by Helen Harper
Wish List
By Helen Harper
BOOK TWO OF
HOW TO BE THE BEST DAMN FAERY GODMOTHER IN THE WORLD (OR DIE TRYING)
Copyright © 2019 Helen Harper
All rights reserved.
BOOK COVER DESIGN BY YOCLA DESIGNS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter One
‘Your wish is granted.’
The woman in front of me, who wasn’t much younger than me, gave me a long look filled with distrust and scepticism. ‘Yeah, yeah.’
I smiled at her. ‘It’s true. The job is going to be yours.’
‘They won’t hire me. No chance. Not after the way I fluffed that interview.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that.’ Although she really had messed up. Tripping over your own feet and crashing into a fire alarm so that it’s inadvertently set off and the entire building is evacuated in the middle of the most important negotiations the company has had in years is one thing; when the fire brigade arrives and you have a stand-up argument with one of the firefighters because he cheated on your best friend last week – well, that’s something else. Especially when that argument leads you to fling out your arm in a dramatic gesture and knock off the wig of the company director, who’s recently decided that being bald isn’t a fact he wishes to share with the world. Fortunately I’d waved my wand and used my magic to persuade him that he had a sense of humour. I was an unstoppable force of faery godmother magnificence. I tried to be anyway – and everyone loves a trier.
‘Keep your phone handy,’ I advised. ‘They’ll be calling soon.’
I glanced towards the television and the flickering images of the grey-haired politician who was bemoaning the state of the national press. ‘We need to be able to trust journalism in this country!’ he railed. ‘Morgan Ferguson and that rag he calls the Daily Sentinel need to uphold truth instead of making up lies!’
I picked up the remote control and muted it. The young woman smiled slightly. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I think Art Adwell is a wanker too. It’s his policies that have made it so difficult for me to find a decent job. Just because I can’t afford to be an unpaid intern shouldn’t mean I can’t get a shot at the career I want.’
‘Well,’ I told her, ‘you’ll have that shot now. I promise.’
Her hands twisted in her lap. ‘I know that I’ll be brilliant if I get the chance. But I need the chance first to prove what I can do. This is the job I’ve always wanted.’
‘I know exactly how you feel,’ I said. I tucked away my wand. ‘You’ll get the job, I promise you that. Whether you’re brilliant at it or not will be up to you.’
I stepped back. The atmosphere around me was already beginning to change, my surroundings blurring as the Metafora magic deemed that my work was done. Within moments I’d be transported back to the Office for Faery Godmothers. Memory magic meant that the woman would forget who I was and what I’d done for her as soon as I’d gone. There would be no thank-you cards or bouquets to tell me what a fabulous job I’d done. It was the way things went. I could live with it – mostly because I had indeed done a fabulous job and I didn’t need a box of chocolates to tell me that.
I smiled one last time and dipped into a curtsey. Her phone started to chime and I was tugged away.
Billy was waiting for me when I arrived back at the office, his weathered face set in a scowl. ‘You’ve been out visiting a client.’
I beamed. ‘I have indeed. We have another satisfied customer and it’s all thanks to me. I made someone’s dreams come true.’ I sighed happily. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world.’
His expression didn’t alter a jot. ‘You weren’t wearing your cloak. When you go out, you’re supposed to wear your pink cloak. It’s the rules.’
I stuck out my tongue. Billy had carved out an essential position for himself. He didn’t have clients or grant wishes like us faery godmothers, and he lived in fear of having his office-dogsbody job snatched away from him. To avoid that happening, he’d made a point of memorising every archaic rule and regulation in the place and noting down when anyone made so much as the slightest infraction. As a result, not only did he know all the ins and outs of the faery godmother office but everyone treated him with absolute deference to avoid being called out for breaking petty rules. I’d worked out his game on my very first day.
‘You don’t have to keep doing that,’ I told him. ‘Things are much more relaxed around here now.’ They weren’t, but we all pretended they were to make ourselves feel better.
He folded his arms. ‘The audit is starting tomorrow, Saffron.’
‘The Devil’s Advocate is a teddy bear.’ Jasper’s dark, chiselled face flashed into my mind. I certainly wouldn’t say no to a cuddle from him. ‘The audit will be fine.’
Billy snorted. ‘Tell that to everyone else around here. Do you know how many times I’ve been told to check the building’s systems? I spent all of last week making sure everything was fine and the Director still wants me to stay late tonight and re-check everything. This whole place is going mad.’
I glanced round the open-plan office. Adeline was stalking between the cubicles, barking at anyone who had so much as a speck of dust visible on their desk. There were at least twice as many cheesy motivational posters adorning the walls as there had been last week. And my nostrils were tickling from the pervading scent of honeysuckle. Usually it was a pleasant smell but right now it was so overpowering that it was making me feel vaguely nauseous. It was so strong that it would probably drown out the reek of Rupert’s expensive aftershave.
I frowned. ‘I thought we were supposed to be working on ways to keep stress to a minimum.’
Billy gave me a long look. ‘We are. That’s why you all have mandatory meditation in half an hour.’
‘I’ve got to write up my report! I don’t have time for meditation.’
‘You’ll have to make time. Everyone’s got to be there.’
I registered the amused twinkle in his eyes. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
‘Om.’ He brought his hands together as if in prayer. ‘Meditation is better than sneaking out to procure illegal drugs to deal with stress and getting yourself kidnapped by vengeful trolls.’
I had my doubts about that. I tutted loudly to emphasise my feelings on the matter and stomped off to my desk.
Delilah, who used the cubicle next to me, was at her desk. When I plonked myself down, she leaned back in her chair. ‘You won’t believe what I’ve heard,’ she breathed.
The fastest way to extricate myself from this sort of conversation was to humour her. ‘Go on,’ I sighed, turning on my computer in an ill-fated bid to multitask.
‘Lydia’s not returning to work,’ she s
aid. ‘She’s decided that being ear-less and pinky-less is enough reason to request a disability pay out and leave the faery godmothers for good.’
‘She’s still got one ear,’ I pointed out. Bernard, the troll who had kidnapped her in a bid to sow terror and destroy the future for faery godmothers, had sliced off her left ear and chopped off both her little fingers before sending the gruesome appendages to us in neat boxes wrapped up with little bows. I didn’t blame Lydia for not returning. I gazed down at my own full array of fingers and felt a twinge of empathetic pain. I shook it off and typed in my password before bringing up a blank wish report onto my screen.
‘The matter of her resignation is not the interesting part,’ she said. She lowered her voice. ‘She’s been seen having dinner with the Devil’s Advocate. Twice.’
I froze. ‘What?’
‘Philippa saw them having a cosy little tête-a-tête on Saturday night at Patrek’s. And Matt in Accounting saw them last night walking down the street together.’
I swallowed. It was just gossip; it didn’t mean anything. ‘He’s probably debriefing her on everything she learned about the trolls while she was their kidnap victim.’
Delilah laughed. ‘Oh, I’m sure he was debriefing her. Just maybe not in the way that you think.’
I started to type furiously. ‘I’m very busy. I’ve got to get this report finished before the meditation starts.’ I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the screen but I felt Delilah’s disappointed gaze on me for a few moments longer. Then she huffed and turned away to her own work while I stared at the misspelled gobbledegook I’d typed.
***
‘Close your eyes.’
Why should I care about what the Devil’s Advocate was doing with someone else?
‘Relax your toes. And your ankles. Release the tension from your calves and then your knees.’
It wasn’t as if Jasper had made me any promises.
‘Feel the warmth spread upwards.’
It wasn’t as if anything had really happened between us.
‘Block out everything and focus on your heartbeat.’
Apart from one steamy – albeit sort of faked – kiss.
‘Listen to the sound it makes. Da-dum.’
Apart from the flowers he’d sent me.
‘Da-dum.’
Apart from the way we’d bonded together as the perfect team.
‘Da-dum.’
Apart from the way I’d saved his ungrateful arse from becoming troll food.
‘Breathe in and feel the air fill your lungs.’
That was it. He was the high and mighty Devil’s Advocate and he’d needed me to rescue him. Now he felt pathetic.
‘Breathe out.’
Either that or he’d decided I wasn’t good enough for him. I wasn’t from the right sort of faery family.
‘Breathe in once more.’
Anyway, I was too good to waste my time pining after a man. Such shenanigans would only interfere with my bid to become the best faery godmother the world had ever seen.
‘Picture yourself in your happy place.’
His green eyes, darker-than-dark hair and fanny-fluttering good looks flashed irritatingly into my head.
‘You’ve never felt more relaxed than this.’
‘Oh fuck off,’ I said aloud.
There was a sudden intake of breath from around the room. Uh-oh. I peeked open one eye and slowly sat up. ‘Sorry,’ I muttered. ‘I was thinking of something else.’
The look the instructor gave me was one of mild reproach. The look the Director gave me, from where she was viewing proceedings but not participating, was considerably stronger. ‘Saffron,’ she snapped. ‘My office. Now.’
I grimaced then got to my feet and stepped over the supine bodies. All the other faery godmothers kept their eyes firmly shut but I saw more than one mouth twitch in amusement. At least I was providing the office with some entertainment, I thought sourly.
***
‘What exactly is your problem, Saffron?’ the Director enquired. ‘Need I remind you that you are still on probation? We are taking considerable steps to improve the well-being of every faery in this office. You seem determined to thwart those steps at every opportunity.’
That was a bit unfair. As far as I was concerned, my thwarting was at an absolute minimum. If I’d truly wanted to thwart things I would have thwarted them, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted to do. I was still on shaky ground with the Director, however. I might no longer admire her in the way that I had when I’d first started this job, but I still wanted to impress her. I still wanted to be the best.
I had to choose my words carefully. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was just…’ Fuck a puck. I couldn’t tell her what I’d been thinking about. ‘I was just worrying about the trolls. They won’t stay hidden for long. They’ll be planning something else. We know that their goal is to see this office in ruins and to have the very idea of faery godmothers consigned to the history books. We need to do something to pre-empt the next strike before disaster ensues.’
‘So when you told the yoga faery, who we brought in at great expense, to fuck off it was because you could not find it in yourself to relax?’
Damn it. ‘I didn’t tell the yoga faery to fuck off.’
Her eyebrows rose upwards. ‘I was there. That’s certainly what it sounded like to me.’
This wasn’t going well. ‘I said fuck off but I wasn’t saying it to the yoga faery. I wasn’t saying it to anyone.’ I grimaced, feeling my cheeks grow warmer. ‘Well, apart from the imaginary trolls in my head. I didn’t mean to say it aloud.’
‘Ri-ight,’ she said slowly. ‘Well, if the thought of the trolls bothers you that much, I can arrange for occupational health to have a chat with you. Some therapy might help.’
‘I don’t need therapy.’ Not for this, anyway.
The Director regarded me for a moment. I set my chin. I refused to squirm. I forced my body to remain as still as possible and simply returned her gaze with what I hoped looked like calm confidence.
‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t think you do.’ She tapped her pen on her desk. ‘You’ve done well recently with your clients. I’ve been reading your reports and, while some of your methods are unorthodox, you do have a knack for getting to the heart of what they really want and granting the wishes that they truly desire. It takes some faery godmothers years to learn that.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘Some never learn it.’
I sat up a little straighter. Go me. ‘Uh, thank you. I am trying to be the best faery godmother that I can be.’
‘Mm.’ She tapped her desk some more. ‘I trust that you are more … settled than before and that you have better working relationships with your colleagues?’
‘Things are better, yes,’ I said. Not great. But better.
‘And,’ she asked, ‘how do the others feel about the threat posed by the trolls? Are they as disturbed as you are?’
Actually, I was of the opinion that most other faery godmothers were pretending the remaining trolls still didn’t exist. But that was the problem – it was how we got into this mess in the first place. Decades ago, a rogue faery godmother wish had inadvertently caused the death of the majority of trolls. The godmothers had covered it up and tried to forget about it. Unsurprisingly, the few surviving trolls weren’t impressed.
‘I can’t speak for the other faery godmothers.’
‘Yes, you can.’
I sighed. Alright then. ‘I don’t think they are as concerned as they should be. Bernard died. Most faeries I’ve spoken to seem to think that’ll be the end of the matter.’
‘You disagree.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I do,’ I said quietly. I meant it, though. This wasn’t the last we’d hear from the trolls. Bernard had martyred himself but he wasn’t the trolls’ leader. Plus, the other trolls would blame us for messing with their kind. No doubt they were plotting another bloody revenge at this very moment – and because of Bern
ard’s very explosive death, they had even more reason to hate us.
The Director finally stopped tapping her pen and laid it down. ‘Unfortunately,’ she said, ‘I agree. I might not have spent much time as their captive – and I was unconscious for a great deal of it – but it is clear that their fervour is extreme. We must be on the offensive. Not the defensive.’
Thank goodness she understood. She wasn’t so distracted by the audit that was starting the next day that she couldn’t see where the real problems for this office lay. Maybe now she’d do something about the trolls. For all that I’d used them as an excuse for my outburst, they did worry me. A lot.
‘That is why,’ the Director continued, ‘I’m going to create a special task force to locate the trolls and find out what they’re planning next.’
I nodded vigorously. ‘That’s an excellent idea. Your proactive approach is genuinely admirable.’
She gave me a long look. ‘It’s not your first week any more,’ she said. ‘Stop brown-nosing. I think we have the measure of each other. We don’t need that kind of game playing.’
I blinked. ‘Okay,’ I hedged. ‘For what it’s worth, I do think a task force is a good idea.’
‘That’s just as well.’ She paused. ‘Because you will be the one to head it.’
I stared at her. ‘Pardon?’
She didn’t miss a beat. ‘You can choose who you want to help you, but no more than ten hours a week is to be spent on this matter. Numerous faery factions are already out looking for the trolls and, quite frankly, they are far more likely to succeed than you. However, I have no desire for others to think we are sitting on our hands.’ She raised her shoulders in a shrug. ‘And you did manage to find the trolls last time so it’s possible you might be equally successful on a second occasion.’
I was being damned with faint praise; it didn’t sound like the Director had much faith in my abilities.
‘The trolls sent us this last week,’ she told me, passing over a piece of paper. ‘I suppose you should be aware of it.’
