What I Wore to Save the World

by Maryrose Wood

  I wondered how long I should stall before making a speech. The bigger the crowd, the better, and I had a feeling that more people (and faeries, and trolls, and pixies and giants) would soon be arriving. And maybe a ticked-off faery queen too.

  “Pardon me, make way, please! Part-time librarian coming through!”

  It was Finnbar, laboriously making a path through the gathering crowd. Grunting with effort, he pushed an old-fashioned wooden library cart on squeaky casters. It held a cardboard box on the lower shelf and a single, massive volume on top.

  “Sorry for the”—huff—“delay!” He parked the cart and braced himself, hands on knees, to catch his breath. “What a workout! I had to take the”—huff—“land route. I didn’t want the Book of Horns to”—huff, huff—“get wet.”

  “I thought the Book of Horns was non-circulating,” I said, grinning.

  He nodded in between huffs. “The paperwork to get it out of the Bod was endless! But I thought it might come in useful under the circumstances.”

  “Thanks for making the trip, Finnbar. I’m really glad to see you.” And I was. As faery half brothers went, Finnbar was all I had.

  He beamed. “De nada, sister! Always glad to pitch in. Now, the faery realm has never had an election before, so remind me: Are beheadings involved? Because I think the Tower of London just showed up on the croquet lawn behind the hotel.”

  “No beheadings,” I said quickly. “The candidates give speeches, and there are buttons and signs and that kind of stuff. And then everybody votes, and the candidate who gets the most votes wins.”

  He looked relieved. “That shouldn’t take long, then. We’ll have it all wrapped up by teatime. Here—these are for you.”

  He dragged the cardboard box off the bottom shelf of the library cart and proudly showed me its contents: campaign buttons, bumper magnets, T-shirts, baseball hats, you name it. The sayings on the T-shirts were very creative:

  No More Mean Queens: Vote for Morganne! This shirt had a picture of Titania’s head in a circle with a slash through it.

  Meet Morgan: “A Breath of Fresh Air in Faery Queens!” It showed an illustration of me, but with my long, flowing goddess-hair and wearing a faery princess dress right out of a Disney movie.

  Whether You’re Human or Faery, Morganne Understands! In this one I was pictured holding hands with a leprechaun on one side and Miley Cyrus on the other. Or maybe it was Hannah Montana; I could never remember which wig was which.

  “I hope it was all right to put that singing girl on the shirt,” Finnbar said worriedly. “I found out later she has two names, just like you. She’s not another half-goddess, is she?”

  “No, she’s human. As far as anyone knows.” Amazed, I poked through the contents of the box. “I can’t believe you got all this done. But Finnbar, speaking of two names: half of this stuff says Morgan and half says Morganne. Isn’t that confusing?”

  He put his hands on his hips as if he were going to scold me. “Spelling, spelling, spelling! Honestly, Mor-Mor, what difference does it make? It’s still you.”

  Whoosh. That was exactly the point I’d tried to make to Colin. Score two points for Finnbar. But I smiled at the nickname. “Nobody’s called me Mor-Mor since Tammy was a baby.”

  He folded his hands over his heart nostalgically. “I know! And she used to call me Bar-Bar. Your mother always thought she meant the elephant from those French picture books.” Then Finnbar gestured proudly to the massive tome that sat on top of the cart. “And speaking of books, may I present: the Book of Horns! Though after pushing it all the way from Oxford I think they should call it the ‘Book of Lead.’ This thing weighs a ton.”

  He patted the cover with pride. “Love the amendment, by the way. ‘Wrote’ and ‘vote,’ that’s so clever and rhymey! I’ve copied it into the third appendix and it’s cross-referenced and footnoted in eleven different places.” He flipped through the book. “Would you like to see?”

  I shielded my eyes from the sun and scanned the piazza. While Finnbar and I had been talking, hundreds of people and magical beings had gathered. Some were standing, some were setting up portable folding chairs, some were unpacking picnic lunches. The humans and the magical types eyed one another with suspicion. Some got close enough to snap photos, others just looked grim. But for the moment at least, they were waiting peacefully for whatever it was that was about to happen.

  In contrast to this low-key milling about, a tight formation numbering a few dozen human-looking types appeared at the back of the crowd and strode purposefully toward us. They gestured animatedly with small notebooks and pencils and were closely trailed by another group, armed with video cameras and boom mikes.

  “I’ll look at the footnotes later, Finnbar.” I gulped at the sight of the cameras and quickly tried to brush the dirt off my ripped jeans and my stinky Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head T-shirt—at least the band’ll get some free promo out of this, I thought. “Right now I think I have to uh, meet the press.”

  Finnbar turned and saw the reporters approaching. “Oh, goody!” he squealed. “The media have arrived! Now we can begin.” He heaved the Book of Horns off the library cart and into the cardboard box. Then he flipped the cart on its side, turning it into an instant podium. One of the reporters ducked forward and stuck a microphone on top.

  Finnbar stepped forward and tapped the mike.

  “Testing, testing, check check. Am I on?” He cleared his throat. “Greetings, journalists! I am Finnbar, your friendly neighborhood librarian-turned-campaign manager, press secretary and now—television personality!” He blew a kiss to the cameras and went on.

  “It is my distinct pleasure to introduce this remarkable candidate for Queen of the Faeries. Your questions have not been pre-screened, and the candidate’s answers will be spontaneous and unscripted. It’s possible they may make no sense whatsoever! We’re really just winging it here, so fingers crossed.”

  He pulled a large stopwatch out of his pocket. “I will permit one minute for questions, one minute for answers, thirty seconds for follow-ups, fifteen seconds for clarifi cations, five seconds for denials, two seconds for shouted objections—”

  “Finnbar, thanks,” I interrupted. “But I think I can handle this.”

  “You’re the boss, boss!” he said agreeably, then turned back to the mike. “Meet the next Queen of the Faeries—Morrrrrrrrrrgan Rawlinson!”

  There was some polite, lukewarm applause as Finnbar relinquished the podium. Hesitantly I stepped forward. Flashbulbs popped. The boom mikes were lowered until they hung right in my face.

  “Hello.” Through the mike I sounded like a scared kid, even to me. “I’m Morgan Rawlinson, and I’m running for Queen of the Faeries.”

  The questions flew at me rapid-fire.

  “Ms. Rawlinson! What made you decide to run for queen?”

  “What are your qualifications for the job?”

  “As queen, how will your policies differ from Titania’s?”

  “Do you believe in keeping the human and faery realms separate?”

  “Is it true that you’re only a half-goddess?”

  “Some of the old myths refer to you as Titania’s daughter. Can you comment on that?”

  “Hang on a minute!” I held up a hand and waited for them to be quiet. “I can answer all your questions if you just let me talk. No, it wasn’t my idea to run for Queen of the Faeries. I haven’t even finished high school yet. But the unicorns told me that Titania was going to undo the veil between the magic realm and the human realm, and I knew that would cause chaos. As, obviously, it has.”

  At that moment a cold, winged shadow swept over the crowd. We all raised our eyes to the sky. It was the dragon, swooping and circling overhead, leaving a shower of sparks in its wake. Even the magical beings looked nervous.

  “I do think the realms should stay separate. It’s not that the human realm and the magic realm are enemies. In fact, we need each other.” I thought of Tolkien. “Without the faery realm, h
umans would have a lot fewer cool books to read, for one thing. And human kids would be really bummed if there were no Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus. But humans get scared easily too. Humans like to know what the rules are and how things work. That’s why we invented science, and multiplication, and stuff like that. It helps keep our lives organized. I mean, my mom’s whole job is keeping people’s closets organized and drawers decluttered. People like my mom serve a vital function in human society!”

  That last improvised bit about my mom’s personal organizer business had put me in real danger of cracking myself up. But I kept going. “Take it from a teenager: I know that having too many rules is a drag. But you have to have some if we’re all going to be able to live in peace and harmony.”

  Ugh. Now I was starting to sound like a folk song. The reporters were copying down my words at a furious pace. The red lights on the cameras indicated they were on, and they were all pointing at me. And the crowd was growing larger by the minute.

  If I’d known I was going to be on TV I definitely would have changed into clean clothes, I thought. At least I was still wearing the locket. If Colin was watching this on TV somewhere he might see that, anyway.

  “How does this affect your plans for college?” one of the reporters called out.

  “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I might have to sacrifice my own plans for the good of everyone. But the way I see it, if the world gets completely wrecked by Titania, none of us will get the chance to do what we want with our lives. The human realm is already freaking out because of her meddling.” I glanced upward again. “And you guys in the faery realm don’t seem too happy, either.”

  There were many nervous looks skyward and cries of Ow! Ow! Ow!, as sparks from the dragon’s fire breath floated down and landed on people’s heads.

  “But isn’t it too late to change course?” a gnarly-looking troll yelled from the back. “Do you honestly think a messy, smelly, half-grown half-goddess like you can fix this mess?”

  I ignored the smelly part—especially coming from a troll. “You’re right: some problems are too big for one person to fix, but that just means we all have to do our part. Right now, my part is taking the throne away from Titania and restoring the veil between the realms. Your part might be something different.” I leaned in closer to the mike, just the way I’d seen Raph do at the graduation ceremony. “That’s why they call it community service. If everybody in the community contributes something to the community, then the world keeps working. That’s really all I have to say.”

  “Ask them to vote for you,” Finnbar whispered in my ear.

  “Oh, right! And I hope you’ll vote for me. Thanks, everybody.”

  “Save the world! Vote for Morganne!” Finnbar yelled, pumping his fists in the air. “Save the world! Vote for Morganne!”

  Scattered portions of the crowd took up the chant. The reporters had all turned to face their cameras and spoke intently into handheld mikes as they glanced down at their notes. I was curious about what they were saying, but mainly I felt relieved. My first press conference was over. I hoped it would be my last.

  Among the reporters, I spotted one guy who seemed familiar. Buff, prematurely gray, kind of too good-looking to be true. “Hey!” I turned to Finnbar, realizing where I’d seen him before. “Isn’t that the anchor dude from CNN? Oh my God, my mom has such a huge crush on him.”

  “You mean Anderson Cooper?” Finnbar leaned over to me and spoke confidentially. “Actually, he’s one of ours. He’s a student at the Elven School of Journalism. The cable gig is just an internship. I think he gets interdimensional extra credit.”

  Finnbar rummaged inside the cardboard box, found a banner that read “Campaign HQ” and draped it over the podium. As people came by to get a closer look at me he handed out leaflets and signs, buttons and bumper stickers. I shook hands and waved.

  Somebody handed me an adorable tiny pixie baby to kiss. This running for office thing isn’t so bad, I thought, as the flashbulbs popped. Who knows? If I ever get to finish high school, maybe I’ll even run for student council.

  the first sign of titania’s arrival came moments later, when the water in the center of the reflecting pool began to churn. It sprayed upward, only a few feet at first, and then a few feet more, until there was an actual geyser erupting from the center of the pool.

  Then, what looked like a scaled-down version of Johnny Depp’s ship from Pirates of the Caribbean came rising out of the geyser, nose-first. The carved figurehead on the front of the ship was the spitting image of Titania. You could easily spot the resemblance because the queen herself stood at the helm of the ship, waving and blowing kisses at the crowd. She was dressed piratically, I guess you could call it: black lace-up bodice, a diamond-studded eye patch and a sword slung around her hip.

  “Hello, fellow beings!” she yelled, peeking out from beneath her eye patch. “How do you like my campaign boat?”

  There were pockets of cheering. The press, who only a few minutes before had been completely fascinated by my every comment, abruptly turned their backs to me so they could capture shots of Titania’s highly theatrical entrance.

  “I am so ready for my close-up, darlings!” she cried, as she stepped daintily onto dry land. “Now let the worshipping—oops, I mean the campaigning—begin!”

  She preened and posed as the cameras whirred and clicked, until a firm voice from the back of the press corps called out: “Your Majesty! How did you end up having to defend your throne after all these years as queen?”

  She dropped the beauty pageant act and grabbed the nearest mike. “You know, Anderson,” she crooned, “that is an excellent question, and I think all of us deserve to hear the answer. Especially me, so I can dish out the appropriate punishment.” She narrowed her eyes and surveyed the crowd. “Somebody, anybody, please tell me: Where did this ridiculous amendment about letting the people choose their own queen come from?”

  I stepped forward. “I wrote it.”

  “There’s no rule that says you can do that.” Her voice dripped with ice, but her eyes were throwing off more sparks than the dragon.

  “There’s no rule that says I can’t.” I turned to Finnbar. “Is there?”

  He placed one hand on the Book of Horns. “There is not,” he said, sounding shaky.

  Titania clucked her tongue. “Et tu, Finnbar? I’m so disappointed.” I saw his lip tremble, but he said nothing. Titania wheeled to face the crowd. “Fine, then. Let’s get this nonsense over with. Miss Queen Wanna-Be here already gave her tediously sincere speech. I mean, get me some insulin, quick!”

  That got a few mean-spirited laughs from the trolls. She smirked. “Now I’ll give my far superior speech, which will be short and to the point. Then you’ll all vote for me, and I’ll continue the magnificent job I’ve done all these years of being your queen. This embarrassing election episode will be forgotten for all eternity. Are the cameras rolling?”

  The cameramen nodded. A gargoyle swooped down and powdered Titania’s nose as she yanked off the eye patch. “Come in nice and close, fellas—watch the claws, please!—I’m going to connect with my subjects now.” The gargoyle flew off, and the cameraman counted off on his fingers—five, four, three, two—

  “Ahem! My fellow Faery Folk,” Titania purred, gazing wistfully into the lens. “You know me as your loving, wise, compassionate and enviably chic ruler, Titania! I have always been queen. I’m queen right now. And rest assured, I will always be your queen.”

  She batted her eyes and smiled sweetly. “Given that no one else but me has ever occupied my throne, I feel almost silly saying this. But ask yourselves: Who is more qualified for this position? Me! Who throws the most fabulous parties? Me! And if that isn’t enough to earn your vote: take a moment to reflect. Look deep in your hearts. Do you remember how kind and generous and compassionate I’ve been to you all these many, many millennia?”

  As one, the crowd shivered in fear.

  “I can see that you do.” She
smiled icily. “Remember that cozy feeling of gratitude and terror when it’s time to cast your vote. And, cut.”

  She tossed back her hair. “Any questions? No? Then let’s get the formalities over with—”

  “I have a question,” I called. I heard Finnbar suck in his breath, but I was too pissed off to be afraid. “Titania, removing the veil between the faery realm and the human realm will throw the world into chaos. How can you possibly justify your actions?”

  “It’s an offensive stereotype to assume that mortals don’t want magic in their world. There’s nothing humans love better than hocus-pocus and mumbo jumbo. Look at the stock market, for heaven’s sake!” She scowled. “I know the poor ignorant mortals will be upset for a while, but they’ll get over it. A teensy bit of rioting, famine, bloodbath, revolution . . . so what? It’ll pass.”

  “But not without a fight—and humans have been known to defend themselves to the death when they feel threatened,” I argued. “This could be the start of a human-faery war that would destroy everything!”

  “Hear hear!” Finnbar applauded wildly. “That makes good sense!”

  Titania’s hand moved to the hilt of her sword. “I’m afraid I don’t agree. Humankind will absolutely adore my plan to ‘unveil’ the world; you’d have to be crazy not to. And I can prove that I’m right!”

  There was a loud reaction from the crowd. Titania waved her sword in the air.

  “Quiet down, everyone! The ‘Queen Titania 4-Evah Campaign’ will now present a completely voluntary endorsement—from a human!” Titania gestured behind her to the pirate ship. “Don’t mind his appearance; I just fished him out of the sea.”

  From the hold of the pirate ship, through a trapdoor on deck, Mr. McAlister emerged. He was soaking wet, with frost on his hair and icicles hanging from the ends of his sleeves. He wore a life jacket stamped RMS Titantic, but the c was crossed out and an a was written in.

  “Now, Devyn dear, step up to the mike and tell everyone how even humans prefer me as queen!” Titania held the microphone to his lips. “Go ahead, just do it like we practiced.”