The Unexplainable Fairy Godmother (The Inscrutable Paris Beaufont Book 1)

by Sarah Noffke

  Paris was known as a general fairy. They weren’t as dumb as fae, but not as smart or as powerful as magicians. They tended to be somewhat like the elves with hippie tendencies as evidenced by the students' strange names at Happily Ever After College. Thankfully that characteristic had appeared to skip Paris because she refused to wear hemp pants or make kombucha—a tea made from fermented mushrooms.

  The fairies harnessed the element of ice, meaning that controlling it came easily to them. However, Paris often found that she was better at managing the element of wind, making it die down on Roya Lane. Often it whistled down the narrow street, throwing Paris’ hair into her face, which she didn’t like.

  Fairy magic was also unique because truly powerful spells required an object to control the power so it didn’t overwhelm the caster. Paris reasoned that she’d never done a spell that powerful because she’d never needed such an object.

  Having read most of the textbook and planted her seeds, Paris now had nothing to do. Deciding she’d skip ahead and employ one of the spells from Magical Gardening, she tapped her finger on each of the six pots and muttered the incantations she’d learned.

  At first, nothing happened. A few seconds later and one at a time, little seedlings pushed up through the dirt, growing fast until a short but sturdy sunflower unfurled from each pot.

  Paris smiled proudly at her creations, grateful the spell worked on her first attempt.

  Hemingway glanced over from the other side of the room and did a double-take. He hurried over with a look of surprise on his face.

  “Where did you learn how to do a fast-growing spell?” He sounded suddenly anxious, a look of worry on his face.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Tensing, Paris pointed at the open textbook. “The spell was in there. Is it okay that I used it?”

  Hemingway’s gaze darted between Paris and the book, confusion on his face. “First, it’s perplexing that you were able to use it successfully. I’m guessing that was your first time using a gardening spell, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Although it worked,” he indicated the six sunflowers, “that wasn’t the point of the exercise.”

  “You wanted me to grow sunflowers, though.”

  Hemingway shook his head. “I wanted you to grow sunflowers naturally.”

  Paris stuck her hands on her hips. “What’s the point if I can do it magically and speed up the process?”

  “Well, to be honest,” he began, “I’m surprised you were able to perform the spell on your first time. It’s not an easy one and requires a lot of magic, especially for six sunflowers.”

  “I had a big lunch,” Paris admitted.

  He shook his head, still look confused. “But no, you shouldn’t have used a spell to cheat the process.”

  “I wasn’t cheating,” she argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was speeding up the process. I got done fast, so I figured I’d make the most of the time.”

  He pointed to the textbook. “You got done early, so you skipped to the advanced chapters at the back of Magical Gardening and decided to play around with a spell?”

  She shook her head. “No, I read most of the chapters before it.”

  Hemingway pressed his hands to the sides of his head as if he was trying to keep his confusion from overwhelming him. “You read most of that huge book? In the last hour?”

  “Well, I learned some studying spells this morning, and they’ve increased my reading speed,” she explained, wondering if she was in trouble for performing spells and reading ahead.

  “You learned those studying spells this morning?” Hemingway asked, his tone dripping with disbelief.

  “I’m not lying,” she fired back, earning attention from some of the other students on the far side of the room, working with their shame plants.

  Hemingway brought his hands down, seemingly to try and calm Paris down. “I didn’t think you were lying. It’s just that…well, this isn’t typical behavior from one of our new students.”

  Paris laughed at this. “I think we’ve already established that I’m not the typical fairy godmother student.”

  He nodded. “I realize that, but I didn’t know to what extent.”

  “I think I’ve had beginner’s luck,” Paris remarked. “I’ve never been a good reader, but since getting here, I really enjoy it. I’ve never had my hands in dirt, so I think having my first experience lent to my success with the fast-growing spell.”

  “You’ve never worked with dirt?” He sounded surprised.

  “Well, not because I grew up with servants and always had on my pretty coat and lace gloves,” she answered. “I grew up on Roya Lane.”

  The surprise deepened on his face. “I didn’t think anyone lived there. I thought it was only shops and official magical offices.”

  “Well, a few of the shop owners live there,” she explained. “But yeah, there’s not a lot of residents. And there isn’t any dirt, not that I know of.”

  He nodded in understanding. “Anyway, although it’s extremely impressive that you used the fast-growing spell successfully, the idea is to master these mortal skills first before using the shortcuts of magic. If you don’t know how to do it, you won’t be able to teach your charges.”

  Paris sighed. “To be honest, I think that teaching my charges how to prune roses and plant gardens won’t be my style. Maybe they don’t like gardening, and why should that be a skill they have to learn to match with Mr. Right?”

  Hemingway nodded, then lowered his chin. “I don’t disagree. But that’s the curriculum. As I said, there are benefits in you learning how to garden. For instance, one reason I wanted you to grow your sunflowers the old-fashioned way was to teach you about the process. Many can use magic to grow things.” He glanced over his shoulder before leaning in closer. “Well, not Becky Montgomery. Everything living seems to hate her, but the point is knowing how to plant a seed and bring it up using love. When you master the art of growth, you master patience, which is important when learning about love—something you’ll need to become an expert on.”

  Paris nodded, thinking the notion made sense. “Okay, I won’t use magic until I’ve mastered the mortal way of gardening.”

  Hemingway smiled at her before looking proudly at her sunflowers. “Something tells me that it won’t take you long. You seem to have a natural green thumb.”

  She blushed, never expecting gardening to be something she was good at. This was on the ever-growing long list of surprises from her first day attending Happily Ever After College.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Willow tapped the side of the scrying bowl with a wand and shook her head, clearing the scene with Paris and Hemingway in the greenhouse. “What do you make of these latest developments with our new student?”

  Mae Ling glanced casually across the headmistress’ desk. “She’s a very powerful fairy.”

  That observation didn’t seem to please Willow. She sighed, worry evident on her face. “That’s not necessarily a good thing. Too much power in a fairy has been linked to corruptibility. Look at magicians. They’ve started so many wars because they’re so powerful. Fairies tend to be more about making love, which is why we have the job that we do. We don’t fight crime like the House of Fourteen or the Dragon Elite or the Rogue Riders.”

  “Yet, we’re not doing the job that we should.” Mae Ling pointed at the love meter on the wall—its dial still indicating twenty-five percent.

  Willow’s mouth tightened. “I realize that, but that doesn’t mean that powerful fairies are the answer. Paris is a wild card, and I simply don’t know if taking in a new brand of student is what the college needs to turn things around.”

  Mae Ling tipped her head back and forth, ready to play the devil’s advocate, a role she often took with the headmistress. “Or maybe someone like Paris Westbridge is exactly what the college needs. She’s already passed Cotillion class on her first day, challenged some of the more archaic practices of astrology, and mas
tered the fast-growing spell in gardening.”

  “That’s exactly what worries me,” Willow muttered while staring at the surface of the scrying bowl, the shimmering water rippling from the last visions of the scene with Paris and Hemingway. “Something isn’t right about her.”

  “I think what you mean is that something is different about her,” Mae Ling corrected. “And we both know that we don’t do ‘different’ well here at Happily Ever After College. That’s why all the fairy godmothers look the same and the curriculum hardly ever changes. I think we need to remain open-minded. Paris is challenging us and I, for one, think it could be very beneficial.”

  Willow nodded, still staring off without seeing. “Well, she has one more class and her exam, so we’ll see how she does and go from there. Right now, I’d say she’s about fifty-fifty. A lot will rest on how she does the remainder of the day.”

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The demo kitchens were spacious with multiple individual workstations, similar to the greenhouse setup. There were colorful refrigerators along one wall and shelves with all sorts of equipment. The cooking and baking classroom was different than the kitchen that Paris had seen this morning but similar to it. Chef Ash was there, smiling wide when she entered. He was wearing the white uniform she’d seen earlier, the trademark pencil still behind his ear.

  “Welcome to your first cooking and baking class,” he greeted and handed her a textbook entitled Magical Cooking and Baking. “Do you have much experience?”

  “Not really,” she admitted, having chosen a workstation. “I can make macaroni and cheese and sandwiches.”

  “That’s a good start.” He winked and strode to the front of the class, making all the students in their powder blue gowns quiet their conversations. “Welcome back, class. Today, we’re going to pick up where we left off. If you haven’t mastered your tidy tarts, you’ll continue trying to make those today. Many of your tarts didn’t clean up a dirty space when consumed but rather had the opposite effect. Wilfred said it took him a long time to clean up this kitchen after some of your endeavors. You might be putting in too much Bavarian sugar if tasting your tart creates a mess, rather than cleans it up. If you’ve done it right, you shouldn’t have any dishes to do and the windows on the back wall will be squeaky clean.” He laughed, indicating the bank of windows that looked out on the Enchanted Grounds, shimmering light streaming into the demo kitchen.

  “If you were successful with your tidy tarts,” Chef Ash continued, “you’re moving on to making bad temper eraser confections. The recipes for these are quite complicated, so I encourage you to read through them carefully. Any mistakes with these sweet treats won’t put someone in a better mood, but as you might have guessed, it will make them even more sour. With magical cooking, if you don’t follow a recipe exactly, it will always have the opposite effect as desired, which is why it’s such a risky venture.”

  Paris knew that many relied on magical baking and cooking. There was an interesting place on Roya Lane called Crying Cat Bakery. She’d gone in there a few times, but the owners were strange, sometimes refusing to serve her something, saying that she wasn’t ready yet. The two women who ran the bakery also made threats to each other but seemed to do it in a joking way.

  Paris never had any experience with magical baking and cooking. Now that she thought about it, Uncle John didn’t rely on magic practically at all. He said there was something honest about doing things with his two hands so when he made her breakfast, it was manually. He hadn’t taught her many spells or other ways to use her magic, saying that she’d figure out how to use it in time when she was ready. For some reason, people always seemed to say something about “when you’re ready” to Paris.

  “Now, for our new student,” Chef Ash continued, his gaze connecting with Paris. “I know that tidy tarts and bad temper eraser confections sound fun, but I’m going to require that you start with the basics.”

  “Because I can’t progress to magical baking and cooking until I master the basics of doing it the mortal way,” she guessed.

  “You’re quick,” Chef Ash cheered, the wrinkles around his eyes surfacing when his grin widened.

  Paris shrugged. “I’m catching on.”

  Chef Ash picked up a spatula on the work surface next to him. “Okay, I’ll put all the recipes on your stations. I want you to read through them carefully and don’t get started until you know exactly what you’re doing from start to finish.” He twirled the spatula in the air, and a piece of paper materialized on every individual workstation.

  Paris glanced briefly at her recipe for apple pie, reading through it quickly. Realizing that she needed to get started on the pie dough right away, she started for the refrigerators.

  “Paris,” Chef Ash interrupted her, stepping in front of the refrigerator as she neared. “Although I appreciate your enthusiasm to get started on your apple pie, you need to read through the recipe carefully first.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I did. Just like you said.”

  He gave her a well-meaning smile. “I understand that apple pie isn’t as difficult as what the others are working on, but notice that everyone else is still studying their recipes.”

  Paris glanced over her shoulder where all the other students were still bent over their workstations, reading through their recipes. She turned back to Chef Ash. “I don’t know what to tell you. I did as you said and read through my recipe. I know precisely what I need to do and was going to start on the pie crust first so it had time to chill while I was working on the filling.”

  Chef Ash blinked at her. “You read through the entire recipe? I just gave it to you.”

  “I did,” she answered. “I’m going to get the chilled butter, egg, ice water, and two and a half pounds of apples. Peeling those by hand will take a while, so I was going to start on that straight after the dough.”

  “You read through the entire recipe,” he stated, this time not as a question but still sounding perplexed.

  “Did I do something wrong?” She looked around again. Paris had never made an apple pie, but it had to be easier than making a tidy tart or a bad temper eraser confection.

  “No, it doesn’t seem as though.” He stood back and held up his hands. “Well, I’ll get out of your way then and let you get to work. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  Paris had a ton of questions, but they were more about the “why” regarding learning how to bake and cook. However, she reasoned that, similar to gardening, it was about learning a discipline. Again, she didn’t think she’d want to teach her charges how to bake so they could land a guy. Maybe they didn’t cook or bake, and Prince Charming was the one who kept her fed. This was the twenty-first century after all.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Even without using magic, Paris found that she enjoyed baking. Something was humbling about rolling out the pie dough and getting her muscles into the activity. She also appreciated the chemistry of the process. Chef Ash, watching from nearby, had stated that baking was all about the precision of measurements, whereas cooking relied more on instinct.

  She enjoyed the sentiment and found a strange pride when she pulled the completed pie from the oven. It had a perfectly flaky golden crust and smelled deliciously of apples and cinnamon.

  “I think you have a natural knack for this.” Chef Ash gave her pie a look of appreciation as she put it on the top shelf of the cooling rack. “Of course, the final test is tasting, which happens after dinner tonight. It will be up to your peers to judge whether you got everything right.”

  Paris gulped, thinking how awkward it would be on her first day to have the other students judging her work. “Well, hopefully, the pie will be cool by then. The recipe says that it takes two hours on a windowsill.”

  Chef Ash nodded. “Usually, it would. However, that cooling rack is magic-enhanced, so I suspect your pie is already cool, but we’ll still have to wait to cut into it until after dinner.”

  “Wow, that’s handy.”
She watched as the other students worked on their desserts.

  “I’m sure you’ll pass today and be able to progress to other, harder recipes,” Chef Ash offered, watching as she observed the other students, recognizing the longing in her gaze. Although Paris hadn’t understood why she needed to learn baking and cooking, she had enjoyed the class and looked forward to learning magical recipes.

  Lost in thought about future lessons and how incredibly magical cooking could be, Paris hardly registered as something small scurried between her and Chef Ash, disappearing behind a bunch of large sacks of flour and sugar in the corner. Paris noticed that whatever it was had wings and large eyes, but that was about it before it disappeared, hiding away.

  She and Chef Ash exchanged looks of surprise. She would have investigated, but before she could, running footsteps outside the classroom’s open door interrupted them.

  Penny, looking nervous and stressed, jerked her head back and forth, searching the classroom. She looked straight at Chef Ash, urgency in her voice. “Have you seen it? If I lose another zonk, I’ll be—”

  Professor Butcher raced into the students’ kitchen and halted, her hands out as she looked back and forth. “Is it in here?” she asked Chef Ash.

  “Is what in here?” Chef Ash appeared nonchalant, although Paris sensed he was lying. They’d both seen something fly past them.

  “A zonk!” Professor Butcher stated, her frizzy hair whipping in the air as she jerked her head back and forth. She pointed straight at Penny, who was slowly moving along the room, carefully looking around but hiding the act. “This one says she didn’t lose her fixer fairy again, but it’s not in its cage, which means she’s lying. If that’s the case and she’s lost another zonk, she’s out of here. No more Happily Ever After College for you, Penelope Pullman. The guidelines of your scholarship are clear.”