Authors: Janette Rallison
Besides, he had nearly kissed me. Didn’t that mean anything to him?
Okay, so I’d pushed him away and told him I wasn’t over Hunter yet, and then Hunter had shown up. And maybe Hunter and I had both been chatting happily when we walked into the inn. But still.
I took out Jane’s schoolbooks and read for a few hours. I didn’t even mind that they were textbooks. They reminded me that there was a life beyond this one. And besides, reading textbooks makes a person smarter.
Before the light had gone, I wandered into the kitchen and decided to take a bath and wash my dress. I lugged buckets of water from the well, filled a metal tub that was kept in the kitchen, and then boiled enough water over the fire to turn the water in the tub warm. You know that saying, “A watched pot never boils”? I’m pretty sure that came from the Middle Ages. It took forever. When the water was finally warm enough, I 333/431
climbed into the tub and relaxed, for oh, a good fifteen minutes until the water grew cold again.
When I got out, I wrapped myself in a towel—or at least, the medieval version of a towel—a stiff piece of linen that had probably been a tablecloth before it grew too stained to lay out anymore. I wore it while I washed my dress out and hung it up on a peg by the fireplace to dry.
I figured I might as well wear the towel all night. No one was around to see me anyway.
That’s when I turned around and nearly bumped into someone.
Chrissy stood in the kitchen, this time wearing a white sequined ball gown. Her platinum hair was piled on top of her head in a bun, making her look older than the last time I’d seen her. She wore no sunglasses and the end of her wand glowed like a nightlight. Pale glitter covered her face. She smiled at me benevolently. “I am your Fair Godmother.”
I let out a breath because she’d scared me. “Yeah, I know. We’ve already been introduced, Chrissy.” She shushed me, waving the wand in my direction. “I am trying to do this right. Don’t mess me up.”
“Do what right?”
“Shush, and you’ll find out.”
I was already in a bad mood and this didn’t help. “You know, yesterday I called you, like, a hundred times. I 334/431
thought Tristan was dead. Dead! Where were you when I was hysterical and I needed you—out shopping or still at a party?”
She lowered her wand and sent me a condescending look. “You know, even for a mortal, you’re really ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful for what? To be here? A cyclops tried to eat me not long ago.”
She brushed off my comment with one perfectly man-icured hand. “Did you think wishes were like kittens, that all they were going to do was purr and cuddle with you?” She shook her head benevolently. “Those type of wishes have no power. The only wishes that will ever change you are the kind that may, at any moment, eat you whole. But in the end, they are the only wishes that matter. Now then,” she looked me up and down, from my wet hair to my bare feet. “I take it you aren’t ready to go to the ball.”
“I’m not going to the ball.”
“Not like that,” she said. “The dirty-sheet look just doesn’t do anything for your figure.” She waved the wand over me, and before I could begin to protest I wore a purple velvet gown with gold trimming. I took a step and my skirts swished around two sparkling slippers on my feet.
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I felt my hair. It was in some sort of updo with a tiara snuggled into its curls. I shook my head at Chrissy.
“What did you do that for?”
“It’s my job as your Fair Godmother. It’s all part of the Cinderella package you ordered during your first wish.” She gave me a satisfied smile. “This really is some of my best work. It’s a shame my ball gown professor isn’t here to see this. Oh, and you’ll need to be careful with those shoes. They’re dancing slippers. The rest is just fairy magic. Now then—onto the transportation. What sort of vegetables do you have lying around?” She opened the pantry door and I followed after her.
“I’m not Cinderella anymore and I don’t want to go to the feast—or the ball, or whatever you want to call it. I can’t go. It’s too dangerous.” I wasn’t sure if she’d be mad at me for getting rid of her enchantment, but I didn’t see a way around telling her. “I took some switching potion a few days ago and I can’t kiss anyone’s hand, or who knows what sort of enchantment I’ll end up with.”
She picked up an onion and turned it over in her palm, surveying it in an unconcerned manner. “That’s what gloves are for. Everyone wears them at these form-al events.” She walked to the kitchen door and stepped outside.
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I followed after her, looking at my hands. Between my sleeves and the gloves I wore, none of my arm was visible at all. The only skin showing was my face and neck.
Still, the thought of Simon frightened me. “That’s not the only problem. The wizard’s apprentice—well, actually he’s a goat now, but he used to be an apprentice—tried to poison me. What if he’s still around? He wanted me dead and I don’t even know why.” Chrissy tossed the onion in the air. It arced away from the inn, then just before it hit the ground, it splashed open into an ornate round carriage with gold trimming in the shape of leaves. The doors on each side had golden handles and glass windows. Chrissy walked toward it. “Ah yes, the poison. You really haven’t given that the thought it deserves, have you?”
“I’ve had other things on my mind. Mostly impending doom—thieves, cyclopses, dragons—and my ex-boyfriend dropping by.”
Chrissy opened the door and leaned into the carriage, sniffing. “If you want my opinion, you should ask yourself why Simon would want to kill you.”
“I have asked myself that. Unfortunately I don’t have any good answers.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Does this carriage smell like onions to you?”
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I sniffed and nodded. It did. “So, do you know why he wanted to kill me?”
She waved her wand at the carriage and once again it was an onion lying on the ground. She tapped her wand against her dress, thinking.
I didn’t want to disturb her in case she was thinking of the answer to my question, even though I knew it was more likely she was recalculating her carriage. Finally she turned and stalked back into the kitchen, but I stayed there trying to decipher the riddle.
Why would Simon want to kill me? I couldn’t think of a reason at all. He didn’t even know me. What possible advantage could he gain from my death, a virtual stranger?
Then the other thing I knew about him clicked into place. He had contact with Princess Margaret before he became a goat. I knew this because she somehow got my ring from him. The next thought made my heart pound harder. What if he hadn’t given me the vial of poison at all? What if he had given me something else—just as he’d said—and he’d sold the vial of poison to Margaret?
Who would she want dead? If she was in league with the Black Knight, she’d want to kill the man most likely to defeat him—and that meant Tristan.
A painful gasp escaped my lips. I had to warn him. I had to tell him not to eat any of the castle food. Was it 338/431
already too late? I had to leave right now. I ran toward the kitchen, but Chrissy was on her way out, grasping a turnip in one hand. “It isn’t my fault your pantry isn’t equipped with a pumpkin,” she told me. “They should be standard at your basic inn. I can only work with what I’ve got.”
“Does Princess Margaret want Tristan dead? Is that it?” I asked.
She threw the turnip into the air, waved her wand, and once again a carriage appeared. This one was not as round as the last and looked a little misshapen at the edges but otherwise appeared just as elegant. “I’m a Fair Godmother, not a private investigator. You’ll have to figure out those sorts of things on your own.” She walked to the carriage, peering inside. “But don’t worry. Despite what you keep telling yourself, you are smart enough to do it.” She opened the door, leaned in, and sniffed.
When she turned back to me, a smile of triumph lit up her face. “No smell at all. Now, in you go while I round up some mice to turn into horses.” As I climbed into the carriage, she looked back at the inn distastefully. “At least I know I’ll have no trouble finding
those
.” Which is another thing about the Middle Ages: it had vermin galore. I probably didn’t need to know how many mice were in the place where I was eating and sleeping, but I couldn’t keep myself from looking.
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After she went inside, mice flew out of the kitchen door. At first one, then two more, five, then seven—I was going to have to look more carefully at the inn food before I ate it—and finally twelve in all. As they hit the ground they transformed into beautiful white mares.
Each shook its mane out, then trotted over to the carriage. Once near, the carriage put out tendrils that wound around the horses’ necks, turning into harnesses.
Last of all, Scuppers, the scruffy inn dog, ran out the door. Before he’d taken two steps he transformed into a coachman wearing fine clothes—but still with scruffy pale hair. He also had a wild-eyed expression, like he was still partially dog. He bent his face toward my window and panted at me before climbing up on the carriage to take the reins.
Okay, that worried me in a driver.
Chrissy appeared at my window, holding the wand and beaming happily. “Everything is perfect and Prince Edmond is waiting for you.” She let out a dreamy sigh.
“He is such a babe.”
“Are you sure you got the coachman right? He looks a little off.”
She glanced up at the carriage seat and her voice grew stern. “Come back here, Scuppers.” She snapped her fingers. “Right here. Now sit. That’s a good dog.” She turned back to me, her voice smooth and calm again.
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“He’ll be fine. Besides, the mice know the way to the castle. Trust me, if they serve food there, the mice can find it.” She stepped back and waved at me like I was on a homecoming float. “Have a good time! Fall in love!
And remember, at midnight you’ll be wearing nothing but a stained sheet and driving a turnip!” I waved back and called out to her, “Thank you!” Really, for once it had paid off to have a fairy godmother.
• • •
I caught a glance of my reflection in the window and barely recognized myself. Glittering makeup outlined two large eyes. Perfectly pink lips opened in surprise, 341/431
and the tiara on my head sparkled among braids and curls.
I hadn’t realized I was wearing jewelry, but amethysts and diamonds clustered on both my ears and throat. I looked exactly like the princesses of every fairy tale I’d ever read.
I touched the amethysts at my throat gingerly, each smooth stone emphasizing the irony of my situation.
This is what I had wanted when I first wished to be Cinderella and now that I was actually getting it, I wanted nothing more than to go home with Tristan, Jane, and Hunter and live a normal life again.
The carriage hurried on. Finally, the castle came into view. The horses raced toward it without slowing even when we approached the drawbridge. I knocked on the carriage ceiling, hoping Scuppers could hear me. “Slow the horses!” I yelled.
He didn’t. Instead he hung his head over the side of the carriage, his eyes wide and his mouth still panting.
“The horses!” I yelled again. “Slow them down!” His face disappeared. The horses didn’t lessen their pace. From the window I could see that the peasants were having their own feast outside of the castle. A bonfire glowed in the yard while a hundred or so stood around it eating and drinking. Some danced while others sang and clapped out a tune.
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We drew too close to the crowd and several people had to dive out of the way to keep from being hit. While fleeing, one woman flung her drinking cup in the air and it splashed onto the window as I went by.
“Sorry!” I yelled, but she’d already passed from my sight and I wasn’t sure she’d heard me.
Moments later the carriage came to a lurching stop at the castle doors. A castle doorman opened the carriage and eyed me. Slowly, primly, he held out his arm to me.
“Madame.”
I took the doorman’s arm and stepped out of the carriage. “Sorry about the quick arrival. I’m in a hurry to find Sir Tristan. Do you know where he is?” The doorman gave me a curt nod. “You may inquire within as to the guests’ whereabouts.” He paused as he glanced at the driver’s box. “Is your driver all right? He’s acting rather addled.”
“Addled” was the word they used for crazy in the Middle Ages. I glanced up at Scuppers. He was biting his shoulder as though he had an itch and hadn’t thought to use his hands to scratch it.
“He’ll be fine.” As I turned and walked toward the castle, Scuppers jumped from the carriage, landing like he was in a game of leapfrog. He sprang up into standing position and took loping steps to follow after me.
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“Oh no you don’t,” I told him. “You’re not coming inside.”
He sniffed in the direction of the castle, licked his lips, and then whined.
“I don’t care what you smell, you’re not coming.” The last thing I needed was a man-dog tagging along after me.
Scuppers whined again and took two quick steps toward the castle as though trying to get around me. I took hold of him by the lapel. “Bad dog, Scuppers. Now go back and wait with the carriage.” He lowered his head and whimpered, but then scampered back to the carriage.
The doorman watched him go with a questioning expression.
“He’s not feeling quite himself tonight,” I said, and I walked the rest of the way to the castle.
A doorman let me in. Another servant pointed the way to the great room. He needn’t have bothered; the noise of the crowd and musicians led the way. I went and stood in the line to be introduced. It wasn’t until I was there that I realized who stood in front of me: my WSM