by Erica Ridley
Arabella’s lips parted as though she wanted to say something else, but A.J. shot her an impatient enough look that she snapped her mouth shut and aimed the wand.
“Okay,” she said with a little sigh. “Bye, son.”
A blast of light burst forth from the silver star, smashing Trevor on the chest with enough force to knock him backward. The aquarium toppled to the hardwood floor and shattered on impact.
“Holy crap,” he gasped, when he recovered his breath. “Couldn’t you have just used a ForgetMe orb?”
“He remembers,” A.J. hissed, glaring at Arabella. “All you did was knock him over!”
“I have eyes.” She let fly with another jolt of shimmering power.
This time, Trevor flew up and over, smacking his back against the side of the brick fireplace and crumpling to the ground.
“Let me guess,” he managed, rubbing his bruised muscles. “You’ll make me forget by killing me. If I promise to throw myself in front of a train, will you leave me alone?”
“What’s going on?” A.J. demanded. “Why isn’t this working?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned at him. “He shouldn’t have been able to feel the magic. He should’ve just… forgotten.”
“How ’bout I act like I forget?” He struggled to his feet. “That worked well enough before.”
A.J. whirled to face Arabella. “What’s wrong with your wand?”
“Nothing,” she insisted, glaring back. After a moment, Arabella gasped, eyes wide. “Unless—oh, Heavens, sweetie, he’s her One Tr—”
“Impossible,” A.J. roared, his wings expanding to fill the air. “He’s human. Make him forget!”
“I can’t.” She looked at him in wonder. “Nobody can. Not at this point.”
“At what point?” Trevor asked, his worried gaze bouncing from one to the other. “What’s impossible? And why?”
“It’s out of our hands,” Arabella said, her tone bordering on… delight? “If my magic doesn’t work, the only explanation is True—”
“Sh,” A.J. admonished her, his expression oddly shell-shocked. “Don’t compound the problem by telling him.”
Arabella gripped A.J.’s arm. “Be reasonable. Maybe if he understands the situation, there won’t be a problem.”
“What situation?” Trevor hoped they weren’t planning to pop him back in that detention cell. “What problem?”
“The problem isn’t whether he understands. The problem is our daughter’s decision.”
“Here,” Arabella said, turning to face him with a strange quirk to her lips. “I’ll give you a—a memento.” A spray of pixie dust sprinkled the room when she gave a quick snap of the wand. Her fingers uncurled to reveal a small, silver band.
“I don’t want a memento.” Trevor backed away from her. “Especially not a ring. Mementos are for remembering. I thought I was supposed to forget.”
“That had better not be Daisy’s tooth fairy homing ring.” A.J.’s voice was laced with warning. “The last thing we need is for him to pop into Vivian’s office unannounced.”
“God, no.” Trevor shuddered. “Especially if she’s toting around Himalayan Lust Charms.”
“Don’t worry.” Arabella’s fist closed around the ring. “I’ll deactivate the current settings.” She murmured a few unintelligible words into her fingers and then held out her hand, palm side up, ring glittering.
He stared at it through narrowed eyes, empathizing with Frodo more than he ever had in his life. Somehow, he doubted the ring could ever be completely harmless. Whatever the new settings were, the ring could only bring trouble. “I don’t want it.”
“Good man.” A.J. laid his arm across Arabella’s shoulders. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I can’t allow it. Rules are rules. Even under these… surprising circumstances. It’s bad enough we have to leave him with his memories. Let’s not complicate things further.”
“Fine. No ring.” Arabella tossed the silver band into the air, where it exploded into a cloud of shimmering pixie dust.
And then they were gone.
Chapter 25
A familiar winged horse was grazing near the edge of the woods when Daisy headed out behind the Neurophysics Compound to test a new turquoise wand. When Maeve didn’t look up from the grass, Daisy worried her best friend wasn’t speaking to her.
“Hey,” she said tentatively. “You came.”
“And you didn’t go.” Clumps of grass fell from Maeve’s thick teeth. “Let me get this straight. You chose your contraband Create-A-Wand machine over Trevor?”
“Don’t start with me. Bubbles is mad enough for both of you.”
“I don’t blame him.” Maeve’s tail flicked to one side. “While I agree Vivian deserved to lose you, doesn’t that mean you’ve given up your chance for wings and your chance for love?”
“What?” Daisy’s fingers gripped her new wand. “No.”
“Then explain it to me again. The part where you get your wings from toothfairying, now that you’re no longer a tooth fairy.”
“I don’t have to be.” Daisy took a deep breath and made her decision. If she got caught, the stakes were high. But it was the only way left to earn her wings. “As soon as I can do magic, I can apply at the Fairy Godmother Association.”
“I thought they only hired people who do real magic,” Maeve said. “Isn’t that why your Create-A-Wand contraption is top secret?”
“Now you sound like my mother.” Daisy brushed past her to head deeper into the woods.
“Good. She’s smart,” Maeve said and clomped past her. “I just hope you made a decision you’ll be happy with.”
“Of course I’ll be happy. I’m happy now.” At Maeve’s dubious over-the-shoulder glance, Daisy added, “Okay, well, I will be happy once I earn my wings and make my parents proud.”
“Wings, shmings.” Maeve flicked her tail. “It’s a Pyrrhic victory. Things change.”
“Things do change,” Daisy agreed. “Like me. I’m not unmagical anymore. Look.”
Before Maeve had a chance to respond, Daisy took aim at the nearest pine tree and muttered, “Circus.”
A giant carnival tent ballooned in the small clearing. Fleeing squirrels became loud, fast-talking carnies.
“Fool the guesser,” one called toward Daisy, holding up an array of gaudy stuffed animals. “Two dollars! Guess your age, guess your weight, guess your I.Q.”
An elephant lumbered out of the open tent flaps, trumpeting at top volume. His trunk curled into the air. A fuzzy brown bear balanced on a red-and-white ball followed close behind.
“No way,” Maeve managed with a snorting gasp. “You conjured a freaking circus!”
“I told you. I’ve been spending every spare moment at the lab working on new wands.” She aimed again, and at her soft murmur, the carnies became squirrels again and the tent deflated back into a tree.
“Wow.” Maeve stared at her. “This is scientific magic? It’s seriously incredible. I’m going to write a letter of recommendation myself.”
“I couldn’t stop when I was so close.” Daisy belatedly realized Maeve had complimented her, not criticized her. So why did she feel so defensive?
She dropped her new wand into her handbag, no longer excited about experimenting.
“I guess I understand.” Maeve tossed her mane from her eyes. “Despite all odds, you did end up both intellectual and magical. You’ve got almost everything you always wanted.”
“Almost everything,” Daisy echoed, nudging the grass with one toe.
At nine o’clock the next morning, Daisy stood in the center of a marble-floored lobby, staring at the glittering opulence of the Palace of Fairy Godmothers. Both her parents had needed to pull every magical string they could, but she was finally here. With her latest wand in one hand and her Junior-Level Training Voucher in the other, Daisy approached the front desk.
“May I help you?” asked a young fairy from behind the front desk.
“Ah, yes. I
’m here for the Future Fairy Godmother orientation.”
“Voucher?”
“Right here.” Daisy handed the ticket to the fairy.
“Just need you to sign a couple papers. This one certifies you have a strong belief in True Love and hereby vow fervent pursuit of all clients’ Happily Ever After. Which is, of course, any fairy godmother’s primary goal.”
Daisy tensed. She’d be out bestowing Happily Ever Afters to humans. Too bad humans couldn’t bestow a Happily Ever After on her. What if she ran into—no. He wouldn’t even know who she was. All that was over.
She dipped a feather in glittery ink and scratched her name across the bottom of the form.
“Great. The other form pertains to your ability to coordinate the client’s connection with their One True Love. Your signature certifies your confidence and competence in your magical ability.”
Daisy’s fingers clutched the quill. Her magic came more from complex nano-circuitry and fractal patterns of curved lightwaves as opposed to natural-born talent, but nowhere did the page outright specify “no engineered ‘magic’ allowed.”
Holding her breath, she signed her name.
“Very well.” After filing the signed paperwork, the fairy motioned toward an elderly woman with diaphanous wings and a fluttery gown. “Beatrice will take you from here.”
Daisy followed Beatrice into a large auditorium filled with wingless women of all ages and took a seat near the back. A plump redhead she recognized as Ines Hada, the Vice President of Fairy Operations and Treasurer of the Fairy Godmother Committee, stood on center stage, banging the podium with both hands.
“Who are we sent to help?” she bellowed.
“Women in need of magical intervention,” chorused the crowd of women.
“Yes!” Ms. Hada’s fists slammed onto the podium. “Whom do we capture?”
“Their One True Love,” the audience called back.
“Yes!” Ms. Hada snatched the microphone from its stand. “How do we help them live?”
“Happily Ever After!”
“Yes!” Ms. Hada pumped a fist in the air. “This is not a job for the weak of will. This is not a job for the weak of wand. This is not a job for the weak of heart. This is a job for those of you who would be fairy godmothers! Those of you who would make fairy! Earn wings! And spend the rest of your days helping girls to live Happily Ever After on the arm of their One True Love!”
“What… is this?” Daisy whispered to Beatrice.
“Pre-fairy Pep Rally,” Beatrice whispered back. “You’ll get your chance to prove your stuff once this is over.”
“‘Prove my stuff’ how? You mean the first assignment?”
“Maybe your only assignment,” Beatrice hissed, and gestured back toward the stage. “Don’t count on second chances.”
“Fairy Godmothering is a demanding position,” Ms. Hada declared, pacing up and down the edge of the stage. “It’s the most coveted career for a reason. We are the few. We are the elite. Fairy Godmothers do not make mistakes. You hear me out there? How many mistakes do we make?” She aimed the microphone toward the crowd.
“None,” they screamed happily.
“That’s right. Zero.” Ms. Hada continued pacing. “Ninety percent of you won’t make it past your first assignment. Ninety percent of you are too weak of will, too weak of wand, too weak of heart. Of the ten percent of you who remain, very few will make it through your first week. Why is that, ladies? How many chances do you get to succeed?”
“One!” the audience shouted.
“Seriously?” Daisy momentarily forgot to whisper. “Isn’t that kind of harsh?”
Beatrice shrugged. “Competitive industry.”
“One,” Ms Hada confirmed from her position onstage. “The Association of Fairy Godmothers will not tolerate failure. Even if you’ve been with us twenty years, the first time you screw up a client’s chance for Happily Ever After, you’re out. Are we clear?”
A few heads nodded uncertainly.
“I said, are we clear?” Ms. Hada roared.
“Yes!” came the crowd’s automatic response.
Ms. Hada glanced at her watch. “All right,” she said. “We’ve got seven minutes. Are there any questions?”
Hands shot up all over the room.
“You in the yellow.” Ms. Hada pointed. “Ask.”
“Um, what about our wings? Do we earn them after three successful assignments, just like any other fairy career?”
“Wings,” Ms. Hada intoned, “are forever. Your position here is not. The fraction of you with three consecutive successes will qualify, yes. Provided there are two patrons, both being established and magical Nether-Netherlandians, willing to sponsor you during the ceremony.”
“I don’t have a sponsor.” A young woman near the front stood up. “How do I earn my wings?”
“You don’t,” snapped Ms. Hada. “Sponsorship is your responsibility, not mine. Other questions?”
“What if we screw up after we’ve already earned our wings?” called someone else.
“Whether you’ve earned your wings or not, if you shame this organization with your activities, you will permanently part ways with the Fairy Godmother Association.” Ms. Hada’s eyes glittered. “Depending on the infraction, we may seek legal action. You may lose your wings. You will lose your job. But make no mistake.” Her lips curled into an expression more reminiscent of a snarl than a smile. “That’s the least we can do.”
“You know what?” Daisy whispered to Beatrice. “She’s kind of scary.”
“That’s why they have her speak at the rallies,” Beatrice whispered back. “Half the girls here will quit without trying. And like Ms. Hada said, most won’t be able to complete their first assignment. How many people would you say are here? Two hundred?”
Daisy glanced around the auditorium. “One hundred eighty-seven, not counting Ms. Hada.”
“Of a crowd this size, half will drop out. Ninety percent of the rest will lack either the skills or the stamina to complete the first assignment. Of the remaining half-dozen or so, most will struggle to find sponsorship, and those that do will be lucky not to screw up before the wing ceremony. If there is a wing ceremony. Only one or two ever make it that far.”
“Per group?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Per year. Once you’re out, you’re out. The official policy is No Re-hire, No Remorse.”
“No pressure.” Daisy gripped her new wand even tighter.
“Time’s up!” Ms. Hada announced, returning the microphone to its stand. “Follow your trainers to your cloak closet and prepare to make dreams come true.” She disappeared through the folds of the heavy curtain without so much as a “good luck.”
Daisy rose to her feet and kept within inches of Beatrice’s side, determined not to screw up this early in the game. In fact, she was determined not to screw up at all. She’d dreamt of an opportunity like this too long to let something as cold and irrelevant as statistics stop her.
Beatrice opened a door labeled Cloak Closet 17.
Unsurprisingly, the room overflowed with various types of cloaks, all billowing from golden hooks protruding from every inch of wall space.
“Moss or lavender?” Beatrice asked, holding up two floor-length pools of color. Both bore hoods with color-coordinated faux-fur lining and braided drawstring necks with puff-balls on the ends of the ties.
“Lavender.” Daisy reached for the purple silk. The moss-colored cloak was just as beautiful, but she’d had enough green during her short-lived tooth fairy career.
Beatrice smoothed the material over Daisy’s shoulders and slipped the hood over her head.
“Your assignment is Lindsay Huffman of Cedar Falls, Iowa. As long as you wear this cloak, she’ll be the only one who can see you. Remember, your objective is to make true love flourish. Do whatever it takes.” Beatrice cupped a hand over Daisy’s ear and added, “The board monitors all new recruits’ first assignments. If you make a mistake—they’l
l know.”
“Got it.” Daisy swallowed. Love them Mortal Locators.
Beatrice stepped back from Daisy, slapping the ends of her fists together with the thumbs pointed outward. “You’re good to go.”
“Hear that, Bubbles?” Daisy whispered to her where-frog. “Let’s go to Iowa.”
They materialized in front of a whirring stationary bike, causing the ponytailed rider to shriek, clap her hands to her chest, and tumble flailing to the ground.
“Holy shit,” she gasped, madly trying to untangle her hair from the spinning bike pedal. “You almost gave me an asthma attack.”
“How did I do that?” snapped a perfectly-coiffed woman to her left. “You’re such a klutz, Huffman. Maybe you should ride a stationary trike.”
“Sorry,” Daisy whispered. “Is there… somewhere else we can go?”
“Don’t apologize to me,” said the woman on the neighboring bike, glaring down her nose at Lindsay. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Daisy stifled a nervous giggle when she recalled she could be heard but not seen. She followed Lindsay into a deserted corner past the door marked Locker Room.
“Who are you?” Lindsay demanded, eyes wide and shining.
“Your fairy godmother?” Daisy responded, deciding to leave “in training” off of her title.
“Get out,” Lindsay breathed. “That’s awesome. I about fell over when you popped up right in front of me.”
“You did fall over.”
“Oh. Right. But if I’m the only one who can see you, how come Naomi could hear you?”
“I think it’s the cloak.” Daisy pushed back her hood. “It hides my body, not my voice.”
Lindsay blinked at the sight of Daisy’s face, then reached out to touch the fake fur lining. “That would be wicked cool to have on hand for haunted houses. Scare the crap right out of people.”
“I’m here to help you find your One True Love.” Daisy trailed off. She didn’t realize until she’d spoken the words aloud just how stupid and dorky they sounded. Could there even be such a thing as a love that transcends time, that forestalls Fate, that lasts forever?
