The World's Worst Fairy Godmother (2 page)

With a wave of his hand, he disappeared.

Edna vanished a second later, leaving the scent of heavily starched laundry lingering in the air behind her.

“Wait for me!” cried Maybelle. Rushing forward, she leaped off the cloud and hurtled toward the earth far below.

She was halfway down before she remembered the spell for following the others.

Chapter Three
Little Miss Perfect

Mr. Peters and Edna were waiting beside a small, tidy looking building that stood at the edge of a small, tidy looking town named Grindersnog. They were invisible to human eyes.

“For heaven's sake, Maybelle, hide yourself,” snapped Mr. Peters when Maybelle floated down beside them.

Maybelle sighed. Then she muttered a few words as she made a circle over her head with her wand. She disappeared instantly—except for her left foot, which looked very strange standing there all by itself.

“Drat!” she muttered. Reaching down, she tapped her foot with her wand. Finally the foot disappeared, too.

Edna rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

“All right,” said Mr. Peters. “It's time to meet your next client, Maybelle. Let's slip inside.”

Following Mr. Peters and Edna through a crack in the door, Maybelle found herself standing at the back of a school room. Standing at the front of the room was a very harried looking teacher.

About twenty children sat on hard wooden benches, working on slates. For about two minutes, everyone was very quiet. Then a boy near the front of the room took a large spider from his pocket. Maybelle giggled when she realized that the spider was made of black paper.

Using a string attached to one end, the boy dangled the spider over the shoulder of the girl in front of him.

The girl leaped to her feet. “Teacher! Teacher!” she shrieked.

The teacher sighed. “What is it, Maria?”

By now Maria had figured out that the spider was made of paper. Straightening her shoulders, she said with great dignity, “Gustav tried to scare me.”

“Well, I think he succeeded,” replied the teacher. “Gustav, you will stay after school today.”

“Yes, Herr Bauer,” replied Gustav with a sigh.

“Ah, I see,” Maybelle whispered to Mr. Peters. “You want me to work with Gustav.”

“No. Keep watching.”

Two rows ahead of them a dark haired boy reached forward and pinched a girl who had long braids. She immediately turned and punched him in the nose. He jumped to his feet, howling with anger. But before he could hit her back, the teacher snapped, “Friedrich! Heidi! What is this all about?”

“He pinched me!” cried Heidi.

“She punched me!” whined Friedrich.

“You did it first!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Enough!” bellowed Herr Bauer. “If you twins can't get along, I'll have to separate you.”

“Good!” cried both of them together.

“I will also have to inform your parents of that fact,” said the teacher ominously.

The twins sank into their seats, muttering unhappily.

“Ah, it's them,” said Maybelle. “Well, twins really ought to be able to get along. I think I can—”

“Keep watching,” said Mr. Peters.

A boy in the third row began to smile. Taking something from his pocket, he poked the shoulder of the girl in front of him. When she turned, he held up a huge earthworm and mouthed the word “Watch.”

Then he popped the worm into his mouth and swallowed it.

“Teacher!”
shrieked the girl. “Ludwig ate a… a worm!”

“Me?” asked Ludwig, his face full of puzzled innocence.

“I saw you!” cried the girl.

“Do you have any evidence?” asked Ludwig.

“Of course not. You swallowed it!”

Herr Bauer had been watching this with one hand pressed to his forehead, as if he had a throbbing headache. Now he said, “All right, that's enough. Helga, calm down. Ludwig, save your lunch for recess.”

“Oh, yuck!” cried Maybelle. “Are you going to give me that horrible Ludwig for a client?”

Mr. Peters shook his head.

“But Helga doesn't need—”

“It's not her, either.”

“Oh, I've got it!” said Maybelle happily. “It's Herr Bauer! That makes sense. With a class like this, he needs some help.”

“No, Maybelle. It's not the teacher.”

“But…”

“Keep watching.”

Now a girl who had been sitting quietly in the front row stood up. She had blond hair and bright blue eyes. She was quite pretty, and her dress was so clean and perfect it looked as if it had just been made that morning.

Her posture was flawless.

Walking to the teacher's desk, she placed her slate on it as if delivering a gift from the gods. Then she stood beside the desk, something almost like a smirk on her face, as the teacher examined her work.

“Susan, this work is wonderful—as usual.”

“Thank you,” replied Susan. “I tried my best—as usual!”

Three of the boys began to cough.

Susan flounced back to her bench.

“That's your client,” said Mr. Peters.

“Susan?” Maybelle asked in astonishment. “But why? She's already just about perfect.”

“Precisely.”

“But all those other little monsters—”

“Are perfectly normal children, sometimes nice, sometimes disgusting. No, Susan is your case.”

“But what's wrong with her?”

“Susan Pfenstermacher is a wonderful child. Unfortunately, she thinks she's perfect.”

Maybelle's eyes went wide. “Uh-oh,” she whispered.

“Precisely,” said Mr. Peters.

Outside the school house a small red creature who had been peeking through the window did a little jig and chuckled with devilish glee.

“Wait till I tell the boss about this!” he cried.

Chapter Four
Little Stinkers

The creature who had been listening at the window was an imp named Zitzel. He had been sent to spy on Maybelle, and as soon as he heard her assignment he gave a wicked little chuckle and scurried away.

Zitzel was about two feet tall. He was a hundred and seventeen years old—very young for an imp. He had red skin, tiny nubs of horns growing out of his forehead, and a long tail. A stubby pair of bat-like wings sprouted from his shoulders.

Zitzel loved mischief more than anything. On his way out of town he managed to startle three old ladies, frighten a cat, and make the glassblower sneeze at the worst possible moment. He was very pleased with himself.

When Zitzel entered the forest, he began to travel with more caution. The forest was scary—even for an imp. The trees were gnarled and twisty, with branches like the fingers of witches, and trunks that were often as big around as a house. Sometimes, late at night, he thought they moved on their own—though he was never able to catch them at it.

Zitzel had gone only a little way into the forest when he spotted a woodcutter coming toward him, carrying a bundle of sticks on his back. The little imp wasn't sure what to do. His boss had told him not to let anyone see him. But it was already too late for that.

Well, he decided. Since I've already been spotted, I might as well have some fun.

Making a horrible face, Zitzel ran straight at the woodcutter, waving his arms, rolling his eyes, and shouting, “Ackety backety backety backety!” (He made up the words on the spot, in honor of the occasion.)

The poor man dropped his load of wood and ran screaming in the other direction.

Humming contentedly, Zitzel continued toward the cave that he shared with his boss. He couldn't wait to tell Zozmagog what he had learned about Maybelle.

Zitzel's destination lay deep in the forest, in the side of a rocky hill. Though the opening was small, the cave itself was large and roomy. A clear stream ran through the cave's back section. Near the center of the cave, on a large stone, sat a glass ball the size of a large pumpkin. The ball flickered with red light. The light was dim, barely enough to let someone with good eyes make their way across the cave. But it cast eerie shadows that pleased the cave's occupants, who could see in the dark anyway.

In the back of the cave sat Zozmagog. He was muttering to himself in a cranky fashion. He was cranky for many reasons, some of them well over a hundred years old, some of them things he hadn't even thought of yet. Right now he was especially cranky for three reasons. First, he was having problems with his tail again, and it made his bottom hurt. Second, he had just decided that he didn't like the fact that the sky was blue. Third, his assistant was taking too long to get back with the news he wanted.

Zozmagog sighed, a hot, steamy sigh it had taken him nearly thirty years to learn to do properly. (That had been a hundred years ago, but the memory of it still made him cranky.) He was thinking about going outside to turn a bird into a stone, which always made him feel better, when he heard a shout from the front of the cave.

“Boss! Boss! I got it!”

“Got what, you twit?”

“Maybelle's next assignment!”

Zozmagog's face lit up as if he had just been told he could have a thousand pounds of itching powder at half price. Hurrying to the front of the cave (the back was his private area) he said, “Good work, Zitzel! Who is it?”

The little imp who stood at the front of the cave was bouncing up and down with excitement. “It's no one you've ever heard of.” He chuckled. “I guess after that frogifying stunt we pulled with the Prince of Burundia they're not going to trust Maybelle with any more royalty.”

Zozmagog smiled at the memory, then quickly became very businesslike. “All right, tell me about this peasant.”

“Her name is Susan Pfenstermacher. She lives in the village at the edge of the forest, just like your source told you she would.”

Zozmagog nodded. “Good. Now what's her problem?”

“She's too good.”

“What?”

“She's too good.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” said Zozmagog. He gave Zitzel a noogie between his stubby horns.

“Ow! Cut that out, boss. Anyway, you'd understand if you saw her. She flounces around like she was you-know-who's gift to the world. I bet everyone who meets her wants to slap her.”

Zozmagog's eyes lit up. “Aha—I think I've got the picture. Good work, Zitzel. Now, you weren't seen, were you?”

Zitzel looked uncomfortable.

“Zitzel…?”

The smaller imp still didn't answer. Zozmagog reached out and snatched his tail.

“No boss! No, don't!” cried Zitzel. But it was too late. Zozmagog began to twist.

“I asked if anybody saw you?”

“Ow! Ow ow ow! Yes, someone saw me. But only for a minute!”

Zozmagog let go of Zitzel's tail. “You idiot! I told you not to let yourself be seen! Who was it?”

“Just some woodcutter at the edge of the forest.”

“Stay out of my sight!” snapped Zozmagog. “Stay out of everyone's sight while you're at it!”

Chuckling to himself, Zitzel scampered into the cave. His tail didn't really hurt—he just yelled like that when Zozmagog twisted it because it seemed to make the boss happy. Zitzel had never been able to figure out why Zozmagog thought tails were sensitive; his own never hurt at all. The boss sure was weird for an imp. But he was great at thinking up new mischief, and that was what really counted.

Zozmagog stood outside the cave, tapping his chin with his finger and muttering to himself. “Ever since I put that hex on Maybelle's wand, she's made one mess after another. That frog episode was the worst one yet. I'll bet this Pfenstermacher kid is her last chance. If I can mess Maybelle up just one more time it ought to end that wretched little fairy godmother's career forever! Ha! Aha! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!”

His laughter peeled the bark off a nearby sapling, startling a squirrel that happened to be bouncing past. The squirrel had an acorn in its mouth. Zozmagog turned the acorn into a brick, just because he was in such a good mood.

Still laughing, he turned and skipped back into the cave.

Chapter Five
Maybelle's Plan

The next morning two women entered the little village of Grindersnog. One was tall and thin, the other short and plump. Standing side by side, they looked like the letter b.

From head to toe, they were dressed just like any of the village women. The short one, however, had a tendency to float a bit, and was having a hard time keeping her feet on the ground.

“Edna, do we really have to do this?” she asked, sounding slightly grumpy. “These shoes are killing me!”

“Tut tut, Maybelle,” said her tall companion in a prim voice. “A little discomfort is a small price to pay for chance to observe your client in a natural setting. After all, how can you help Susan without knowing more about her?”

“Easy! I just wiggle my wand a bit. Here a poof, there a poof, everywhere a poof-poof. Presto change-o, you've got—”