How I Found the Perfect Dress (9 page)

“Morganne,” he scolded. “Don't tell me you've forgotten me
again
!”

“Oh,
fek
!” I exclaimed. “Finnbar? Is that you?” All too well I remembered the mischievous, spoiled faery boy who'd brought chaos to a kingdom. Finnbar and his clever, maddening enchantments was single-handedly responsible for my adventures in long-ago Ireland last summer. But last summer Finnbar was just a kid, maybe ten years old. Now—assuming this was really him—he was my age, and a hunk to boot.

“Is it me, she asks!” He sighed. “Am I so very unmemorable? Morganne, you do tend to hurt my feelings.”

Maybe he wasn't a boy soprano anymore, but that petulant, teasing voice was pure Finnbar. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “Of course I haven't forgotten you. It's just that the last time I saw you, you were a little boy.”

“Even little mortal boys don't stay that way for long, you know.” He smiled. “Children are not allowed at faery balls, and I desperately wanted to come to this one! So I came as myself, but grown.”

I didn't get it.

He
humphed
with impatience. “Think, Morganne! You're practically grown. Don't you remember yourself as a child?”

“Of course I do.”

“So,” he said, as if he were explaining something that was ridiculously obvious, “when I'm a child, why shouldn't I remember myself grown? Honestly, you make everything so complicated!” Finnbar looked at me disapprovingly. “Someone should have told you it's a costume ball, though. You're not really dressed appropriately.”

For a guy in a chicken suit,
I thought,
you've got a lot to say about other people's outfits.
I looked down, half-expecting to see myself decked out in a floor-length, flowy goddess-gown, suitable for personal appearances in the faery realm, but I was still in the jeans and Converse high-tops I'd worn to Lucky Lou's. My hands flew up to my hair: It was short, not long and wavy and princesslike, the way it had been the last time someone called me Morganne.

“Wait,” I said. “In Ireland, I was either Morgan or Morganne. Right now I seem to be both. What gives?”

“Morgan, Morganne, hair, no hair. You place so much importance on externals! And
spelling
! Never my best subject.” He giggled, which made his feathers shake. “That little boy from the farmhouse saw you as you really are, though, never fear.” Then he frowned. “But your outfit does need—something. Would you like to wear the chicken head?”

“No, thanks.” He seemed disappointed. “Listen, Finnbar.” I tried to sound friendly. “I would love to hang out with you and catch up. First, though, I need you to tell me what's been happening to my friend Colin.”

“But you
did
want a beverage, didn't you?” said a tall, very thin woman, gliding up to us. She was dressed exactly like the milkmaid in the animatronic band at Lucky Lou's, except with too much makeup and a serious case of scary Botox face. Kind of like Mrs. Blainsvoort. “I thought that's why you came!”

Before I could reply, the woman handed me a tall, steaming Lucky Lou's to-go cup. “Your latte, my dear. Two shots, extra foam. Just the way you like it.”

“Oh no,” Finnbar muttered. “It's Mum.”

 

 

“We've never had a ball With a
produce
theme before,” the woman remarked, as she led us over to the buffet. The food was laid out on the far side of the clearing, on tables made of enormous tree stumps. “It's so
rustic
! Don't you love it?”

A pair of faeries dressed as cantaloupes attempted to waltz past us, but with their round melon bellies they could barely reach each other's hands. “Granted, some of the outfits are not
perfectly
suitable for dancing. But don't they look delicious? I hope you don't mind the recorded music,” she added slyly. “This DJ leaves something to be desired, but our usual musicians were already engaged for the evening.”

“I don't care about the music,” I said. “But who are you?”

Finnbar started to giggle again, as if I'd just said the funniest thing in the world. His mother shushed him with a glance.

“Silly Morganne,” she said. “I'm—”

“Queen Titania!” A pint of strawberries wearing a dangling tag marked “organic” ran over to us. “May I borrow your delightful guest for a dance?” The strawberries held out a hand to me. “Unless you're prone to rashes? Some people find me an allergen, but it's completely unintentional, I assure you.”

“Maybe after I finish my coffee,” I said, gesturing with my cup. I had no interest in dancing; I just wanted to get the Faery Folk to lay off Colin. But I knew it was best to be diplomatic with these magical types.

“Yes, come back shortly, dear Berrywinkle,” said the queen. “The poor girl hasn't even eaten yet. Finnbar, fix Morganne a plate.”

Finnbar moved to obey, but his hands were still trapped inside his costume's floppy chicken wings. “Next time, can we
please
have a sit-down dinner?” he grumbled. “Buffets can be so difficult.”

“I can help myself,” I said, but when I looked at the food I completely lost my appetite. The trays were filled with tiny people, dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns and all creepily realistic. The more I looked, the more I was afraid I would recognize some of them.

“They're made of marzipan,” Finnbar explained. “Since the guests are dressed as food, Mother thought the food ought to be dressed as guests.”

“It
was
my idea!” said the queen, proudly.

“That's fascinating,” I said, turning away from the buffet before I got sick. “It's a lovely party. But I came here to find out how to help my friend.”

“You must mean Colin,” Queen Titania said, picking up one of the marzipan people and nibbling at its feet. “He's quite a good dancer, you know. I do hope we see him later, at the evening ball.” The queen pouted. “Last Saturday he didn't show up. We were horribly disappointed. It was the first ball he's missed in months.”

“He slept at my house last Saturday.” I watched for her reaction.

“Well, that explains it,” she said, looking at me with glittering eyes. Our ‘limo driver' would have had a hard time finding him if he were under your protection. What a pity. Everyone adores Colin. He was sorely”—she took another nibble—“
sorely
missed.”

“So,” I said slowly, trying to keep the challenge out of my voice, “you've been bringing Colin to your faery balls every night, while he sleeps?”

The queen smiled. “Of course.” She made a sweeping gesture that took in the revels around us. “There are so very many faery princesses, you see. And with so many balls to attend, it can be difficult to find a suitable date! We need all the attractive male guests we can find. Colin is quite a catch,” she added. “I really must thank you for bringing him to our attention.”

“What do you mean?” I knew it was a bad idea to get snotty with her but I couldn't help it. “I never ‘brought him to your attention.'”

She looked at me with pity, as if I should already know. “You left your mark on him, Morganne. And surely any man to strike
your
fancy must be a worthy partner for a princess!”

“My ‘mark'?” I said, my heart sinking.

“You anointed him with your affection,” Queen Titania said solemnly. “You halo'd him with the glimmer of a half-goddess's desire. To the eye of a faery, he shines like a thousand fireflies in the night. All because of you.” The queen gobbled up the rest of the marzipan person and delicately licked her fingertips. “He's impossible to ignore, frankly. But I don't have to tell
you
that.”

Fek.
Could this be any worse? Colin was under an enchantment, and it was all my fault. “I would like to take my mark off him, then,” I said firmly. “What do I have to do to make you leave him alone?”

Finnbar sidled next to me. “Morganne,” he cautioned. “Perhaps it's time for a dance.” But the queen just laughed.

“Silly girl, what a question! Why should we leave him alone? He really has a very good time here.”

“He doesn't even remember it,” I said. “And it's making him sick. He's human; he needs to sleep.”

“No, he wouldn't remember, of course,” she murmured. “But we would miss him dreadfully.” She picked up another marzipan person off the silver tray. “How charming! This one looks very much like Colin, don't you think, Finnbar?” Before he could answer, the queen bit off the figure's head. “I'd really much prefer you left things as they are,” she said to me, her mouth full.

“But if I caused the enchantment,” I pressed, ignoring the headless Colin in her hand, “then I must have the power to undo it. Don't I?”

The queen shrugged and viciously shoved the rest of the marzipan man into her mouth. “Mmm, listen! One of my favorite songs!” She started to dance and sing along with the music. “‘It's raining men! Hallelujah!'”

That was enough for me. I was out of patience and more than a little pissed off. Plus, I really hated that song. “Finnbar,” I said. “Take me home.”

Looking glum, Finnbar put the chicken head back on and slowly waddled back toward the forest. I followed, still carrying my now-cold latte.

Behind us, the Queen laughed and danced. “Your question,” she called over her shoulder, “has a very
short
answer.”

She boogied to the music and threw her hands in the air. “Amen!” she hollered, to no one in particular. “Hallelulah!”

 

 

finnbar led me through the Woods again, back to the edge of the field. In the distance I saw the farmhouse, now lit from within, a plume of smoke rising cozily from the chimney.

He removed his chicken head once more. “They're nice old humans, that farmer and his wife,” he remarked. “I chat with them sometimes. The wife makes me tea. It's pleasant. So few mortals their age can see me. Usually I only have children to play with.” Finnbar looked at me quite seriously. “Sometimes I wonder if it's kept me immature. What do
you
think, Morganne?”

Despite my fury at Queen Titania, the thought of Finnbar sipping cups of tea with Colin's granny made me smile. “Immature people don't usually worry about whether or not they're immature,” I said. “So I'd say you're doing fine.”

He beamed. “What a brilliant observation! You
must
visit me again soon, Morganne. It's so refreshing to be spoken to kindly. Mother can be—well, I don't have to tell you.” He looked at me curiously. “You don't remember her, do you?”

“Should I?” I asked.

He paused, then shrugged. “It's all so long ago—ah, here we are!” The eggshell-strewn path was in front of me; I could see the fluorescent glow of Lucky Lou's like a beacon at the far end. “Just follow the crunchy path.” Finnbar waved goodbye with one of his stubby yellow wings.

“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “It was nice to see you again.”

“Make sure you finish your coffee,” Finnbar urged. “Mother hates it when food goes to waste.”

 

 

i made mЧ WaЧ back, Crunching mЧ WaЧ CarefullЧ along the eggshells. The double doors swung open slowly at my approach. Once I'd passed through they closed behind me, and when I wheeled around and peered back through the glass, all I saw was the stockroom of Lucky Lou's. The store itself was in normal Saturday afternoon mode: noisy and swarming with shoppers and the ever-helpful, red-aproned Luckies.

I was sick of carrying my coffee around, but Finnbar's warning was not to be ignored.
A little caffeine buzz wouldn't hurt right now,
I thought, as I chugged the latte. It wasn't until I'd drained the last sweet slurp that I realized why Finnbar had told me to finish it.

At the bottom of the empty cup were some words: