My Fairly Dangerous Godmother

  It gave me an unreasonable jolt of pleasure to have him single me out. A silly reaction. He had only picked me because we were working together. We had strategies to discuss.

  I slipped my arm through his. “Of course.”

  We strolled away from the stables following the path that led around the side of the castle. Above us, the sky was a careless blue with foamy clouds drifting here and there. The grounds smelled of animals, smoke from the forge, and breezes wandering over the castle walls. A few meandering chickens pecked at the ground by the path.

  “You’re pretty good with a sword,” I said.

  “Not nearly as good as King Rothschild’s men.”

  “You won’t have to fight them. I’ll help you escape, if it comes to that.”

  We didn’t say more because two men rolled a barrel by us. Donovan stopped and pulled me to his other side, out of their way.

  “There are gardens behind the castle,” he said. “Let’s go there. It’s a good place to talk.”

  The grounds were so large, it would take a while to reach the back. I didn’t mind. I liked walking this way, with my hand on Donovan’s arm. It made me feel elegant and protected. “I wonder why men don’t offer their arms to women in our century?”

  “You mean besides the fact that I look like a dork?”

  “You don’t. You look like a gentleman.”

  “I guess nobody wants to look like a gentleman in high school. Go figure.”

  I remembered I had resolved to get to know him better. “Do you play sports at your school?”

  “Too busy. Especially now that I’ve got court-mandated service hours.”

  A few chickens scurried away from our feet, clucking indignantly at our intrusion. “I thought maybe you were on a swim team. You’re a good swimmer.”

  “Growing up, the city pool was cheaper than air conditioning. I spent a lot of time there.”

  I felt a pinch of sympathy, an ache that he’d endured so much. “Was your entire childhood terrible?”

  He blinked, taken aback. “Who said my childhood was terrible? Hanging out at the pool was more fun than the piano lessons I bet your parents forced you to take every summer.”

  “They didn’t force me to take piano. Although they did pressure me to take some extra flute lessons so I could play with the school band.”

  “That’s worse,” he said. “The horrors.”

  “And I didn’t take lessons during the summer. I went to camp.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Forced to leave home and bunk with strangers in primitive conditions.”

  “Okay,” I conceded. “I guess happiness is a matter of perspective.”

  Across the courtyard, a couple men called to one another. A maid walked by carrying sloshing buckets of water. Such different sounds than our century. No whoosh of cars passing or distant rumble of planes.

  Donovan glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to hear him. “Jade Blossom checked in on me earlier.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Despite the fact that wishes are supposed to be confidential, someone leaked our situation to the Seelie Court.” The Seelie Court—the one Chrissy belonged to. “The good news is the fairy bookies are giving three-to-one odds I’ll manage to steal the goblet, and you’ll be turned into a woodland creature by Queen Orlaith.”

  “I don’t think you understand the definition of good news.”

  He laughed, teasing. “It’s good news for me. I’ve never been a favorite. My ego needs the boost.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” Guys as good looking as Donovan had fully-boosted egos. They just came that way.

  “I decided to find out if giving Queen Orlaith sleeping powder was possible, so I asked Jade Blossom whether fairies can be drugged. She said they can’t.” He shrugged. “She may have said that so I didn’t get any ideas about drugging her. She looked at me nervously after I asked.”

  Well, there went our only Plan B.

  We rounded the corner of the castle. A garden the size of a football field greeted us, complete with trees, hedges, and bushes sculpted into geometric patterns. Flowered trellises stretched over orderly paths. Angel sculptures stood guard, wings folded, eying us. We strolled toward the main path.

  “I talked to the goldsmith,” I said. “He can’t have the goblet done until tomorrow. That means we’ll only have one night to get the real one. After that, you’ll have to leave the castle so the king won’t execute you.”

  “Or I could reveal the princesses’ secret and marry you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “What?” he asked. “You don’t think marriage would be better than my death?”

  I hadn’t thought about actually marrying him. Now that he mentioned it, the possibility seemed startling, and awkward, and intriguing all at once. “You can’t tell the king where we go at night. If you do, he’ll end the balls, and we’ll lose our chance to steal the goblet.”

  “Which is still slightly better than death,” Donovan said.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Donovan held up his hand to stop me. “Look, there’s no point worrying about King Rothschild killing me in a couple days, when it’s much more likely that Queen Orlaith will kill us both tomorrow night. Let’s worry about our deaths in the right order.”

  Donovan had spoken tongue in cheek, but he was right. If Queen Orlaith caught me, she would exact a fierce revenge.

  “Stop frowning,” he said, nudging me. “We can pull this off. You have two days to practice your thieving skills, and luckily, you’ll be learning from a master.”

  He stopped walking and looked me over like I was a project that required a lot of work. “Ever stolen anything before?”

  “Just cookies from the cupboard.”

  “Do you know any magic tricks?”

  “Nope.”

  He lifted one of my sleeves. “Too bad. You could put a lot up these.”

  I tugged my sleeve away from him and slid my arm through his so we could walk again. “It’s not as if I need a lot of skill. I’ll just wait until no one is looking and switch the goblets.”

  Donovan let out a scoff. “That’s the sort of attitude amateurs have. And do you know what they get?” Before I could answer, he said, “Caught.”

  “Wait, weren’t you caught?”

  “I’ve never been caught.” We’d reached a gate leading to a pond and more flowerbeds. The air here was thick with the scent of crisp blossoms and lazy, waiting buds. He opened the gate and stood aside so I could pass. High school student or not, he had the gentleman thing down. I walked inside, waited for him to join me, and we sauntered over to a stone bench underneath a willow tree.

  “If you were never caught,” I asked, “how come you’re on probation?”

  He motioned for me to sit on the bench. “That’s another story.”

  I sat down and smoothed out my skirt. “We’ve got time. Tell me.”

  “You need to practice first.” He opened up the leather bag that hung from his belt, pulled a bronze coin out, and held it up. Tapping it with his finger, he said. “Here we have a coin with King Rothschild’s face stamped on it. Completely solid. Nothing fake about it. Although really, probably not the most flattering picture as part of his nose seems to have worn off.”

  “Wait—you didn’t steal that coin from someone at the castle, did you?”

  “I borrowed it for teaching purposes. Heads or tails?” He flipped the coin into the air, caught it, and slapped it on the back of his hand. “If you call it, you can have my dessert tonight. If you’re wrong, I get yours.”

  “Tails,” I said.

  He moved his hand. The coin was gone.

  “Your first lesson is this: never bet with a thief. You’ll lose every time.” He reached behind my ear and the coin appeared in his hand again. “Ah, it’s heads. I hope there’s something good for dessert.”

  I folded my arms. “So what does cheating at a coin toss have to do with stealing the goblet???
?

  “Patience, Tiara Girl.” He flipped the coin, caught it, and slapped it on the back of his hand. “Do you know the secret of this trick?”

  “I’m guessing it’s not that I have magical, wealthy ears.”

  “A sleight of hand. It’s something good magicians and good thieves have in common.” He lifted his hand, showing me that although it looked flat, the coin was cupped in his palm.

  “The trick to palming a coin is you need to practice making your hand look normal.” He brought his hands together, scratching the underside of his wrist. Then he held his hands apart again. “Where’s the coin?”

  I hadn’t seen him transfer the coin to his left hand, but I couldn’t be certain. I glanced at one hand, then the other.

  He smiled at my uncertainty. “You need to learn how to redirect the mark’s attention, moving so naturally that it doesn’t seem like you’re up to anything.” He fisted his hands and held them out. “Double or nothing for dessert tomorrow night. Did I move the coin or am I just playing on your expectations that I would?”

  I looked into his eyes, trying to read them. Couldn’t. I slowly tapped his right hand.

  He opened it. No coin. “Again, you’ve forgotten the all-important maxim about not betting with a thief.”

  He opened his left hand and gave me the coin. “You try. If you can pull it off, I’ll give you tonight’s dessert back.”

  It took me a minute before I could hold the coin by contracting my hand muscles. Then I flipped the coin, slapped it down on my other hand, and palmed the coin. Or at least I tried. The first four times, the coin tumbled to the ground. The fifth time it stayed fixed in my hand, but my fingers were stiff. They had to be for the coin to stay put. I made a fist with my empty hand, opened it to show it was empty, and with my other hand, produced the coin from Donovan’s ear. “Ta da. I hope it’s chocolate.”

  He shook his head, unimpressed. “No dessert. It’s obvious you’re palming the coin. Besides, chocolate was a New World food. It didn’t become popular in Europe until after the Renaissance. Relax your fingers.”

  He knew chocolate’s history? Who knew that sort of thing off the top of his head? Despite Donovan’s whole bad boy image, the guy was smart.

  He put the coin in my palm, then flipped my hand over and adjusted my thumb and fingers, moving them into a more natural position. I probably should have concentrated on that and not the fact that he was touching me. His fingers were warm, gentle, practiced.

  Practiced because he’s used to stealing things, I reminded myself. He wasn’t someone I should get involved with. Even if he was funny and charming and smart. Even if his eyes were the same color as the sky and had that same open, limitless quality. I absolutely couldn’t fall for Donovan, I wouldn’t let myself.

  Chapter 20

  I spent the next five minutes trying to make my hands look normal. At best, they looked mannequin-like. Donovan patiently watched me fumbling with the coin.

  When I’d picked it up off the ground for the tenth time, I handed it back to Donovan and slumped on the bench with a defeated thump. “What’s the point of practicing this? We’re not going to pull coins from Queen Orlaith’s ears.”

  “The point is,” he said, effortlessly flipping the coin upward, “you’re practicing stealth.” He plucked the coin from the air and tightened his fingers around it. “Tomorrow night you need to pull a heavy goblet from your pocket, set it on the table, pour any remaining elixir from one cup to the other, then pocket the queen’s goblet, all without her noticing.” He held his closed fist out. “Where’s the coin?”

  It had to be in his hand. He hadn’t slapped—or pretended to slap it—onto the back of his other hand yet. “It’s in your fist.”

  “See for yourself.” Donovan slowly opened his hand, finger by finger. It was empty.

  “Where did the coin go?”

  “Check in your right pocket.”

  “It can’t be in my pocket.” He hadn’t come near enough to slip something into my pocket.

  “Look,” he insisted. His blue eyes crinkled around the edges.

  I slipped my hand into my pocket, and my fingers brushed against something small and circular. I pulled out the brass coin, astonished. “How did you do that?”

  “Stealth, practice, and preparation.” He motioned to the coin. “Now keep working.”

  “I watched you the whole time,” I protested. “Neither of your hands came near me.” I leaned toward him, looking him up and down as though I’d find some clue on his jacket. “Do the trick again. I need to figure it out.”

  He tilted his chin knowingly. “You’re just trying to get out of practicing.”

  I took his hand, turned it over, and put the coin in his palm. “Seriously, it’s going to bother me until I know.”

  Donovan held the coin back out to me, refusing to do the trick. “You’ve gone to magic shows before. I bet you didn’t badger the magicians afterward and demand to know their secrets.”

  “But I would have if I could have.”

  Donovan laughed, flipped the coin in the air, and caught it. “Magicians don’t tell their secrets. If you want to know, it will cost you something.”

  “What?”

  “What are you offering?” He grinned, mischief lurking at the edges of his mouth. For someone who didn’t do sports, he liked playing games.

  “Well . . .” I tapped my fingers against the bench, thinking, “Jade Blossom already granted you money, power, and an invisibility cloak. I, on the other hand, received a good voice, a part in a famous fairy tale, and Jason’s love. When you come down to it, I don’t have much to bargain with.”

  The coin spun through the air above Donovan’s thumb, light flickering off its surface. “When you put it like that, you are at a disadvantage.”

  “I’ll trade you Jason.”

  “Not interested. But . . .” Donovan caught the coin and spun it into the air again. “If you agree to give me something I want, something small,” Donovan added. “I’ll tell you how I did the trick.”

  “You’ve already got my desserts. What else do you want?”

  “I haven’t thought of it yet. Eventually, I’m bound to want something—a drink of water, a foot massage . . .” He lifted his foot toward me on the bench. A layer of dirt covered his boot.

  “Will your feet be clean?” I asked.

  He didn’t move his foot. “You know, I probably saved you from drowning last night. Doesn’t that mean you’re supposed to be my servant for life or something?”

  I pushed his boot away. “Wrong fairy tale.”

  He chuckled and set his foot on the ground. “You at least owe me eternal gratitude.”

  “You already have that.”

  He flipped the coin up higher. It spun, turning into a brass blur. On the way down, Donovan’s hand swooped out and grabbed the coin. With a closed fist, he held it out. “Were you paying attention that time?”

  “I paid attention both times.”

  “Then tell me where the coin is.”

  I took hold of his hand in both of mine so he couldn’t get rid of the coin somehow. He let me peel his fingers apart, revealing his empty palm. Impossible.

  “Look in your left pocket this time.”

  I dropped his hand and scooted away. He didn’t move. His hands lay motionless in his lap. A smirk was firmly planted on his lips. I reached into my pocket and groaned. The coin was there. I pulled it out and turned it over. “How did you do that?”

  “Grant me that unnamed favor, and I’ll let you know.”

  My curiosity wouldn’t let me do anything else. “Okay, fine. But the favor can’t be worse than a dirty foot rub.”

  “Worse than a dirty foot rub?” he protested, all offended dignity. “I bet there was a time when you would have paid to rub Jason’s feet, dirty or not.”

  “Stop changing the subject. You’re telling me how to do the trick.”

  “Stealth, practice, and preparation.” He put his arms behind h
im on the bench and leaned back, smirk still going full force. “I think I want a foot rub now.”

  “Speaking of you promising to tell me things and then not doing it—you never told me how you got your fairy godmother.”

  “I believe I told you it wouldn’t make you feel better, and you didn’t press the point.”

  “I’m pressing the point now.”

  Donovan leaned forward and took the coin from my hand. “Okay, here’s how I did the trick.”

  “Your story must be something really embarrassing if you don’t want to tell me after I admitted throwing up in front of TV cameras.”

  Donovan held up the coin. “Stealth. Like most magic tricks, the secret lies in directing the audience’s attention to what you want them to see.” He tossed the coin into the air again, high and fast. “This time watch my left hand instead of my right.”

  The coin came down. I focused on Donovan’s left hand. Both hands lifted, the left lower than the right, as though he wasn’t sure which would be in a better position to catch the coin. When it got close, he made a swipe at the coin with his right hand. I saw what I hadn’t before. His right hand closed, but not around the coin. It fell through to his left hand, which didn’t close at all. He palmed the coin.

  Donovan held out his right hand, fist closed. “Where’s the coin?”

  “In your left hand.”

  He held up that hand, revealing the coin. “Good job.”

  “How did you get it into my pocket?”

  “Preparation.” He moved his leg, revealing two brass coins on the bench. He picked them up. “I had three coins. I knew I would do this trick for you, so I slipped the first two coins into your pockets while we walked up here.” He took my hand, turned it palm up, and dropped all three there. “Look at them. They’re not exactly the same.”

  They weren’t. One was darker, one was more worn, and the last wasn’t as round.

  “You didn’t notice the coin changed,” he went on, “because your mind expected there to be only one. That’s why the goblet doesn’t have to be an exact replica for our switch to work.”