My Fairly Dangerous Godmother

by Janette Rallison

  Clover leaned back, resting against a jar of ribbons with marked resignation. “Do you know why we call you mortals? It’s because you always want something more.”

  I shot him a dark look. “I’m just asking you to fulfill your part of the contract.”

  Chrissy picked up a perfume bottle and absentmindedly sniffed the scent. “Jason does love you. He said so himself.”

  I gave her a dark look as well. “Yeah. He said so, but he doesn’t love me. Last night he talked non-stop about himself, except when he yelled at me for not getting the goblet. He was patronizing, rude, and left me stranded in a lake because he wanted to catch up with the other princes’ boats.”

  Chrissy set the bottle down and lifted another to her nose, testing its scent. “You didn’t wish for Jason to have a great personality; you just wished for him to love you.”

  I gritted my teeth in frustration. “I almost drowned.”

  Chrissy picked up the last perfume bottle, one made of blue glass. “Jason loves you. He just loves himself more.” Chrissy sniffed the contents and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Some guys are like that. It can’t be helped.”

  “Then it’s not real love.”

  Chrissy let out a tinkling laugh, one that said I was being ridiculous. “Real love, like real magic, is open to interpretation.” She put down the blue bottle and draped her hands across her knees. “So I guess this means Jason didn’t kiss you? Bummer.”

  “Let’s talk about wish number three: my dancing ability.”

  Clover let out a groan and pulled his hat over his eyes. I suspected he was attempting to sleep.

  “I wished to be a good dancer. I’m not. Even Kailen said so.”

  “Kailen?” Chrissy’s expression brightened. “Prince Kailen was there?” She sent me a knowing look, one that verged on sympathetic. “No wonder you weren’t impressed with Jason. Other guys fade in comparison to Kailen Emberwater. Was he dressed in black?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did he have that wicked cool sword?”

  “The one with the hilt that looks like a twisted tree branch?”

  “That’s the one.” She smiled dreamily and spread her hands out on either side of her. “He’s such an irresistible bad boy. At my high school, he was voted hottest enemy combatant. I voted for him twice.”

  Clover pulled his hat down further.

  “Back to my wish about dancing,” I said, taking control of the conversation again. “Clearly I should have a magical refund coming. I’m supposed to be a great dancer, but I’m not.”

  Chrissy shrugged, sending her hair—pink again—sliding off her shoulder. “Technically, you wished to dance so well you’d be famous for it in your century. Your wish didn’t ask for quality, just fame.” Another shrug, this one apologetic. “As it turns out, a lot of people are famous on very little talent. I suppose that says something a bit unflattering about your society.”

  Technically. Always that word. No matter how poorly my wishes turned out, she wouldn’t take responsibility for them.

  Steam no longer hovered over the bath. It was growing colder. I sat on the tub’s edge and pulled off a stocking, frustration making me yank extra hard. “Doesn’t the intent of my wishes count for anything?”

  “You know what they say about intentions. They’re good for paving roads, but not much else.”

  I tugged my other stocking off. The diamond I’d found in the forest fell out and rolled across the floor. I’d forgotten about it.

  The gem lay sparkling guiltily on the floor until Chrissy slid from the table and picked it up. “Pilfering wishes from Queen Orlaith’s tree? That’s dangerous.”

  “I found it on the ground. I thought—” I didn’t finish the sentence. “Wishes? It’s not a diamond?”

  Chrissy turned the stone over in her hand. “The fruit from our magic trees is close enough to diamonds that your kind can’t tell the difference. That’s why you humans like diamond jewelry so much. It’s like wearing wishes that are waiting to happen.” Her usual carefree manner slipped away, leaving her expression solemn and wistful. “The trees are dropping a lot of their fruit lately. This one is stunted and will never ripen. I’m afraid it’s doomed to be just a diamond.”

  My mind flicked back to the forest, back to the glittering trees. “All that sparkly fruit I saw last night—those were actually magic wishes?” I straightened, hope rising. “If I got one, could I use it to wish my way home?”

  “Only ripe wishes work,” Chrissy emphasized. “When they turn soft and white, then they’ve got magic.” She dropped the stone into my hand. “If you ate this, it wouldn’t do anything except give you indigestion.”

  I put the stone on the table, disappointed. I didn’t remember seeing white fruit on any of the trees last night. “None of the fruit is ripe?” Donovan had an enchanted cloak. If there were any ripe wishes hanging around, he could manage to steal one.

  Chrissy shook her head sadly. “Now you understand why Queen Orlaith is so desperate to find a cure. Can you imagine running out of magic? It would be like being mortal, except, you know, better looking.” Chrissy let out a small laugh and put her hand on her chest. “Sorry. For a moment I forgot you’re one of the magicless.”

  She returned to the dressing table and sat primly on the stool, pressing her hands together like a teacher starting a lesson. “Let’s get back to the important stuff—the goblet. What question did Queen Orlaith ask it?”

  “She asked why the trees weren’t growing.”

  Chrissy leaned forward eagerly. “What answer did the goblet give?”

  “It said the trees needed love. Apparently it’s given that answer for awhile.”

  “That’s all it said?” She frowned. “That can’t be the solution. No one loves the trees more than the fairies.”

  Her attention to this detail, hinted at what she hadn’t said. “Are the Seelie Courts’ trees in trouble too? Is that why you want the goblet?”

  Chrissy didn’t answer. Instead she picked up her wand from the table and fiddled with it.

  “They are, aren’t they?” The thought of more barren magical trees was sad. All those wishes withering and dropping.

  “Our trees aren’t as bad as the Unseelie Court’s,” Chrissy admitted, “but they’re struggling too. The goblet should disclose the solution. I wonder why it’s saying the same thing.” Her brows furrowed together and she tapped her wand against the palm of her hand in thought. “Maybe it’s a riddle. Do you remember the exact wording?”

  I shook my head.

  “Tonight, remember it.” Her brows were still drawn in a perplexed line.

  “What will happen if your trees don’t grow?”

  Chrissy’s wings slowly swept open and closed, reminding me of the princesses’ lacy fans. “Mortals shouldn’t bother themselves with fairy matters. It leads to temptation, which leads to mortals trying to work magic for themselves, which leads to either quick deaths or lives of wizardry.”

  She stood, walked over to me, and patted my arm. “You don’t want either of those. You’d look horrible with a long, scraggly beard.”

  From the dressing table, Clover let out a long snore. His chin jiggled against chest, making his beard quiver.

  Chrissy let him sleep. “So what’s your plan to get the goblet tonight?”

  I didn’t want to give details about that. Vagueness was my best approach. “I’m working on it today. Any suggestions?”

  “Don’t let Orlaith catch you. She’s not the forgiving type.” Chrissy glanced back at the dressing table. “Oh, and don’t go with the perfume in the blue bottle. It smells like something horrid lives inside. And speaking of unpleasant smelling things . . .” She pointed her wand at Clover and a poof of sparkles knocked into his chest.

  Clover swatted at the glitter, sputtering, “I’m awake. I’m awake.” He stumbled to his feet, still batting the air. “Go team Sadie.” A yawn. “We believe in you.”

  Chrissy turned back to me. “Call me as soon
as you have the goblet, and you’re out of Queen Orlaith’s land.” She gave me a sly smile, leaning toward me conspiratorially. “I bet Jason kisses you tonight. That’s something to look forward to.”

  No, not really.

  Hundreds of tiny lights appeared in the room, swirling around Chrissy and making her wings glow incandescent. When the lights cleared, she was gone.

  Clover took off his bowler hat and wiped glitter from it. “Fairies. They can’t leave without making a production of it.”

  He placed the hat back onto his head, giving it a tug to hold it in place. “Do me a favor, lass. If Queen Orlaith does catch you, leave my name out of your confessions. It’s always been a goal of mine not to be changed into anything unnatural.” He adjusted his hat one last time then departed too.

  I thought of his words the entire time I bathed.

  Chapter 19

  After I washed off the traces of the night, I put on a clean chemise and stockings. My lady’s maid dressed me in a corset, slip, bum roll, a green bodice, and matching green overskirt. She tied blue silk sleeves to the bodice, which matched a panel sewn onto the underskirt, and also matched the stiff triangle of material attached to the bodice, called a stomacher.

  She hooked on a metal belt that hung decoratively around my skirt—and didn’t hold anything up—then finished off my outfit with a necklace, bracelet, and set of earrings. After that was done, she braided my hair and weaved blue ribbons into it.

  When I was sufficiently beautified and royalified, I paid a visit to the goldsmith. The smithy backed up to a far wall on the castle grounds, a gray stone building tinged with moss. The clang of a hammer and smoke from the forge greeted me long before I got there. I stepped inside the doorway, enjoying the warmth that curled around the room, as cozy as a sleeping cat. It was a welcome change from the morning chill.

  The goldsmith was bent over a table, studying something with a frown. He was a middle-aged man with calloused hands and biceps as big as my thighs. He wore an apron that may have once been beige but was now smudges of different shades of black. A younger apprentice stood in the back of the smithy, beating some poor, helpless piece of metal. When the goldsmith straightened, I saw he was examining Donovan’s picture of the goblet. Good. That meant he was working on it.

  I cleared my throat to get his attention. “Excuse me. I came to ask when the goblet will be finished.”

  He grunted like I’d insulted him. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Prince Donovan, his royal impatience. These things take time. I can’t have it to you faster than tomorrow night, no matter how much you pay me.”

  I tried not to panic at the news. Donovan only had two more nights until he had to either rat out my sisters and me, or face execution.

  My sisters and me. When had I started thinking of the other princesses as sisters? We weren’t really related, and yet it was beginning to feel like we were. It seemed like I had known them for far longer than a day.

  I thought of Kayla’s words and realized what was happening. The magic was taking effect. I was starting to lose my memories of my twenty-first century home.

  “Make the goblet as fast as you can,” I told the goldsmith. “And send for me as soon as it’s done.” I left the smithy, focusing my mind on images of my real family. Mom, Dad, Alonzo. Our lazy cat, Pepper. I recited my phone number and locker combination. I pictured my house, my street, my school. It was hard to think of my old life clearly. I was too tired. I went back to my chambers in the castle, walked past my sleeping sisters, and climbed into my bed. Someone had put on clean sheets. I was glad for that. Moments later I fell asleep—corset, shoes, hair trappings and all.

  * * *

  When I woke up, my sisters were gone. Someone had left a drink, cheese, and a meat pie on my nightstand. I ate it hungrily, thankful the king hadn’t followed through on his threat to feed me nothing but bread and water.

  After my lady’s maid repaired the damage I’d done to my hair by sleeping on it, I went downstairs to find Donovan. Madam Saxton told me he was having a lesson with the fencing master in the pasture near the stables.

  I traipsed outside for the second time that day, slightly bothered by the fact that I knew where the stables were. The knowledge was just there, inserted by the magic of this wish. More proof that I was turning into Princess Sadie.

  I strode toward the stables, flipping through memories of Kentucky, trying to keep them firmly in mind. The twenty-first century was home, not here. If it was summer like Kailen said, it must be a cold one. Instead of the humid eighty-five degree days I was used to, the temperature felt about sixty-five. I was glad for my layers of clothing.

  It wasn’t hard to find Donovan practicing in the field. If I hadn’t heard the smack of wooden swords ringing across the grounds like a drum beat, I would have still noticed the audience. All eleven of my sisters stood beside the pasture fence, watching Donovan. Several of them had their fans out, demurely waving them back and forth.

  I walked toward the group, wondering at their interest. Wondering, that was, until I got close enough to see Donovan better. Both he and the fencing master had stripped their tunics off, apparently too hot even for sixty-five degrees. They darted at each other, all gleaming muscles and testosterone. A grace accompanied Donovan’s movements—an easy strength. And for a guy who was a thief, he had nice abs. I wondered where he’d gotten the physique: tall, lean, and well-defined.

  He had enough stamina that he must be an athlete. Swim team maybe, or track. He didn’t seem like the football players from my high school. They were a team off the court and on. Donovan struck me as the type who didn’t try to fit in with a group.

  Really, though, I knew so little about him. That bothered me now. It also bothered me that my sisters were gathered around him like some sort of fan club. Literally.

  Rosamund glanced at me with disapproval. “Pray tell, where is your hat?”

  Each of them wore a jeweled or feathered cap that matched their gowns. Apparently royalty wasn’t supposed to step outside without one. I put my hand to my hair as though only now noticing I was hatless. “Oh,” I said, “I forgot . . .” that I should have studied Renaissance fashion before making any wishes. I hated the way being honest made me look stupid most of the time.

  “What are you all doing out here?” I asked to change the subject.

  Penny didn’t take her eyes off of Donovan. “We’re seeing what sort of king the new suitor would make.”

  “I fear our military is in trouble,” Isolde added, but she was staring at him as admiringly as the others.

  “Kings aren’t required to lead the charge,” Catherine pointed out. “Father doesn’t.”

  “Father is too old for such things,” Elizabeth said, slowly fanning herself.

  “Prince Donovan would lead the charge,” Clementia murmured. “He’s young. And strong.” Her lips curled upward hungrily. “And . . . inspiring.”

  Philippa nudged her. “As inspiring as Eustace?”

  Clementia put her hand to her chest, engulfing it in the rows of ruffles there. “Eustace shall always be my inspiration. I only meant that troops respect a man who is comely and well-built.”

  “Prince Donovan is quite well-built,” Kayla agreed, letting her eyes roam over him.

  “He knows nothing of sword fighting,” Mathilda put in. “What sort of kingdom is Hamilton-Ohio that their prince has never had a proper lesson?”

  “True,” Beatrix said, her fan swaying lazily between her fingers. “But one can’t fault the kingdom for producing handsome men.”

  Rosamund dragged her gaze away from Donovan long enough to give Beatrix a reproving look. “Would you say such a thing if Frederick were near?”

  Beatrix fanned herself faster. “Prince Donovan has not tempted me away from Frederick. I only stated what nature has already made plain. I find it a pity that Father would execute such a handsome man.”

  Rosamund rolled her eyes. “Father won’t execute him. Prince Donovan wi
ll run away on the third night like they all do.”

  Catherine frowned, worried. “What if he can’t? He has no horse, and it’s clear enough he couldn’t fight his way past the castle guards.”

  “Bend your knees!” the fencing master yelled above the sound of swords clashing. “Hold your shield firm!”

  Donovan lunged forward, his sword swinging at the fencing master’s torso. The man blocked with a swing of his own, hitting Donovan’s sword so hard it was knocked from his grip. The sword clattered to the ground, spitting up dust.

  The fencing master bowed slightly. “Well fought, Your Highness.”

  Donovan shook his fingers to relieve the stiffness. “I’m afraid I’m a poor student.”

  “Just an untaught one, Sire. You’ve the reflexes and height to make a good opponent. Do you wish to go another round?” The fencing master glanced over at us. “Or perhaps not.”

  Donovan turned to see what the man was staring at. His gaze stopped on me. As his sort-of-betrothed, I suppose it wasn’t surprising the fencing master thought Donovan would rather spend time with me.

  I expected him to announce that, no, he’d rather keep practicing. Guys and swords. When my older brother played computer quest games, it took something along the lines of a house fire to break his concentration.

  Donovan picked up his sword from the ground and handed it and his shield to the fencing master. “I guess that’s enough practice for today. Thanks for your help.”

  The man bowed again, this time with a knowing smile. Donovan gathered up his shirt and jacket from a fence post, putting them on while he walked over.

  My sisters fell silent. Several more lacy fans flipped open, rippling in the air like butterfly wings. Isolde and Kayla smiled. Catherine batted her eyelashes. The whole group was practically purring. For girls who were supposed to be in love with other guys, they didn’t have any qualms about flirting.

  When Donovan reached us, he put his hands on the top of the fence and swung himself up and over. He glanced at the fluttering fans and coy smiles then stopped in front of me and offered his arm. “Would you join me in a walk?”