One Good Wand

by Grace McGuiness

  I glanced at my watch. “Ready to blow everyone away at this party?”

  Her eyes - which looked extra large thanks to the magical makeup already - went huge as her body froze up. “The party. Right. Ummm…” She gave herself a thorough examination in the mirror, turning this way and that. When she reached up to adjust the bustier on her slender frame, her hands trembled. Her laughter was more a release of tension than humor, but she smiled at me, anyway. “If not now, when I look like a goddess, then when, right?”

  “You’ll definitely turn heads,” I agreed.

  “I only want to turn one. I’ve been waiting for Tyler to ask me out for, like, two semesters.”

  “Boys can be thick-headed,” I said. Only after the words were out of my mouth did I realize how bitter I sounded, so I forced myself to think about something else. “But if he’s dumbfounded by your awesomeness, try not to hold it against him. You look that amazing.”

  Amy’s blush was barely visible beneath the magical makeup, but her whole being told me how pleased she was. I left her to admire herself some more before heading out to her Comic Con preparty, making sure she had my number first so she could call to tell me how it went. No doubt I would be able to tell if and when the spell broke - not least by my mom waking up - but it would be nice to hear about it in a little more detail.

  Back in the car, though, my own anxiety caught up with me. What if the spell didn’t break? I still didn’t really know what I was doing, even with the handy pamphlet of rules Sabine had left behind. And her deal from the bathroom—well, if the spell didn’t break, I supposed it would be a good fall-back option. Because if Amy’s perfect costume and perfect makeup didn’t make her cinderella story come true and earn her a fairytale ending, then I clearly had no business being a godmother. Not so much a fall-back option, then, as rectifying a mistake on Maysie’s part. That made me remember my dream, weird as it was. Clearly, my unconscious mind was trying to tell me something. I would have to dig out the letter I found with the wand when I got home, to see exactly what it was she had written. You know, now that I wasn’t totally freaking out about the fact that magic was real and there was a real live wand buried in the floorboards of the file room.

  Chapter 28

  A thorough search of my room proved Maysie’s letter was nowhere to be found. I could have sworn I stuck it in my laptop bag, but it wasn’t there. I stood in the middle of my bedroom, hands on hips, surveying the damage. Only one thing occurred to me. “Um, Drapple?” I whispered.

  No answer. I didn’t really expect one. There was probably a proper way to summon a brownie, and I had no idea what it was.

  I put everything back to rights, cleaning up papers and putting clothes back in my dresser. Then, with nothing else to do, I grabbed a clean, fluffy towel and headed to the bathroom.

  Somehow, everything seemed simpler and less overwhelming while enveloped in warm water and lavender-scented bubble bath. Most importantly, the waiting wouldn’t drive me insane this way. I even managed to convince myself - at least tentatively - that everything would work out okay. Amy would catch her boy, they would go to Comic Con for a weekend of fun, and the sleeping spell would vanish as if it had never been. I would get my mom back and, in a few months, I could remove myself from the ranks of fairy godmothers and never look back. Then I would be free to put my life back together the way I had planned. Get a real job. Save up for a car. Find my own place. Achieve that self-sufficiency I had been lacking my entire adult life. Yes, for about five minutes, I really believed it might happen.

  And then, into my quiet stillness, a small, low voice barked, “Your glass sings, Godmother.”

  I jumped so hard, I splashed water and bubbles all over my carefully pinned-up hair. Wiping my face with one hand while reaching for the towel to hide behind, I spluttered, “Drapple, you can’t just barge in here while I’m naked!”

  “Apologies, Godmother.” The little brownie bowed at the waist as he held my phone out to me. Small though it was - being a dumbphone, and all - he still had to use both hands. “Important business.”

  I accepted the phone to find three text messages from Amy waiting for me.

  Thanks for nothing, the first one read.

  You’ve ruined my life, said the second.

  Come get your stupid costume and get out of my world! said the third.

  Questions flooded my brain. What had happened? What had I done? One sentiment overpowered all of them—I had failed. I had one chance to put things right, and I messed it up. I hadn’t even considered the consequences to Amy’s life if it didn’t work. Even now, the sinking sensation in my belly mingled with rising panic about my own life. How was I supposed to save my mom now?

  There was only one thing I could text back. Be right there.

  My thoughts chased each other in circles until I pulled up in front of Amy’s house. I tried to keep the crazy in check until I found out the truth, but my imagination still spun dozens of scenarios, each worse than the last. Her roommate answered the door in all her dark, moody angst. She was wearing an oversized Punisher t-shirt, though I couldn’t tell if she knew that’s what it was or if she just liked the skull.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said with slumping shoulders. “I thought you were Steve Yu from the Dragon Orchid. Should know better than to get excited.”

  “Chinese food is way better than me, I agree. Is Amy home?”

  “In her room. She’s embracing her pain. It’s dripping from her in a torrent of gorgeous agony. I asked if I could paint her. She threw a book at me. Harry Potter Five. Sacrilege.”

  She let me in and left me to close the door behind myself. “Thanks, uh… I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “Morrighan.”

  “Like the Irish goddess who foretold death?”

  “I am what my parents made me. ” She headed back to her room. “We didn’t order enough food for three.” She narrowed her eyes at me as if to say she would foretell my death right here and right now if I so much as considered stealing her kung pao chicken.

  “I’m not staying,” I said, but her door was already slamming.

  I shrugged and knocked on Amy’s bedroom door. It was one of those homes from the ‘60s that had once been decked out in shag carpet and dangly decorations. It looked like it had been remodeled in the ‘80s, the last time its owners chose to update it. Consequently, everything was a color somewhere between beige and brown.

  “Amy? It’s Tessa,” I said, feeling lame.

  “Go away!” she shouted through the door. “I never want to see you again.” And then, muffled as if by a pillow, “I never want to see anyone again.”

  “Apparently Steve Yu is on his way with food,” I prompted, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t you even want to see him?”

  “Riga will pay him.”

  What kind of self-respecting goth girl shortened her naturally gothic name to Riga? “You’ll have to see her, at least.”

  “She can leave the food in the kitchen.”

  “You need someone to talk to, Amy. You can’t stay alone forever.”

  “I’m not alone. I’ve got plenty of friends online. Real friends. I don’t need to see anyone, ever again.”

  “What about school?”

  “I can take online classes.”

  “Not forever.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  I had to smile at the petulant rebellion in her voice, even as my stomach sank. “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m not leaving until you tell me what happened. Eventually you’ll have to come out to go to the bathroom.” I slid down the wall beside the door to sit on the nondescript carpet. “And if I’m going to be here, I’m gonna get hungry. I may be forced to eat your Chinese food.”

  A pause, and then, “Go ahead. I’m not hungry anyway.” If that wasn’t a tantrum response, I didn’t know what was.

  I let silence spread between us for a minute before I gave up, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Fine.
You want to stay in there, I won’t make you come out. Where’s the costume?” The twelve-hour enchantment wasn’t up yet, but the last thing I wanted was for her to think I stole it when the sexy archer costume reverted to Mueller’s baggy clothes.

  Heavily muffled by the door, she murmured, “He laughed at me.”

  My stomach gremlin turned red with rage. “He did what?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. The costume’s on the couch.”

  “I’m so sorry, Amy. I really am. Guys can be real assholes. I should know. My ex is dating Serabella Angelique.” When such juicy gossip elicited no response, I conceded the battlefield. “Okay. I’m gonna go now. Maybe I’ll see you in the game?”

  Silence.

  I sighed and retrieved the costume, gathering up all the pieces, including the knee-high boots that would eventually turn back into a pair of my mom’s old high heels. Then, to the impenetrable door, I said, “Message me if you want to talk. I’ll be around.”

  I took my leave of the house just as a handsome young guy carting two giants bags of Chinese food arrived. How much did those girls eat if Riga thought it wasn’t enough for me to have any?

  Back in my car, I sat for a minute just staring at the costume on the seat beside me. It should have worked. Everything I knew about being godmother - admittedly not a lot, but something - said it would work. I made a mental list in my head as I drove out of ‘60s suburbia and back to the edge of nowhere I considered home.

  Princess? Obviously.

  Fairytale? Everyone, even Sabine, had commented about Amy’s inherent Cinderella-ness. Fair to say that was a check.

  Cinderella needed a party, a dress, a prince. Check, check, check! Maybe it was the boots. Should I have given her something easily dropped? A way for her prince to find her afterward? Was Tyler even now trying to call her to ask her back? No, not if he laughed at her. What sort of ‘prince’ did that, anyway?

  Without a better understanding of magic, of how this whole godmother thing worked, there was no way to know what went wrong. Hell, even if I knew, odds were good I would still screw up a second change. What if I didn’t get a second chance? If Amy never trusted me again, then what? Would she be stuck in a degrading, menial-labor job for the rest of her life? Would my mom and the rest of the curse’s victims stay in comas forever? How often did a princess come along in a godmother’s life?

  By the time I passed the “Welcome to Trapperstown!” sign, all I wanted to do was cry. To fall apart in a giant vat of bitter tears. I rolled down the window to let the summer heat in, the better to stave off the inevitable.

  In the span of a day, I had lost my best friend (or at least the best friend I might have had) and all hope for ever being a good enough godmother to break the spell and save my mom. My little brother thought I was a giant loser…and I couldn’t argue. Oh, and not to forget the would-be boyfriend who started it all, who couldn’t be bothered to do so much as text me a thank you for saving his dog.

  At that exact moment, as if he could read my mind - or maybe the universe was toying with me - a familiar bark resounded from the park as I drove by. And there he was. Dave the dog, legs splayed in playful dog posture, watching me. He barked once more and picked up a plastic disc from the green grass at his paws.

  Nicky had time to play a game of catch with his dog but not to text me between throws? Not cool. So not cool, in fact, that I decided I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Not today.

  I parked and got out, running in the direction Dave had gone the second my sneakers hit dirt. By the time I got halfway across the park, I was sweating. And not in a nice, feminine way. But apparently I needed answers more than I needed to maintain my mystique. Ha! My mystique had disappeared that awful day six years ago when my life had fallen apart. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t a loser, and that he and I weren’t going to hurt each other like Ally had warned. Never mind that he already had—I was probably blowing it out of proportion. He would have a good explanation, like maybe his mom relapsed and he had been too emotional to remember to call. There had to be some reason Dave had been running free around Trapperstown, after all.

  Mostly, though, I was aware of the sinking feeling that I just needed one thing in my life to work. It didn’t even have to work well. I didn’t need a fairytale ending. I just needed one teensy thing that wasn’t awful. One tiny sparkle of good in a sea of suck. Which made me feel all the more pathetic as I huffed and puffed my way between groups of kids kicking around soccer balls and young women reading while they tanned in the hot sun.

  I caught a glimpse of Dave, his tail whipping above the grass in anticipation of his Frisbee being launched again. And there was Nicky, his golden hair gleaming where the sun touched it and shadowing where sweat beaded around the edges. He wore a sea-green polo shirt and khaki pants, which I could interpret as either casual Friday wear or day-off clothes, if he was the sort to dress that way normally. I didn’t even know that much about him.

  Yet, I assured myself as his gaze locked on mine. I smiled and raised my hand to wave…only to find myself waving at his back as he flipped a one-eighty and practically jogged away.

  My feet stopped in their tracks, too connected to my stomach for my heart to control them. For once, my stomach gremlin was asleep. In fact, I thought for sure it had vanished altogether, dropped into the multiplanar abyss that now stretched out forever where my stomach had previously been located. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I wiped it away, wishing the burning sensation would go with it. When I opened my eyes again, Dave had hold of the disc in Nicky’s hand and was attempting to drag him backward. Back toward me. Or, more likely, back toward the park and more playing, unwilling to return home.

  I watched them play tug of war until Nicky snapped a leash to Dave’s collar and gave the dog several commands with sharp, decisive hand gestures. Dave’s body seemed to shrink in response, and he heeled like the good dog he was. As Nicky led him away, I could swear Dave glanced over his furry shoulder at me, his big brown eyes full of sadness. But of course, I couldn’t see that from this distance. He probably just smelled something he regretted being unable to investigate.

  How long I stood there, I didn’t know. Time ceased to exist. Hell, everything but the knife slicing through my insides to widen that cold abyss dropped off my radar. The abyss, and the furious spinning of my brain as it replayed my interactions with Nicky again and again. Over and over, analyzing every word, every expression. I hadn’t been that spastic, had I? Or maybe he said he wanted to get together again but really he’d been thinking, “Ally is totally right; this chick is insane!” Or maybe that was it—maybe Ally had gotten to him in the days since our date and convinced him to stay away from me.

  I laughed aloud, a single, sharp, bitter thing that got swallowed up in the chatter and shouting of people having a perfect summer all around me. Nicky and I had gotten together for beverages. The possibility existed that I had concocted the whole date scenario in my head. Maybe Nicky just needed someone to talk to who wasn’t his invalid mother. With my mom in a coma, I could understand that. Maybe he just needed a friend and I had made it weird and awkward and semi-spastically-romantic. (Semi-romantic, not semi-spastic. I was well aware of the fullness of my spasticity.)

  Was that it? Was that my answer? All he wanted was someone to share a drink with, but I misread everything and made it awkward to be around me? I couldn’t discount Ally’s hand in it, not with everything she had said that day and everything I knew about how she handled problems, but it seemed more likely it was my fault. All me and all awkward.

  When I finally shook myself from my statue-like reverie in the middle of the park, it took my brain a second to process what I was seeing. Or who I was seeing. And when it did, it brought a sickening revelation of what I had been missing this whole time.

  I shoved aside my promise to my mother and stalked across the park to the garden on the far end. To that same picnic table where this whole, horrible mess had started. A
s soon as I was close enough, I jabbed my index finger at Harry Roundtop’s chest.

  “You cursed me,” I hissed, fighting the urge to knock the bucket of roses out of the balding man’s hand. “You gave me one of those, and it was magical, and it pricked my finger like Sleeping Beauty’s spindle, and you cursed me.” The same finger poked his chest again.

  His face seemed younger than it had the last time we met but it didn’t phase me. What was youth and beauty to a man with magic? He looked neither surprised nor offended as he spoke, merely contemplative. That only pissed me off more. “‘Cursed’ is a bit strong,” he objected. “‘Enchanted,’ perhaps. ‘Bespelled,’ certainly.”

  I poked him harder. “Given how much worse my life has gotten, I’d say it isn’t strong enough.”

  The smile that spread across his face removed all the wrinkles and at least twenty years of age. When it reached his eyes, they twinkled like merry hazel stars. “That’s the thing about magic, I’m afraid. Unpredictable.”

  “You think this is funny?” I wanted to hurt him, to shove his ass in the dirt beside the picnic table. Maybe kick him in the ass while he was down, but I refrained. Barely.

  Good thing, too, because the longer we stood there, eyeing each other, the stronger and more resilient he became. Gone were the trembles I had seen when we first met. His head wasn’t quite so bare. He was still a bald man past sixty, but his presence, his aura - his magic, I realized - grew until it seemed to fill the entire garden. “My dear girl,” he said with the sort of English accent one expected from nobility in a period drama, like the Chisel’s but ever so much grander. “I do not joke about the fate of the world.”

  That brought me full stop. Whirring mind, tumulting emotions, tense body; all of it fell still at the same instant. “What do you mean?”

  He raised his cane and waggled it at me with one eye closed. “No jumping the gun, I’m afraid. Still…” He let go of the cane and snatched it back up before it fell, whirling it like a baton before hooking it on his forearm. “Here you are. Earlier than I anticipated, so I will have to cut this meeting short.” His eyes glittered even more, if that were possible. “Go home, Tereza. Get some rest.”