by Helen Harper
‘As I’m sure you’ve heard,’ Adeline said briskly, with a side look at Delilah, ‘we are no longer running at full capacity. You’ll have to learn on the job.’ Her eyes were flinty. ‘It’s the best way. I’m sure you’ll pick up all the important details before too long.’ Then, before I could say anything or ask a single question, she whirled away, tossing a single reminder over her shoulder. ‘And make sure you clean up that sorry excuse for a desk!’
Delilah raised an eyebrow in my direction. Now that we’d shared some real gossip together, she’d warmed up considerably. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Besides, all those training videos are so boring your brain would turn to mush watching them.’
I gave her a small smile and wished my insides weren’t trembling quite so much. Adeline’s remarkably fast turn around on the subject of letting me loose on clients was very strange. Suspiciously so. Not to mention that now I knew why I’d really been posted here, I had even more to prove. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure that I’d manage it. I looked down at my client list, and the case numbers next to each name. I had no idea where to begin. Coffee, I decided. I needed something stronger than tea and I did deserve a brief break. Unfortunately vodka was currently out of the question. I nodded to myself. Yes. First of all, I’d have to get myself some coffee.
***
In a final burst of helpfulness, Delilah pointed me towards the small galley kitchen towards the back of the office. I grabbed myself a large mug with a cartoon drawing of a multi-coloured unicorn on it which might at least raise my spirits and made a cup of instant. The granules smelled cheap and the only milk I could find was that crap powdered stuff. By this point in time, that hardly mattered. As long as it was vaguely hot, contained caffeine and was strong enough to numb my tastebuds, it would do the job. There was a small fridge but it was packed full of labeled Tupperware dishes and various cartons, each one stating categorically that terrible things would happen to anyone who so much as munched on a slice of limp cucumber that didn’t belong to them. At least I knew that there was also a staff canteen where I could get food, even if I didn’t yet know where it was located. After the ear debacle, I didn’t think I could eat anything anyway.
As I wended my way to my desk, Billy reappeared. When he saw me, his expression darkened and he stomped over. ‘What are you doing?’
I should have thought that was obvious. I smiled at him and didn’t answer. In this scenario whatever response I gave would obviously elicit a minor explosion. It would be better to let him get on with it so I could start work sooner.
‘You,’ he said, wagging his finger in my face, ‘cannot walk around here with a hot drink like that! What happens if you spill it onto someone and they end up with third degree burns?’
Considering the water from the urn was more lukewarm than piping hot, I reckoned the chance of anyone being burnt by the liquid in my unicorn mug was incredibly unlikely. ‘It won’t happen again,’ I said. Of course I was lying.
He gave me a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare.
‘Bill,’ Rupert drawled, his head appearing from round a nearby partition, ‘give the girl a break. It’s her first day and it’s already been a traumatic one.’ He flashed me an open-mouthed grin. ‘How are you coping, Saffron? Are you feeling alright?’ He stretched his arms behind his head, his tanned biceps bulging as he did so. I suddenly had the distinct feeling that was a practised move designed to show his body off to the best effect. Ah. Okay then.
I fluttered my eyelashes and thought about that time that I’d gone on a snail trail holiday to New York, travelling by plane rather than magical Metafora, and had ended up in the longest queue for customs and immigration in the world. I’d had a dodgy stomach the entire flight over but I hadn’t quite realised how bad it was until I was stood in a crowd of people with no toilets on hand and had released what I’d thought was merely a gassy fart. My cheeks flamed red at the memory and Rupert’s grin grew. There was nothing quite like having the new girl blush in front of you on her first day to make you feel good about yourself. I might not trust him but that didn’t mean I wasn’t beneath manipulating the faery dust out of him.
‘I’m doing fine,’ I mumbled. ‘Thanks.’
Billy looked disgusted. That was okay; I’d deal with him later. I ducked my head down and made the remainder of the journey to my dusty corner. Given how many clients I had to see before Friday, I’d have to put my concerns about my new work colleagues, the strange disappearances, and the severed ear, away for now. I placed my mug onto the one clear spot on my desk and hefted the cobweb strewn filing boxes into a haphazard pile underneath. I strongly suspected that if I simply threw them out without checking the contents, I’d then be held responsible for losing several vital pieces of paper. I’d go through them later before I consigned them to the dump. I sneezed as motes of dust swirled round me in the air and gave Delilah a brief apology. She waved at me as if were no matter but I could tell from the look in her eye that she was none too impressed. I paid her no more attention and instead wheeled my broken chair to one of the empty desks, swapping it for the one that already sat there. Whether it belonged to poor Lydia, Alistair, Boris, Edwina or Jane, neither of them would be needing it any time soon. My new chair’s wheels were wonky, making it difficult to steer back to my desk. It was still an improvement on the other one though. I battled with it, managing to drag it to my little cubicle with some effort. I ignored the side glances of spitting hatred which I received for my actions, and settled myself down. Whatever. No matter what else was going on, I was still going to be the most awesome faery godmother the world had ever seen.
Chapter Seven
There was little to compare between my new clients. They each lived in different parts of the country and each were different ages, different genders and had different professions. I supposed it would be good to start with such a diverse range. I’d learn more that way.
The first name on my list was Luke Wells, a nineteen year old student reading Philosophy, Politics and Economics at Oxford University. I typed the case number into my laptop, ignoring the continuous whirring sound it made as its fan struggled to work, and scanned the sparse details. There was very little to go by – name, date of birth and basic family circumstances. His parents, Mr and Mrs Wells, lived in London in a small terraced house although Luke himself had actually been born in Oxford. There were no other details about his parents. Not even first names. Luke had no brothers or sisters and there was no indication of a criminal record on his part. Any further information I’d have to research on my own. It was just as well I’d worked with plenty of university students in my time as a dope faery. A number of them had come from prestigious universities, like Oxford. I knew the type. Privately educated, pots of money, and egos to match. This kid, however, was from a working class background. From what I could glean by hacking into the university records, his studies were going well and he was excelling in his tutorials. That could only mean that his problems were social.
‘You don’t feel like you fit in, do you?’ I said to the screen. ‘You’re surrounded by Ruperts and Alicias and Figgys all of whom have important family names and country estates and the ability to perform dressage. You’re feeling left out.’ I rubbed my palms together. My first case was one I could get my teeth into. This would be fantastic.
I’d already clocked the silver door with its sparkly M located next to the lift. It was identical to the one the dope faeries used. I drained my cup and stood up. Lunch was fast approaching and my stomach was already beginning to rumble. If I could make contact with Luke before I got myself some food though, I’d prove to everyone watching me that I had a strong work ethic, even if I didn’t really know much about the finer aspects of my job.
I grabbed my bag, the ridiculous pink cloak and my wand, before waving to Delilah and heading off, passing Alicia along the way. I hadn’t seen her leave the Director’s office. If I had, I’d have taken the time to check on her. Despite her earlier unfriendlin
ess, she had been shaken badly by Lydia’s ear. In any case, there was no point talking to her now. A crowd of other godmothers, including Figgy, were crowded round her, patting her shoulder and offering murmurs of deep sympathy. The vast majority of my sympathy was with ear-less Lydia if I were being frank. Even I knew better than to say that out loud, however. I doubted that Alicia would welcome my concern anyway. I kept my head down until I reached the Metafora door, when I shifted my bag, straightened my shoulders and pressed down on the door handle. The delicious undercurrent of magic reverberated through my skin.
‘Wait!’ A thin, reedy voice squeaked behind me. ‘If you’re going out, you need this!’
I removed my hand from the door handle and turned round. Standing in front of me was the teenager who’d taken my photo earlier. He was thrusting out a lanyard in my direction. ‘You have to take this if you’re going out. If you don’t have it, the Metafora won’t work.’
Well, that was going to be annoying. I cursed to myself before smoothing my features over. It wasn’t the work experience kid’s fault that the faery godmothers stuck to such rigid rules. ‘Thank you for this,’ I said. ‘I appreciate that you did it so quickly.’
He looked startled. ‘You’re welcome.’ He backed away and all but ran off in the opposite direction. I wondered if it was me in particular who was making him nervous or the Metafora room itself. Then I glanced down at the photo on my new ID and understood what the problem was. My eyes were half closed, making me look like I was on drugs, and my hair appeared to have escaped from the tight bun I’d drawn it into this morning. Curls were springing out in all directions. It looked less like I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards and more like I’d taken styling tips from Albert Einstein before being struck by lightning, hauled through a hurricane and then pulled through the hedge. To add insult to injury, my name underneath the photo was spelt Savlon. I grimaced and looked up but the kid had sensibly vanished. It didn’t look as if I’d be getting a second ID card any time soon.
Sighing, I yanked out my hair clips and threw them into the nearest bin before shaking my hair out. If I looked a mess then I might as well own it and go the whole hog. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two other faery godmothers smirking at me. I did the only thing I could do and smirked back. And then, finally, I entered the Metafora room.
It was small but perfectly formed. No bigger than the lift next door, the white marble walls sparkled, light bouncing off them despite the lack of windows. I carefully stepped forward until my toes were touching the tiny X marking the floor. I fumbled with my cloak, eventually managing to swing it round my shoulders so that it at least looked vaguely cloak like, and tied the ribbon at my neck. I tugged at it so it didn’t dig too much into the bare skin around my neck. It felt incredibly cumbersome and heavy. I wrinkled my nose. I supposed I’d get used to it sooner or later. At least I looked the part of faery godmother if nothing else. I adjusted my stance, then I pulled back my shoulders and recited the case number in a clear voice before closing my eyes. There was a familiar faint whoosh. A moment later, I found myself standing in front of a plain wooden door.
I glanced around. Stacks of shelves were behind me, each one crammed full of books. A library then. I nodded to myself. So far so expected. Luke Wells was no doubt in the study carrel in front of me, poring over complicated texts with a pen in his mouth and ink staining his fingers. I smiled to myself. This was it; this was what I’d dreamed of for all these years. I was about to grant him his wish and change his life for the better.
I rapped sharply on the door and entered, without waiting to be admitted. The client in question wasn’t frowning over a book or taking copious notes, however. He was slumped across the desk, his arm covering his eyes, and a gentle snore was emitting from his nose. There was also the definite reek of stale alcohol. My brow furrowed. Perhaps the carrel’s previous occupant had enjoyed a heavy night on the town. Luke Wells – my Luke Wells – would only have been up all night to study. I looked around. There were no books in evidence. All I could see were some scraps of paper with scrawled doodles on them. I peered at one of them. Actually, instead of the dick scribble I’d been expecting, it was an elaborate design of some sort of insignia. Maybe Luke here was a frustrated artist.
I cleared my throat. ‘Hello!’
The only response I received was another snore. I drew out my wand and poked his shoulder.
Luke let out an unappealing nasal harrumph and groaned. I poked him again. This time, he started, throwing himself backwards in the process and almost knocking me off my feet.
‘Who the fuck are you? This carrel is booked out for the morning. Go find your own corner.’
I must have interrupted a very good snooze. ‘I’m here for you, Luke,’ I said. ‘I’m in the right place.’
He ran a hand through mussed brown hair and squinted. ‘I don’t know you.’ He hesitated. ‘Do I?’ He looked me up and down. ‘Did we shag last weekend after the Byers’ party? Darling, as fun as that was, if you’re looking for a re-run, then you’re going to be disappointed. I make a point of never sleeping with the same person twice.’ He peered into my face. ‘I can’t actually believe I slept you with once to be honest. You’re a bit older than my usual.’
I blinked. This was far from what I’d expected. ‘You’re mistaking me for someone else,’ I said stiffly.
‘Then who are you?’ He reached and touched my pink cloak. ‘Is this some sort of prank?’ He glanced round at the bare walls. ‘Am I being filmed right now?’
‘I can assure you that isn’t the case.’ I raised my chin. ‘I am Saffron,’ I said importantly. ‘I’m your faery godmother.’
Luke stared at me for one long moment. Then he burst out laughing. ‘Yeah, alright. And I’m Cinderella.’ He leaned into my face, exhaling a noxious cloud of bad breath as he did so. ‘Fuck off now. I’ve got important sleep to catch up on.’
I stayed where I was. Okay, perhaps he wasn’t quite the righteously deserving client I’d been expecting but I could adapt. I’d dealt with plenty worse than him. I’d been a damned dope faery after all. ‘I understand it’s hard for you to believe,’ I said softly. ‘But it’s true. I’m your faery godmother and I’m here to make all your dreams come true.’ I paused. ‘Well, one dream anyway. I don’t have time for all of them.’ I waved my wand around to prove the veracity of my words.
Luke rocked back on his heels. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I can see why holding a stick and wearing a pink sheet would make you think you look magical. What you don’t realise is that you look like a prized fool. Whatever game you’re playing or whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.’ He nodded behind me. ‘There’s the door.’ He turned round, heaved himself into his chair and slumped down over the desk once again.
I chewed on my bottom lip. Why would he believe me? He lived in a normal world where magic didn’t exist. I’d given him no cause to think that I was telling the truth. This had never been an issue with my previous clients. Their drug filled heads had rarely required me to introduce myself. This was a whole new ball game for me. No doubt one of the training videos which I hadn’t managed to see had covered this eventuality. Perhaps it was also in the heavy manual which I’d not yet read. It was too late now though. I’d simply have to wing it.
I thought about it for a second and then waved my wand. Almost instantly, the smell of bacon overtook the reek of old alcohol. Luke raised his head once again and stared at the bacon roll now sitting on the desk.
‘Where did that come from?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘I conjured it from thin air,’ I told him. ‘It’ll help with your hangover.’ I took a step towards him. ‘I need you to concentrate, Luke. You don’t want to mess up your one and only chance with me. You only get one faery godmother wish. A clear head will help.’
He was still staring at the roll. I wasn’t sure he’d heard anything I’d said. ‘You brought that in with you,’ he said. ‘You know, food isn’t allowed in the library
.’
From what little I’d learned about him so far, somehow I didn’t think that was a rule he particularly cared about. ‘I didn’t bring it in with me,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I magicked it up. If I’d come in that door with it, you’d have smelled it before now.’
He swiveled round in his chair and gave me another long look. His eyes were incredibly red-rimmed. ‘I’d rather have a coffee,’ he said.
I waved my wand again. There, right next to the bacon roll, was now a large cup of Brazil’s finest. I even included a sachet of brown sugar.
‘There,’ I said, satisfied. ‘Drink up. I’d like to get this out of the way before lunch.’
Luke reached for the cup, sniffing it cautiously before raising it to his mouth. Then he seemed to think better of it and placed it back down again. ‘You’ve poisoned it,’ he accused.
I frowned. ‘I can assure you that I have not.’
‘Listen, lady,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re after but I don’t need this shit. Fuck off out of here.’
‘Luke,’ I began, before deciding that perhaps being more formal would be the way to go. ‘Mr Wells, if you just…’
I didn’t get the chance to finish. He staggered up to his feet, reached behind me for the door, opening it with one hand and shoving me hand with a hard nudge with the other.
‘Wait!’ I protested.
The door slammed shut. I gritted my teeth. This was ridiculous. I would go back in there and do whatever it took in order to get him to believe that I really was his faery godmother. I glared at the closed door. Before I could reach for the door handle again, however, my surroundings began to blur and I heard the quiet whoosh indicating I was being transported to the office. Somewhat belatedly it occurred to me that I’d made a fatal error. Clients only received one wish. I’d given Luke Wells the coffee he’d asked for and the magic had decided that his needs had been satisfied. Fuck a puck.
