Slippers and Thieves Special Edition

by Christina Bauer

  Like the Glass Slipper Ball.

  “Sure.” I cup my hand by my mouth. “You guys can come in.”

  Bry rushes into the room and enfolds me into a huge hug. “Elle, Elle, Elle.” Her voice breaks as she speaks.

  “I’m fine, Bry.” Craning my neck, I look over my shoulder to Knox. “Hello, there.”

  Knox does one of his classic chin-nod moves. “You look good, yeah.”

  “Thanks.”

  Bry releases me from her mega hug. “Are you sure you still want to hit the ball? It starts in an hour.”

  “I’m up for it.”

  Azizi does that dog yawn maneuver where he shows off a super-long tongue. “If my services are no longer required, I’ll depart.”

  “Sure,” I say quickly. “And thanks so much.”

  “We wardens must stick together,” says Azizi. He trots from the room.

  I point to where Azizi once sat. “He looks good.”

  Bry focuses on Knox. “What did I tell you? It’s like the return of magic only effected Az.”

  Knox glances between me and Bry. “You want to do this now? Bry and I don’t have anything new to share.” He takes a half-step backward. “Plus, both of you need to get all dressy and fast. That’s not my department.”

  Bry steps up to kiss his cheek. “Thanks. We’ve got it from here.”

  Knox starts to leave, then stops. “Before I go, I have to ask. How did you glamour your old room?”

  I do a double-take. “Glamour?”

  “Yes,” answers Bry. “When you asked us to take you here, we figured you were delirious.”

  I raise my hand. “Guilty as charged.”

  Knox narrows his eyes. “Yet when we took you here, the room changed to what it is now. The place was only magic-ed up to look ruined. But it was all really here.”

  My breath catches. “You mean everything’s fine?”

  “Yeah.” Knox eyes the room slowly. “You didn’t do it?”

  “No. I don’t know who did.” I inspect the room again with new interest. “There were other times I’ve gotten mystery help. The day I ran away, someone saved a bunch of my nest egg.”

  “I remember you telling me about that,” says Bry. “Marchesa thought she locked down your Abigail Smythe bank account, but someone had emptied it out for you.”

  “Maybe it was a mistake?” asks Knox.

  “I thought so, too.” I keep inspecting the walls. “But it happened again recently. When I came back here with Alec, someone had hidden a copy of the new contract in my parents’ safe. That was hidden with a glamour, too.”

  Elle nods. “It has to be the same person.”

  I shrug. “It’s stayed a mystery for this long, I guess it won’t hurt to wait until tomorrow.”

  “We’ll add it to the list,” says Bry. “It will be four alphabetized of mysteries. A is for Ah mah gah … Why isn’t magic back in the world?”

  “B is for Boom,” I add. “As in boom, someone’s helping me and I have no idea who or why.”

  Knox chuckles. He loves it when Bry and I start riffing off each other. “C is for Crazy. As in, I am not crazy enough to hang around here any longer.”

  Bry gives him the side eye. “That’s not a mystery.”

  Knox winks. “Still leaves.” He departs and closes the door behind him.

  For the first time, I look down at my outfit. Yup, still in the gingham dress. And this thing is rank.

  Bry and I have a lot of work to do.

  41

  Elle

  A few minutes later, I step into my old bathroom. Everything appears frozen as it was three years ago. I spy my favorite shampoo, a pile of familiar towels jammed in the closet, and even my fluffy white robe. So strange. A chill runs across my skin. It’s almost as if my parents will walk through the door any minute.

  Something to add to my list of mysteries.

  I take a super-quick shower, pull on my robe, and return to my room. All my clothes are still in their closet, which is good. My bust-line had a major growth spurt since fifteen, so none of this stuff fits. My blue gingham dress lies on the bed. I stare at it for a long second.

  A figure appears by the ceiling. She’s small, blue and grinning.

  It’s Blackaverre, all right.

  My fairy godmother waves frantically in my direction.

  “Yeah, I’m alive. Your troll attack didn’t work.”

  Blackaverre flits above the gingham dress. She mimes waving her wand over the item.

  I can’t believe this. “You want to give the Cinderella treatment to my gingham dress?”

  Blackaverre nods so quickly, her head becomes a blur.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say. “You lure me to Cynder with a big lie. It’s all in the hopes that I’ll get squished by a troll. And now you want to fix my dress?”

  Blackaverre keeps speed-nodding. Talk about oblivious.

  Bry knocks on the door. “Elle?”

  “Come on in.”

  “How’s it—” begins Bry. She spies Blackaverre and pauses. “Oh. You.”

  “Just in time,” I say to Elle. “My fairy godmother was offering to transform my prairie dress into a ball gown.”

  Blackaverre points toward my matching ankle-high boots. “Oh,” I add. “She’ll fix my shoes, too.”

  “How will that work?” asks Bry. “I thought Blackaverre tried to kill you.”

  I force a look of pretend surprise. “Wow, Bry. That’s totally right.” I focus on Blackaverre. “Why should I trust you with my dress and shoes when you just tried to murder me?”

  In reply, Blackaverre gestures toward the gingham dress. It’s clear what she means here. Do you want a ball gown or don’t you?

  That would be no. At least, I don’t want a gown from Blackaverre.

  In my mind, I gather up my fairy magic. I’ll need this for the next part of my chat with Blackaverre.

  “How long have you been helping Marchesa?” I ask.

  Blackaverre rolls her eyes and spreads her arms out wide.

  Bry gasps. “So, all along.”

  Blackaverre sets her hands against her heart and then points to me. Meaning? I’ve been helping you too.

  “I get that,” I state. “You’re a true classic fairy tale life template. Sometimes you cause trouble, other times you cause more trouble.”

  Blackaverre points to her face. It’s a move she does often and it’s her way of saying, that’s just me. Next she flits around while grinning her face off. This is the equivalent of Blackaverre dancing in the end-zone of her own victory. In this case, Blackaverre is positive she’ll be fixing my gown.

  Which is so not happening.

  Power swirls through my veins. Soon silver dust encircles my hands. Meanwhile, Blackaverre flies in a big heart shape. She’s now on a self-victory fiesta.

  And still totally oblivious.

  I angle my palms toward my dresser. Inside my heart, I make a simple request.

  Come alive.

  Keeping my hands angled, I release my power. Cords of silver energy careen from my palms and lands smack onto the furniture in question. The tall box of shelves shivers while the lines of fairy dust whirl around the dresser’s exterior. With a burst of light, the silver mist soaks into the wooden exterior. The item shivers with movement. I grin.

  Wow. That totally worked.

  The dresser comes fully alive. With a wobbling side-to-side movement, the enchanted item marches across the room.

  Its goal? Blackaverre.

  All the while, Blackaverre zooms around in ever tighter circles. She’s like a puppy this way, whirling around until she gets dizzy.

  Keep up the spin, honey.

  A long creak sounds as the dresser’s top drawer opens. Blackaverre still notices zero. A pink knee-sock juts out, tongue-style. The fabric wraps about Blackaverre and pulls her inside. The drawer slams shut with a sharp smack.

  “Whoa,” says Bry. “You’re getting really good with fairy dust.”

 
My chest warms from the praise. “Thanks.”

  Thunks sound as Blackaverre tries to escape her dresser-prison. The top drawer vibrates especially. “Not sure how long my magic will hold her, though. I can’t have Blackaverre running off to warn Marchesa.”

  “Marchesa may already know. That troll guy is gone.”

  “Good point.” The dresser lurches from side to side. Blackaverre really wants out.

  “Then again, why take the risk?” asks Bry. “Knox and I can stay here for a bit until Az can watch her.”

  A weight of worry slides off my shoulders. “That’s a brilliant idea. Thanks.”

  Bry gestures toward the bed. “What about the dress?”

  “Fortunately, I happen to know a fairy who’s pretty good with magic.”

  Bry gives me the side eye. “Would that be you, perhaps?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  Closing my eyes, I pull on another round of my inner fairy magic. Tendrils of silver power appear around my palms. I silently command the energy.

  Transform.

  The cords of energy float off my hands. Soon they hover the gingham dress in a small and glittering cloud. Like sparkling rain, the mist cascades onto the gingham fabric. Even more falls down over the stout black boots.

  The silver dust soaks into my dress and shoes. The dress comes alive, taking my full form. It’s like I’m invisible and standing inside the garment once again. The dress waves in my direction.

  I wave back.

  The gingham frock pretends to wash its invisible hands, arms and pits.

  Bry and I share a dry look.

  “Is that doing what I think it is?” Bry asks.

  “Yeah. It’s magically cleaning itself.”

  “Awesome,” says Bry. “I always wondered about that. I mean, Cinderella is always wears some seriously nasty rags. Then those get changed into a dress. How can that be sanitary?”

  “True. My enchanted dress is a neatnik.”

  The dress continues to wash its skirt and front. Once done, the dress bends over, rolling its empty arms in a circle. There’s no question what the thing plans next.

  Hit me at a run.

  And that’s what it does. The prairie dress speeds my way and slams right into me. My robe gets blasted across the room. The next thing I know, I wear the gingham dress once again.

  Next my boots get into the act. They leap up and click together at the ankles. It’s a movement that definitely says, I’m excited here. The boots jog in place. With every passing moment, they run at a faster rate. Then they do the same thing as the dress.

  Rush me at top speed.

  Once the boots hit my ankles, I’m no longer barefoot. All of which leaves me in an enchanted dress and boots. Too bad it’s still the prairie stuff.

  Fresh bands of silver dust surround me. Like hefty ribbons, they spin about my body, reminding me of so many lines on a candy cane. The magic haze soaks into my dress.

  Everything transforms.

  My prairie dress morphs into a gorgeous blue gown. Long white gloves cover my arms. The hefty boots transform into glass slippers. My hair now loops up into a sweet updo. Every inch of my skin feels soft and pampered.

  Bry claps. “That was amazing!” She steps closer. “Oh, your make-up looks gorgeous, too. What a perfect spell!”

  Bry may call this perfect. Still, I’m not ready to declare a magical victory yet. One key question remains. I pat my hips.

  “Yes!” I cry. “It’s got pockets.”

  Bry pales. “What do you mean? Are there like fake little pockets that make your hips look huge, or do you have really deep ones where can keep your keys and stuff?”

  “Door number two,” I reply.

  Bry bows in my direction. “What a moment. You’re now the true warden of fae magic.”

  Winking, I head over to my windowsill. Sure enough, my mini glass slipper statuette and craved pumpkin are still there. Lifting the objects, I slip one into each pocket.

  Bry claps again. “Yeah! Pockets!”

  Closing my eyes, I reach out to my magic once more.

  Gustav?

  Sure enough, my little gray buddy clambers onto the windowsill. He’s not alone. A teacup chihuahua sits beside him. She’s a little thing with a huge pink bow atop her head. I’d ask how she got in here, but Gustav sneaks in and out of places all the time. Dragging along a chihuahua wouldn’t be an issue for him.

  “Hello, Elle.” Gustav whistles. “You look great.” He scans the room. “Where’s Blackaverre?”

  At the mention of her name, Blackaverre goes berserk. The dresser rattles with more force.

  “It’s like this,” I explain. “Blackaverre is wrapped up in a knee-sock inside my dresser drawer. I fixed my dress all by myself.”

  Gustav goes up on his haunches and checks out the furniture in question. “About time,” says the mouse.

  Beside Gustav, the chihuahua clears her throat. “Forgive me,” says Gustav. “I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Killer.”

  Bry steps up to our little group. “Did you say her name was Killer?”

  “Ruff,” says Killer.

  Huh. I make a mental note to send some fairy dust her way. Then Killer will be able to chat human style.

  Gustav rubs his little front paws together. “So, are we doing the whole Cinderella thing?”

  “You know it.”

  “Yay!” Gustav jumps with joy. “I’ll summon my buddies. Want to meet downstairs by the street?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” I turn to Bry. “Thank you for babysitting Blackaverre.”

  Bry bobs her brows. “Go kick some ass.”

  I sashay from my old bedroom. As I near the door, I catch my reflection in one of the black and white photos that hang on my wall. In one, I see my Cinderella get-up. At a quick glance, it seems as if I now stand between my parents.

  All of us smile.

  42

  Elle

  Seconds later, I step out the broken front door of Cynder Mercantile. Sure enough, Gustav and five of his buddies wait on the sidewalk. As tourists pause before the house, Gustav and company skitter off to hide under a Starbucks bag. Killer prances around the paper. Clearly, she’s protecting her guy.

  I understand how she feels.

  Soon, a small group of humans surrounds me. A few pull out cell phones. One little girl pulls on her Mom’s hand. “Oh, here’s another Cinderella!”

  Another Cinderella?

  My eyes widen as I realize the truth. Of course. There will be tons of girls going to the Glass Slipper Ball… or dressing up to celebrate.

  I kneel down before the girl. “What’s your name?”

  “Hannah. Are you really Cinderella?”

  “Call me Elle. What did you see with the other Cinderellas?”

  “We saw one sponsored by this really awesome TV magician,” answers Hannah. “He made the dress change before our eyes.”

  “Hmm, that’s pretty cool.”

  Hannah lowers her voice. “I think the guy was magic.”

  “Magic, huh?” I straighten. “Well, I’m already dressed. How about I show you my horse and carriage getting set up?”

  “Oh,” Hannah frowns. “The magic guy did that, too.”

  I bob my brows. “Not the way I do it.”

  Hannah narrows her eyes. “We’ll see.”

  Huh. Tough customer here.

  Normally, I can’t risk showing my magic in public, let alone in front of humans. But this is no ordinary day. People are faking up Cinderella magic all over the city. A little dose of the real thing won’t hurt.

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my pumpkin and set it onto the sidewalk. Lifting my arms, I twiddle my fingers. “Stand back, folks.”

  The crowd doesn’t move. Welcome to New York.

  Inside my soul, I summon a fresh round of fae power. Sure, I just accessed my enchanter abilities for the first time. But that was while I was delirious and in a basement. This is on Second Avenue and fo
r a New York crowd. I’m calling on my strongest ability here.

  Girl’s gotta put her best foot forward.

  Around me, the crowd chatters. I get it. No one expects a big magic show on Second Avenue.

  They’re in for a surprise.

  In my mind’s eye, I picture the silver pixie dust that churns throughout my soul. I issue a silent command.

  Create.

  Threads of silver magic wrap about my hands and arms. The crowd quiets a little bit. I consider that progress. The enchanted mist cascades off my hands to twirl toward my keys for tonight.

  I’m talking the tiny pumpkin.

  Gustav and his five mouse buddies.

  And of course, Killer the chihuahua.

  The humans all fall silent. Some pull out their cell phones. More progress.

  The colored mist whirls ever faster around the pumpkin, mice, and Killer. The silver dust balloons in shape, masking the transformation of what’s beneath.

  Now, I’m getting oohs and ahhs from the crowd.

  The dust vanishes, leaving behind a round glass carriage. Gustav and his buddies are now white horses. And Killer is the cutest driver you’ve ever seen. She wears a white long coat and matching pants. There’s still a pink bow atop her white-blonde hair.

  The humans break out into applause. Hannah jumps while shouting, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

  And with that, it’s official. I’m so rocking it here.

  I take the opportunity to wave to the crowd. I even do the classic Cinderella move, which goes elbow-elbow, wrist-wrist. Killer leaps down from her riding bench and opens the carriage door.

  “Milady,” says Killer. Her tongue hangs out as she pants. “I can talk.”

  The front horse swings his great head in our direction. “Told you Elle could do it.”

  I wave at my mouse-buddy-tuned-horse. “You know it, Gustav.”

  I step into the carriage. Killer closes the door behind me before retaking her driving bench.

  “Are we ready?” asks Killer. She still keeps lolling her tongue out one side of her mouth. That will lessen as she gets used to her new powers.