by Allison Tebo
Burndee eyed her suspiciously, feeling as if he had fallen into some kind of trap, but surely Ella wasn’t clever enough to devise any snare that he could fall into. Assuaging his apprehensions with that thought, he waved his hand and created his own appropriate attire. He checked himself quickly in the courtyard wall’s temporary mirror. As usual, his magic fit flawlessly on him. He flicked his wrist, and the mirror dematerialized, leaving an ordinary—albeit crumbly—courtyard wall behind.
Ella was still laboring to get into the converted pumpkin, wrenching her skirts left and right as she attempted to get situated. It was a little like watching someone trying to pack a suitcase.
Amused, but in a hurry, Burndee waved his fingers, and the gown’s immense diameter decreased fractionally.
Ella managed to get settled with a small grunt and a satisfied expression, obviously thinking she had succeeded due to her own efforts.
Burndee shook his head and leaped gracefully onto the coach’s step, slipping inside and taking his fourth of a seat beside Ella.
The silent footman—Burndee’s spells weren’t refined enough to make mute beings talk—shut the door and signaled to the coachman. They were off.
Ella gave an eager bounce that nearly precipitated Burndee into a heap on the floor. “Ooh! I can’t believe I’m going to the ball!”
Burndee couldn’t help smiling at her excitement. His face was going to hurt tomorrow, if he kept this up.
“I never dreamed that tonight I’d be wearing this beautiful dress and riding in this magnificent coach . . . with you.”
Burndee stopped smiling and gave her a cold look.
“I mean, you’re the one I have to thank for all this,” Ella said earnestly, without any trace of guile. “This is one of the nicest things that has ever happened to me, and it’s all because of you. I’m just glad I can share it with you.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Burndee admitted, mollified. He patted her gloved hand.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. You really are a nice girl, Ella. It’s a pity there aren’t more humans like you, instead of the common mass that exist to take advantage of pushovers such as yourself.”
Ella looked puzzled over whether to accept his comment as a compliment or not. “Ah . . . thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Oh, I almost forgot.” He dipped into his new waistcoat pocket and removed a watch, studying it. “I need to mention one tiny little detail. This spell has an expiration point . . . about four hours, so that gives you till midnight. Play wisely.”
Ella looked perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
Burndee wasn’t surprised by that at all, but he wasn’t anxious to answer the question. “Some of these spells are new.” He coughed and crossed his legs. “New to me anyway, and . . .” He shrugged.
“You mean, you’ve never done this sort of thing before?”
He bristled, ready to defend himself, but Ella stopped him by seizing his hand and squeezing it. “Ow! But that’s wonderful, Burndee! We’re both doing something for the first time. That makes me feel so much better.”
She was probably the only girl in the world that would feel encouraged at being paired with an untested fairy godparent. A faint suggestion flitted through Burndee’s head that he might actually be the fortunate one in having such a good-natured ward, but he brushed the thought away.
“So, don’t forget,” he said aloud. “At midnight, everything will return to the way it was. You’ll have your old dress on again—” Her face faltered for an instant, and he rushed on, trying to amend his blunder. “The coach will be a pumpkin, the horses will be birds, and the servants will be . . . er . . . the same again.” At least he remembered to omit that word.
“Midnight,” Ella said, looking thoughtful. “That’s long enough. I promise I will get more enjoyment into four hours than anyone else in the room. Besides,” she added with typical conscientiousness, “I have to get up early to work tomorrow.”
“Don’t think about that now, for goodness’ sake,” Burndee said in exasperation. “Pretend that your old life is over. You’re Lady Ella . . . ah . . . What’s your last name?”
Ella looked a little hurt. “Rosedale.”
“Rosedale—really?” Burndee stammered, trying to recover from yet another slip-up. “That’s very pretty. As I was saying—tonight you’re Lady Ella Rosedale of, um . . .” He paused, embarrassed. “Er, what did they call your home before your father remarried?”
“Rose Hall,” Ella sighed.
“Of course.” Burndee couldn’t quite avoid a touch of sarcasm. Her father must have had as little imagination as Ella. “So . . . tonight you’re Lady Ella Rosedale of Rose Hall. You don’t have any foul relations, you only bake and clean when you want to, and you have no demands on you, other than to enjoy yourself.”
“That sounds like a nice life,” Ella said contentedly, then she smiled. “For four hours. After that, it would be rather dull.”
Burndee frowned. He would have thought that dull would be perfect for her. “What else do you want?” He was irritated to think that he might have missed an important step, and genuinely curious to know her answer.
Ella hesitated. Before she could answer, the carriage halted, and the footman opened the door.
Burndee jumped out of the coach and turned to help the footman extract Ella from the coach, who managed to remain more or less erect as she was maneuvered safely to the ground.
Let’s get this over with as soon as possible. “Wait, I just remembered something.” He snapped his fingers and pulled a bejeweled and feathered mask that perfectly matched her dress out from under his cloak. “Ta-da!”
Ella took it from him and held it up, peering at him through the eye-holes the way one would peer through spectacles. “I didn’t know this was a masked ball.”
“Not exactly.” Burndee spun her around and tied the mask on.
“Ow! You’re stinging me. Oomph! That’s too tight!”
“All right, all right, stop complaining.” He loosened the strings, and she turned back around to face him. “Perfect. You can’t see as much of your face this way.”
He could have sworn the feathers on her mask drooped. “What’s wrong with my face?”
“Nothing, except that someone might recognize it. Your stepfamily is in there, you know.”
Ella went rigid, and he heard all the air leave her body. “Burndee,” she said hoarsely, “I can’t go in there.”
In the past, many people had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he possessed a big mouth. He was beginning to wonder if they were right.
“Of course you can,” he said, trying to soothe her. “That’s why you’re wearing the mask.”
Ella reached up a shaking hand, tugging on the half-mask as if she could somehow expand it to cover her whole face. “It won’t work.”
“Of course it will. They’re in there having a good time; they won’t notice a thing. Besides, they pay so little attention to you anyway, I’m sure they won’t recognize you now that you’re in that outfit.”
Ella cringed at his callous words.
He cleared his throat and tried to move the conversation past any more awkward pitfalls. “This mask is a happy medium. It will keep those fiends from recognizing you and still show enough of your face to attract, er . . . plenty of male partners.” Unless Colin’s a complete fool as well as blind.
Ella pulled nervously at her feathers. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure! Don’t you trust me?”
The words lingered oddly between them.
Ella tilted her head to one side, her eyes sweeping over Burndee’s face in a clear, steady appraisal that frankly unnerved him. The mask fluttered as she let out a little puff of air. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I trust you, Burndee.”
She did? Was that good? He licked his lips. “Uh . . . excellent.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Now then, let’s go.” He held out his arm. “Place your
arm on mine.”
“I know,” Ella said in a tone that might have been annoyed if it had been coming from anyone else. “Ahhhhhh!”
“Sorry.” Burndee jerked his arm away. “We’ll fake it. Let your hand float over mine.”
Ella let go of the hand she was nursing and lowered it gingerly over Burndee’s raised arm, being careful not to touch him. “Can’t you get that fixed somehow?”
Burndee rolled his eyes. “Are you ready? Here we go.”
A long, paved entrance stretched out before them, illuminated by lines of billowing torches that cast shadows on the small remaining pools of an earlier rainfall, making the pavement look like a flaming sea. Beyond the pavement was a gigantic sweep of shallow stairs and then a colonnade of cream-colored pillars and marble fountains. Past all of that were the huge double doors of the palace, thrown wide open as if the castle was laughing out loud, entering into the spirit of the lively music that spilled out of it like sweet honey.
Ella made it as far as the colonnade, took one look at the double doors—the guards flanking them, the grim footmen waiting to receive them, the regal guests milling around just inside—and dug in her heels. “Are you sure we really go in this way?” she whispered—loudly.
“Yes, we really go in this way,” Burndee hissed. “No servants’ entrance for you tonight. Be quiet and smile.”
He pulled, and Ella followed slowly, dragging her feet. She was silent for all of two seconds before murmuring in a choked voice, “I’m scared, Burndee.”
Burndee sighed. “Nothing will happen, Ella. It will all work out just like I planned it.”
Ella thought that over and asked timidly, “How did you plan it?”
Burndee glared at her. “How do you think? I planned it to be the best evening of your life, of course. Trust me.”
Ella bit her lip. “Do you promise nothing bad will happen?”
He rolled his eyes. What a request. But he was willing to say anything to keep things moving. “Yes, yes, yes—I promise!”
He glanced sideways at her and saw that she had gone a peculiar shade of greenish-white and her lips were trembling. He had thought she had been exaggerating, but she really was frightened. Poor little thing. He supposed she couldn’t help it if she had the constitution and personality of a rabbit.
“Whom may I announce, sir?” a footman boomed impressively from his less-than-impressive height that brought him, more or less, into the vicinity of Burndee’s top waistcoat button.
Burndee handed over the invitation he had magically produced from the folds of his cloak, and surreptitiously flicked his finger at the parchment in the footman’s hand. “Lord Burndee of Fenwald and Baroness Ella of Fenwald.”
The footman checked the invitation against the list, nodded his approval at the now-matching scrawls, and thumped his staff against the ground, making Ella jump as he bawled in her ear. “Announcing Lord Burndee of Fenwald and Lady Ella of Fenwald.”
“That’s not right—” Ella began.
Burndee cut her off by grabbing her by the arm and dragging her through a knot of twittering guests that were waiting in the entrance hall for other members of their parties to arrive.
“Ow!” Ella yelped. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”
Burndee released her and stooped down to hiss her ear. “Are you trying to give yourself away?” Ella backed away, very obviously wiping her ear and Burndee glared at her. “Oh come off it, I didn’t spit.”
“You lied,” she whispered.
“That I did,” he agreed. “How else did you think I was going to get you in here without anyone knowing you?”
Ella frowned. “I didn’t know I was going to be here on false pretenses. I’d better leave.”
Burndee reached for her to keep her from bolting.
“Ouch! Don’t!” Ella protested, drawing away from his stinging touch.
Several people turned to eye them, scandalized.
Burndee tried to smile as naturally as he could and bowed politely at them.
“I feel like a fake,” Ella said in a quieter voice.
“You’re not a fake. You really are of noble birth.”
Ella shook her head sadly. “I’m not anything but a servant now.” She looked around at the guests and shivered. “I feel like I’ve tricked everyone in this room.”
“So you have. It kind of gives you a nice glow, doesn’t it?” He held out his hands and began herding her towards the ballroom door like an aggressive shepherd with a reluctant sheep.
Ella moved out of reach of his magical touch and was swept into the ballroom despite her objections. “Oh!” she gasped. She took one look at the ballroom and apparently forgot all about false pretenses, dropping the glove that she had been nervously twisting in her hands.
4
T he royal ballroom of Ambia’s royal palace was considered one of the wonders of the human world, but for a moment, Burndee wasn’t sure that even the stupendous beauty around him could compare with the look on Ella’s face. She was glowing as brightly as the gilded room around her.
“It’s gorgeous.”
Burndee plucked up her fallen glove from the floor and spared the room a quick inspection. “Neat,” he agreed. He had always rather liked this room . . . even if it had been designed by humans.
“And that music,” Ella breathed, bringing her hands to her lips. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard such beautiful music before.”
“Of course you have—you sing, don’t you?” He coughed and fussed with his cloak, trying to pretend that lavish compliment had not popped out of his mouth. He needn’t have bothered, because Ella didn’t seem to catch his meaning. He was surprised to find that he was a little disappointed.
“I’ve never even heard some of those instruments before! It sounds just like water.”
As the musicians struck an opening chord, couples, as bright and fluid as butterflies, moved away from the edges of the room and twirled around Ella and Burndee in a lively promenade.
“Well, I suppose we’d better start,” Burndee sighed, giving her back her glove and holding out his arms with a martyred air. He was glad his beautifying spells included important details like making sure the recipient had good breath and perfume that didn’t make him sneeze.
Ella did not come to him but instead stood staring at his hands as if she had never seen fingers before.
“What’s wrong now?” Burndee asked, tapping his foot impatiently.
Ella sketched a pattern on the floor with the toe of her slipper. “I don’t really know how to dance.”
Burndee stared at her. “You’re joking.” She opened her mouth to answer, and he sighed heavily, cutting her off. “What a time to tell me. There.” He waved a finger. “Now you can dance.” He was so frustrated, he barely knew what he was throwing at her until it was too late.
Her eyes popped open with alarm as her legs started to move of their own free will. She was jigging. She hiked up her skirts, and the glass slippers twinkled at a speed that made the breathless Ella look as if she were wearing an absurd amount of rouge.
Nearly all the other dancers stopped to stare. The music petered out as the musicians gaped, but Ella kept jigging to the invisible music of Burndee’s magic.
Burndee could only stand there in horror. His mentors had always told him that practicing magic when he was aggravated would get him into trouble. The whole evening was disintegrating before his eyes from one careless moment.
Ella bounded like a rabbit across the ballroom floor, careening past the other guests, her elbows jabbing them out of the way as she made for a table. Apparently her enchanted feet intended to dance on top of it.
She cast an entreating glance over her shoulder, but Burndee could only look back at her helplessly. He was so upset that all his magic had totally deserted him, as had all control over his feet, his mouth, and his wits.
“Burndeeeeee!” Ella cried, clicking her heels in a swirl of petticoats as she prepared for her grand leap onto the table.
The raw panic in her voice finally spurred Burndee to action. His magic returned, and with its aid, he cleared the space between them in two leaps. Just as Ella jumped, he grabbed her around the waist and spun her around in a movement typical of waltzing before setting her on the ground and snapping his fingers. Ella’s legs stopped moving, and she stood there, panting and wide-eyed, as she and Burndee stared at one another and then turned to look at the other guests.
As he looked into the sea of astounded faces, Burndee wished in vain that he had the power to reverse time and erase this dreadful error, but he didn’t know of any fairy that could do that, let alone one with his lack of experience.
“Ouch,” Ella said in a small voice. Burndee was still holding her around the waist.
Suddenly, the calm voice of Prince Colin called out, “Well danced! I’ve had enough of these boring old waltzes too. Musicians—something with more life!”
The musicians immediately trilled the opening notes to a polka, and Colin hastily led his partner into an energetic dance step. The rest of the guests took their cue and followed suit, with a few final looks in Burndee and Ella’s direction.
Burndee took Ella’s elbow and led her towards the far edge of the room, numb with humiliation. Colin had had to save him. The prince must have spotted Burndee and suspected—correctly—that Burndee’s partner was behaving oddly because of her fairy escort, and then he had covered with admirable skill to help them out of their predicament.
Burndee was beginning to understand now why his mentors had scolded him for his carelessness. He had not only undone all of his previous efforts . . . he had also embarrassed Ella instead of helping her.
He snuck a peek at her, wondering if he should just take her home and start over tomorrow with a new plan. She was looking at him, and though her eyes glinted suspiciously—and her brow was furrowed from the strain of withstanding his magical touch—he was surprised to see a slight smile hovering at the edges of her mouth.
“It’s all right, Burndee.” She giggled nervously. “This will be one party I’ll never forget.”
