My Unfair Godmother (5 page)

The leprechaun ducked as the pillow flew over his head, which was pretty amazing considering I didn’t see Nick’s hand holding the doll anywhere. Were there strings somewhere?

The leprechaun stood back up and pointed a finger at me—a perfectly formed, movable finger. “Attacking a magical creature is grounds for a curse, you know.”

“What …” I leaned closer. The doll’s eyes and mouth were actually moving. It was impossible, but I was watching it happen.

“Just because your life is right pathetic doesn’t mean you’re excused from good behavior.” The leprechaun reached up and straightened the tiny green bowler hat perched on his head. “I’ve turned people into pebbles for less.” I blinked at him. He was still there. I blinked again. “I’m asleep.” The leprechaun surveyed me with furrowed brows. “I don’t mean to contradict you, but you seem fairly awake—moving around and talking and all.” He kept watching me. “The constant blinking is a little odd though.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m asleep.” I dug my fingernails into the back of my hand to prove my point. In dreams you didn’t feel pain. But I felt it now. Insistent sharp jabs.

The leprechaun frowned. “Are you away in the head, lass?” I let out a shrill gasp and sat back so hard I banged my back into my headboard. “You’re a leprechaun!” He folded his arms. “Yeah, real observant, you are.”

“Leprechauns are real?”

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“That logic would follow, wouldn’t it?” He huffed and cocked his head at me. “You’re not the brightest star in the constellation, are you, lass?”

I shrunk back on the bed, glancing around to see if there were more of them in the room. My dresser and bookshelf were clear. Nothing sat on the carpet but my shoes. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Wasting my time, apparently. Aye, fairy godmothers are an unreliable bunch. And yours is worse than most.” He sat down on my bed-spread with a thump and kicked his legs out in front of him. His green suit was embroidered with leaves, but a couple of buttons were missing and the sleeves looked worn. Scuff marks lightened the front of his boots, and one heel was chipped.

A down-and-out leprechaun was sitting on my bed.

“You wouldn’t have something to eat around here, would you?” he asked. “A Ding Dong, perhaps? I’m partial to those.” Then the other thing he said clicked in my mind. “I have a fairy godmother?” I could barely wrap my mind around the idea. I would have asked more questions, but a fountain of sparklers erupted in the middle of the room.

My fairy godmother was coming. With my luck, she had probably come to yell at me like my parents had.

The sparklers winked out with a puff, and a teenage girl with long pink hair, sunglasses, and translucent wings appeared in my room.

She wore a violet miniskirt and thigh-high black boots. She held a silver wand, and a lavender sequined purse hung from her shoulder. I could already tell she was stunning even before she slipped her sunglasses onto her head. Somehow I hadn’t expected my fairy godmother to be so young. Or to be wearing frosty purple eye shadow.

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Instead of yelling at me for my police encounter, she smiled, and when she spoke, her voice had the same tinkling sound as wind chimes. “Greetings, Tansy. I’m Chrysanthemum Everstar, your fairy godmother.”

“
Fair
godmother,” the leprechaun called from the end of the bed.

Chrysanthemum’s gaze shot over to the leprechaun, and her eyes widened in unhappy surprise. Her voice was no longer sweetness; it was as sharp as glass. “Clover, what are you doing here?” The leprechaun crossed his arms. “I’m your assistant. I’m assisting.”

Chrysanthemum thrust her wand downward in agitation. A stream of glittery lights shot across my floor and flashed up the length of my wall. For a moment the room lit up like a glowing candle.

Chrysanthemum walked toward Clover, her hand on her hip. “I told you I didn’t want your help.”

“Which means for once we agree. I would rather play nursemaid to a viper than help you, but unfortunately the Unified Magical Alliance scheduled me to be your assistant. Again.” He shook his head in disgust. “They couldn’t just punish me for abandoning my last assignment and be done with it. No, they had to resort to slow, aggravating torture.”

Chrysanthemum turned back to me, her smile decidedly forced.

“Ignore that bitter little man on the bed. He’s of no consequence.” Except that he could turn me into a pebble if he was mad. My gaze ricocheted between them.

“As I was saying,” Chrysanthemum continued, her voice like wind chimes again, “my name is Chrysanthemum Everstar, but you may call me Chrissy. My assistant, on the other hand, is only allowed to call me

‘The Most High Boss’ or ‘Your Excellence of Fairyness.’ ” 48/356

“You don’t have to worry about supplying names for me,” Clover called to her. “I’ve plenty of me own for you.” Chrissy flicked her wand and sparks flew around the room, a couple of them nearly hitting the leprechaun, but she kept her gaze on me. “Since I’m your fairy godmother, I’ve come to grant you three wishes—”

“She’s technically only a
fair
godmother,” the leprechaun called,

“because her grades in fairy school were only average.” He folded his arms across the front of his worn green suit. “Go ahead, ask her if she can prolong time properly. She can’t.” Chrissy turned and glared at him. “Which doesn’t matter since very few mortals ever wish to prolong time.” She flung her wand hand in my direction, and sparks zinged past me. “Do you really think Tansy wants this moment to go on forever? Look at her. Her eyes are blood-shot, her face is swollen—she basically looks like something a troll re-gurgitated. Who would want that every day for the rest of their lives?” Chrissy took a deep breath and her pale wings fluttered. She tapped the end of her wand into her palm and turned back to me. Her voice was softly lilting again. “Now, back to spreading happiness. You’re allowed three wishes. Well, at least you will be once you sign the paperwork.” She shot Clover a challenging look. “I assume that since you’re my assistant, you have a copy of the contract?” He stepped toward us, reaching into his suit pocket. “Of course I do.” Not finding it in the first pocket, he checked another, then another, until he pulled out a tiny roll of parchment. He stepped to the end of the bed and handed it to me. “There you are. All in perfect order.

Just sign at the bottom.”

I took the scroll from his hand. It was no bigger than a stick of gum. “I’m supposed to sign this?”

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Clover nodded and lowered his voice. “A word of warning, make sure you read the fine print.”

I unrolled a bit of the scroll with one finger. “It’s all fine print.” Chrissy took the contract and tapped it with her wand. “Which is why my assistant should have maximized it before he gave it to you.” It grew until it was nearly the size of a roll of paper towels. Chrissy studied the top of the scroll for a moment, wiping her finger disapprovingly against a dark spot on the paper. “Clover, you spilled something on the contract.”

“I’ve a weakness for chocolate. I can’t help it.”

“You’ve a weakness for too many things.” Chrissy pulled a pen from her purse and handed it and the scroll to me. “You can read through this if you want, but quite frankly I have a job interview in ten minutes, so I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“What?” Clover called from his side of the bed. “I thought you already had your dream job.” He laughed while she narrowed her eyes.

As though to let me in on the joke, Clover said, “She’s a tooth fairy lackey. Works nights stealing teeth from wee little tykes.”

“I’m not a lackey,” she snapped, “I’m a team member. And I don’t steal teeth, I grope around under pillows until I find the discarded ones.” To me she said, “It’s
so
revolting. I would quit in a second, but hey, it’s expensive to accessorize when you have high fashion standards. I need some sort of part-time job.” She pushed a strand of glossy pink hair behind her ear. “I’m hoping Muse Incorporated will hire me.

I could totally flit around inspiring art and music. I mean …” She waved a hand over herself. “I’m completely inspiring.” Clover let out a snort. “Oh, right. That’s what’s causing me head to ache right now. It’s all the inspiration.” I fingered the scroll, feeling awkward for interrupting them, but I had to ask the question that had been on my mind since Chrissy 50/356

popped into my bedroom. “Why do I get a fairy godmother? I’ve never had anything good happen to me in my life.” Chrissy and Clover stopped arguing. Clover pursed his lips, then muttered, “Well, you certainly didn’t earn one because of your over-whelming gratitude for all the good things that have happened in your life.”

Chrissy stepped toward me. “I’m glad you brought that up. It’s true most maidens earn their fairy godmothers by doing good deeds or by helping poor beggars who turn out to be fairies in disguise. But to tell you the truth, I’ve never been big on dressing up in rags and waiting around in the snow to see if someone offers me their coat. If I’m out in the snow, it’s because I’m skiing with some buff elf guys.

However …” She reached into her purse and pulled out a disk that was a little larger than a CD. “I needed an extra-credit project, and your life qualified according to the pathetic-o-meter.” She handed me the disk, which had a picture of me in the center of a pie-shaped graph. A large portion of it was colored blue, a small portion was yellow, and little lines dotted the circumference like minutes on a clock. At the edge between the blue and yellow, it read:
Dated a hoodlum. 78 percent pathetic
. Beneath this line, in smaller print, was the sentence:
Willingly listened to dreadful band music
.

And underneath this, in even smaller print:
Refuses to read novels,
simply to aggravate her father.

I couldn’t read the other sentences. They were too small. “That’s really … nice,” I said, staring at the disk. “You’ve got a pie chart of all the ways I’m pathetic.”

“You can keep it,” Chrissy said. “That way you can track your progress.”

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“Great,” I responded, without enthusiasm. How can you be enthu-siastic when you find out your fairy godmother thinks you’re 78 percent pathetic?

“Since you didn’t technically earn your fairy wishes in the traditional way,” Chrissy went on, “you should know about the dishonesty clause.” She took the scroll and unrolled it to a place in the middle.

The ends of the scroll lay across my carpet like lolling tongues. “Here, read this.”

I squinted at the elaborate lettering.
Until the terms of thy wishes
are met, if thou shalt tell an untruth, in consequence of such an act, a
reptile or amphibian shalt grow upon thy tongue until such instance
when thou spittith it out. Or if thou art an animal rights activist and
considereth such an act to be inhumane to reptiles or amphibians,
thou mayest choose instead to have flashing lights above thy head de-claring thou art a blasted liar.

“Oh,” I said.

“The animal rights option is new this year,” Chrissy said. “The UMA is very progressive.” She waved her hand, showing a set of lavender fingernails. “Personally I’ve always thought telling the truth is overrated. Lies make the world a happier place, but rules are rules. So until I’m done being your fairy godmother, you need to choose. Which will it be—frogs or lights?”

“Lights,” I said. I couldn’t bear the thought of spitting out a frog.

She checked a box by the clause, and I skimmed through the next few paragraphs. Between the long sentences and old-fashioned phras-ing, I couldn’t make sense of them. “What does the rest of this say?”

“Telling lies is really the only thing you need to watch out for,” Chrissy said. “The rest basically states that all wishes you make are permanent and binding, their consequences lasting. Also you may suffer certain side effects, such as drowsiness, headaches, lethargy, or an 52/356

intense desire to eat bugs if, during your magical journey, you’re turned into a frog.” She didn’t even pause for a breath before she went on. “You can’t wish for more wishes or for vague generalities like happiness that are impossible to grant. Your wish has to be something specific enough that I can use my wand to make it happen. Oh, and recently there’s been a ban on inserting yourself into the
Twilight
series.

The Cullens are tired of different teenage girls pinging into their story every time they turn around.”

Chrissy opened her lavender sequined purse and pulled out a quill. “It’s your standard fairy godmother contract. You make a wish, and I watch over you. Sign where it reads, ‘Damsel in distress.’ ” I hesitated. It seemed risky to sign a magical contract I hadn’t read.

Chrissy glanced at a diamond-studded watch on her wrist. “Now I have four minutes until my job interview.” I found the signature line and signed my name. Chrissy was my fairy godmother. She wouldn’t ask me to sign something that could hurt me.

Chrissy took hold of the end of the scroll, yanked it downward, and the whole thing rolled up like a window shade. It must have shrunk back down to its original size, because as she put one end into her purse, it disappeared. “All right then, on to the first wish. What will make you happy?”

The way she phrased the question made me stop and think. I had been about to wish for a huge bank account—enough money to not only keep the library open but to name it in my honor. Would that make me happy though? It wouldn’t change being an outcast at school on Monday morning. It wouldn’t change my father’s disappointment in me. I’m not sure what money would change, except instead of 53/356

moving in with Grandma, I could stay here and live with people who thought of me as a snitch or a criminal.

For a moment I considered wishing for Kendall’s play to close so she, Mom, and I could go back to living in New York. But I couldn’t bring myself to take away my sister’s dream.

I sat down on my bed. “I’m not sure …” Chrissy glanced at her watch again. “Wealth is always a popular wish.”

I picked at my pillowcase dejectedly. “Money won’t buy me friends.”

“If you wish for enough, it will,” Chrissy said brightly. “People like to say they can’t be bought, but they really can.” It sounded sort of horrifying when she put it like that. I didn’t want friends who were only interested in me because I was rich.