The Reluctant Godfather

by Allison Tebo

  “I’m not chugging,” Burndee said haughtily.

  “You’d better loosen your collar,” Cynthia advised, reaching for his neck as if bent on doing the task for him.

  Burndee stepped away and glared at her. “I don’t like being crowded.”

  “Well!” Cynthia dropped her arms and frowned. “I was only trying to help. You don’t have to be rude.”

  “I was being rude?”

  Cynthia tapped her chin and studied him the way she might examine a piece of raw meat. “I was giving you good advice. I’m studying to become a doctor—so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Really? Tell me, Doctor—are you as good at diagnosing personality problems as you are at diagnosing something so complicated as an upset tummy?”

  Cynthia eyed him coolly. “I find it difficult to imagine the prince having associated with someone like you for any period of time.”

  Burndee drew himself up to his full height. “And I find it impossible to imagine that Lady El . . .” He paused, catching himself just in time. “For her . . .” He pointed towards Ella, who really did seem to be having a very good time with Colin. “Uh . . . er . . . to remind you of anyone.” He cleared his throat. “Since someone like her would never associate with someone as difficult as you.”

  Cynthia’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know about that . . . she knows you.”

  Burndee glowered at her. “I am not difficult. Are you implying that you and I are similar? Because we’re not at all alike.”

  “That’s right,” Cynthia said calmly. “You’re difficult, and I’m not.”

  Burndee opened his mouth, ready to explode, but Cynthia effectively silenced him by bursting into laughter, making a sudden switch from hostility to affableness. “I’m joking! I apologize. I know I can be a little bossy sometimes.”

  “A little!” Burndee huffed, eyeing her warily.

  “All right, a lot. But occasionally one has to be,” she asserted, turning her attention to the refreshment table and helping herself to a cup of punch.

  “Well, that’s true,” Burndee allowed, unable to deny the veracity of that fact.

  “For instance, my family is insisting that I don’t go home to visit my stepsister,” Cynthia continued absently. “I was looking forward to seeing her during my sabbatical, but she has a fever, and so I’m staying here as the prince’s guest. My family insists that my sister’s contagious and that I should stay away so I won’t get sick and miss my classes—but I don’t give a hang about that. I want to see her.”

  Burndee gave her a quick visual and mental reappraisal as he swiped a cream puff off a plate and took a bite. “Good for you.”

  “Her letters are almost always listing everything she’s cleaned.” Cynthia’s brow furrowed. “Ella always was excessively clean, but it sounds like she does nothing else but clean.” Her voice grew vague, and Burndee guessed that she was really talking to herself, rather than to him. “Someone needs to make sure she has other interests, and I’m not at all sure my mother and sister are doing that. They’re . . .” Her voice trailed off, and her frown deepened.

  Burndee was about to supply several colorful words for her usage when a commotion behind him drew his attention away.

  He turned and squeezed the cream puff he had been holding, sending vanilla cream squirting down the front of his tunic. Ella was running full tilt towards the main entrance while a startled-looking Colin looked after her.

  5

  D id she have to find a powder room? No, the fleeting glimpse Burndee had of Ella’s face told him she had been frightened by something.

  “What time is it?” he snapped at Cynthia.

  Cynthia looked taken aback, but she promptly checked the engraved pocket watch that dangled from her belt—an unusual item for a lady to be wearing at a ball. “Ten o’clock. Is your watch broken?”

  He was so agitated he had forgotten he even had a head, let alone a watch. He dropped the cream puff on the floor as Ella suddenly tacked to the right and dashed through a set of double doors and out onto a balcony. “What is she doing?”

  Cynthia, raising her eyebrows at his tone, had turned and watched Ella disappear. “Perhaps she’s sick.” She looked concerned. “Maybe I should go check—”

  “No! Stay where you are!” Burndee snapped, and when Cynthia turned a dubious look upon him, he snarled, “I’m her escort—I’ll take care of her.” By putting her over my knee, he thought grimly, stomping across the ballroom and quickening his pace into an undignified run as he sped after the surprisingly fleet-footed Ella. He was amazed that she could run so quickly in that outfit, but the materials were magical and designed to be comfortable. By the time he reached the balcony, Ella had already managed to hoist herself over the balustrade and was running for all she was worth across the palace grounds.

  A guard tried to stop her, but the girl didn’t slow down. One quick collision with her magical hoops sent the man crashing into a lily pond.

  “Here now!” Another guard loomed in front of Burndee and poked his rifle at Burndee’s chest in an obligatory manner and without much heart behind the gesture. “Halt, or I’ll fire. Are you chasing that young lady?”

  “Yes, I am!” Burndee shouted, shoving past him.

  The guard grabbed his arm. “Hold on there. That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Burndee agreed, and when the guard relaxed, Burndee struck him right between the eyes. The guard gave a startled croak and sank to the ground.

  Burndee leaped over him and continued his pursuit, making a mental note to have a talk with Colin about his guards—they were completely ineffectual. And come to think of it, why the blazes wasn’t Colin the one chasing Ella? They had seemed to be getting on swimmingly.

  Burndee’s thoughts spun tumultuously as he ran, scrambled frantically for order just like his lungs struggled for air. He was so frustrated he couldn’t even summon up any magic to speed his progress. He wouldn’t have thought that would be necessary. Confound it all—he was a man and she was a snip of a girl; he ought to be able to catch her.

  But he couldn’t. She was like something possessed, tearing through tree branches and over bushes like a small, colorful animal as she flew across the grounds, with Burndee crashing along a good ten feet behind her. It aggravated him to think that Ella could be better at something than he was.

  It finally occurred to Ella to stop fighting through bushes. She turned to the left, thrashing through undergrowth towards the road that led from the palace to Andvar—Burndee could catch glimpses of it as he ran, shining in the moonlight like a silver ribbon through the boughs of the ink-dark trees. Ella’s gown snagged on a bush as she leaped clear of the forest and onto the road. Despite the damage she had already inflicted on her gown, she apparently couldn’t bring herself to suffer that particular rip, and, in a nonsensical move that was purely Ella, she stopped and bent to tug at her dress. At the same moment, she looked over her shoulder and saw Burndee. She froze, her expression a combination of a deer that had just spotted a bloodthirsty hunter and a child caught sneaking forbidden treats. She renewed her frantic efforts to free herself, and the dress came loose. She whirled away, but Burndee had already closed the distance. He stumbled onto the road and stretched, catching Ella by the arm and raising a squeal of pain from her as he spun her around to face him. “Ella—stop!”

  She went rigid and blinked at him with glazed eyes, her chest heaving.

  He wasn’t breathing so easily himself. They had run at least half a mile, but that didn’t cut down on the volume of his voice one bit as he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave a good hard shake. “Why did you run away?” he demanded.

  Ella gave a cry of protest at the sizzling shock his anger must have sent through her shoulders.

  Burndee squelched the guilt he felt and gave her another shake. “Answer me!”

  Ella swallowed, and it took several moments for her to speak. “My stepmother saw me,” she choked,
casting a haunted look back towards the castle.

  “Is that all?” Burndee thundered. “I could have made her forget she had seen you! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Ella bit her lip. “I don’t know. And besides, I’m not sure that would have been right. I don’t think you should take advantage of people with magic.”

  “Take advantage?” Burndee exclaimed. “Take advantage? She’s taken advantage of you for years, and you’ve put up with it, you silly little donkey.” He let go of her as if she had burned him and stepped away, staring at her. The pang that had been burgeoning in his stomach all evening blossomed into a full-born ache that nearly made him sick. “Why, Ella?” All the volume felt as if it had been sucked out of his lungs, leaving his voice oddly flat and high. “Why didn’t you just let me help you? That’s what I’m here for.”

  Ella flinched even as she tried half-heartedly to defend herself. “I didn’t think of that, and I don’t believe it would have been right to do that to her.” She hugged her arms, shivering in the breeze. She had forgotten her magic wrap—not that it would have done any good since it, like her gown, had disappeared, leaving her in her mother’s old, ripped dress again. He had not realized until now that his rage had caused his spell to come undone far ahead of its expiration time.

  Ella also seemed to have just noticed what she was wearing, and she rocked gently back and forth, hugging herself as if she was cradling a frail and unhappy child. “All I could think was that I had to run away,” she whispered as a tear slipped down her cheek. “Stepmother looked so angry.”

  No more tears; he simply couldn’t handle any more that evening. He glared at the top of Ella’s head as all of his frustration came pouring out in a storm that he did not try to lessen. “You think she was angry? I’m angry. I stretch my magic to the limit helping you get to that ridiculous ball and break my neck trying to arrange a surprise ending for you, and what do you do? You run away! You’re a silly, ungrateful human, and I’ll be hanged if I ever try to do anything nice for you again!”

  Burndee pulled the invitation to the ball out of his tunic, ripped it into pieces, and threw them on the ground. He turned on his heel and stomped on them, grinding the bits of paper into the dirt road as he walked away from Ella, leaving her standing there—alone—in the dark. He wanted to majestically transport himself out of her sight, but he was too furious to make the dramatic exit he longed for. Having to walk that stretch of road with Ella’s eyes on his back was like torture, and he gave a sigh of relief as he reached a shield of bushes. He hurried behind them, his gaze straying unwillingly back down the road and he froze, unable to move even if he had wanted to. Ella was kneeling in the road in her ragged dress, frantically gathering up the pieces of the invitation and trying to patch them back together.

  6

  H e needed someplace to hide, someplace to forget, and instinct had taken him directly to the royal kitchens. But no project could bury the failure he felt.

  It was gone. For once his consuming passion in his personal interests did not fill him with satisfaction or assuage any of his frustration. One look at the kitchen and all he could think of was Ella praising his cake. One look at a pie and he recalled Ella’s astonishment over the ball’s repast. And every image was instantly followed by the memory of his ward, the girl that had been placed in his care, on her hands and knees in the dirt, trying to patch together the invitation—her ticket to what should have been a wonderful evening—that he had torn to bits in her face. He was no better than the pack of vile beasts she lived with. He had tried to be her hero . . . and instead, he had turned into a villain.

  The place that had always soothed him only increased his guilt and ultimately drove him away. Burndee began making his way to the fairies’ secret domicile of Thornwild to make his report to the Fairy Council. He wanted to quit, and he was sure that the Council would finally agree that he had a viable reason. But, somehow, the idea of walking away from his two wards no longer gave him a feeling of relief. In fact . . . he was ashamed. For the first time in his life, he not only knew . . . but also deeply felt . . . that he was a failure.

  He couldn’t do it. He walked for a half mile, and then found himself sinking listlessly onto a street-side bench. He remained there until dawn, gnawing on his fingers as the evening’s events—and his life in general—swirled around and around in his mind. The sun began to brush the streets with gold and waken the city and when he finally roused himself, his feet refused to head towards the meadows beyond the city to the Fairy Council. It was as if the spell that he had put upon Ella last night to make her feet move of their own accord had now been placed on him. Slowly, inexorably, he was heading back towards the castle. He couldn’t possibly bring himself to face Ella, but some twinge of duty told him he could at least try to amend his shameful position by going to check on Colin. In spite of everything, Burndee couldn’t quite extinguish the tiny flicker of hope that Colin might have fallen for Ella . . . though somehow the thought did little to cheer him.

  Burndee dragged himself to the castle and found hundreds of servants busily clearing away the last vestiges of the ball. Burndee picked up a streamer and shredded it to pieces as he ambled towards the prince’s chambers. He was about to knock—he never knocked—only to have Colin suddenly open the door and hurtle through it, crashing headlong into Burndee’s arms.

  “There you are!” Colin exclaimed, grabbing Burndee to keep him from falling over backwards. “I’m actually glad to see you!”

  Burndee dropped his last shred of streamer and stared at the prince. “Are you sure you don’t have a hangover?”

  Colin sniffed. “I don’t drink. Don’t just stand there in the hall. Come in and hear what’s up.”

  Burndee was summarily dragged into the prince’s apartments and thrust into a chair and he offered no resistance. He was as limp as the bedraggled piece of streamer he had left in the hall, yet at the same time, every muscle in him tensed in anticipation as he tried to wrench Colin’s secret from his face. But the prince would not be hurried.

  “Have some tea,” he said, as he waved complacently towards a low table.

  Burndee studied the tea service sitting on the table and listlessly picked up a scone.

  Colin straddled a chair as if it were a horse and grinned at Burndee. “Have a good time last night?”

  “No,” Burndee said shortly.

  “Of course—you never do. I suppose all the food wasn’t up to snuff for you.” Colin cleared his throat. “You certainly left the party in a hurry . . . chasing after that girl.” He smiled somewhat insinuatingly, and Burndee could not account for the sudden heat in his face.

  “Why didn’t you chase after her?” he blurted. “You seemed to be getting along fine during the dance.”

  “Yes, we were—and I did chase after her, but I don’t mind admitting that you two could set a new world record for sprinting. However, there is something to be said for being slow and thorough, instead of flying off the handle all the time.”

  Burndee chose to ignore the pointed comment and slid down farther in his chair, waiting with a mixture of indifference and dread that effectively clouded his normal quick temper.

  “I found this on the balcony.” Colin opened a small box on the table beside him and lifted out a lady’s glass slipper.

  For a moment, Burndee didn’t speak. He could only goggle at the shoe and Colin’s grinning face. “She . . . left that behind?” Ella only had one shoe on, and she had still beaten him in a race! He couldn’t believe it. He wondered if she had cut her foot when he chased her. Had she been hurt and he hadn’t realized it?

  “This is it, Burndee,” Colin crowed. “The answer to my problem.”

  “I don’t think it will fit you,” Burndee said stoically, hoping his comment might distract from the shadow that must have suddenly passed over his face.

  “Ha-ha-ha.” Colin smirked and then glanced appreciatively at the slipper. “Just look at it. One of a kind, isn’t it?” He loo
ked knowingly at Burndee. “Of course it is. You do good work.”

  A new thought occurred to Burndee. Why hadn’t the slipper reverted back to a dirty, old shoe?

  “Who would have thought that a woman’s slipper would be the key to getting me out of this preposterous situation?” Colin brandished the slipper with a dramatic gesture.

  Burndee licked his lips and swallowed. “What are you going to do with it?”

  Colin twirled the slipper on one finger.

  “Be careful with it!” When Colin cocked an eyebrow at him, Burndee added more quietly. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

  Colin looked bemused, but he cradled the slipper more prudently in his lap.

  Burndee gazed at it, still trying to discover why it retained its magical form. Such a delicate little shape. But then, Ella was a small woman. . .

  “I wanted to thank you, Burndee,” Colin said generously. “You’ve actually helped me for once.”

  “I have?” Burndee felt a strange prick of gratification.

  “Yes. You brought that girl with the glass slippers to the party, and the whole thing has given me a brilliant idea. I’ve finally come up with a plan to get my father off my back and give myself some wiggle room. You may have noticed I was a little tense last night.”

  Burndee shook his head mutely. He had been too tense himself to notice. Colin had seemed his usual self to Burndee.

  “Well, right before the ball, I had an audience with my father and old Pennythistle—you know Pennythistle.”

  “He’s difficult to forget,” Burndee said, his thoughts shifting vaguely to the whiny, demanding prime minister.

  “They dropped a real water bomb on me last night. Here I was, finally getting my blood up for the whole, er . . . marital hunting expedition . . . and then Pennythistle had to shove his oar in. Father had made it clear to me beforehand that he didn’t care who I married—as long as her head fit Grandmama’s crown, that was good enough for him. But Pennythistle started yammering about bloodlines and all that and pressured Father so much that he had to go back on his word. They made it quite clear to me that I had to pick someone with a good title. She couldn’t be anything less than a princess or a duchess, which limited my choices to about fifteen girls last night, and not the girl . . .” Colin checked himself, his eyes turning glassy for a moment as he drifted into a private reverie. He looked down at the slipper in his hand, giving it a loving pat. “So, as you can see—I’m in a fix.”