The unicorns proceeded to perform the halftime coronation show to end all halftime coronation shows. Formation gallops, synchronized leaping, gymnastic tricks and elaborate unicorn pyramids. They ended by spelling out LONG LIVE QUEEN MORGAN(NE) with their twinkling horns, as the fireflies provided a laser light-style display overhead and the sea of onlookers cheered.
“They’re bloody fantastic,” Colin whispered to me. “Beijing Olympics pales in comparison. So much better to see these large-scale spectacles in person too, the television cameras can never really do ’em justice.”
Which made me start to hyperventilate, as I suddenly realized—television cameras?
I looked around the piazza. The cameras were still rolling, filming the festivities. Reporters wandered everywhere, gathering on-the-spot reaction from spectators and blathering all the usual self-evident commentary into their microphones.
“Phinnbar?” I tugged on his sleeve. “Where exactly is all this being broadcast?”
He looked at me like I was dense. “Everywhere, of course! It’s the biggest news story ever, practically. According to the latest Nielsen data, ratings are through the roof.”
“Everywhere?” I gulped. “Meaning, in the human realm too? Even in Connecticut?”
“Especially Connecticut!” he crowed. “I mean, how often does their very own hometown girl get elected queen?”
twenty-three
oh, phek.
How could I be so stupid? Of course all of this was being broadcast. My campaign speech was probably a YouTube sensation by now.
I thought of Tammy, glued to the TV. Except instead of SpongeBob, she’d be watching My Sister, the Faery Queen. On every channel.
Imagine the princess outfits she’s picking out right about now, I thought. She’ll be mighty pissed off to have missed the coronation.
And what about Sarah, and her boyfriend, Dylan, and all my other friends from school? Would being Queen of the Faeries boost my chances at winning senior prom queen next year?
And—oh yeah—my parents. I could just picture Mom, white-knuckled, clutching the coffee table and fanning herself with a Princeton brochure, while the voice mail picked up call after hysterical call from her astonished friends. At least I’d given a major shout-out about how declutter ing was vital to human happiness. That had to score a few points.
And, nearby: my dad, taking up smoking again twenty years after he quit.
I even thought of Raph. I had to admit, it would be pretty satisfying to see his smug face seething with envy. Ruler of a realm totally pwned valedictorian.
But really—this was an epic fail! After all my obsessing about keeping goddess-me secret, now every single person within remote-control reach of a TV set was in on it. My fantasy of freelancing on the down-low as part-time Queen of the Faeries while faking my way through another year as Morgan Whatshername, third Senior from the left, had just popped like a Mr. Bubble bubble that floated too close to a ceiling fan.
But it isn’t about you anymore, my inner get-your-act-together voice reminded me. It’s time to save the world, remember? Messing with the heads of the mortals was exactly what I’d been supposed to prevent, and in fifteen minutes as queen I’d wreaked more havoc in that department than Titania ever had. Was there any way to undo the damage? It was time for Queen Me to find out.
“That was so cool, everybody, thanks!” I yelled, waving to the crowd. Then I turned to Phinnbar and Epona. “The ‘appropriate revels’ were awesome, and I really appreciate all the fuss. But I want to get to work fixing stuff, like I promised during the campaign.”
“Now?” Phinnbar looked hurt. “What about your dinner? I thought we might have a little dancing after.”
“That would be fun.” I was pretty hungry, to be honest. “But think about those poor mortals. They must be getting more freaked out by the minute. I want to put the veil back right away. So, stupid question: What do I do?”
“It’s very simple,” Epona explained. “As Queen of the Faeries, you have unimaginable powers. If you decree that the veil between the realms is restored, it shall be restored.”
I glanced at Titania, who was sprawled on a nearby bench having a weepy fit while Mr. McAlister patiently handed her tissue after tissue. “And what about the magic stuff that’s already gotten loose?” I asked. “All those gargoyles and the dragon—and these television broadcasts!” I thought of my family and cringed. “Can I decree that everybody in the world forgets what happened?”
“Your powers are vast, Your Majesty, but not that vast,” Epona said thoughtfully. “Erasing the memory of the whole human race is a big job. But you can certainly make the mortals a bit foggy about what’s happened. Rest assured, they’ll come up with some perfectly rational explanation for whatever memories remain.”
“Sounds like it’s up to you, love.” Colin gave me a supportive wink. “Just say the word.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “I want the veil between the realms restored. I want everything put back the way it was before Titania started to mess it up. And I want the human realm to forget all the magic stuff that’s happened, or at least not be freaked out by whatever it was they think they saw. Let no evidence remain.”
I did a z-snap in the air, just to give my first act of queenly authority some oomph.
An icy wind blasted across the piazza. My robe and Colin’s billowed outward like red velvet sails. A strange buzz traveled up my spine until my scalp tingled. It was like the static shock you sometimes get from touching a balloon, only much, much weirder.
Whoosh. The topiary bunnies were shrubs once more.
Whoosh. The gargoyles resumed their rightful positions along the balustrade.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. One by one, the magical beings on the piazza marched calmly to the reflecting pool. Some waited on line to board the pirate ship. Others just dove in. All of them seemed ready, willing and able to go back to where they belonged.
Almost all of them, that is.
Titania stood reluctantly at the edge of the pool, whining, “But how can I possibly show my face in the faery realm again? All I know how to do is be queen! Without my career, who am I?”
Phinnbar hobbled over to her with his crooked old-man gait and threw his spindly arms around her waist. “You’re still my mum! Perhaps we’ll get to spend more time together now that you won’t be so busy.”
Titania unwrapped his arms with distaste. “Phinnbar, darling. You are terribly sweet, but sooner or later a woman wants more in life than packing lunch boxes and wiping noses. Especially when the nose is so old and wrinkly.”
Embarrassed, Phinnbar quickly morphed back into the cute teen boy I knew as Finnbar. He held out his arms for another hug, but Titania ignored him. “Oh, it’s awful,” she moaned. “How can I ever be happy as just another ordinary, gorgeous, brilliant, scintillating faery woman, when I’m used to being ‘all that and a sparkly crown.’ I wish I could forget I’d ever been queen!”
“Do you really mean that?” Epona asked, nostrils flaring.
“Maybe.” Titania was petulant. “Why? What are you driving at, shiny pony person?”
“I think she’s sayin’ ye could have the veil of forgetfulness too,” Colin suggested gently. “If Queen Morgan here so decrees.”
“You mean, really forget I was queen?” She considered it for a second, then made a face. “But all of you would remember! You’d make fun of me behind my back. How perfectly humiliating that would be! Sorry, no can do.”
“What if you defected and lived among the mortals?” I offered. “Like Glinda the Good Witch did when she wanted to be in The Wizard of Oz.”
“Me? Mortal? That is beyond ridiculous!” She laughed wildly at the suggestion. “It’s ludicrous! Absurd!” Then she stopped. “Tell me more.”
“It’s the perfect solution.” I glanced at Epona to make sure this would work. The unicorn nodded, and I turned back to Titania. “I mean, isn’t that why you lifted the veil to begin with? So you could sha
re in all the really, really fun things mortals do?”
Titania took a fresh tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “You mean, I could take budget cruise vacations on the off-season and pay for them with my AmEx points? Use my cell phone to help choose a winner on American Idol ? Shop at big-box stores and come home with a year’s worth of toilet paper for only ten bucks?”
“And more.” I didn’t dare catch Colin’s eye for fear I’d bust a gut laughing. “Being mortal’s fun. You’ll love it.”
Now Titania was getting excited. “I must admit, it sounds relaxing. Especially after all these gazillions of years of being the gal in charge. ‘Uneasy lies the updo that wears the crown,’ as I once quipped to my old pal Bill Shakespeare. If anyone deserves a break, it’s me.”
She turned away from the reflecting pool and extended a hand in my direction, pirate-red press-on nails and all. “All right, Miss Queeny. It’s a deal. I’m willing to be mortal—as long as I’m special.”
“You will be, believe me.” I shook her hand, still trying not to crack up.
“And what about you, Colin?” Epona asked gently. “Have you made up your mind yet?”
He looked at me, confused. I was confused too. “About what?” I asked.
Epona flicked her tail in concern. “The veil of forgetfulness is blanketing the human realm even as we speak. Colin will need to choose—is he one of them? Or one of us?”
The way Epona referred to Colin as “one of them” and me as “one of us” made my stomach lurch. Colin seemed to miss the significance. He shrugged at Epona. “I’m a simple bloke. I can’t imagine bein’ anything or anyone other than who I’ve always been.”
Epona looked at me. “You must understand: If Colin returns to the human realm as a mortal, he too will forget about all that has happened. As you yourself decreed, Your Majesty,” she added, bowing her head.
“But—wait. I don’t want to forget what I know about Morgan, now.” Protectively, Colin put his arm around my shoulders. “It was bloody hard work findin’ it out, ye know. I think I’m entitled to keep that information.”
“Can’t I also decree that everyone forgets except Colin?” I asked desperately.
“You could, of course. But be careful what you wish for,” Epona warned. “A lifetime of keeping this secret from everyone you know—even the people you love—it will be difficult.”
Colin stared at the ground. Right away I remembered what he’d said to me in the pub. I’m a straight-shootin’ bloke, Mor. I could never go through me whole life keepin’ a secret from the whole world. . . .
“I’ll do what I have to do to stay with Morgan, then. That’s all there is to it,” he said quietly.
“No.” I put my hand on his arm. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s not right.” He started to argue but I wouldn’t let him. “And I don’t want us to have to keep any secrets from each other, either. There’s another solution.”
I turned back to Epona. “I want to forget.”
“Whaaaaaaat?” she whinnied, alarmed.
“I may be half-goddess, but I’m part of the human realm too. So let me forget along with them.” I looked up at my royally excellent boyfriend. “There’s no way Colin and I would be happy living a life based on lies. And there’s no way I can be happy without Colin.”
“Or me without Morgan,” Colin said quickly. Then he turned to me, his eyes full of concern. “But, darlin’—ye want to forget all yer magic adventures? Are ye sure?”
Was I? The locket I wore around my neck felt like it was glowing. From somewhere I heard Granny’s voice saying, It’ll remind ye what’s important when all else fails. . . .
“Colin, you and me living on opposite sides of the ocean is nothing compared to us living in opposite versions of reality. That’s a kind of long-distance relationship nobody could make work.” I reached out and let my fingers touch the side of his face. “Besides, I’ve had plenty of faery-world adventures. Now I’m ready for some human ones. With you.”
He looked at me so tenderly I started to feel weepy again. “All right,” he said softly. His fingers gently traced the chain of the locket around my neck, until they rested on the delicate silver heart. “But forgettin’ feels kind of like a lie too, doesn’t it?”
Epona shook her head vigorously until her silver mane flopped from one side to the other. “Remember: Even with the veil, humans never wholly forget the magic realm. The truth of our world will still be known to you, in the way it has always been known: in stories and dreams, in art and the imagination and in the wonder of childhood.” She whinnied, full of feeling. “There are many kinds of magic, after all.”
“Like photosynthesis,” I said, turning to Colin.
“And them blasted Internets,” Grandpap chimed in.
“Indeed.” Epona stamped her front hooves in agreement. “And love is certainly one of them too.”
Mr. McAlister had gotten Titania busy learning how to play Bejeweled on the oPhone, so he took the opportunity to sidle over to us and ask: “But if Morgan forgets she’s queen, who will rule the faeries?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going to leave without appointing a successor. And I know the perfect person. He’s one of the most reliable, trustworthy and bravest people I’ve ever met. And he’s standing right here.”
I turned to my mischievous, scatterbrained, but always clever and loyal faery friend.
“Finnbar. You will be king.”
Finnbar was so surprised he almost fell backward into the pool. “Moi? Are you insane?”
I put my hands on his shoulders. “You’re a natural born problem-solver. Think about it: You figured out how to get me to Wales, you found the Rules of Succession, you ran my campaign and you were brave enough to cast the deciding vote. You’ve been saving the world all along, really.”
“Huh! You have a point about that,” he said thoughtfully. Then he frowned. “But if I’m king, can I still be a part-time librarian? I do so enjoy the work. Mentally it’s quite stimulating.”
“Of course.” I smiled. “Being well-informed is one of the requirements of being a good leader.”
Colin slipped off his royal robe and draped it around Finnbar’s shoulders. I spread mine at his feet like it was red carpet time at the Teen Choice Awards. Then I took the crown from my head and put it on his.
The moment my crown touched Finnbar’s hair, the fireflies zoomed into the air to form a new image over our heads. It was like the front of a slot machine, with three windows scrolling rapidly through different pictures. Cherries, lemons, a crown, another crown, and finally—
“Three crowns?” Grandpap was baffled. “Does that mean we hit the jackpot?”
“Kind of,” I said, suddenly understanding. “It means the prophecy has been fulfilled.”
As one, the unicorns chanted and whinnied:The Fey and the Folk are safe at last
When the Day of Three Crowns is safely paaaaaaast!
“Today’s the day of three crowns,” I explained. “Three rulers in one day: Titania, Morganne and Finnbar.” And boy, I thought, am I glad it wasn’t clowns. That would have been really creepy.
Finnbar smacked himself on the forehead. “So that’s what it means! These prophecies are all alike. Completely inscrutable, and yet if by some accident you stumble upon the right course of action, the prophecy takes the credit!”
Then he adjusted his crown slightly to one side, until he found the perfect, photo op-ready angle. “Given my new position of authority, do you think I should go back to my Mr. Phineas look?” He checked his appearance in the reflecting pool. “The citizens might find it more kingly.”
I shrugged. “That’s up to you. But you don’t have to be an old guy with gray hair to be in charge.”
“Really?” He smoothed his crimson robe. “I guess for now I’ll stay as I am, then. Just your basic royal boy-band heartthrob! But I do like the notion of a long white beard. Perhaps for occasions of state . . .”
Epona turned to the rest o
f the unicorns, who were now doing stretching exercises and chugging bottles of what looked like Gatorade. “You heard your former queen: Let’s give it up for King Finnbar!” She blew a trumpet blast through her horn.
The unicorns, though obviously tired and still on break, generously delivered another round of appropriate revelry. As a surprise finale the dragon swooped down from the sky and used its fiery breath to scorch an illustration into the boardwalk. Coughing from the smoke, the unicorns struggled to finish with a cheer:Finnbar, Finnbar, he’s our king,
For him we’d do most—cough! cough!—anything!
Gooooooooooo, Finnbar!
The unicorns gagged and wheezed and ran for their drinks. After a moment, the acrid smoke dissipated and I could see the image the dragon had scorched into the boardwalk. Three crowns, surrounding a massive book, arranged inside a circle . . .
“Fek—three crowns is the Oxford logo!” I blurted. “And I’m supposed to have my alumni interview now—or soon—or was it later? Oh my God, I hope I didn’t blow it.”
Mr. McAlister stepped forward. Despite looking like a drowned rat in an antique life jacket, he spoke with tremendous dignity.
“I am an Oxford alumni! And I can personally vouch for your character, leadership ability and civic-mindedness. With your permission, I will be proud to give my highest recommendation to the Special Admissions committee.” He bowed humbly. “Unless you’d rather do your interview with the Archbishop of Canterbury? I shall take no offense if so. You might find it more interesting.”
To be honest, the idea of meeting an archbishop didn’t exactly rock my socks. For a minute I thought about requesting Hugh Grant. But that wasn’t really necessary, either.
“You’ll do fine, Mr. McAlister.” I hugged him, which got my Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head T-shirt all wet, but I didn’t care. “Thanks for the recommendation.”
What I Wore to Save the World Page 20
