My Fair Godmother

  “What did they just say?” I asked Clover.

  “Ah, don’t mind them. The only ones that can understand them is magical folk and computer programmers. They’re just complaining that your flash drive is stale. They like the newer versions. More of a challenge for them.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now, are you going to let me out of this trap or are you foolish enough to try for me gold?”

  I bent over to be on his eye level. “I don’t need your gold, just your help.”

  “My help, eh? You already got three wishes from a fairy. What else could you need help with?”

  “The wishes from the fairy. See, she sent a friend of mine back to the Middle Ages and won’t bring him back.”

  Clover wiped Ding Dong filling off his beard and didn’t look at me. “Why in the world did you wish for something you didn’t want?”

  I told him a condensed version of the story. I wasn’t sure he paid attention, though. He kept shoving Ding Dong pieces in his mouth and making “Mmmmm” noises while I spoke.

  “So is there anything you can do to help me?” I asked.

  “You can’t have me gold so don’t . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. He was too busy eating again.

  “Are you even listening to me? You know, I have you trapped in there. Doesn’t that mean you have to help me?”

  Now he waved a finger at me. “You mortals are all the same. We bestow favors upon you but it’s never enough. You always want more, more, more.”

  “Oh, right. This is all my fault. I’ve been cooking and cleaning in the Middle Ages for nearly a month, and now I have lizards springing out of my mouth. Do you have any idea what that’s like? How am I ever going to make it through a job interview, or . . . or meeting my in-laws, or—what am I thinking?— high school tomorrow? A person just can’t do those things without telling a few white lies. And on top of all that, my sister now thinks I’m insane.”

  Clover broke off another piece of Ding Dong. “Well, that will keep her on her toes then, won’t it? She’ll think twice before pilfering the next lad from you.”

  “The point is, I don’t want magical help with my life anymore. I just want to bring Tristan home.” I bent even closer to him. “You understand magic. There’s got to be something you can do to help me. Please?”

  He shook his head and looked away from me. “Oh, don’t turn that pretty-lass expression on me. I’m a leprechaun, not a unicorn. We’re unmoved by that type of thing.”

  Which let me know he wasn’t. “Please?” I said again. “I really need your help.”

  He finished off the last bite of Ding Dong and wiped his hands together, brushing away the crumbs. “It’s not my way to get involved in the problems of mortals. They have so very many. They multiply faster than mice, they do.” He rubbed his beard, seeming to consider my situation. “But I might be able to help you if you’d help me in return.”

  “And how would I help you in return?” One thing that I’d learned when I was on the Internet was that leprechauns have a reputation for being wily creatures, so I was immediately cautious.

  “I want to go back to Ireland, back to me beloved Lisdoonvarna. You see to it that I do.”

  Well, this was a problem. It’s not like I could buy an airplane ticket for a man who was five inches tall.

  He must have taken my hesitance for reluctance because he waved another finger at me. “Ah, see, your kind are all the same. Always wanting something from the magical folk, but let us ask a favor and all we’ll receive back is blank stares. Your greed and selfishness will be the downfall of your kind, it will.”

  The Internet said nothing at all about leprechauns being so touchy, which is just one more reason you can’t always trust what you read there. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” I said. “I just don’t know how to send you there. I can’t just put you in a box and drop you off at the post office.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because it takes a few days to get there and don’t you need things like air, and food, and water?”

  He patted his stomach, which did indeed seem bigger than the first time I’d seen him. “Just pack me away with a few of those Ding Dongs and I’ll be fine.”

  Which is how Clover T. Bloomsbottle and I came upon our agreement.

  Once we’d worked out the details, I let him out of the trap. I made the computer gremlins stay for the time being, because I didn’t want them anywhere near my computer.

  Clover made me promise that I would in no way ever try to trick, manipulate, sway, maneuver, or influence him for magical reward and that at no time would I ever touch, steal, take, borrow, embezzle, or abscond with any of his gold. Seriously, he made me put it in writing and sign it. Right after I wrote down in our contract that I would send him and his personal effects to Lisdoonvarna, Ireland. Personally, I didn’t think I needed to sign anything. He knew I was telling the truth because nothing slimy dropped out of my mouth while I spoke to him.

  My stipulations were that he would help me get Tristan back and that he would take the computer gremlins with him. I went downstairs and came back with several Ding Dongs and a medium-size box.

  Clover saw it and shook his head. “That will never do. The box needs to be bigger, and much sturdier.”

  I brought up two more boxes but Clover vetoed them both. Finally I brought him one of my parents’ sturdy green Rubbermaid containers. “We can just tape it shut and put the label on top,” I said. “And look, it has handles for carrying.”

  He nodded and said, “That should do for me gold.”

  “Your gold?”

  “Aye, you didn’t think I’d be leaving it here, did you?”

  “I didn’t think you had it with you.”

  From on top of my dresser he stomped one foot and glared at me as though I’d insulted him. “What kind of leprechaun do you think I am?”

  A bad-tempered one. Only I didn’t say that out loud. Instead I said, “Sorry. I guess I should have known you’d be sending your gold home, too. Is there a lot of it?”

  His glare increased.

  “I’m not trying to take any. I only asked because of the postage. Gold is heavy, you know.”

  I realized I’d said the wrong thing again because he folded his arms tightly. “Gold is twenty times denser than water. If you had a gold bar the size of a bread loaf, you’d never be able to lift it. Are there any other gold facts you’d like to know?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “How heavy is this package going to be when I take it to the post office?”

  “About seventy pounds.”

  “Seventy pounds?” My mouth dropped open. “That’s going to cost me a fortune to send to Ireland.”

  “Aye, well you should read and understand contracts thoroughly before you sign them.”

  I let out a sigh and tried not to be too upset. After all, even if I had known the bargain included sending his gold back, I still would have agreed. What other choice did I have?

  “Okay, fine,” I said, “I’ll come up with the money somehow to pay for postage. Now, can you please tell me how to get Tristan back home?”

  “Read and understand contracts thoroughly,” he said.

  I waited for him to say more. He didn’t. Instead he jumped down into the box and walked around, examining it.

  “I did read our contract thoroughly,” I said through gritted teeth. “And you promised to help me get Tristan back.”

  “Not our contract,” he said with exasperation. “The fairy contract. The one you signed with Chrysanthemum Everstar. Now hand over another of those Ding Dongs. I need to keep my strength up to make the trip.”

  That was it? It would end up costing me hundreds of dollars to mail him back to Ireland and all the help he was going to be was to tell me to read my contract? “Where am I even going to get a copy of that contract?” I asked. “Chrissy didn’t give me one.”

  “Of course she did. That’s part of the agreement. Check your magic files under C for contracts.”
br />   “I don’t have any magic files.”

  He actually rolled his eyes at me. Even standing less than half a foot tall I could see him do it. He pointed over to the computer sitting on my desk. “And what do you call that?”

  “A Macintosh.”

  More eye rolling. “Run a search for magic,” he said, “and then check C for contract. Really, you don’t think those things were built without the help of magic, did you?”

  Actually, I thought they were built with the help of technology, but perhaps those things were closer together than I’d realized.

  I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. And the weird thing was that sure enough, when I ran a search under the keyword “magic” a file came up. I hit the Print button and the contract emerged from my laser printer in the same long parchment form it had been in when I’d signed it for Chrissy. I read it while Clover dragged Ding Dongs around the Rubbermaid box, effectively turning them into Hostess furniture.

  After searching halfway through the contract and not finding anything of use for getting Tristan back, I glanced over and saw a black pot—about the width of a cereal bowl but with much higher sides—had been added to the box. It was filled to the brim with golden coins. Clover must have put it in the box through magic, as there was no way he could have lifted it. I let out a sigh. It was too bad he couldn’t just use magic to return it to Ireland. Postage rates being what they are and all.

  I kept reading the contract. I read about the First Party, hereafter known as Chrysanthemum Everstar, who was, as directed in Provision Five Article B, obligated to fulfill three of my wishes. I read about the limitation on the wishes—there were a lot of those—including that I couldn’t wish for something that would violate any of the already stated, or hereafter stated, provisions and articles.

  Really, the sentence lengths alone were enough to give me a headache.

  The part that made my stomach sink—about four feet down the parchment roll, near the end—was the statement that all wishes were considered permanent and binding, their consequences real and lasting. That meant I couldn’t undo wishes.

  I laid the contract on my lap and looked down at Clover, who had stolen a pair of my socks and seemed to be using them as a beanbag chair. “How does this help? It says wishes are permanent.”

  “Aye, but didn’t you read the part that says you’re allowed to oversee all efforts made on your behalf to fulfill your wishes? That means if you ask, Chrissy is required to let you go to the Middle Ages and oversee Tristan’s progress.”

  “And how exactly would that be a good thing?”

  Clover held out his hand in my direction. “Lass, it’s as clear as the ink it’s written with. You have to go back and help him become a prince so he can come home again.”

  Chapter 10

  I pressed the contract against my chest, wrinkling the paper. “But I . . . I hated the Middle Ages. It was smelly and cold, and they didn’t have plumbing. Isn’t there an easier way?”

  Clover leaned back into my socks and shook his head. “Mortals. You’re a terminally lazy bunch. You can’t walk anywhere so you’ve got to invent cars. You can’t do your own work so you’ve got to invent dishwashers and washing machines. You can’t even walk up the bloomin’ stairs. You’ve got to invent elevators.”

  I didn’t point out that I thought all of those inventions were actually a good thing. I just said, “How can I help him become a prince? I thought the only way you became a prince was if your father was a king. Tristan’s dad is a dentist.”

  “Aye, well that’s the fly in the ointment, isn’t it? Still, I’ve done me part to help you. Could you throw in a few Froot Loops for the trip? I’ve become fond of those.”

  I went downstairs, grabbed the box of Fruit Loops and the duct tape, and then stomped back upstairs.

  “Okay,” I told him after I’d sprinkled a layer of Froot Loops into the box. “Once I dump the computer gremlins in there with you, I’m going to tape this thing up tight. Any last bits of advice?”

  “Aye. If someone tells you that you’re worth your weight in gold, they’re either ignorant or an insincere flatterer. Right now gold is worth upward of $9,000 a pound. And a lass like you”— he surveyed me for a moment—“must weigh at least $1,203,660.” He squinted and nodded a bit. “Maybe even $1,299,950.”

  “Okay, thank you very much for that assessment on my weight.”

  As I carried the trap over to the box, the computer gremlins clicked away in my direction.

  Clover said, “The gremlins wanted you to let the rest of their mates know they can’t make that soccer tournament/data-eating party they throw in your computer every year. But don’t worry, I’ll just have the lads e-mail that information to your computer when we reach Ireland.”

  Okay, there are some things it is just better not to know about, especially if you can’t think about updating your computer protection because you’ve got to plan a trip to the Middle Ages. And that’s what I was doing. I slid the computer gremlins into the box and slammed the lid on tight, but my mind kept going over the things I’d need to bring. Soap. Shampoo. Deodorant.

  I cut off pieces of duct tape and secured the sides of the box. “You’ll go out in the mail tomorrow,” I said loud enough for him to hear me. Which immediately presented a problem. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow after the post office opened to go back to the Middle Ages. It was nearly 6:30 now. Every hour I delayed going back to the other world would be another week gone by in Tristan’s life.

  I mulled this over while I wrote out and taped an address label to the top of the box. Then I checked the computer for postal rates. According to the USPS Web site, it cost about $250 to mail a seventy-pound package to Ireland. After my prom dress purchase, I had about $35 to my name.

  The only thing I could do was return the prom dress to the store, get my money back, and use it for postage. I took the dress out of my closet—a pale cream vision of lace and beading—and stared at it for a moment. Even though I didn’t have a date, even though my ex-boyfriend was somewhere in my house right now with my sister, it was depressing to take it back. It was like admitting defeat, like saying no one would ever again think that I was special enough to wear it.

  I cradled it in my arms so it wouldn’t drag on the floor and left my room.

  Jane and Hunter sat on the couch in the family room with their schoolwork spread out in front of them on the coffee table. They stared at me as I walked down the stairs. I realized Jane would ask less questions about mailing the package than my parents so I walked over to her. “Hey, I need someone to mail a package for me first thing in the morning. Can you do it before school?”

  She looked at the dress and then at me, uncertainly. “Okay.”

  “I’ll leave you some money for postage. It’s going to cost about two hundred and fifty dollars since I’m mailing it to Ireland.”

  “Two hundred and fifty dollars?” Hunter spit out. “What are you mailing?”

  I laid my dress on the back of our ottoman while I grabbed my purse from the coat closet. “It would probably be better if I didn’t tell you.”

  “You have to tell me,” Jane said. “The post office clerks ask about the contents of international packages for customs’ paperwork.”

  “Oh.” I sifted through the contents of my purse looking for the dress receipt. “In that case you’ll need to lie.” Which was a bonus reason for having Jane mail it for me. She could lie without creating reptile buddies to keep her company.

  “It’s nothing dangerous, is it?” Hunter asked.

  I had to think before answering that question. Were leprechauns dangerous? Would the lie police send my mouth a special little gift if I answered the wrong way? Slowly, carefully, I said, “Nooo.”

  Apparently my hesitation wasn’t reassuring. Jane let out a grunt and folded her arms. “This is another one of your revenge things, isn’t it? You’re probably sending firearms to the IRA, and you’ll have a good laugh when the police arrest me i
n the post office.”

  “It’s not firearms,” I said.

  “Then what? Explosives? Illegal drugs? I’m not sending it until you tell me.”

  I located my receipt in my purse and walked back over to pick up the dress. “Fine, if you have to know, it’s a leprechaun, two computer gremlins, and a pot of gold.”

  She threw up her hand in exasperation. “That, of course, was my next guess.”

  I slung the dress over my shoulder while I got the car keys out of my purse. “I’ve got to head off to the dress shop. The package is up in my room. I’ll leave the money on top of it.”

  They didn’t say anything else, which was good. As long as she agreed to mail the package, I didn’t care what they thought.

  • • •

  After I returned my dress I went to a thrift shop. I figured I would need to barter for a lot of things once I got back to the Middle Ages, and costume jewelry would be a great thing to barter with. Perhaps I could even buy a piece of land that Tristan could preside over as prince. It was pure luck that I noticed they had a costume rack, and one of the costumes was a medieval princess dress. Ten dollars for the dress, fifty dollars for a whole bag of rings, necklaces, and earrings. That’s all it cost me. I nearly skipped out of the store.

  When I got home, Jane and Hunter were still sitting in the family room. I tried to ignore them as I ran around the house packing things I’d need. My parents were in their bedroom watching TV, which was a good thing since I’d dragged my dad’s camping backpack out of the garage to use for my supplies and was now dumping things into it. It was just better to avoid telling them why.

  I took some of my mom’s spices from the kitchen cupboards. Spices were a big-ticket item in the Middle Ages that I could use for bartering. I also packed a flashlight, silverware, my Snow White dress, a couple of water bottles, a first-aid kit, granola bars, and—I couldn’t help myself—a bag of chocolate chips.

  I walked through the kitchen and bathroom shoving more things into the backpack pockets. Matches, hand cream, toothpaste, and an extra toothbrush for Tristan. After I’d packed all the supplies that could possibly fit into Dad’s pack, I changed into the medieval dress. It was polyester and had a zipper, two things which I’d never seen the natives wear, but I would still look like a lady.