Disenchanted: The Trials of Cinderella

by Megan Morrison

  “She’s in Orange, isn’t she?” the king pressed. “Orlaith the Magnificent never cared for me — she’d give Maud sanctuary, and she could hide her well at that labyrinth of a university. Or perhaps your mother sailed for Olive. She and Claret were always friendly.”

  Dash remained relaxed. He couldn’t show, by word or flicker of motion, that his father had gotten it right.

  “I admire your loyalty,” said his father. “Very touching stuff. But you’re punishing yourself for no reason. Your mother will be back, and you know it.”

  Dash hoped it wasn’t true, even though he missed her. One word from her would have stopped all of this. Little as his father had respected the queen in other ways, he had always deferred to her judgment where Dash was concerned.

  “Have it your way,” said his father. “We’ll be two Charming bachelors tonight, enjoying a ball together. Just like it was with my father and me.” He strolled out, whistling.

  AFTERNOON sunlight flooded the penthouse of the Slipper. Serge leaned against the glass wall, watching Jules pace in circles around her desk, her short frame elongated by shoes so high-heeled that no one without wings could possibly have balanced upon them. In his pocket, his watch burned. When he flicked it open, names and addresses swam into view.

  LOOM BATIK. BATIK CASTLE.

  LAVALIERE JACQUARD. JACQUARD ESTATE.

  FLINT QUEBRACHO. 21 SEMINAL PARK SOUTH.

  TIARA ZORI. 6 HEMMING SQUARE.

  Serge snapped his watch shut.

  “The nerve of Clement,” Jules seethed. “Giving a ball without any prior warning. Every single godparent is out in the city, but they’ll never get to everyone in time, and we’ll never be forgiven if they don’t — but we’re responding as fast as we can! What do these people think we’re made of?”

  “Magic,” Serge replied. “Don’t panic, Jules. I’ve drawn up a schedule and delegated tasks. I’m confident that every client will be seen in time.”

  “What about your clients?” Jules demanded. “They’re our most deserving, and they’ll be furious if you don’t give them what they want — you should be with them by now.”

  “I stayed here to ensure that everyone else was managed efficiently,” said Serge. “I’m capable of seeing to my clients’ needs in the time that remains.”

  “Then go,” Jules snapped. “The clock is ticking. Stop making me nervous.”

  “What about Lavaliere Jacquard?” he asked her, making sure not to sound accusatory.

  “What about her? You take care of her.”

  “Won’t Lariat expect you personally?” Serge could hardly bear visiting the Jacquards. If only Jules would take that one visit off his hands, he knew he could handle the rest of it.

  “I’ve got a beastly headache,” said Jules. She collapsed into her oversize chair. “I know you can do it, babe,” she said, closing her eyes. “Ta.”

  Serge left the penthouse and went to find Jasper, who was sitting in a glass chair beside the reception pool, whispering with Lebrine.

  Before he could reach his apprentice, someone jostled him with such energy that it nearly sent him to the floor. Gossamer the perpetually tearful had knocked into him. Tears glistened as usual on her dark blue cheeks, but this time she carried a box of her belongings, out of which stuck a purple seaweed scroll. Serge regarded it with some surprise. Purple scrolls meant termination.

  “I’m fired,” said Gossamer. “I’m not the right fit for the Slipper. I’ve had one too many lapses in judgment — that’s what Jules calls it when I do my real job, which is to help children in actual need, instead of the entitled brats we call clients. Right after she fired me, the royal ball was announced, and do you know what she did? She actually tried to get me to stay and work through the end of the day.” Gossamer laughed angrily. “You know what I told her?”

  Serge did not, but he was very, very curious.

  “I told her I don’t exist for her convenience, and I wished I’d never taken this job in the first place. I knew the Slipper wasn’t what it used to be, but I thought I could make a difference. I thought I’d have the resources to change lives.” Gossamer shook her head and hefted the box in her arms. “This place is poison. I don’t need a contract system or a List. I have magic. I’m bursting with it, because I still have compassion, unlike the heartless witch who runs this place.”

  Serge stared. “You said all that? To Jules?”

  “And more,” said Gossamer with a satisfied flick of her little wings.

  “She’ll have the House of Magic revoke your license.”

  Gossamer snorted. “License,” she said. “What am I, human? Who’s going to stop me if I want to use my magic?”

  “Jules can try.”

  “Jules can barely make a glass dot anymore, and you know it. That’s why she needs so much money — she’s magically bankrupt.” Gossamer lowered her voice and moved closer to him. “I know about you. You’re running out of fairy dust, aren’t you.”

  Serge stepped back, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

  “If you don’t get out of here soon, you’ll dry up just like Jules. Is that what you want? To spend your life in a penthouse, pretending you have a headache, when the truth is you’re not magic anymore?”

  An ugly shock coursed through him. “Get out,” he said. “You’ve been terminated.”

  Gossamer fluttered away as commanded but turned back when she reached the Slingshot. “Good-bye, Serge,” she said. “Best wishes to you in making wishes come true.”

  Only after the door slid shut behind her did Serge remember that Jasper was there, waiting by the reception pool and listening to every word. He took a moment to collect himself before joining his apprentice.

  “You’ve been reinstated for duty,” he said, forcing a smile and trying to organize his insides, which were all in pieces. “The ball begins at nine, which gives us very little time before clients are climbing into their carriages. I didn’t want to overwhelm you on our first rounds, but it looks like we’ll have to take on Gossamer’s clients as well as our own.”

  “If we split up, we can cover more clients in less time,” said Jasper.

  “Apprentices may not work alone until the trial period is complete.”

  “But what about Ella?”

  “Not here,” Serge hissed, and he headed for the Slingshot. In moments, he and Jasper were flying briskly toward the first client’s address.

  Batik Castle sat atop the cliffs that rose up along the seaside just north of the harbor. The vines that crawled over its shining battlements were laden with large blue flowers.

  “Gorgeous,” said Jasper as they approached.

  “Isn’t it?” said Serge, grabbing with relief at this bit of normal conversation. “Some segments of this fortress date back almost as far as the Shattering.”

  Jasper sighed. “We have castles that old in Crimson,” he said. “But they don’t look like this.”

  From the breast pocket of his gray coat, Serge pulled a tiny bell. It looked like a fresh bluebell flower, and the music of its chime was enchantingly delicate. As they waited their contractual three minutes before entering the client’s room, Serge tried to calm his disordered nerves by smoothing the fall of hair he wore over his eye. Ocean mist made his hair unruly; he’d have to use magic to hold it in place today, though he didn’t have much to spare.

  Because he was running out of dust. And, apparently, everyone knew it.

  “You should try Preen Creme.” Jasper indicated his own black spikes of hair, impervious to the sea breeze. “I brought just roomfuls of it with me from Cliffhang. Here, let me fix you.”

  Serge would have declined the intervention, but Jasper’s fingertips were already on his blond wave, applying a substance that smelled refreshingly of lime.

  “Don’t you love the scent?”

  “It’s nice,” Serge admitted, glancing at himself in his watch’s mirrored case. Jasper had given his plume a nice sense of lift and bounce. “Three minutes are up
.” He grabbed Jasper’s sleeve and snapped his fingers.

  They vanished and reappeared in Loom Batik’s bedroom. Loom sat with his feet propped on his vanity table, looking bored, as usual. His glass slippers changed hue in the sunlight, turning from deep amber to sunset gold. They were precisely what he had requested upon signing his contract, and Serge still enjoyed seeing them; they had tremendous depth of color. They were marred only by Jules’s glass dots affixed to the heels.

  Gossamer was wrong, Serge thought. He wasn’t like Jules. He still had empathy — he felt things; he cared for people. Jules just didn’t give him enough chances to show it anymore. That was why his dust was harder to summon.

  Loom kicked down his feet and pulled off the slippers. “About time,” he said. “I’ve been wearing those things all morning, calling you.”

  “They’re sublime,” said Jasper, picking up one of the amber shoes. He ran a fingertip over the glass dot and frowned.

  “Who’s this?” Loom demanded. “Where’s the girl you used to bring?”

  “Georgette is now an official godmother,” said Serge. “She has her own clients to manage.”

  “This one’s not even a Blue fairy,” said Loom. “What is he, Red?”

  “Crimson.”

  Loom drew back. “Crimson? Don’t they hypnotize people and send them off cliffs?”

  Jasper did not defend himself, but his look of quiet hurt prodded Serge into speech.

  “Jasper is my apprentice,” he said. “If that troubles you, I will reassign you to a more suitable godparent.”

  Loom glowered and fingered the spike in his ear. “He can stay.”

  “Good. Now, what can we do for you?”

  “I want shoes,” said Loom, flexing his bare feet. “I can’t wear the glass ones again. They were impressive at first, but everyone’s seen them now — too bad, since sheer is the fashion. And I’m sick of these spikes,” he said, touching a blue-black hairstyle that was almost exactly like Jasper’s. “I want something fresh, if you have any creativity.”

  Jasper stepped up to the challenge. Under his pale fingers, Loom’s coarse black hair grew long, straight, and shiny. It hung in artistic, jagged lines around his face and past his shoulders, with one thick lock in front that was not white but actually clear as glass. The boy’s mask of boredom was momentarily pierced by this sudden, dramatic change in his appearance; he exclaimed over how much he liked it.

  “Now do shoes,” Loom said to Jasper, whose Crimsonness he had apparently forgiven. “Can you make ones as good as my hair?”

  Jasper could. When they left Batik Castle, Loom was satisfied, which Serge could not remember happening before. “Impressive work,” he said to Jasper. “Loom is famously particular.”

  “Thanks for backing me.” Jasper’s voice was soft. “People usually won’t.”

  They visited Gossamer’s clients in rapid succession. There were pimples to disguise, hairstyles to arrange, and accessories to fashion according to the latest trends. There were carriages to embellish and shoes to conjure. Jasper’s whole performance continued to impress Serge. He had the knack of dramatically transforming faces with his hair arrangements, and his taste was faultless — everything he touched was improved. Even more remarkable: Jasper knew just how to speak to each child, and in reply the children listened to him and seemed instinctively to trust him. Serge had never worked with an apprentice so gifted. He found himself wondering whether, once he had taken over the Slipper himself, Jasper might not be his own Executive Godfather.

  They left Gossamer’s last client’s home. Serge alighted on the grass in a small park, and Jasper came to rest beside him.

  “What is it?”

  Serge forced his wings to relax. “Nothing,” he lied. He took out his watch, which was hot with the call he could put off no longer. He flicked the watch open.

  LAVALIERE JACQUARD. JACQUARD ESTATE.

  LAVALIERE JACQUARD. JACQUARD ESTATE.

  LAVALIERE JACQUARD. JACQUARD ESTATE.

  His stomach hurt.

  Serge clicked the watch shut and pocketed it. “I’ll be engaged for the rest of the afternoon,” he said. “I’m afraid you can’t come. This client prefers anonymity.”

  “But what about Ella?”

  “What about her?”

  “You told her we’d come back. She must be getting ready for the ball too — aren’t we going to help her?”

  “No.”

  Jasper pressed his red mouth shut.

  “Look,” said Serge. “After all you heard Gossamer say, I know you must be having doubts about Jules. And the Slipper doesn’t live up to its old reputation these days, I know it. But see it from my perspective, Jasper. If I just wait a little longer, I’ll be the one in charge. Think of the good I’ll be able to do. If I have to fulfill a few spoiled children’s petty whims between now and then, it’s worth it.”

  “Is it?”

  Serge stiffened. “I just said that it was.”

  “How old is Jules?”

  “Three hundred and four.”

  “So she could live another century and just keep stringing you along, couldn’t she?”

  It was something he tried not to think about.

  “I like you, Jasper,” Serge said after a moment. “You’re talented. But you are not to interact with Ella Coach without my say-so — and don’t ever bring up her name again while we’re at the Slipper. Do you understand?”

  Jasper’s giant wings drooped. Tears spilled from his eyes and, where they splashed, dead orchids bloomed from the lawn and crumbled into ash.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” said Serge. “See you tonight.”

  ELLA stood at her window, looking outside for the fairies. When they came, would they fly in? They had said they would chime her, but she didn’t hear a thing. Maybe they had come to visit while she’d been away at Lavaliere’s house, and she’d missed their visit for the day. She hoped not.

  “So?”

  Ella turned to find Sharlyn just inside her bedroom door, holding a parcel in her arms.

  “How was Lavaliere’s?”

  “Great,” said Ella sarcastically. “We’re all best friends now.”

  “You didn’t give them half a chance, did you?”

  “Garb Garter put a snail down my back.”

  “I’ve heard the Garter boy likes his pranks,” said Sharlyn. “But what about Chemise? She seems lovely.”

  “She’s the nicest of the lot,” Ella admitted. “By about a thousand leagues.”

  “That sounds promising. Perhaps you can pursue that friendship tonight at the ball.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You don’t turn down a royal invitation, Ella. It simply is not done.”

  “What if I’m sick?” Ella faked a cough. “I’m feeling really sick.”

  “Absolutely not.” Sharlyn brought the parcel in and put it on Ella’s bed. It was stamped with a big blue G. Gusset Gowns. Dimity’s family. Nearly every garment they sold was made from Jacquard silk. Sharlyn opened the parcel and drew out the gown — rose-colored silk with massive shoulders all built out of silk rosettes, and a thin ribbon of Prism silk fluttering around the high waistline. It must have cost enough to pay the Winceys’ rent for a year.

  Sharlyn laid the gown across the bed. “You can borrow jewels from me, and I’ll send in my hairdresser after supper.”

  “But —”

  “No buts. Tonight, I hope you’ll finally appreciate what opportunities you have here in this city. This is how business is really done, Ella. Not in offices, but on ballroom floors.”

  “Oooh,” said Clover, appearing suddenly at the door beside her brother. She was so tall that her blast of black curls nearly brushed the doorframe as she gave the rose-colored gown an approving nod. “Nice choice, Ma. Looking forward to the ball, Ella? Even you have to ditch the attitude and get excited about a royal invitation, don’t you?”

  “The best part is always the music,” said Linden, who held his dr
umsticks in his hands. “It would be great to meet the main musical act. Start to get our name out there. You don’t know who’s playing, do you, Ma? I will die if it’s Pulse.”

  Ella suddenly remembered what she’d heard in Lavaliere’s room.

  “It’s Pulse,” she said. “But they won’t play the first hour, and it’s such short notice that Lady Jacquard can’t find anyone else to do it.”

  “She needs musicians?” said Clover, grabbing Linden’s arm. “For tonight?”

  “This is just what I mean!” said Sharlyn. “Here’s a tremendous opportunity for Clover and Linden, and you know about it because you were in the right place with the right people. It isn’t as if chances like this are advertised. You simply have to be connected.”

  “Ma,” said Clover, now pacing frantically across Ella’s room, her half-pouf of hair vibrating with every step, “talk to Lady Jacquard — you’re better at that bit than we are.”

  “Done,” said Sharlyn. “Come with me, Ella. We’ll visit the Jacquards, then shop for shoes.”

  But Ella would not go back there.

  “I don’t want to go to the ball,” she said again. “I told you about the music thing, and I went to Lavaliere’s like you asked. Please let me stay home.”

  Sharlyn actually hesitated.

  “Go on,” said Clover.

  “Yeah, she’s shy,” said Linden, pushing up his spectacles with a purple finger.

  But Sharlyn shook her head. “You’re going. End of discussion.”

  “Sorry, Ella,” said Clover. “We tried.”

  “Thanks for the tip about tonight,” said Linden. “We owe you one. Come on, Clo — let’s tell the others.” He raced from the room with Clover on his heels, leaving Ella alone with Sharlyn.

  They regarded each other in the quiet.

  “I can’t wear that gown,” Ella said. “That’s Jacquard silk.”

  “Ella, I understand that your mother —”

  “No.” Ella cut her off. “You don’t. And I have my own dress.”

  “An appropriate dress? For a royal ball?”

  “If I can’t dress myself, I’m not going.”