The World's Worst Fairy Godmother, Page 2

  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—”

  “Instant disaster,” said Edna darkly.

  “Well, I miss my wings.”

  “Wings are a minor part of our job,” sniffed Edna. “Ah, look—there’s Susan’s house. Let’s watch.”

  The two women stood beneath a tree. Without ever actually seeming to disappear, Edna slowly became invisible. Maybelle turned invisible, too. But in her case, she vanished in a shower of sparks, and with a distinct pop.

  “For heaven’s sake, Maybelle,” whispered Edna sharply.

  “Sorry,” said Maybelle, who was just happy that she no longer had to keep her feet on the ground.

  They waited in silence, except for once when Maybelle sneezed.

  After about ten minutes Susan came out of her house. Her golden hair was done up in a pair of braids from which not a single strand escaped. Her spotless white dress was perfectly pressed.

  “Good-bye, mother!” she called in a voice that sounded like honey and sunshine. “I’ll see you this afternoon. I love you!”

  “Good-bye, dear,” replied a tired looking woman. She was leaning against the doorframe, and her eyes were bleary with exhaustion. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank you, mother dearest!”

  The truth was, Susan had been looking lovely for more than an hour. She had refused to leave for school, however, until she thought she looked perfect.

  Mornings were never easy at the Pfenstermacher house.

  As Maybelle and Edna watched, Susan walked slowly along the cobbled streets of the little village—past the bakery, past the candlemaker’s shop, past the house where Dr. Derek Dekter lived and worked. Though other children were on the way to school as well, Susan did not walk with them. And none of them called out to her to join them. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid her.

  Near the church sat a blind beggar. He was holding a tin cup in front of him. Flouncing up to the beggar, Susan looked around. She waited until the woman who was sweeping her front step on the other side of the street glanced up, then pulled a coin from her pocket. “Oh, gracious!” she cried dramatically. “A poor, blind beggar. I must help the dear man!”

  Smiling, Susan threw the coin into the beggar’s cup with such force that the clink could be heard up and down the street.

  “There,” she said loudly. “That’s good.” Looking upward, she added piously, “After all, we must be ever mindful of those less fortunate than ourselves.”

  The woman across the street rolled her eyes. With a snort, she went ba
ck into the house and slammed the door.

  For just an instant, Susan let her shoulders slump. Then she straightened her back so that her posture was once again perfect and continued toward the school.

  “Why did that woman give Susan such a nasty look?” whispered Maybelle.

  Edna sighed. “Really, Maybelle. Sometimes I think you’re hopeless.”

  “But Susan did a good thing.”

  “Susan only gave that beggar some money to make herself look good.”

  “NO!” cried Maybelle in astonishment.

  “Yes. Now come along. We need to have a little chat with Susan’s mother.”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher had already gone back into her house. This did not stop Edna, who simply marched up to the door and knocked firmly three times. She counted to six, then quickly stepped aside, so that when the door opened a slightly surprised Maybelle found herself facing Mrs. Pfenstermacher.

  Looking past the frazzled woman, Maybelle could see that the house was considerably tidier than most places in heaven.

  “Yes?” asked the woman.

  “Uh…” said Maybelle, painfully aware that Edna would be listening to whatever she said. “Uh…”

  Edna poked her.

  “Uh… it’s about your daughter!”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher looked suspicious. “What about her?”

  “Um, she’s very… she’s very… nice!”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher’s eyes widened. “Do you really think so?” she asked. She sounded quite surprised.

  Maybelle felt as surprised as Mrs. Pfenstermacher looked. “Well, yes, I guess so.” She paused, then asked, “Don’t you?”

  “Oh, of course!” said Mrs. Pfenstermacher quickly. “But something about Susan seems to—well, to upset people.”

  “In what way?” asked Maybelle.

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher looked sad. “Well, she doesn’t seem to have any friends. In fact, most of the time the other girls won’t play with her at all.” She paused. “They did have a game called ‘Dead Girl’ that they let her play last year. Susan always had to be the dead one.” Mrs. Pfenstermacher sighed. “She said that was because she was the one most likely to become an angel.”

  “I see,” said Maybelle.

  A little tear trickled down Mrs. Pfenstermacher’s cheek. “My own mother won’t talk to her anymore. She says Susan makes her nervous. I don’t know what’s to become of her. Sometimes, late at night, I hear Susan crying. But she won’t let me—” Suddenly she put a hand to her mouth. “Goodness! I didn’t mean to say all that!” Her shoulders slumped and she sighed heavily. “But I guess it’s true. I wish someone could help me with her.”

  “Stay calm!” said Maybelle, lifting her forefinger as if she were about to holler Chaaarrrge! “Help is on the way.”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher wiped at her nose. “What do you mean?” she sniffed.

  Maybelle smiled slyly. “Let’s just say that Susan has friends in high places.”

  Edna groaned slightly.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Mrs. Pfenstermacher suspiciously.

  Maybelle put on her best mysterious look. “Remember, when everything seems darkest, help can come from out of the blue. I have a suggestion. I think Susan needs to do more for others.”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher snorted. “She’s driving me crazy doing that now! She thinks it makes her more wonderful.”

  “Ah, but that’s the problem,” said Maybelle. “Her good deeds don’t come from her heart. Now, does she have any relatives nearby?”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher hesitated. “Well, my mother lives just across the forest. But as I said, she doesn’t talk to Susan any more.”

  “That’s all right. Now, let me see. Tomorrow is Saturday. Why don’t you have Susan take a basket of fruit to her grandmother first thing in the morning?”

  “What good will that do?”

  “Just leave that to me,” said Maybelle with a twinkle.

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher scowled. “One of the woodcutters saw an imp in the woods yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher’s scowl grew deeper. “Just who are you, anyway?”

  Maybelle stuck her hand behind her and wiggled her fingers. “Here,” she said, bringing her hand around front again. “My credentials.”

  “Ribit!” said the frog she held in her hand.

  “Ooops! Wrong credential. Just a second.”

  Putting her hand behind her again, she closed her eyes and concentrated very hard. “Ah!” she said, when she felt a piece of paper materialize between her fingers. “Here you go.”

  She handed the paper to Mrs. Pfenstermacher.

  “Half off while supplies last?” asked Mrs. Pfenstermacher, sounding puzzled.

  “Sorry!” cried Maybelle. She reached behind her again, hoping desperately that Edna wouldn’t feel it was time to step in yet. She concentrated harder than ever. “Here,” she said, after a moment when she feared her heart might stop. “This is what I meant to give you.”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher took the paper, which had a gold seal at the bottom, and read aloud: “Be it known that Maybelle Clodnowski is hereby appointed my special emissary to deal with difficult children.” Her eyes widened. “It’s signed by the king!”

  Maybelle sighed in relief. “I was hoping it would be. So, will you send Susan out with that basket of fruit tomorrow?”

  “Well…” said Mrs. Pfenstermacher nervously.

  “It’s the only way,” said Maybelle. “Trust me on this. I’m an expert in helping people.”

  Mrs. Pfenstermacher looked at the letter again. She rubbed the gold seal with her finger. “Oh, all right,” she said at last.

  “Excellent!” cried Maybelle. “I promise you’ll see a big change in Susan after tomorrow.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Mrs. Pfenstermacher. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go lie down.”

  As Mrs. Pfenstermacher closed the door, Edna grabbed Maybelle by the elbow and dragged her away from the house. Neither of them noticed the little red creature who had been lurking in the bushes behind them.

  Rubbing his hands together with impish delight, Zitzel raced into the forest to tell his boss what he had learned.

  Chapter Six

  Magic Apples

  “What was that all about?” asked Edna sharply.

  “I have a plan,” said Maybelle.

  “That’s what I was afraid of. Well, you’d better tell me about it. What are you going to do?”

  “Make a magic apple.”

  “A magic apple?” asked Edna in disbelief. She gave Maybelle a little push on the head, to get her feet back on the ground.

  “Uh-huh,” said Maybelle, struggling to stay down. “A love apple. I’m going to slip it into that basket of fruit Susan will be carrying.”

  Edna snorted. “Honestly, Maybelle, you are a simple thing.”

  “But Edna—love conquers all.”

  “What’s that got to do with Susan?”

  “She’s lonely. She has no friends. All that stuff about being perfect is because she doesn’t feel loved. And since the best way to get love is to give it, I’m going to make her a love apple.”

  Edna tightened her mouth. “Those things are dangerous, Maybelle. They can have awful side effects. And stop floating!”

  “Fiddle-dee-dee,” said Maybelle, bouncing a little as she struggled to make her feet connect with the ground. “What’s wrong with love?”

  “It makes people cuckoo! What would happen if we went around falling love?”

  Maybelle made a face. “We can’t.”

  “Oh yes we can. But we don’t. And you know the reason why.”

  Maybelle sighed. “Of course. The Official Fairy Godmother Handbook, page twelve, paragraph six: ‘Any Fairy Godmother who falls in love shall lose her powers, be stripped of her wings, and be doomed to live as a mortal.’”

  “Right!”

  “That’s kind of rough, isn’t it?”<
br />
  Edna tightened her lips and let her eyes get all squinty. “It maintains order,” she said in a cold voice.

  “Oh, phooey,” said Maybelle. “Anyway, this apple isn’t for us, it’s for Susan.”

  “And just how are you planning to get her to eat it?”

  “One bite will be enough.”

  “Well, how are you going to get her to take one bite?”

  “I’ll make it perfect.”

  “So?”

  Maybelle smiled. “The apple will be perfect. Susan isn’t. She won’t be able to resist it!”

  Edna began to smile, too. “Why, Maybelle,” she said. “There may be hope for you yet!”

  Out in the forest Zozmagog was pacing back and forth in front of his cave, muttering to himself.

  Zitzel followed close on his heels. “So, what are you gonna do, boss?” he asked eagerly.

  “Quiet! I’m thinking! And watch out for my tail, you twit!”

  “Sorry,” said Zitzel, hopping backward.

  He walked farther behind Zozmagog for about three minutes, but then began moving closer and closer again. Suddenly Zozmagog stopped dead in his tracks. “I’ve got it!”

  “Ooof!” said Zitzel, running into him. “Got what?”

  Zozmagog turned and gave his assistant a noogie. “Got what I’m going to do, you nitwit. Look, Maybelle’s job is to humanize Susan, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, we’re going to do it for her.”

  Zitzel wrinkled his shiny red brow. “I don’t get it.”

  “We’ll make her cranky, nasty, mean, and generally rotten.”

  “Oh, now I get it. We’re going to make her really human. You’re a genius, boss! How are we gonna do it?”

  “With a ‘perfect’ apple. Now, where is that spell?”

  “What spell?”

  “I told you I was talking to myself!” said Zozmagog, giving Zitzel another noogie.

  “Owww!” Zitzel rubbed his head. “Boy, you’re awfully cranky for an imp, boss. We’re supposed to be full of mischief. You know, merry pranks and all that?”

  “Right,” said Zozmagog. “I forgot. Jolly pranks. Ha ha ha ha ha. Have a laugh for me. Now where did I put—oh, never mind. Wait here.”