How I Found the Perfect Dress (24 page)

“Finally!” A high, shrill voice snaked out like a lasso and caught us in midconversation. “The guest of honor is here!”

For the first time since emerging from the fountain, I looked around. Where Colin and I stood, the cool marble floor and stately stone walls shimmered under the flickering light of candelabra chandeliers (the kind with real candles, not those dumb flame-shaped light bulbs you see in East Norwich dining rooms). This medieval charm lasted for about fifty feet or so, then abruptly gave way to a dance floor that looked much more hard rock than medieval stone. A disco ball hung ironically above, like a mirrored, glittering moon, throwing rainbows of light across the dancers as it turned.

Walking toward us was Queen Titania, dressed in black leather pants, cuff bracelets and a band T-shirt that read “Faeries rock!” Her head was shaved on both sides and the center was glued up into a massive, liberty-spiked Mohawk. When she opened her mouth to speak, I saw a big silver stud pierced through the tip of her tongue.

“Happy birthday, darling!” She was lisping a little because of the stud. “I hope you like your party!”

“I—I thought this was the Spring Faery Ball.” The fast, regular bass thump and shrieking guitar sound of heavy metal music started pounding from the dance floor.

“Oh, it's
that
too, I suppose.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Same old ball every spring, pretty dresses and tiaras, ho, hum, yawn! This year I decided we should do something
different
! More
youthful
! In honor of your birthday! I just thought of it this morning.” She twirled and showed off the back of her T-shirt, which read, “Who are
you
calling a faery?” in blood-soaked letters. “Do you like it? Do you think it's ‘hip'?”

“It's, uh—hard core,” I said, while thinking,
just get him in the shoes, that's all you need to do.
“Maybe Colin and I should go someplace and change into more appropriate outfits.”

“No, you mustn't; you look adorable,” she lisped. “We knew you'd be dressed for your silly human prom, and we wanted to make sure you and Colin matched, so we provided him with this
scrumptious
tuxedo. And, Colin, may I say—yum
yum
! That shade of pastel blue is
your
color.” She patted her Mohawk delicately. “Now, come get a drink and have fun. The bartender is serving—I believe they're called Long Island Iced Teas.” Her eyes flitted to the gym bag in Colin's arms. “But why don't we check your bag first? You don't want to lug
that
monstrosity around all night.”

“It's mine. I'll hang on to it.” I reached for it.

Before I could get the bag away from Colin, the queen grabbed it and looked inside.

“What exquisite boots,” she cooed. “Are they yours?”

“Morgan just gave 'em to me,” Colin said politely.

“How generous. I imagine you're eager to try them on, then.” She glanced at me, and then at Colin. “But no no no, they don't match your tuxedo at all! You can try them on later.
After
the ball. I'm sure Morganne won't mind.” She turned back to me, and her eyes shone like broken glass. “After all, there isn't anything
special
about those boots, is there, Morganne?”

Jolly Dan's warning played in my head—
if you tell him that they're magic, they won't work.
I gulped. “Nope,” I said, “they're just boots.”

“I'll put them away for now, then,” she said, taking the bag away from Colin. “You should
never
break in new shoes at a dance, you know! It causes the most
excruciating
blisters.”

 

 

adorable or not, Colin and i didn't blend in verЧ well with the other partygoers. I was stunning in my goddess outfit and he looked like an outtake from
Dumb and Dumber
, but all the other guests were dressed in various styles and eras of punk and heavy metal gear, just like Queen Titania.

Of course it couldn't be that simple,
I thought to myself in frustration.
But just wait. There will be a way, some way, to get those boots on his feet.

“Sorry I didn't say happy birthday!” Colin shouted over the music. “I've no sense at all what day it is. The music's brilliant, innit?”

It was, but the place was so packed I couldn't get a look at the band. It wasn't until they launched into a deafening rendition of “Rock and Roll All Nite” that Colin dragged me by the hand to a less-crowded spot at the edge of the dance floor, where we could actually see the stage.

“Bloody hell!” he cried. “That's Gene Simmons! The Bat Lizard himself!”

I looked, then blinked my eyes and looked again.

This was no tribute band. It was the genuine, ear-splitting, tongue-waggling thing.

Kiss was playing at my birthday ball.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but Colin was in heaven. “In the normal scheme of reality,” he yelled in my ear, “those boys are a bunch of senior citizens now. To see them young, still together, in their prime . . . it's quite a treat, quite a treat.” He sounded reverent. “Twenty-three consecutive gold records! Did ye know that? Only the Rolling Stones and the Beatles had more.”

“That's great, Colin—hey!” Jolly Dan and Taffy were maneuvering hand-in-hand through the maze of dancing legs. Now they'd spotted me and were waving like mad. Jolly Dan was in black, except for a red-and-white striped Dr. Seuss hat that was as tall as he was, and Taffy had artfully distressed what looked like one of Tammy's old Cinderella costumes into a tattered, vampire-princess gown. Very Disneygoth.

The tiny couple found their way to us and I introduced them to Colin with care—after all, the first meeting between a skeptical Irishman and a pair of leprechauns was not a moment to be taken lightly.

“Son of a gun!” Colin sputtered. “First Gene Simmons and now this! Wait'll I tell me grandpap!”

“You both look awesome,” I said to them. “Are you having fun?”

“The most fun I've ever had,” Jolly Dan replied, his eyes crinkling with gratitude. “Did you check out the gnome sisters?”

He jerked his head and I looked in the direction his hat pointed to. Glenwyn and Drenwyn were standing on each other's shoulders, but even added together they still weren't nearly as tall as their arrogant elf-date.

“They've been taking turns being on top,” Jolly Dan scoffed. “So far he doesn't seem to have noticed the difference.”

“Who knew?” I shrugged. “I guess they're stackable.”

“I tried to talk to them,” Taffy said. “To tell them my, uh, news. They didn't care.” She shook her head. “I always thought those two were kind of plastic.”

Jolly Dan was staring at Colin's feet. “Surely,” he said in a low voice, “a handsome gentleman like you could find some better-looking footwear than that?”

Colin looked down at the glitter-encrusted platform shoes that came with his tux. “Ye think these are bad?” he said, laughing. “Ye should've seen the ones that Mor—”

“Colin!” I shrieked, just to shut him up.

“What?”

“I. Um. I. Um.” My making-up-lame-excuses powers seemed to have deserted me, so I settled for a distraction instead and pointed at the stage. “Look!”

Queen Titania was grabbing the microphone from Gene Simmons, right in the middle of a song. “Birthday cake!” she screamed into the mike. The drummer punctuated her announcement with an explosive riff. Rivers of smoke poured onto the dance floor, and there was a burst of flame.

Everyone screamed, but the fire turned out to be poor Finnbar, tottering under the weight of a huge birthday cake that was covered with hundreds of blazing candles.

“Whew,” he panted, putting the cake down on the edge of the stage. “This is getting hot!”

Queen Titania saw the questioning look on my face. “In faery years,” she explained, “you're quite a bit older than seventeen. In fact, you're vastly older than young Colin here.” She frowned at the cake. “Next year we'll do one candle per century, I think. It's starting to get very cluttered, and I can't
abide
clutter!”

Clutter? I looked at the queen, and in a sickening flash I realized what felt so familiar about her. It wasn't just that she was the spitting image of Mrs. Blainsvoort. There was something else—something that should have been obvious—

“Oh fek!” I choked out. “Are you my faery goddess-mother?”

She smiled. “Silly Morganne! I knew you'd remember eventually!”

“See?” Finnbar grinned. “We really are brother and sister! Now blow out your candles and make a wish.”

A wish?
Figuring out my family tree would have to wait. “If I make a wish, will it definitely come true?” I asked the queen.

“My dear daughter,” she said, not seeming the least bit worried, “a half-goddess's birthday wish
always
comes true.”

Then I wish for Colin to not dance at the faery balls anymore,
I almost blurted, but I caught myself.

It's too easy
. Magical faery-mommy or not, Queen Titania was not what I would consider a nice person. She could make my no-more-dancing wish come true by turning Colin into something without legs, like an earthworm or a slug.

I wish
—

I wish for
—

I thought so hard my head hurt.
It's a trick,
I realized in despair. Any wish I came up with would be far too easy for the queen to twist into something awful.

I looked around at the sea of punk and goth and heavy metal faeries staring at me impatiently. Colin watched me too. His cornflower-blue eyes were nearly the same color as his tux. I had to admit, he seemed quite at home among the faery folk by now. Had things gone too far for me to put them right?

Even Gene Simmons was looking at me. The black-and-white demon paint on his face was harmlessly clownlike, now that he was just another musician on a gig, milling about between sets as if playing a faery ball was all in a day's work. Though maybe it was, to him.

That's what gave me the answer.

Follow the KISS rule,
I thought, remembering one of my dad's more annoying sayings.
Keep it simple, stupid. Remember what Jolly Dan told you to do. Stick to the plan.

“I wish,” I said carefully, “for Colin to put on the new boots I gave him earlier this evening.”

And, with an enormous, half-goddess breath that I didn't know I had in me, I blew out every one of those hundreds of candles.

There was a smattering of lukewarm applause at my boring wish. Quick as a flash, Finnbar raced to the coat check to get the gym bag.

“I had to tip her a couple of bucks,” he whispered to me, as he laid the bag at Colin's feet. “You can pay me back later,'kay, sis?”

With everyone watching, Colin unzipped the bag and took out the boots. A collective
oooooh
of admiration rose from the crowd. I caught Jolly Dan's eye; he was on the dance floor, trapped in a sea of legs and looking ten feet tall with pride.

Colin kicked off the glittering platform shoes and put on the boots.

One spin,
I saw Jolly Dan mouth at me, from knee-level. I hurled myself at Colin and spun him right around so fast he didn't know what hit him.

“Do they fit?” asked the queen, falsely sweet as a pound of aspartame.

“They fit—perfectly,” Colin said, like a person waking from a dream. “I'd say they're the best fittin' shoes I've ever worn, if I was forced to pick.” He looked around slowly, seeing it all for the first time. Then he spotted me.

“Morgan! What are ye doing in Dublin? And what club is this? I don't recognize it.” He rubbed his eyes. “To be honest, I don't remember goin' clubbin' to begin with. I was just home in me own bed, readin'
Popular Robotics
.”

“The shoes fit perfectly,” the queen repeated, sounding deeply disappointed. “How very Cinderella. Ah, well. We'll miss you, Colin. But at least you were here for Morganne's birthday. That's all that matters, I suppose.”

“And there'll be no further mischief, with this boy or any other,” Jolly Dan bellowed to no one in particular. “Not unless all of ye want to dance barefoot for the rest of your immortal faery lives.”

All the partygoers hung their heads, and Queen Titania glared at me as if she might reduce her own daughter to ash with a single crook of her finger. Even the disco ball stopped turning. Then, sudden as a lightning strike, she threw both hands in the air and whooped.

“Mosh pit!” she yelled. The band was already in position, and Gene Simmons counted off into a screaming metal version of “Some Day My Prince Will Come,” from the
Snow White
movie. The disco ball swept a rainbow searchlight around the room, and the party came back to life as if nothing had happened—except now, of course, everyone was eating birthday cake.

Colin stared at me as if he would never look away, and I saw the wonder in his eyes. “Damn, Morgan,” he said. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks.” I grinned. “So do you.”

He rocked on his heels for a moment, shoved his hands into the pockets of his powder-blue polyester pants, and smiled shyly. “You wanna dance?”

“I'd love to,” I said. “And then we're going home.”

 

 

“the crowd at this club, it's a bit mallcore, if Чou ask me,” Colin shouted, as we struggled to stay together on the dance floor. “Though I can't complain, not with Gene Simmons thrashin' away for our personal entertainment! Before becoming a mainstay of reality television the man was a true musical legend, y'know. It's like seein' bloody Sinatra at the Sands.”