows. I saw rising water, dotted with chunks of ice.

  “Mr. McAlister!” I had to brace myself in the doorway to stay upright. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think your cottage is sinking.”

  “I know, isn’t it marvelous? It’s as if you’re actually on the Titanic!” He pulled himself hand over hand, clutching curtains and wall sconces to maneuver around the lopsided room. “Authenticity, Morgan! It’s my obsession. Why travel the world to see all the things one dreams of? Too much shlepping, as they say nowadays. Now, thanks to my new business partner, Castell Cyfareddol can offer all the wonders of the world in one convenient location.”

  “Sounds like Epcot Center.” I grunted, trying not to slide downhill. “What do you mean, your ‘new business partner’?”

  “The collector whom I met for tennis today. A most regal lady. She proposed a charming wager: If she won, I’d have to do her a special favor upon request. But if I lost, I’d have to perform an important service for her when the time came.” He looked at me like this made sense.

  “Did she win?” As if there were any doubt, I thought.

  “In straight sets! She has a powerful net game for a creature so graceful and feminine. But she made me a generous offer nevertheless: In consideration for the favor I am now obligated to perform—and how I wish I could remember what it was!—she promised to assist me in my quest for architectural authenticity here at Castell Cyfareddol. In effect, she is my new partner.”

  The portholes were completely underwater now. It was like being inside a washing machine. “You mean, she’s the one who’s making your cottage sink?” I gasped, trying not to panic.

  “Yes!” He sounded delighted, even as he lost his balance and slipped across the floor. “And that’s only the beginning. All I need to do is tell her I’ve been pondering ancient Greek column design and, presto! She acquires the Parthe non and transports it here. Really, it’s almost like magic. Madame Titania Royale is her name. Quite a handsome woman.” His watery eyes were all a-twinkle. “I confess, I am a smitten man.”

  “Mr. McAlister, I hate to burst your bubble”—for some reason it was the first expression that came to mind—“but that’s Queen Titania. She wants to undo the veil between the realms, remember? We have to stop her.”

  Icy water pooled around his feet, but he just smiled. “Yes, I recall she mentioned something about this
veil business. ‘Mingling,’ she called it. Like at a cocktail party. Personally I think it’s a marvelous idea. Why keep people apart? Why can’t we all just get along and be friends?”

  The cottage gave another sickening lurch, and so did my stomach, but Mr. McAlister’s ridiculously old eyes were filled with joy. His smile was positively loopy. I recognized that vague, happy, yet undeniably stupid expression.

  “Group hug!” he sang out, beaming and throwing his arms around himself.

  Mr. McAlister was under an enchantment.

  Fek. I was hoping for his help in figuring out the prophecy, but if he was under Titania’s spell I couldn’t trust him as far as I could throw one of her magical Manolos.

  “The group hug plan sounds awesome,” I said with a sigh. “Mr. McAlister, could I use your phone? If it’s not underwater, that is.”

  “The oPhone is completely submersible!” he said proudly. He fished it out of a sodden pocket and tossed it to me. “Rustproof too!”

  mom believed my story about the “architectural Oddities of Great Britain” field trip, especially when I started spouting off about fluted pilasters—as if I knew what they were. And my strategically edited report about the Oxford campus tour was music to her ears (naturally I left out the part about meeting C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien and future literary superstar Tammy “Bubble Ride” Rawlinson).

  Luckily my parents had waited to hear from me before calling AmEx, so my credit card was still valid. I’d be able to book myself a room in the hotel for however long it turned out I had to stay at Castell Cyfareddol. But I did have to muster the courage to go back to the Seahorse Cottage and get my stuff. The idea that I might run into Colin was so upsetting that, frankly, I’d rather be sinking on the Titanic.

  I made it as far as the jockey. Then fear took over, and I stood, paralyzed. Did I really need my clothes and my wallet and my two toothbrushes? Couldn’t I just live in the woods and forage for food, like a contestant on one of those reality TV shows that Titania loved so much?

  “Giddy-up, girlie! The old man’s up to something.”

  At “giddy-up,” the seahorse started bucking up and down by curling and uncurling its long, knobby seahorse tail.

  “Not you, Seabiscuit! Easy, boy,” the jockey soothed.

  “What’s the matter with Grandpap?” I didn’t bother being surprised that the statue was talking to me. Conversing with lawn jockeys was all in a day’s work at this point.

  “The geezer’s up to something, that’s all I’m saying.” Wild-eyed, the seahorse reared up high on its tail but the jockey held tight to the reins. “And pick up the newspaper on the way in, wouldja, girlie? Nobody’s takin’ care of this joint anymore! It’s a shame if you ask me. No wonder Biscuit here is so upset.”

  My heart did flip-flops as I ran to the door of the cottage. The day’s paper was still folded burrito style on the doormat. I picked up the paper, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  The first thing I noticed was the smell.

  It wasn’t a bad smell, though it definitely had overtones of petting zoo. If Glade offered a plug-in air freshener called “Fresh from the Farm,” this is what it would have smelled like. Cow poop, horse poop, new-mown hay, damp earth, bread baking, a whiff of smoke from a chimney—all mixed in a base of fresh, clean country air.

  A breeze blew through the cottage as if someone had left all the windows wide open. “Hello?” I tapped on the door to Grandpap’s bedroom. “It’s Morgan. Grandpap, are you up?”

  “Give it a push, lass, it isn’t locked.”

  I pushed. I looked. Then I gasped.

  I was at the top of the hill overlooking Grandpap’s old farm in Ireland. The farmhouse nestled cozily at the far end of the meadow, a ribbon of smoke curling up from the chimney. I half-expected to see a grubby five-year-old Colin come bursting out of the woods. Instead, I saw a man walking toward me across the long sloped meadow, now dotted with wildflowers. He was tall, blue-eyed, maybe in his early thirties, dressed in overalls.

  With him was a pretty, auburn-haired woman, in an old-fashioned floral print dress and apron. They held hands as they walked.

  “Sorry to keep ye waiting, Morgan!” the man called. “As ye can see, me wife and I are in the middle of celebratin’ our anniversary.” He grinned, and the familiar twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.

  “Grandpap?” I choked out.

  “Nobody starts out old, Morgan.” He laughed. “Though we all end up that way, if we’re lucky.”

  “Oh my God! I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I was clutching the doorknob so hard my knuckles were turning white. “I’ll go. Do you want me to, uh, close this door?”

  “Don’t go, dear, not yet!” The woman’s voice was warm. “It’s lovely that ye’ve stopped by. I’ve been achin’ to meet ye.”

  It’s Colin’s dead granny, I thought in amazement, though that description hardly suited her at the moment.

  “This is me wife, Nan,” Grandpap said, squeezing her hand. Nan smiled. She was the picture of a young farm wife, clear-skinned and apple-cheeked. Her thick hair was tied back in a loose, long braid.

  “What a sweet thing ye are! I can’t tell ye how glad it makes me to know Colin has found the right girl.” She gazed lovingly at her husband. “Makes all the difference in yer life, ye know. When ye find the person yer meant to share it with.”

  They looked as happy together as I’d ever seen two people be. That’s all it took to make my frozen heart melt. I started to cry.

  “Why, what’s the matter dear?” Nan looked at her husband worriedly. “Have I spoken amiss?”

  “Maybe she’s taken a bit of shock, seein’ us together like this,” Grandpap observed. “She knows yer dead, after all. Or will be someday, as will we all.” He handed me a clean cotton hankie from the pocket of his overalls.

  “No, that’s not it.” I blew my nose. “Colin and I had a fight. He found out I’m a-a—”

  “Ye’re a lass of the old ways, aren’t ye?” Nan said, as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing.

  “What Nan means is that ye talk to the faeries, and they talk back,” Grandpap explained helpfully. I had to smile through my tears.

  “Yes.” I sniffed. “But it’s even more than that.”

  “Why, she’s some kind o’ faery princess, William. Any fool can see that just by lookin’ at her.” Nan pursed her lips. “And ye know what a thick stubborn head Colin has when it comes to believin’ in the old ways. Is that what happened, dear? Did he find out about yer magic ways and run off in a huff?”

  I nodded, still blubbering. “He hates me now, I know he does.”

  “Hush, now! I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.” She smiled gently, and her eyes came to rest on the locket hanging around my neck. “See, look at that! I doubt he’d have given ye me old locket if he wasn’t sure in his heart he’d be lovin’ ye forever and a day, no matter what surprises fortune had in store for ye both. It might take a while for common sense to take up residence in that thick skull o’ his, that’s all.”

  Grandpap put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Thick skull, eh? It’s a bit of a family trait. Remember our first fight, Nan?”

  “Do I! It was on our honeymoon. Happened right where ye’re standing, Morgan, there in the Seahorse Cottage. We were six hours into our first full day o’ bein’ married, and already I’d been tormented by so many bad jokes and God-awful puns I knew I’d made the mistake of me life marryin’ this rogue.”

  “I thought I’d be spending the rest o’ me days sleepin’ in the barn.” Grandpap chuckled. “Though the chickens enjoyed me sense o’ humor just dandy, ta very much!”

  “There’s a reason they call ’em dumb clucks, Billy.” She elbowed him fondly. “Anyway, dear, when people love each other they learn to put up with all manner o’ quirks. Ye’re the girl fer him, that’s clear as the River Shannon. Have a little faith in each other. Go talk to him.”

  “He’s probably drownin’ his regrets at the pub ri
ght now, and preparin’ his apology,” Grandpap assured me.

  Their warm conviction that everything would work out was contagious. If there was a possibility—however slim—that Colin could change his mind and find a way to love me again, that was all I needed to hear.

  “I will talk to him. Thanks for the advice.” My hand lingered on the doorknob. Curious, I swung it back and forth slightly. It was an ordinary, squeaky-hinged door.

  “Grandpap?” I glanced up and around the frame. “This shortcut, let’s call it, from the Seahorse Cottage in Wales to your old farm in Ireland half a century ago—how long has it been here?”

  “Just since this mornin’. Ye can imagine how happy I was to discover it. I’d been hearin’ faraway bits of birds singin’ and cows mooin’ and even me Nan’s sweet voice callin’ to me, ever since Colin and I checked in. But this mornin’ I went to the lav in the hall to wash me face, came back to the bedroom and look where I found meself!” He stood behind Nan and wrapped his arms around her in a cozy embrace.

  “It’s Queen Titania’s doing. She’s trying to mix up the two worlds, and it’s getting worse by the minute. I’m going to try to stop her.” Then I had a disturbing thought. “If I succeed—I’m not sure what will happen to this doorway.”

  Grandpap gave the door an appraising look. “Don’t worry, lass, the frame’s sturdy and it hangs nice and plumb too.”

  Nan rolled her eyes. “She’s sayin’ ye might get stuck on one side or t’other, Bill.”

  He rolled his eyes back at her. “I understand what she’s sayin’, Granny Nanny! I may be old, but I’m not deaf.”

  She turned and twined her arms around his neck. “You don’t look so very old to me, William O’Grady.”

  Oh, my. Could interdimensional time-traveling smoochy woochy be far behind? Time for me to leave. “I’m going to the pub to look for Colin. Thanks for all the advice.”

  “You just keep wearin’ that locket round yer neck, dear,” Nan murmured, but she was still looking adoringly at her husband. “It’ll remind ye what’s important when all else fails.”