My Unfair Godmother

by Janette Rallison

  I held my baby protectively to my chest, shaking with both fear and anger. “I didn’t choose to have a baby in the Middle Ages. It’s your fault he’s in danger. You’ve got to take him back to the right time.”

  “My fault?” She blinked in indignation. “I granted you three wishes and in return you made a deal with a leprechaun that could lead to magical calamity.” She gestured to the baby. “Your son is the key Rumpelstiltskin needs to regain his old powers. It won’t matter where I take the baby now. He was here and yours within a year from your agreement. That means Rumpelstiltskin can claim him.”

  Around us, tree branches shuddered in the wind. The sound of their swishing leaves created a dull, chastising roar. “Do you realize what Rumpelstiltskin will do if he gets his fairy magic back?” Chrissy asked. “He won’t be a friend to mortals, I can tell you that. Expect a lot of frozen crops, plagues, and men to mysteriously change into frogs. Meanwhile, the fairies will have to join forces to fight him all over again. As if I don’t already have enough to do.”

  She let out a disgruntled huff and crossed her arms so forcefully she nearly dropped the magic book. The wind ended at the same time as her outburst, and the billowing leaves settled limply back down. “This,” she said pointedly, “is precisely why fairies stay away from humans most of the time.”

  I gaped at her. I could feel Hudson’s hand on my arm, warning me to let it go, but I couldn’t. “I asked for a way to change things into gold and you threw me, my family, and all of our possessions into the Middle Ages. I have been imprisoned, threatened, shackled, and my house was ransacked. I was forced into a bargain with a creepy ex-fairy, knights are out looking for me in order to force me into a marriage with a crazy old man, and the gold enchantment rips at my heart every time I use it. And now, on top of that, you’ve put my baby in danger.”

  Chrissy regarded me evenly. “You know, you’re pretty unhappy for someone who got exactly what she wanted.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I never asked to be part of this fairy tale!”

  “But it’s what you wished for. The trouble is that you didn’t really want gold. You wanted a life with no worries, no problems, and the answers to every test before it’s given to you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “That sounds good. Give me that instead of this wish.”

  She flicked my words away with a toss of her manicured nails. “If that’s what you wanted, you should have asked to be turned into an encyclopedia.” She shook her head patiently. “You wouldn’t be happy on a dusty shelf though. Living is more fun. The key to happiness—as any good fairy godmother will tell you—is not to avoid problems, but to overcome them.” She took a deep breath, composing herself, then gestured grandly toward the forest. “So off you go on your journey, my little charge. Overcome.”

  Hudson cocked his head at her in disbelief. “Overcome?”

  She ignored him and kept waving her hand at the forest. I looked in the direction she was motioning and then back at her. “It will be dark soon, I have a baby, and there are sword-wielding men out there who want to capture me.”

  She pulled her wand out of her purse and waved it at the horses. They changed from brown mares into white steeds, fully saddled. “Overcome,” she said. “And if you can’t overcome, at least learn something meaningful. Otherwise it will be an awful story, and no one will want to read it. You don’t want to be responsible for not only giving an ex-fairy his powers back but also ruining a perfectly good fairy tale, do you? Now off you go.”

  With another flourish of her wand our supplies flew off the ground and repacked themselves onto the horses.

  “No one will want to read it?” I repeated. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  Her gaze ran over me and she let out a martyred sigh. “I suppose as long as I’m blowing my magic budget, I ought to fix your legs too. You can’t go hobbling around for the rest of the story.”

  I didn’t argue with her about that. She swept her wand in my direction and the pain drained away, until it had completely disappeared.

  “Here,” Chrissy said, holding out the book. “You should read the next page before you go.”

  I was holding the baby, so Hudson took the book and opened it so we both could see it. Illustrations covered the pages again, and the latest painting was of Rumpelstiltskin. He held his magic mirror in one hand, a look of dark determination in his eyes. I recognized the background. He stood next to the boxes of supplies at Robin Hood’s camp. He must have come not long after I left.

  Which meant he was looking for me.

  My heart jumped into my throat. My hands trembled.

  “Even ex-fairies know the ways of the forest,” Chrissy said. “All Rumpelstiltskin needs to do to find you is ask the birds and the trees which way the fair blond maiden went. If you want to keep ahead of him, you need to keep moving. And you,” she said, turning to address Hudson, “would do well to stay a nameless extra during this story.”

  Hudson shut the book with a thud and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Rumpelstiltskin had better stay away from us.”

  Chrissy patted his shoulder tolerantly. “A very noble thought from you, extra-character guard fellow, but fairies—even ex-fairies—can’t be killed by the sword. They can only be slain by magic, something you have precious little of.” To me she said, “The Alliance may have stripped Rumpelstiltskin of his fairy powers, but over the years, he’s picked up plenty of enchantments. He still has enough magic to kill you easily enough.” She shook her head as though it couldn’t be helped. “Mortals have such a frail grasp on life to begin with. I swear, you’re all born with one foot already in heaven.” Her voice had risen in frustration and she took a breath to calm herself, then smiled at me benevolently. “What I mean is, be careful. More than your life is riding on the outcome of this fairy tale now. Think of your family, and the mortals who will bear the wrath of an empowered ex-fairy. Think of my grade. I can feel it slipping down the alphabet as we speak.”

  “Your grade?” Hudson asked, but he didn’t wait for her to answer. He strode over to untie the horses, mumbling things about fairies as he went.

  I stayed where I was. “How is my son the key to Rumpelstiltskin regaining his powers?”

  Chrissy’s lips twitched into a frown. “The UMA doesn’t destroy a fairy’s magic; they can only lock it up. Regular locks don’t keep out fairies, of course, so the UMA uses magic spells. For example, Sleeping Beauty’s enchanted spinning wheel is in a vault with a spell that only lifts for those who know the wheel is there but don’t want to use it. I could open the vault right now because I have no desire to use sleep-inducing furniture. The moment I wanted to use it, I would never be able to pry the door open.” Her voice slowed. “I wish the UMA had used that spell for Rumpelstiltskin’s power. Instead, his vault can only be unlocked by buying love that cannot be bought.” She lifted her hand and then let it fall. “He found a way around that spell by buying your son when you thought the baby wouldn’t exist.”

  My arms wrapped protectively around the fuzzy blue blanket. “What will happen to him if Rumpelstiltskin takes him?”

  Chrissy’s wings slowly slid open, then quickly shut. She didn’t answer.

  “What happens to my baby?” I asked again.

  “Rumpelstiltskin will leave the baby in the vault. And he’ll die there.”

  My legs felt weak. I worried they might give out. One thought pounded through my ears. I couldn’t let Rumpelstiltskin take my baby. I couldn’t. I had to find a way to prevent it. “Chrissy, please just tell me the moral to this fairy tale. If I write down the moral, we can go home, right?”

  Her wings continued their slow fanning. “It’s not Rumpelstiltskin’s moral you need; it’s the moral of your own story. That’s the magic of books. They’re never quite the same for any two people. When you read one, you automatically make it your own.”

  “I’ve tried every moral I can think of,” I said. “Nothing works.”

  She slid her wan
d back into her purse. “Well, you need to ask the right question to get the right answer.”

  “Okay.” I tried to keep my voice calm, rational. “I’m pretty sure the right question is, what is the moral of the story?”

  She glanced at her watch—a sure sign she was about to leave. “No, the question to ask is, what have I learned?” The light around Chrissy glimmered; she was fading, and I knew in another moment, she’d leave altogether.

  I stepped toward her. “Don’t go yet.”

  “Very often,” she said, her voice already sounding far away, “the lessons you learn are more important than the things you accomplish.”

  And then she was gone.

  “Lovely,” I said out loud. “A very lovely sentiment, unless what you want to accomplish is getting to safety.” The baby stretched. He lifted one arm, leaving his hand by his face as he drifted back to sleep. “Or saving your baby’s life.” His life suddenly seemed more important than my own.

  Hudson walked back over, holding the reins of my horse. “You were right,” he said. “That was quite a surprise.”

  I knew I should be moving, but I felt too shaky to take a single step. I hadn’t even wanted to bargain with Rumpelstiltskin when the baby he asked for was only theoretical—when I didn’t think it would ever exist anyway. Now I held the baby in my arms. He was mine.

  I could identify the emotion that had coursed so forcefully through me from the moment Chrissy placed him in my arms. It was love, stronger than anything I had ever felt before. This feeling was why parents ran into burning buildings to save their children. It was why animals killed to protect their young. It was why my own father had made a deal with bandits and stormed a castle to rescue me. I knew unequivocally that I would do anything for this child. And I had traded him to Rumpelstiltskin for the ability to change things into gold. My voice choked in my throat. “What have I done?”

  “It will be all right,” Hudson said. “You already know Rumpelstiltskin’s name.”

  This brought me some comfort, but not enough. I had changed the fairy tale. What if I had changed the bargain at the end too? What if he asked a different question?

  “At least your fairy godmother gave us fresh horses,” Hudson said. “Here, I’ll hold the baby while you mount.”

  “Be careful,” I said. “Don’t drop him.”

  Hudson held out his arms. “You can trust me.”

  He had said the same thing back at the castle, and I had laughed at him. I didn’t now. I handed him my son.

  On a hunch, I checked the diaper bag, and found what I was looking for—an over-the-shoulder sling to carry the baby in. It took Hudson and me a few moments to figure out how to work it, but then the baby was nestled against my chest, sleeping, and we rode through the forest.

  The horses were strong and fast. While the last bit of evening light lingered in the sky, they raced down the path without much urging on our part. In the back of my mind, I could always see Rumpelstiltskin walking through the forest, his thin face scanning the trees. “Which way did she go?” he asked them, and their leaves quaked in my direction.

  As soon as we were far enough away, I would write morals until I found the one that brought us home—to a time period that was long beyond the date that Rumpelstiltskin could ask anything from me. I made a mental list of things I had learned.

  Magic was dangerous. Greed was dangerous. And my father loved me enough—Sandra and Nick loved me enough—to risk their lives to rescue me from King John. That was my favorite thing I’d learned.

  Another thing I’d learned: despite the fact that I hadn’t liked Hudson at first, I liked him a lot now. He was smart, brave, and thoughtful. I had no doubt when we got back to Rock Canyon, he could do anything he wanted in life.

  I had also learned that at some point I was going to have a son. As I felt the warmth of his little body against my own, I thought about that responsibility. I wanted to be the best person I could for him. I would make sure I was ready to be a mom, and married, and that the guy I married would be a good father. Someone who was dedicated to me and our son so I wouldn’t ever have to raise him by myself.

  The thought made my throat tighten. My mother had raised Kendall and me by herself for years, and I hadn’t made it any easier for her. I was sorry about that now.

  The sun set and the moon rose in the night sky. It was full, but still didn’t shed much light. Hudson turned on his flashlight, and held it out in front of him in order to keep the horses moving forward at a walk. When we reached the river, it became a little easier to travel. The ground was smoother, and the water made a dark arrow of a path to follow.

  The baby woke up as we went along the riverbank. I had no idea how old he was. He was bigger than a newborn, but whether he was five months or ten, I couldn’t tell.

  He fussed, squinting his eyes in displeasure. “It’s all right,” I whispered to him. “I’m here. Mommy’s here.”

  I expected him to dispute that statement with a few wails. After all, I wasn’t really his mother. Not yet. But he settled back into me.

  He knew my voice, I realized, and I felt incredibly happy at that fact.

  We continued riding on. When our horses clattered over the wooden bridge, the baby woke again, this time opening startled eyes and throwing his arms out in surprise. He cried in indignation, and my whispered assurances weren’t enough to soothe him. Was he hungry? If I made up some formula and he didn’t want it, then it would be wasted, and I wasn’t sure how much food Chrissy had packed for him. I found an empty bottle in the diaper bag and put it to his lips to see if he tried to drink from it, but he just turned his head, arching away.

  I felt along his diaper. It was dry.

  What else did parents do when babies cried? I didn’t know any lullabies, but my dad used to sing “You Are My Sunshine” to me when I was little. It seemed like a parental song, so I sang it.

  The baby settled down, watching me with dark eyes and sucking on his fist. Maybe I sang this song to him in the future. Or perhaps my father did.

  I only knew the first verse of the song, so I sang it over and over, and thought about how your childhood is with you, even when you don’t realize it’s there.

  I hadn’t thought that we would be able to travel very far along the path into the forest. I kept waiting for the flashlight to dim or for Hudson to say he couldn’t hold it steady anymore, but we trudged on at a slow pace, and the moon rose higher in the sky.

  The pathway finally widened into a real road and then we came to a village. All the huts we passed were dark and shuttered. Some were little more than shacks; others looked like log cabins. A few were made of stone—these were the largest homes.

  Hudson rode to a stone house set farther back than the rest. It had a large garden in front and a barn behind the house. The wizard might have been out of favor with the king, but he still seemed to be one of the more wealthy residents of this village.

  We dismounted from our horses, tied them to a hitching post, and walked to the door. Hudson knocked and we waited. I kept my arm around the baby. “Once the wizard’s wand is fixed, are you sure there isn’t a way he could send us all back home without having to travel the entire way back to meet my family?”

  Hudson shook his head. “It’s not something he can do long distance. We’ve got to be near to his wand for the magic to work.”

  I looked up at the moon and wondered what time it was. One o’clock in the morning? Two? “Do you think he’ll be willing to come with us tonight?” I asked.

  I could see the exhaustion in Hudson’s eyes, but he said, “The sooner we leave, the better chance we’ll have of avoiding King John’s men. Hopefully Bartimaeus will understand that.”

  I ran my hand along the bottom of the sling. “We’ll have to travel to the meeting place another way so we don’t run into Rumpelstiltskin.”

  “Right.” We were both too tired to say more.

  A woman in a white nightdress and a cap answered the door. She gave m
e the impression of a snowman come to life, bulky and pale. She lifted up her brass candleholder to examine us, and sniffed when she noticed Hudson’s uniform. “My master has no dealings with King John or his men,” she said, “and we’ve already answered all of your questions.”

  She went to shut the door, but Hudson put his hand out to stop her. “I’m not one of King John’s men. My name is Hudson and your master knows me. I’ve come on urgent business. Tell him I can give him the Gilead if he’ll travel with us to it.”

  Hudson actually had the Gilead in his pouch, but he’d given me strict instructions on the ride up not to reveal this fact. His reasoning was that if Bartimaeus knew we had the Gilead with us, it would be harder to get him to agree to travel all the way to my family to send them back. But if Bartimaeus went to the camp to get the Gilead and was already there with my family, we’d have a better bargaining position. It wouldn’t be much extra trouble to send us back together.

  The woman eyed us and humphed, clearly not happy about waking the wizard. “Very well,” she said, then shut the door, leaving us outside.

  I stared at the door for a moment, not sure if this ended our interview. “Is she going to wake him?”

  “She’ll get him.” Hudson rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “How’s the baby doing?”

  In the darkness, it was hard to see him, but I could feel the rise and fall of his little chest. “All right, I guess.”

  We waited. The door opened, and the woman appeared again, this time holding blankets under her arm. “The master says he’ll speak with you in the morning.”

  Hudson squared his shoulders. “Did you tell him who we were?”

  “I know who you are well enough.” She wagged a finger in my direction. “She’s that trollop from the castle who ran away. Don’t bother denying it. No other woman would wear such finery. King John’s men came through this morning pestering the entire village and searching our homes for you.” Her gaze fell on the sling around my shoulder. “Though I can see why you wouldn’t marry King John, what with a babe of your own already. Still, you shouldn’t have brought danger to our door. What if someone saw you come here?”