The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen

by Delia Sherman

  “How should I know?” Madame Factor said, honestly surprised. “I’m not a mortal. That’s all I can tell you. Now will you go away?”

  As I was about to put the drumstick back into Satchel, I caught sight of Airboy, still frozen between two mirrors. I’d totally forgotten him. “You have to release my sidekick first,” I said hastily.

  Elizabeth Factor growled and waved her hand, now tipped with scarlet claws. The imprisoning mirrors rolled away and Airboy staggered forward, looking furious.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Ignoring me, he stalked toward the mirrors in front of the door, which slid aside to let us through. As we left her salon and ran down the steps, the last thing I heard was Madame Factor neighing after us. “You are ugly, you know. You’re fat and sloppy and your hair’s a disaster. You’ll never look like a hero. Never.”

  Chapter 16

  RULE 98: STUDENTS MUST NEVER LAUGH AT ANOTHER MORTAL’S TEARS.

  Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules

  “Well!” I said as the geranium red door of Elizabeth Factor’s Beauty Salon closed behind us. “I think that went pretty well, considering.”

  Airboy glared at me. “Considering you made a total mess of it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You. Bombing around without a plan or telling me what you were going to do next. One minute I’m an Ambassador; the next, I’m a sidekick. What happened to cooperating?”

  “That’s not fair,” I said. “You were the one who said being an Ambassador was a bad idea. I was just trying to divert her attention.”

  “You were taking over.” Airboy’s eyes burned like black coals. “I cooperated. I saved you. If I hadn’t stopped you, you’d have ended up being her slave.”

  This was true, but I was in no mood to admit it. “I got her to release you from those mirrors,” I pointed out.

  “Once you remembered I existed.” And he stomped off, taking the magic map with him.

  I had to ask a brownie the way to the nearest Betweenway station.

  Back at school after the weekend, I went looking for Airboy.

  After an evening spent on the window seat in my room staring out over the Park, I’d come to the conclusion that Airboy had a point. I had kind of taken over. Ad he had definitely saved me from becoming Elizabeth Factor’s slave.

  His reaction had been kind of extreme, though. And it had been truly un-groovy of him to leave me in Midtown without a map.

  Still, I was ready to apologize if he was.

  I didn’t see Airboy until lunch. He was sitting as far from our table as he could get, hunched over his usual sushi. When he looked up, I gave him a friendly nod. He looked right past me.

  Cooperation. Right. I should have let Madame Factor turn him into a fish.

  When I got to our table, Espresso waved me to a seat next to her. “Hey, Neefer-girl! How’s the questing gig?”

  I sat down and launched into the exciting tale of my adventures in the Garment District. I skipped over the part where Airboy appeared, and then of course I had to slide over how I learned to cross Seventh Avenue and pretend I’d left the magic map at home and leave out the whole thing with the Ugly Mirror because, well, because. But I told them all the important stuff.

  When I finished, Stonewall looked thoughtful. “Tiffany, huh? You know, there are a lot of blonde debs in New York Between. Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?”

  “I’m not jumping to anything. I thought about it all day yesterday. Tiffany has to have the mirror. Why else would she disappear?”

  “If the other deb was Bergdorf, she could have it,” Mukuti pointed out.

  “It makes more sense the other way,” Fortran said. “Besides, Bergdorf’s a total minion. Can you see anybody giving her a magic mirror when Tiffany was around?”

  There was a thoughtful silence. Danskin said, “Well, if Tiffany had the mirror, wouldn’t we know? I mean, I can’t see her taking one of the great talismans of New York and not using it.”

  “Tiffany, Queen of New York!” Mukuti chortled. “She’d like that.”

  Fortran laughed. “I bet she’s lurking on top of the Woolworth Building, planning to take over the world!”

  “Then why is Bergdorf so freaked out?” Danskin asked.

  Espresso shrugged. “Minion, remember? Maybe Tiffany left the mirror with her, stashed in a bag of last season’s lip gloss.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” I said. “Here’s something I never thought I’d hear myself say: I want to find Tiffany.”

  Stonewall groaned. “Oh, yeah,” he said sarcastically. “You’re the hardest-working mortal changeling in New York Between. Boo-hoo.” I looked at him hard. He didn’t seem to be teasing. “Can we talk about something other than Neef’s quest for a while? Everybody got their Hallowe’en costumes? Fortran, you still set on that monkey-warrior thing?”

  Fortran glanced at me. I shrugged. Stonewall was in a mood. It happened.

  “Nah. Too much trouble.” Fortran hesitated. “What do you think about a troll?”

  Stonewall narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Well, you’re approximately the right color, so that’s a start.”

  I watched Fortran decide this was supposed to be funny. “Good one,” he said doubtfully. “Should be easy, then. What about you, Mukuti?”

  “I’m tired of always being something Indian,” she said. “Miss Van Loon’s is all about diversity, right? So I was thinking about one of those nasty Russian water nymphs. You know, a rusalka. I could get my hair all wet.”

  “Oh, your godmother’s going to love that,” Stonewall said. “Dripping all over your clothes and shorting out all her nifty amulets. The ones that actually work, that is.”

  Danskin gave his friend the kind of look you’d give someone who was turning into a toad. “Hey, lighten up, Stoney—or should I call you ‘Too-Much-Coffee Man’?”

  Espresso giggled nervously.

  “What about you, Neef?”

  I glanced at Stonewall. His eyes were hard and unfriendly under his golden eyebrows. If this was just a mood, it was certainly a foul one. Even if I’d decided about my costume, I wouldn’t have necessarily wanted to say anything.

  I gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “How about somebody from the Wild Hunt?” Fortran asked helpfully. “That gives you lots of scary choices.”

  “It’s obvious,” Stonewall said. “Peg Powler.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “Well, you’re not exactly skinny, are you? And there’s the hair—definitely fly-away. A few weeds, a little green paint, and you’ll be ugly enough to scare the little kids into fits.” He stood up and slung his red leather Shoulder Bag across his back. “I’ve lost my appetite. I’m outta here. You coming, Danskin?”

  Danskin shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Whatever,” Stonewall said, and sauntered away.

  We all looked at each other.

  “Better wash your face, man,” Espresso told me.

  I hadn’t even known I was crying.

  That night, I spent a long time in front of the mirror on the Castle stairs, trying to figure out how ugly I actually was. I’d never really thought about it, but Stonewall obviously had. I’d considered asking Astris or the Pooka, but decided I probably didn’t want to listen to them trying to tell me the truth without hurting my feelings.

  The mirror didn’t care about my feelings. Its magic was to show me what was real.

  In fact, I hadn’t turned into a monster or a toad. I was still plain ordinary-looking. Being ordinary might make me a monster to someone like Madame Factor—or Stonewall—but it shouldn’t matter to a hero. Maybe a real hero didn’t have to be as beautiful as the day, as long as she was as sharp as a drawerful of knives.

  What I couldn’t decide was whether or not I actually believed that.

  Next day, Stonewall had lunch with the Downtown artists and Danskin sat with the Lincoln Center crowd. The rest of u
s talked about school stuff. Nobody mentioned Tiffany or Hallowe’en costumes. The day after that, I walked into the lunchroom and saw Stonewall sitting at the East Siders’ table, next to Bergdorf.

  I felt weird. More mad than hurt, disgusted that he’d turned out to be such a jerk. I felt like an idiot, too, because I’d liked him.

  I sat where I didn’t have to look at Stonewall making up to Bergdorf, but I could still hear him saying things like “Ooh, sweetie. How sick-making!” and “What was she thinking? Blue is not your color” and “Of course I’ll help you with your Hallowe’en costume. Ugly stepsister, you said? We can do a lot with that.”

  “Neef,” Fortran said crabbily, “are you listening to me at all? Because I’ve been working on your mirror thing, and it would be nice if you even pretended to be interested.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I am interested. It’s just—”

  Fortran gave an impatient bounce. “Forget it, Neef. Stonebrain’s under an evil spell or something. Nobody cares what you look like.”

  “Way to go, Talis-man,” Espresso said. “Now she feels a lot better.”

  I resisted the impulse to kick Fortran under the table. “It’s okay,” I said. “So. What do you have?”

  Fortran zipped open one of Backpack’s tiny pockets, pulled out a palm-sized magic tablet, and laid it on the table. Espresso, Mukuti, and I scooched around so we could see better.

  Fortran fiddled with the tablet. It filled with numbers and symbols.

  “Very cool, Fortran,” I said. “What is it?”

  “It’s a magic formula. Magic Techs use them to design new magic talismans for the Folk to make. I think I’ve figured out a new use for them. You wanna hear?”

  “You know we won’t dig it like you want us to,” Espresso said. “Just lay the bottom line on us.”

  Fortran called up another screen, headed “The Mirror’s Travels.” On it was a list of names:1. nymph

  2. goblin

  3. dwarf

  4. Snowbell

  5. Elizabeth Factor

  6. Tiffany

  I tapped Tiffany’s name. “How can you be sure? I mean, it could be Bergdorf or Best, or even some random blonde Deb we don’t even know.”

  “I’ve checked everything a billion times,” Fortran said, “and it always comes out Tiffany. You gotta believe me. Tech doesn’t lie.”

  “Fair enough.” I looked back at the tablet. “Can that thing tell us what happened to her?”

  Fortran deflated slightly. “Not as such,” he said. “But it does say that there’s a 99.98 percent chance that Bergdorf knows.”

  “Which means I have to talk to Bergdorf.” I sighed. “At least I know where to find her.”

  Knowing where to find Bergdorf didn’t make talking to her any easier. She avoided me like I was some kind of disease demon, making sure I never caught her alone. But I kept shadowing her, and late on the third day after Stonewall’s personality change, after the final horn, I saw her go into the library.

  I waited a moment, then slipped in the door. At the checkout desk, the Librarian was asleep in her comfy chair with the library cat draped around her shoulders like a furry neck pillow. Both of them were snoring like whistles.

  I looked around. Bergdorf must have gone to the hidden window seat at the back of the room.

  I padded carefully through the stacks until I heard Bergdorf’s voice, soft and low, so as not to wake the Librarian. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Tiffany liked the blue striped dress with the ruffles. She said I’d look delicious.”

  A second voice gave a low chortle. “Honey, food is delicious. You want to come as an ugly stepsister or an iced cake?”

  I froze. Why was Stonewall hiding in the library with Bergdorf? Why was he talking to her like he used to talk to us? I leaned my forehead against The Mortal’s Guide to Immortal Beings and listened.

  “I’m thinking black and red,” Stonewall went on, “with a black wig and lots of makeup. The point is to look scary, not ridiculous.”

  “But Tiffany said—”

  “And Tiffany is your best friend ever, isn’t she?” Stonewall murmured understandingly.

  “Yes.” Bergdorf’s voice was sad.

  “And always gives you good advice?”

  A little pause. “Ye-es,” Bergdorf said, a little doubtfully.

  “And never, never gets you into trouble or asks you to do something you don’t want to do?”

  This pause was longer, ending in a soft noise that sounded a lot like crying.

  I thought Stonewall would laugh, but he didn’t. “Here, take my handkerchief,” I heard him say.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I peered around the edge of the bookcase.

  Bergdorf was blowing her nose into Stonewall’s white handkerchief. He was patting her shoulder. He looked almost as miserable as she did. Sympathy was one mortal custom none of us was very good at.

  I delurked.

  “Where’s Tiffany, Bergdorf?”

  It came out louder than I’d intended. Bergdorf stared up at me like a cornered rabbit, Stonewall’s handkerchief pressed to her lips. Stonewall frowned and held up one finger. We all waited, but nothing happened.

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Answer me!”

  “I don’t know?” Bergdorf wavered.

  I snorted. Quietly.

  “If you were made of wood, your nose would be three feet long,” I said nastily. “Tiffany didn’t even go to the girls’ room without you. She needs you to tell her how clever and brave and cool she is.”

  Bergdorf’s eyes narrowed angrily. “I don’t know where she is, as it happens. But I wouldn’t tell you if I did, Wild Child, not even if you tortured me, which I wouldn’t put past you. It’s all your fault anyway.” Her voice started to break up again. “Ever since you made Tiffany fall off that beam, she’s been like a crazy person. Well, you know what? I hope you get eaten by ogres and Central Park withers away and all its Folk have to go live in New Jersey!”

  Her voice was definitely entering the Librarian danger zone. Stonewall put his hand over her mouth. Silence. Stonewall lowered his hand. Bergdorf crossed her arms across her stomach, curled up like an armadillo, and made painful little mewing noises.

  Oddly enough, I didn’t find this even remotely funny.

  Stonewall gave me a strange half smile. “Is this Park diplomacy, Wild Child? A little heavy-handed, don’t you think? If I were you, I’d leave before the Librarian wakes up and makes us reshelve all the books.”

  I would have liked to snap him a cool line to show how little I cared. But I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I slunk back to the front of the room and peered around a shelf to see if the coast was clear.

  The library cat looked straight at me with clear amber eyes. My heart stopped. It yawned, then sank its chin back onto the sleeping Librarian’s shoulder.

  As I crept out the door, I could just hear Bergdorf’s sobbing.

  I hated her. I hated everybody. I especially hated me.

  Chapter 17

  RULE 125: STUDENTS MUST TREAT ONE ANOTHER AS THEY WOULD WISH TO BE TREATED THEMSELVES.

  Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules

  That night at the Castle, I announced to Astris that I was going to Miss Van Loon’s Hallowe’en Revels dressed as Peg Powler.

  She freaked, as Espresso would say, far out.

  “Oh, no, no, no, pet! What can you be thinking? Peg Powler rides with the Wild Hunt. She’s mean and ugly and hungry all the time. Wouldn’t you rather be something sweet and pretty?” Her whiskers twitched thoughtfully. “A wood nymph, maybe.”

  “Mean and ugly is what Hallowe’en’s about,” I said.

  “We learned about it at school. When you make fun of scary things, you make them less scary.”

  Astris’s whiskers trembled with distress. “Oh, dear,” she said. “Is that what they’re teaching you? I’m not sure I approve. It seems, well, human. It’s certainly dangerous. What if you get hit by a stray spell an
d get stuck that way?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like that’s going to happen! First of all, I’m under double protection—the Lady’s and the school’s. Second of all, I’m a mortal. Changing how I look doesn’t change who I am. Third of all, I’m already mean and ugly, so I might as well go with it.”

  Then I ran upstairs to my room, slammed the door, crawled into bed, and drew the curtains closed around me.

  Unfortunately, Folk aren’t good at taking hints. And being my fairy godmother made Astris even more hint-deaf than she was naturally. I hardly had time for one good sob before I heard the hinges creak and her claws scurrying across the stone floor. I hastily wiped my face on the pillow.

  Her whiskers brushed my cheek. “You’re not ugly, pet,” Astris said in my ear. “And you’re not really mean. You’re just at an awkward age.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

  I put all the sarcasm I could into it, but Astris is also sarcasm-deaf. “Good,” she said briskly. “How would you like to attend the Hallowe’en Revels as a Swedish troll maiden? They’re scary, but in a good way. I’ll glamour you a tail and a false nose, and Pepperkaka can lend you her apron and her felt hat.”

  I buried my face in the pillow. “Glamours are against the rules,” I mumbled.

  “We’ll use rope.” Astris jumped off the bed, leaving me feeling worse than ever.

  During Basic Manners next morning, I kept my head down, answering when the Diplomat asked me something, but otherwise focusing my attention on not breaking Rules 132 (Students must not be snarky) and 386 (Students must be polite at all times). As a result, I got yelled at for breaking Rule 242 (The very difficult Students must not play with their hair—although I was actually chewing on it) and failing to cultivate a pleasant expression. Also for not paying attention to the lesson, but that was getting to be a chronic condition.

  I spent most of the lesson sorting beans and rice.