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

by Sarah Noffke

  Paris’ hand was on the handle for the front door, and she was almost free of FGE when a voice sounded behind her.

  “Before you leave, I have something I need to say,” Mae Ling said, her voice urgent.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Paris froze with the door half-opened. She turned slowly, deciding that if she was going to look at anyone—talk to anyone at the college, it would be Mae Ling. She’d seemed to have Paris’ best interests at heart. Or maybe she was the reason she was leaving now, she thought. If Paris had behaved and not been herself, maybe she wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  “I don’t think this is over,” Mae Ling stated.

  “I think it’s better not to hold onto unrealistic expectations,” Paris countered. “You told me to be myself and speak out if I didn’t like something. I did that, and as you can see, it didn’t work out. Now I move on.”

  “I also said that I would protect you,” Mae Ling argued. “I said if you did as I asked, that you wouldn’t be expelled from the college.”

  “And yet I am.” Paris uttered a rude laugh and threw her arms wide. “I appreciate your help, but I think this is hopeless. I obviously don’t fit in here.”

  Mae Ling shook her head. “I think we all need a little time to figure out how we fit together. How about you go back to Roya Lane and unwind and rethink things? Don’t tell your uncle anything. Reevaluate. See if anything occurs to you. Then, once you’ve had a little time to cool down, maybe you’ll return and reconsider the situation.”

  “I don’t see what the point is,” Paris argued.

  “Well, that’s why getting some perspective might help.”

  “So let me get this straight,” Paris began. “You want me to go get a drink because that’s how I’ll magically get to see things better? Are you encouraging confused and frustrated people to drink away their problems?”

  A slight smile curved up the edges of Mae Ling’s mouth. “It’s not as much about the drink as it is about a change in scenery. I think that if you get a chance to think, you might come back with a different perspective.”

  “Come back?” Paris asked. “I can’t get back here.”

  “You can though,” Mae Ling corrected. “As a student at Happily Ever College, you can portal here now.”

  “But I’m not a student anymore,” Paris stated.

  “You are,” Mae Ling countered. “Until midnight, you are. As long as you return by then, you’ll be able to portal back here.”

  “I don’t understand why,” Paris stated. “What’s the point? I failed. I tried, and it didn’t work out.”

  “It hasn’t worked out yet,” Mae Ling offered. “Sometimes, what we need to overcome where we’ve failed is simply to unlock something inside us.”

  Paris didn’t know what that meant, but a drink did sound like a great idea. If nothing brilliant occurred to her, she’d sneak into the apartment and fall asleep and explain her worsened predicament to Uncle John the next morning. That was the last thing she wanted to do, which meant she hoped that she unlocked this thing Mae Ling referred to.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Paris was gone for less than a minute when Mae Ling pulled the cell phone from her pocket. The head professor of Happily Ever After College had locked herself in the sitting room after throwing Casanova, the orange, snooping cat, out of there before closing the door.

  She pulled back the curtains on the front window, watching as Paris strode for the center of the lawn where she’d open a portal. Beside her, a small woodland creature scurried to keep up with her.

  Mae Ling pressed the cell phone to her ear, hoping the person on the other end didn’t keep her waiting. Now wasn’t the time for him to be ditzy. Thankfully he answered after three rings.

  “She’s ready for you,” Mae Ling said into the phone. “Be at the bar within the hour. You remember what you’re supposed to do?”

  The person on the other side of the line replied, offering way more information than was necessary.

  Mae Ling nodded. “Okay, do as I instructed you. Right now, this all rests on your shoulders. You can’t fail her. Otherwise, we all stand to lose so much. Tell her what she needs to know, but no more.”

  He replied, and Mae Ling shut off the cell phone.

  There was nothing else for her to do at this point. Everything that had led up to this had all been conjecture. Planning and instigating this had been complicated, but it had worked out because maybe, it was supposed to go this way. There was no fate, but some things were destined—like that a very special fairy if given all the right chances, could save love in the world.

  Mae Ling hoped desperately that this was destined to come true.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  It was more than evident to Paris that Mae Ling knew something she wasn’t letting on. From the beginning, the small, unassuming fairy godmother had instigated something with her advice to Paris. Oddly, Paris trusted her. It didn’t at all seem like she was trying to sabotage her if she was telling her to rethink things and return.

  Paris had three hours until midnight. She didn’t know what brilliant decision could magically occur to her in that time that would change her performance at the college or the headmistress’ ruling. Of course, Paris had woken up that morning feeling taller, enjoyed reading for the first time, and discovered she was good at a bunch of things she didn’t know about. So she reasoned that anything was possible.

  “What are you going to do now?” Paris asked Faraday as they both stood on the Enchanted Grounds of Happily Ever After, looking at the spinning portal that led to Roya Lane. She was hesitating, and they both knew it.

  “I’m going to go get a drink as we were told,” he stated as if it was obvious.

  “First of all, how did you hear about that?” She narrowed her eyes at the talking squirrel.

  He sighed. “The door to FGE was open, and I have good ears. You talk loudly, and I’m a master of observation.”

  Paris grunted and watched the shimmering colors of her portal. “I don’t talk loudly.”

  “When you’re excited, you do,” he corrected.

  “You’ve never seen me excited since I haven’t been since we met…two days ago,” she stated dryly.

  “It was more of a generalization,” he explained. “In the average person, when they get excited, levels of adrenaline spike, which increases oxygen and glucose flow. It also dilates pupils and suppresses non-urgent systems. Excitement extends through to the sympathetic nervous system, increasing heart rate, breathing and causing all reactions to be heightened, i.e., louder volume when talking, sensitivity to stimulus and other factors.”

  “Serious question,” Paris retorted on the heels of his monologue.

  The squirrel simply blinked at her.

  “Are you a figment of my imagination?”

  Faraday considered this. “That’s a rational conclusion based on the fact that you met me during a traumatic time in your life when you were searching for a coping mechanism. Also, to further support your point, no one but you has seen or talked to me when in your presence, so it would go to reason that I’m not real and am a product of your imagination.”

  “Then there’s the whole, you talk like a scientist and not like a rodent,” she quipped.

  “Scientist?” he questioned at once. “You think I talk like a scientist?” The squirrel put his paws to his mouth, made a chirping sound, and flicked his tail. “It’s probably because I once lined my bed with a magazine called Popular Science. I had trouble sleeping that year and read way too many articles on dark matter and the unconscious mind and other boring stuff.”

  “You don’t sound bored by it,” she observed, picking up on Faraday’s excitement as he spoke.

  “Well, you start reading about string theory, and it’s a slippery slope,” he admitted. “Before too long, you’ve graduated to other quantum physics theories and stayed up the entire night.”

  “Most squirrels probably would have torn up the magazine to ma
ke confetti strips for their bed,” Paris pointed out.

  “Similar to you not being like most fairies, I’m not like most squirrels.”

  “Obviously.” Paris still stared at the portal. “Back to my prior question about what you’re going to do after returning to Roya Lane.”

  “I told you,” he insisted. “Mae Ling told us to get a drink. I could use one. It was a fantastic idea.”

  “Okay, I should probably point out that I was the one told to get a drink, not you,” Paris stated. “You’re not supposed to be at Happily Ever After College. And I’m not sure that it’s a good idea for a squirrel to drink. Your liver probably can’t take it.”

  He shot her a look of offense. “I can too drink. I often enjoy a nice tumbler of brandy.”

  Paris rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “You keep thinking that I should conform to the preconceived notion you have in your head of how squirrels are supposed to act, and I defy that. I refuse to apologize for it.”

  “We still haven’t determined that you aren’t a figment of my imagination,” Paris argued. “Of course, my imaginary friend would be a squirrel who acts differently than all other squirrels, has a nut allergy, and enjoys the finer things. Maybe instead of going to a bar, I should turn myself into a mental hospital.”

  “That’s inadvisable because those records register in the Fairy Law Enforcement system,” he explained matter-of-factly. “If your name comes up on a roster at the Magical Creatures Mental Health Asylum, the authorities will come and get you and put you in jail. The agreement was fairy godmother college or jail.”

  Paris lowered her chin and regarded the squirrel with hooded eyes. “How do you know so much about how the magical government systems work?”

  “I had a friend that went nutters,” he explained.

  She shook her head. “Was that intended to be an awful pun?”

  “It wasn’t intended to be a pun, so definitely not a bad one.”

  “So you had a squirrel friend who went crazy?” The melodic sound of the portal grew louder. She couldn’t hold it open much longer, and she was stalling. Funny that two days ago she didn’t want to step through the portal to Happily Ever After College, and now she didn’t want to take the one back to Roya Lane.

  “I want to point out that squirrels don’t only have to have squirrel friends,” Faraday stated. “You and I are friends. If you’re worried that I’m a figment of your imagination, simply ask someone at the bar if they can see me. That will clear things up. I can say something to affirm that my speaking isn’t a product of your traumatic situation.”

  “Will you stop referring to what’s happened to me as traumatic?” she argued bitterly.

  “I apologize,” he squeaked. “I simply thought that for a normal person, having to give up the only home they’ve ever known, leave behind their family, and enter a brand-new academy that teaches very foreign concepts to your current interests would be defined as traumatic.”

  “Is this when you define the word for me, you fluffy dictionary?”

  “If you’d like,” he stated. “Traumatic means shocking, disturbing or distressing. Does that sound relevant to your current situation?”

  Paris ignored the question. “Yes, that’s a fantastic idea about confirming your existence by asking some stranger in a bar. ‘Hey, Mister, I know we don’t know each other, but will you tell me if my squirrel friend is real and actually speaking? Why no, I’m not drunk. Why do you ask?’”

  “Is this a good time to point out that you’re stalling and your portal is about to close?” Faraday asked.

  Paris sighed. “I was trying to figure out what to do with you,” she lied.

  “I’m going to the bar with you,” he stated plainly. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of sight until you get us a booth. Preferably a corner one, away from the pool tables and bathrooms. Those are always the rowdiest areas in the bars on Roya Lane.”

  “Sounds like you’re quite the club rat.” Paris chuckled.

  “Is that a form of a pun?” Faraday asked, quite seriously.

  “It is because people who go to clubs that are like bars all the time are called…oh never mind. If I have to explain the joke, it’s not funny.”

  “I don’t think that’s why it wasn’t humorous,” he quipped.

  “Do you have any other requirements for our outing?” Paris’ eyes watered from staring at the bright portal for so long.

  “Pick a classy one,” he suggested. “Not one on the wrong end of Roya Lane. Something that has a nice brandy selection and doesn’t serve nuts on the table.”

  “Right,” Paris intoned. “Fine, I guess you can go with me to the bar. But yes, stay out of sight. It’s already highly likely that I’ll get kicked out at some point for getting into a fistfight for whatever reason. I don’t want to get thrown out prematurely for bringing a rodent into a food establishment with me.”

  He huffed, offended. “I’m cleaner than most elves.”

  “Everyone is cleaner than those dirty hippies.” Paris realized that the time had come. She needed to leave Happily Ever After College and return to Roya Lane.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the large mansion and felt a twinge of remorse. She hoped against all hope that she’d return before midnight—before it was too late.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  It felt like months since Paris had been on Roya Lane, not days. The smells were so different from the floral and fresh ones at Happily Ever After College. The colors of the street compared to the vibrant ones on the Enchanted Grounds seemed dull and boring.

  Paris never thought the place she’d grown up would look and feel so foreign to her. She found a shabby chic bar on the “right” side of Roya Lane that she thought met Faraday’s requirements. It was called the Tipsy Goat and not the clientele that Paris was used to. She usually found herself in Chimerick’s Bar on the bad side of Roya Lane where the beer wasn’t cold, but the regulars didn’t look at her as though she didn’t belong there.

  At the Tipsy Goat, it appeared that most of the hipsters had rolled up their pants and buttoned up their shirts for that night’s outing.

  Paris kept her head down as she breezed to the corner, unaware of where Faraday had disappeared to.

  Finding what she thought was a passable booth, Paris pulled the heart-shaped locket Uncle John had given her from her pocket. She wished it would open for some reason, as if the answers to all her problems hid inside. She turned it over and read the familiar words engraved on the front: “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”

  Paris sighed, not knowing what Mae Ling thought she was supposed to figure out in a bar on Roya Lane. This all felt ridiculous and a waste of time.

  “Just you?” a waitress with too much eyeshadow asked Paris after she took up residence in the oversized corner booth.

  She nodded. “Just me is more than enough company for myself,” Paris replied, never liking it when hostesses at restaurants said things like, “Only you?” or if Uncle John was joining her, “Just the two of you?” Almost as if a small number in their party was unacceptable or sad.

  As she’d expected, the waitress gave Paris a rude look for her comment. “Well, what will you be having?”

  “I’m having your finest brandy and a rum and coke.”

  The waitress arched an eyebrow, either because the two drinks were polar opposites or because she’d ordered two drinks, period. “For the brandy, do you want Hennessy or Louis XIII?”

  Paris didn’t know, but thankfully from under the table she heard, “Louis XIII.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take the King of France,” she joked, not earning a laugh from the uptight waitress who took too many YouTube makeup tutorials.

  “And for your rum?” the waitress asked, unamused. “You want Bacardi or top shelf?”

  “Let’s go with well.” Paris realized she didn’t have that much money. “But make it a double.”

  “Well rum and Louis XIII bran
dy.” The waitress shook her head. “That makes perfect sense.”

  “The brandy is for my stuffy squirrel friend,” Paris called after the waitress, realizing that once she was back on Roya Lane she didn’t care about perception, not that she was overly concerned about it at Happily Ever After College.

  “Smooth,” Faraday stated dryly from under the table.

  “How is this booth? Is it to your liking?” Paris watched as the squirrel climbed onto the seat next to her, still unnoticed by the crowd in the busy bar.

  “There’s gum on the floor,” he stated.

  “What flavor?” she asked immediately, pretending to be curious.

  “Haha,” he said dryly. “I don’t think the waitress believed you about having a squirrel friend.”

  Paris nodded. “I’m going to start telling people the truth. Since it sounds like a lie, they’ll think I’m making it up.”

  “You really are trying to get admitted to the Magical Creatures Mental Health Asylum, aren’t you?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I hope you have some money because otherwise, we’re going to have to drink and dash.”

  “Classy,” he muttered. “I’m sure we’ll be okay.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She picked up on a strange tone in his voice.

  “Nothing.” He dove down as the waitress strode over with two drinks.

  “Keep a tab open or close it?” the waitress asked.

  “Put it on mine,” a smooth, refined voice said as a very handsome fae materialized, a drink in one hand and his arm draping around the waitress’ shoulder. Paris knew he was a fae because he was so attractive it almost hurt to look at him. He had shiny blond hair, bright blue eyes, perfectly balanced features, and wore a pink shirt that she was pretty sure he stole off a life-size Barbie doll. Like her, he’d glamoured his wings not to appear and probably also to keep them out of the way in the crowded bar.