My Unfair Godmother (20 page)

Chrissy spread her wings out like a butterfly and they shimmered in the darkness of the barn. “I thought after our conversation about Robin Hood’s story, you would have learned that you can’t trust writers. They’re a shiftless and unreliable bunch who spend their time 178/356

making stuff up. Didn’t it ever occur to you that the queen wouldn’t want everyone to know she could spin straw into gold? It’s bad enough that she had to spin it to get her husband. Can you imagine the friends, relatives, and salesmen who would have come out of the woodwork to pester her? You know what mortals are like.” Chrissy laughed as though she’d forgotten who was standing in front of her. “Of course
you
know. You asked for gold yourself.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Money is easy to create, but gold is tricky. The leprechaun union has a monopoly on those enchantments.

You can’t just hand them out. I’m not sure how I would have granted your wish if I hadn’t known of a certain leprechaun who lost his gold enchantment in a poker game to a disgraced ex-fairy.”

“Ex-fairy?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“If a fairy breaks magical laws, the Unified Magical Alliance strips him of his fairy power and locks it up. An ex-fairy still craves magic, though. It’s part of our essence, and without it, we shrivel away and eventually die. So ex-fairies are known for stealing magic from anywhere they can take it—from wizards, pixies, unicorns, trolls—and especially other fairies. As you can imagine, ex-fairies aren’t invited to many parties.” Chrissy smiled airily. “I’d like to see Mistress Berrypond find fault with my methodology on this one. I’m not only granting your wish, I’m taking an enchantment away from an ex-fairy who shouldn’t have it in the first place. It’s killing two birds with one stone.

Except you won’t actually be killed. Well, probably not anyway.”

“Probably?” I sputtered.

Her wings closed. “I have no control over what happens after you make your wish. Giants, kings, and pirates tend to kidnap things that can produce gold. And Rumpelstiltskin is ruthless. You know what they say, ‘An ex-fairy is a vengeful fairy.’ ” 179/356

This didn’t make me feel better. “How would I know that anyone says that?”

“Oh. Well, they do.” Chrissy checked her watch. “My break’s about over.”

I held out my hands, trying to keep her from leaving, trying to make her understand. “You can’t make me go through with this. I didn’t know any of this would happen when I made my wish.” She looked at me benevolently. “Well, that puts you on par with the rest of humanity, doesn’t it? Wishes are powerful things. You can’t expect them to change the world without changing you too.” Her eyes didn’t leave mine and she let out a sigh.

I thought she’d taken pity on me and would help me somehow.

Instead, she pulled her wand from her purse and swished it in my direction. “Really, with your fair complexion, you shouldn’t go without lipstick.” She gave me a satisfied smile, and then the light around her drew in on itself, shrinking into a pinpoint until she disappeared.

I was alone and still chained up, but now I was wearing lipstick.

Stupid fairy.

I tried to walk over and kick the stool, but the chain held me back and I was only able to kick uselessly at some stray strands of straw.

After this brief and pointless flare of temper, I sank down to the floor and glared at the walls. No wonder Chrissy needed extra credit.

Her fairy godmother skills were woefully lacking. Which meant I couldn’t count on her. I was on my own, grappling with a fate I didn’t want. Again.

No, I wasn’t completely on my own. Hudson was here. He was trying to help me. I looked to the door, hoping he would come in.

It was easy to conjure up images of Hudson, easy to picture his dark brown eyes and square jaw. Too easy. I made a quick, panicked inventory of my feelings.

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Hudson and I were in the same situation, and it had created a bond between us. It was the only reason I wanted to see him so badly right now. It didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he was tall and handsome, or that he had an air of confidence about him, a sturdy competence … that he was the type of person who could be dropped into a completely different world and still find a way to survive, to get what he needed.

The girls at school had said he was sullen and didn’t date anymore, didn’t socialize. He clearly didn’t want a girlfriend, so he was the last guy I should start getting romantic ideas about.

I forced myself to turn away from the door. I had no guarantee that Hudson would help me get home. He might just use my help to get the Gilead and then go home without me. I couldn’t let myself fall for him. Bo had said he loved me, and it hadn’t been real. My parents had said they loved each other, and that hadn’t been real either. Romantic love was as unreliable and dangerous as fairy magic and should be avoided at all costs.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and let my chin sink into the silky material of my dress. Despite the warning to myself, I still wanted to see Hudson. I watched the closed door and felt downright needy. I didn’t know how to make the emotion stop. How did you take away a longing that lay deep inside—a longing to love someone else?

Would he come in if I called him? Why wasn’t he coming on his own?

“Hudson …,” I whispered. But I didn’t call his name. And he didn’t open the door. A single tear rolled down my cheek. The next moment, I was staring at a pair of pointed leather boots in front of me.

Rumpelstiltskin had come back.

Chapter 13

I gulped and looked up at Rumpelstiltskin. He bent down and wiped the tear from my cheek, shaking his head slowly. “What a wicked man to treat you thus.”

“What?” For a moment I thought he’d peered into my mind and read my thoughts about Hudson. Could fairies do that?

“Giving King John a taste of gold has been akin to giving a wild dog a taste of blood. He won’t let go of a fine morsel like you.” His sor-rowful tone didn’t match the glint of pleasure in his eyes. He had wanted King John to make more demands of me.

Rumpelstiltskin’s hand was still on my cheek. I stood up so I could step away from him.

He gazed around the room at the towering stacks of straw and tsk-tsked. “He’ll have no straw for bedding if he keeps this up. No doubt about it. Does he plan to make you spin every night? What did he tell you?”

“He said I had to get the ability to turn the straw into gold myself, or he would execute me and my family. If I do spin the straw into gold, he’ll marry me. I consider the second fate only a little better than the first.”

Rumpelstiltskin laughed, but I wasn’t joking.

He walked around me with what I imagine was supposed to look like a thoughtful expression on his face. His motion reminded me of the way a shark circled its prey. “Has King John taken your family?”

“No, but he asked Haverton to find them.” Rumpelstiltskin stopped in front of me and pulled a small hand mirror out of his breast pocket. It sat in a decorative frame with such 182/356

lifelike gold leaves entwined around it that I knew it had to be magic.

“I can show you your family, if you’d like.” He placed the mirror in my hand. It felt light and warm as though it had been lying in the sun. I looked into it, but instead of seeing my reflection, I only saw smooth blackness.

Rumpelstiltskin leaned over my shoulder. “Say their names, and the glass will show you where they are.” I hesitated. It seemed dangerous to take gifts from Rumpelstiltskin, but I wanted to see my father and Nick and Sandra so badly—to know they were okay. I gripped the warm mirror and said, “Frank Miller.” Wherever he was, the others would be too.

The glass fogged with blurry shapes and colors flitting across it; then the picture cleared, grew sharp. And there was my father, his face painted a camouflage green, standing in front of Nick. My father still had the paintbrush in his hand and was painting Nick’s face too. A fire must have been going nearby because there was enough light not only to see them, but to see the trees around them.

I hadn’t noticed the words that appeared on the bottom of the glass until Rumpelstiltskin read them. “River Bend. That’s not far from here. I wonder why they’ve come so close to the castle.”

“Why are they painting their faces?” I asked.

Rumpelstiltskin frowned as though it were of no consequence.

“Mortals do such odd things. They’re hard to understand, aren’t they?” He took the mirror from my hands, and it clouded, then went blank.

I had to fight the urge to snatch it back. I wanted to see my father and Nick again, to try to figure out what they were doing.

“The important thing,” Rumpelstiltskin went on, “is that they’re alive and safe. Now we must worry about your safety.” He leaned so close his breath brushed against my cheek. It smelled of fires and au-tumn leaves. “I can give you the enchantment that turns things into 183/356

gold, and then King John will not only spare your life, he’ll elevate you to queen. As his wife, you’ll be protected and cherished.” Protected and cherished? Rumpelstiltskin had either never met King John, or didn’t think I had.

“As fond as I am of you,” Rumpelstiltskin went on, “I would hate to part with such a powerful enchantment. I’m not certain what I’d ask for it.” He made a show of looking me over. “You have no other jewelry, but after you marry the king, he’ll give you many things. You’ll have so many treasures, you won’t miss one. So, in exchange for giving you my gold enchantment now, I’ll come back in a year, and you must consent to give me whatever I choose.” He smiled and it sent chills down my spine. “Do we have an agreement?” That’s how it happened then. Rumpelstiltskin had saved the miller’s daughter’s life twice and asked for trinkets in return. Why wouldn’t she have trusted him? Why would she have expected him to ask for her child? I had always thought she cared more about her own life than her baby’s. But perhaps selling away your children didn’t happen all at once. Perhaps selling your children, your future, just happened one bad decision at a time.

Rumpelstiltskin held out his thin hand to me. “Shall we shake on our bargain, Mistress Miller?”

He was trying to trick me into agreeing to his terms. I felt a surge of anger deeper than this room and this story. He wanted to hurt me and expected me to thank him for it.

I wasn’t about to calmly go along with it. As soon as I got
The
Change Enchantment
from Clover, I was going back to my day. I wouldn’t make any bargains here that could bring Rumpelstiltskin to my future hospital maternity room. This deal would be on my terms.

I shook my head. “No. You want my firstborn child. I’m not going to give him to you.”

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Rumpelstiltskin drew a sharp breath and took a step backward.

I’d surprised him, but he recovered soon enough. A mask of humor came over his face. “Why would you think that? What need do I have of a human child?”

“If you don’t want my child, then fine, write it down in a contract.

You can have any piece of jewelry you want, but you can’t have my children. Ever. I’ll make that bargain with you.” His face grew hard, and his lips twitched in anger. “I saved your life twice, and now I offer you untold wealth. You’re an ungrateful girl.

You care nothing for all I’ve done for you.”

“So I’ve been told by my parents more than once. You can’t guilt me into anything. I’ve had practice resisting that sort of thing. Go ahead—ask how long my mother was in labor with me.” I nodded philosophically. “Eighteen hours. Without painkillers.” He pointed a bony finger at me. “You’ll die without my help.” I paced slowly back and forth in front of him. “Are you allowed to buy human children? Does the Alliance know about this?” I had hoped that the name of the Alliance would strike some fear into him. After all, they had stripped him of his fairy powers.

But he laughed, and it was a hollow sound. “When you’re queen, you can have as many children as you desire. You’ll have none if you die in the morning.”

I didn’t answer, just kept pacing. The chain rattled dully against the ground as I moved.

He strolled over to one of the straw mounds, his silhouette as sparse as a shadow. He scooped up a handful, muttered something I couldn’t hear, and the straw changed to golden sticks in his palm. He held them out to me. “Think of the wealth you’ll have. You’ll want for nothing.”

“Unless I want my firstborn child.”

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He turned his palm and tipped the golden straw to the ground.

“Mistress Miller … be reasonable.”

It irked me that he kept calling me “Mistress Miller,” as though I didn’t need an actual name. Mistress Miller was a title that had nothing to do with me. I had never milled anything in my life.

I stopped pacing and folded my arms. “Why do you want a baby anyway?”

“Does it matter? Would you believe me if I told you?” His lips twisted into a suggestion of a grin. “Very well, then. I want to be a father.”

He was right. I didn’t believe him.

He picked up another piece of straw and twirled it lazily between his fingers. “This child doesn’t even exist yet, and you’re willing to give your life for it? What an odd species you are.” He muttered something and the straw between his fingers turned to gold mid twirl. “Although perhaps it’s just you, and not your species. Plenty of your kind discard their own children, don’t they? Tell me, did your father let out a peep when the king’s men carted you off to the castle to pay for his sins?”

“I told him to let the king’s men take me.” Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head in mock understanding. “And he listened to you. How noble.”

“My father is a good person,” I said.

Rumpelstiltskin ignored my statement. “Besides, maybe your firstborn child will be a girl and thus quite expendable.” I expected him to sneer after saying this, but he didn’t. He regarded me as though making a valid point. He not only believed girls were dispensable, he expected me to agree with him. Then I remembered what I had learned in history class about men’s attitudes toward women during the Middle Ages. Women were property, 186/356

without a say in anything. Men wanted sons, and women were just the means of creating them.

No wonder Rumpelstiltskin called me Mistress Miller. He had probably never bothered to learn my name.

Pointedly I said, “I don’t think girls are expendable.”

“You must think that
you
are expendable if you’re not willing to bargain with me. You’ll be killed in the morning—you and your family.” He tapped the golden straw against his lip, considering the matter. “I wonder how King John will do it.” The mention of my family made me shiver. “My family is safe.”

“For the moment, true, but not for long, since I’ll tell the guards where they are if you don’t agree to my terms. Your family will be easy enough to catch.”

My heart banged into my ribs. Rumpelstiltskin had given me the mirror to trick me into revealing my family’s location, and I had done it. How could I have been so foolish?

He flipped the straw he’d been twirling. It gleamed for one brief moment in the candlelight, then sank and disappeared into the straw mound. “You may not care about your own life, but are you willing to trade the lives of your entire family for an unborn baby?” I swallowed hard. I had to make the bargain. My only choice was in the wording. “Fine. If you give me the enchantment so I can turn things into gold, I’ll let you have any of my possessions—but you only have a year from this day to ask. Any children I have after the year 1200 are forever out of your reach.” Rumpelstiltskin sauntered over to me. “You think you can put off the wedding night for a year?”

I didn’t answer. He laughed again. “Very well. I agree to your terms. You’re a fair maiden and I’ll wager on King John’s impatience.” 187/356

He reached out and took my hand. I felt like I was shaking hands with a skeleton.

Then he stepped away from me and rubbed his bony hands together, not for warmth—in anticipation, to get down to business. “If I still had my wand, I could give you the enchantment that way. As it is, things are more complicated.”

He undid the top buttons of his shirt, revealing a pale, sickly chest. Chrissy had a glow about her skin, but Rumpelstiltskin had the pallor of a corpse. He reached under the folds of his shirt, flinched, and yanked something shiny off his skin. As he walked toward me, he held out the object for me to see. It was a golden heart, pulsing in his hand like a living thing.

I stepped backward. “What is that?”

“It’s the enchantment. Once I give this to you, only you will be able to take it off again. I wouldn’t though—all sorts of folk would try to steal it from you.”

I watched the thrumming heart, and took another nervous step backward. “And once I’m wearing it, I’ll be able to turn whatever I want into gold?”

“Just touch the object, say its name, and repeat, ‘Gold, gold, gold.’

Whatever you touch will transform.”

“If you could change objects that easily, why did you bother spinning the straw into gold?”

He smiled like it was a foolish question. “Because that’s what the king requested. Now then, stay still so I can give you your new heart.” He reached out and put the golden heart on the exposed skin above the collar of my dress. I jolted with shock. The heart was so cold it burned. Rumpelstiltskin moved his hand away, and I expected the heart to fall to the ground. It didn’t. It flattened itself and slowly slid downward under the collar of my dress. I could feel the freezing trail it 188/356

left until it perched directly over my own heart. Then it burrowed into my skin.

I gasped and put my hand to my chest. “It hurts.”

“Most things in life do.”

It was squeezing my own heart, making it hard to breathe. “How long will the pain last?”

He shrugged. “Does that matter? Now you can have all the gold you want.”

I tried to pull it off. Rumpelstiltskin had said I’d be able to take it off. I pried at its edges but it only dug deeper into my skin. “What does gold matter if I can’t breathe?” I asked. He didn’t answer. I looked up and found I was alone in the room.

The pain was worse now. I sank to the ground, still keeping my hand over my heart. I felt something wet, and when I looked down, I saw blood dotting my hand.

I needed help, magical help. Clover had said he would come when I had gold for him, but I was chained to the beam and couldn’t even reach the straw, let alone turn any of it to gold. I pulled at my chain in frustration. It rattled angrily, as though I had woken it from a deep sleep. How could I reach the straw to change it?

But then again, maybe it was better that I couldn’t. I grasped hold of the chain. “Chain and shackle, gold, gold, gold!” The words brought an extra jolt to my heart, and I flinched so hard I nearly missed the transformation. Like an artist painting a bold color across a canvas, a golden color swept across the dull gray of the chains. The chain was denser now and so heavy it weighed my hand down.

I didn’t take time to examine it. “Clover!” I called. “I have gold for you!”

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The leprechaun appeared near the candle, still wearing his new outfit. He gazed at the mountains of straw surrounding us. “Do you?

Where? It looks like you’ve been slacking off to me.”

“Over here.” I tried to sit as still as possible. If I didn’t move, my heart hurt less.

Clover walked toward me and saw the chain. “Well,” he said. “I guess that’s what you call being tied to your money, isn’t it?”

“The enchantment is squeezing my heart,” I told him. “How do I make it stop?”

He grunted and picked up one link of the chain to examine it.

“That enchantment was never meant for human folk. Of course it’s not going to fit right. But don’t worry, the pain will subside in a bit.” He glanced over at me, and his attention zeroed in on the bloodstains dotting my dress. “You’re too tenderhearted,” he said. “It’s making you bleed. Try not to feel things so much.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” I said.

Clover let out a sigh. “Women. This is why no one ever puts you in charge of wars, butchering animals, or assembling hockey teams.” He held up a link of the chain. “Here, look at this for a bit and it will help.

See how it gleams and shimmers? See how smooth it is? Like a sun-beam, it is. Like a sturdy friend. Now doesn’t your heart feel better?” It didn’t. But focusing on my objectives did lessen the pain. And my objective now was to get
The Change Enchantment
from Clover and get out of here. I only hoped the book wasn’t painful too.

“You can have this entire golden chain and shackle if you’ll give me
The Change Enchantment
,” I said.

Clover momentarily stopped stroking the chain. “We agreed to trade for two spools of gold.”

I lifted my hand, showing him the shackle. “I can’t reach the straw. I won’t be able to change it until morning when Haverton 190/356

comes to free me and then they’ll probably watch me all day. Who knows how long it will take until I can get some spools for you, and your creditors are waiting.”

Clover plucked at his beard, looked back at the mountains of straw, then stroked the chain again. “Very well.” He leaned toward me.

“But you mustn’t tell Chrissy. As far as she knows, I was never here and this story is going exactly as planned.” He reached into his jacket and took out the tiny book I’d seen earlier. He placed it in my palm and it grew until it was the size of a picture book. The spinning wheel on the front not only shone like embossed gold, but the wheel turned slowly. A quill pen was attached to the inside cover in a flap. Instead of black ink, I saw a drop of liquid gold at its point.

Clover lowered his voice to a whisper. “Complete the story your own way and write the moral in the back of the book. Once you do that, your fairy tale is done, and Chrissy will have to take the lot of you home.” He cast a nervous glance around the room. “And if she doesn’t know you changed things, all the better.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Aye,” he said, but he wasn’t paying attention to me any longer.

He took the gold chain in his hands and kissed it. At once the links broke apart. They flew in the air, suspended, and spun into small disks—coins. A black pot appeared below them, and they rained down into it, clinking noisily as they landed.

Clover tipped his hat at me. “I’m off to pay me debts, then see the lads for a bit of poker.” And with that, the leprechaun and his pot vanished.

Chapter 14

I rubbed my hand where the handcuff had been. I was free from that at least. I walked over to the candle, wincing. The pain in my chest had subsided but moving made it worse. I eased myself down to sitting position and opened the book. On the first page, written in elaborate script, was a paragraph telling how the miller’s daughter had been taken from her home. On the opposite page was a finely painted picture of the events. And I was the girl in the picture.

Time stopped as I stared at the illustration. There I was, captured in an artist’s brush strokes, being led to the carriage. My hair flowed around my shoulders in luxurious blond waves that I was sure hadn’t been there in the real event, and I wore a brown dress instead of the jeans I’d really had on. Apparently illustrators took liberties with stories too.

In the picture, I was looking over my shoulder at my family. My eyes were wide, frightened, apologetic.

I ran my finger along the page as though I might be able to rub away the expression. Clover was right. I did feel things too much.

I turned the page. It showed me in the tower room next to the stack of straw, staring at it and weeping. I didn’t like seeing myself that way, vulnerable, where any passing reader could see my pain. I flipped to the next page. It was my first meeting with Rumpelstiltskin.

I was handing him my necklace as he looked at me hungrily. Who had painted these pictures? How had they known these details? Did the book just magically record them?

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I flipped ahead until I reached a picture where I wore a maroon and gold dress and was shaking hands with Rumpelstiltskin—that had happened only moments ago.

I turned the page, holding my breath to see what it would reveal.

A picture of me in a wedding dress, a crown upon my head, was fading. For a moment I saw my own eyes staring up at me and then they disappeared, leaving the page blank. I flipped through the rest of the book. It was a series of empty pages. Lines on one side, a framed picture of nothing on the other.

I wanted to hug the book in relief. Instead, I picked up the quill and scribbled down words as fast as they came to me.

The miller’s daughter changed the straw into gold, took some
with her, and was able to walk out the unlocked door and flee the
castle yard altogether. She met up with her family outside the castle
walls where they had been safely waiting for her. The king was so
happy to have so much gold that he spent the next week counting and
admiring it and didn’t come after the miller’s daughter or her family.

I glanced back at what I’d written. To my horror, it was fading off the page.

“No!” I brought the book closer to my face hoping the words would still exist if I looked at them close up.

But they were gone. What did that mean?

Maybe the words hadn’t remained in the book because I hadn’t actually done the things I’d written. Maybe I couldn’t finish the story by dictating the events. But then, how
did
I finish it? Was there some sort of formula for knowing when a story ended?

I stared at the book.

Who was to say the story wasn’t already finished? I was the author. I voted that this was a good place for the story to end. Which 193/356

meant all I needed was a moral, and we would be back in the twenty-first century.

I put the pen on the top of the page.

The miller’s daughter was extremely grateful that she didn’t
have to marry the horrid king who’d been threatening to kill her, and
she learned an important moral: Do not make bargains with magical
beings. The End.

The golden ink shimmered in the candlelight, then faded away. I felt sparks of panic igniting inside me. This
had
to work. It was my way home. I just had to get the moral right. Luckily, I had the entire night before King John came for me. I would find the right one.

I sat by the candle and wrote every moral that seemed possible. I tried vague ones:
Good prevails over evil. All that glitters isn’t gold
. I tried specific ones:
Fairy men are male chauvinists. Be careful what
you wish for if your fairy godmother is more concerned about finding a new job than improving your life.