My Fairly Dangerous Godmother

  My Fairly Dangerous Godmother

  By Janette Rallison

  Copyright © 2015

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All the characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious.

  Other titles by Janette Rallison

  Blue Eyes and Other Teenage Hazards

  Just One Wish

  Masquerade

  My Double Life

  A Longtime (and at One Point Illegal) Crush

  Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Free Throws

  Playing The Field

  My Fair Godmother

  My Unfair Godmother

  All’s Fair in Love, War, and High School

  Fame, Glory, and Other Things on my To Do List

  It’s a Mall World After All

  Revenge of the Cheerleaders

  How to Take The Ex Out of Ex-boyfriend

  Slayers (under pen name CJ Hill)

  Slayers: Friends and Traitors (under pen name CJ Hill)

  Erasing Time (under pen name CJ Hill)

  Echo in Time (under pen name CJ Hill)

  What the Doctor Ordered (under pen name Sierra St. James)

  Dear Professor Goldengill,

  Here is yet another report of my fairy godmother awesomeness in action: I rock, plain and simple. And, I’d like to add, I appreciate all the extra practice I’ve had using my people skills while tromping around exciting places such as cheap hotel rooms, the Atlantic Ocean, and the borders of the Unseelie Court.

  At this point you might be detecting sarcasm in my tone, although I doubt it because I’m convinced no one actually reads these reports. If you did—if anyone at the Fairy Godmother Affairs Office did—you certainly wouldn’t keep teaming me up with the one assistant I specifically asked not to have. That’s right. The FGA gave me Clover T. Bloomsbottle again, even though he already messed up three of my assignments.

  In case anyone at the FGA is casually skimming through my report, let me say once again that I don’t ever want to work with Clover T. Bloomsbottle. Ever.

  Clover T. Bloomsbottle + Chrysanthemum Everstar = No. Do not do it.

  Now that I’ve got that out of my system, I’d like to point out that even with the current rationing of magic, this assignment went extremely well—probably because I kept Clover’s involvement to a minimum. Okay, I admit my client was nearly killed a couple of times, but mortals know their lives can be snuffed out at any moment, so they’re prepared for those sorts of contingencies. And if mortals aren’t prepared . . . well, a few brushes with death are just the thing to perk them up and make them appreciate their simple and frequently dull pleasures.

  When I finished helping my client, she was quite perky. Again, if you’re skimming:

  Client + Me as her fairy godmother = All sorts of perk and happiness.

  Here is my five-page report, complete with side notes showing my mastery of human culture. I so get them. I think this assignment proves beyond a shadow of anybody’s doubt that I’m more than ready to enter Fairy Godmother University.

  Sincerely,

  Chrysanthemum Everstar

  HOW I USED MY HIGHLY HONED AND

  TOTALLY ADVANCED-LEVEL FAIRY GODMOTHER SKILLS TO FIX ANOTHER MORTAL’S

  SADLY PATHETIC LIFE.

  By Chrysanthemum Everstar

  Subject: Mercedes “Sadie” Ramirez, age 18

  Place: Greenfield, Kentucky

  Some girls are born with beauty and grace clutched in their soft newborn hands. Sadie Ramirez wasn’t one of those girls. As a toddler, she did nothing remarkable except bang into furniture and gather a collection of bruises.

  Her parents thought her awe-filled brown eyes and smooth black hair were darling, and her older brother Alanzo, if pressed, would concede she was cute. But the world at large took no notice of her.

  To the daycare providers who watched her from seven in the morning to seven at night, she was just another child to tend, herd, and supply with graham crackers. While Sadie fell off monkey bar ladders, her parents busied themselves climbing corporate ones.

  Through elementary school, Sadie was plain and overlooked except when she did things like get the answers wrong in class. This always mortified her—both being called on and producing a wrong answer. In middle school softball games, she was permanently assigned to the outfield. In volleyball, she stepped aside and let other girls hit the ball. During Sadie’s first couple years of high school, she was tall, gangly, and acne prone. It didn’t help her social life.

  Fairy’s side note: Beauty is a harsh task master, but one humans worship anyway. Humans often don’t make sense, which is why other species rarely ask them for advice.

  Sadie wanted to fit in at high school, and since she had no athletic skill, she joined the marching band. During the first halftime performance, she dropped her flute and had to grapple for it on the ground before anyone trampled it. This caused a traffic jam and enough confusion that instead of spelling out ‘Go Titans!’ the band stood on the field displaying ‘Got it ons!’ This made them look like they were trying to be cool but didn’t have the grammar skills to pull it off.

  During the next game, Sadie wandered too close to the color guard and managed to get clubbed by a twirling flag.

  Fairy’s side note: This is the reason marching bands wear those big awkward hats. They double as helmets.

  After two halftime fiascos, Sadie quit band and joined choir. The choir members stood and sang, which rarely produced chances for accident. Unless you were prone to tripping, and then you might step on your performance gown during the winter festival concert and cause a domino-like avalanche in the soprano section. Which Sadie did.

  All of Sadie’s awkwardness might not have been so bad if she had friends to console her, or at least help her laugh it off, but Sadie’s luck with friends was similar to her luck with blunt objects.

  Fairy’s side note: Luck is often eerily consistent.

  Sadie’s best friends had the habit of moving to distant cities. At school she was left with the sort of friends who were friends if no one better happened to be around.

  Nature isn’t always as unkind as she first appears, and during Sadie’s sophomore year, she filled out so she looked graceful and willowy, even if she wasn’t. Her face cleared and she learned how to do her hair and apply makeup. In short, she waddled out of her ugly-duckling years and spread swan-like wings.

  Fairy’s side note: If Sadie had been a bird instead of a teenage girl, this story would have a happy ending right now. Unfortunately, Sadie was not only a teenage girl, but she lived in a town where girls had a pecking order harsher than any flock of birds. When someone was branded “unpopular,” the mark clung there more stubbornly than a tattoo. Trying to shed the label annoyed the popular set. Once they’d decided where a person belonged, they didn’t like to be contradicted. It made them look bad.

  Sadie would have escaped notice from the popular girls if her singing voice had been as uninspiring as the rest of her talents. Her voice was a gift, though—a piece of magic. She made notes glide and hover, then land as softly as snowfall.

  Over the next two years, Sadie learned how to play the piano and the guitar, and they became her best friends. Music could take her away from the clang of slamming lockers and the incessant noise of people talking. She made up lyrics
as she walked to class, invented tunes as she drove home, and decorated her bedroom with posters of singers. They were her people—the ones who understood her—even if they didn’t know her.

  She dedicated an entire wall to teen rock star, Jason Prescott. He had dark brown hair, a square jaw, and smoldering brown eyes that, even in poster-form, looked into her soul. She stared at him while she sang, pretending he heard her. Her songs grew stronger then, sweeter and deeper.

  When Sadie sang solos in choir performances, the audience drank in her voice. It was as if the entire world opened up to welcome her. Each clap was a cheer of approval.

  If her parents had known Sadie better, they wouldn’t have been surprised when Sadie announced she wanted a singing career. College wasn’t necessary. In fact, if an opportunity presented itself, she didn’t care that much about finishing her senior year of high school.

  Her parents, unfortunately, didn’t know Sadie very well.

  Fairy’s side note. This wasn’t completely her parents’ fault. Sadie never told them what school was like. When someone is branded “unpopular,” it’s not a label they’re eager to show off. Sadie didn’t want her parents to think less of her. Deep down, she feared the brand was true.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ramirez insisted their daughter go to college and get a practical major. Accounting, engineering, business. Something that would allow her to earn enough money to do a few nice things—like eat and pay rent.

  Sadie and her parents talked, and disagreed, and Mrs. Ramirez applied to colleges for her while Sadie researched talent agents and recording labels.

  And then Sadie got her break.

  Fairy’s side note: Mortals should be cautious when wishing for big breaks, but generally aren’t. It never occurs to them that the word ‘break’ has several meanings, some of which are quite painful.

  A reality talent show announced auditions in St. Louis, a six-hour drive from her home. Sadie went to the show’s website, brought up the audition page, and filled out the questionnaire. Name. Age. Current career. All of them were really asking: Who are you?

  She wasn’t entirely sure. Was she an awkward girl destined to be overlooked her whole life, or was her talent worth more than that? Sometimes when she sang, the music seemed to reach inside and tug at her soul, stretch it into a taut line connecting to the sky, to hope, to a dazzling future.

  She wasn’t just searching for an audience clapping politely. She was looking for redemption.

  A couple months before school ended, Sadie and her mother drove to St. Louis for the first round of auditions. Her mother read off descriptions from college catalogs during a good portion of the trip. She also muttered things about Sadie’s grandparents who “came to this country with nothing and worked hard their entire lives so their children could have an education.” This was inevitably followed by the instruction “Don’t throw that gift away chasing after a silly dream.”

  Sadie had learned to tune out those sorts of comments.

  Fairy’s side note: Children are as careless with their parents’ sacrifices as they are with slinkies. Both will only stretch so far. Both are easily tangled and ruined by people who don’t know how to use them.

  Sadie passed the preliminary audition round and was asked to come back that night to participate in the show, and thus she stepped out onto the tightrope of hope. It was a tiny tenuous chance for fame, for escaping the pecking order. And it was a long way to fall if the rope didn’t hold.

  Fairy’s side note: Ropes made from hope rarely hold.

  This time was no exception.

  Falling is hard for teenage girls: falling from grace, falling in love, falling to pieces. All hurt on impact, which is why mortals need fairy godmothers to help put back together the shattered remnants of their lives. And if fairies can help the fairy realm at the same time, all the better.

  In other words, I think you’ll agree I have mastered the fine and extremely important art of multitasking while being a godmother. Please accept this extra credit project as proof I will make a valuable addition to Fairy Godmother University.

  From: the Honorable Sagewick Goldengill

  To: Mistress Berrypond

  Dear Mistress Berrypond,

  I received Chrysanthemum Everstar’s report on Sadie Ramirez, and despite her assertions, I read it. I can’t help but notice that her reports continue to grow shorter and offer less detail, which makes it difficult to properly assess her role. I’m afraid I must ask you to have the Memoir Elves delve into Sadie’s memories and write a more detailed report.

  With the utmost enchantment,

  Sagewick Goldengill

  PS: Many thanks for the nectar and crumpets. No one can crumpet like you, my dear. I’m so refreshed I can almost forget Miss Everstar. Almost.

  The Department of Fairy Advancement

  To the Honorable Sagewick Goldengill

  Dear Professor,

  As you requested, I sent Memoir Elves to Sadie Ramirez’s home and had them delve into her mind while she slept. The Memoir Elves bravely faced this task, even though they have a resolved distaste of submerging themselves into teenage girls’ minds. The elves inevitably come out of the experience feeling insecure, hating their hair, and feeling fat. Also, they have an unhealthy desire to spend hours texting and surfing the internet. The Memoir Elves are currently in detox and doing well, although Blinka Ruefeather continues to laugh about several unflattering memes she created of members of the Unified Magical Alliance. We are doing our best to speed her recovery. Their report follows.

  Twinkling regards,

  Mistress Berrypond

  PS I so enjoyed our soirée. You’ll be happy to know that the bluebells you sent chime beautifully every hour.

  Chapter 1

  My prerecorded number for America’s Top Talent followed two tap-dancing grandmas and a bowling pig. This would probably not be my proudest singing moment, or one I hoped would define my career, but hey, when you’re chasing fame, you can’t be picky where you start.

  While Peppy the Porker pushed a bowling ball across the stage with his snout, I stood in the wings doing relaxation exercises. Deep inward breaths. Calm thoughts. Don’t think about the slightly carnivorous crowd out there. Don’t consider that a TV audience can turn faster than a figure skater.

  A buzz cut through Peppy’s bowling music—the sign the judges had Xed the pig. Peppy wouldn’t advance to the next round in Las Vegas. I hoped his short-lived show biz fame didn’t mean he was destined to become bacon.

  A flurry of stagehands went out to clean up the bowling props. I couldn’t see them. From where I stood, only a slice of the black gleaming floor was visible. I wondered if it was slippery. And then I wondered why I’d thought three-inch spiked heels were a good idea. I’m not used to them.

  The show’s host, Rudger Zeeland, a bald guy with hipster glasses and no patience, motioned me to come closer to the entrance. “Ten seconds,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  No. How could anybody ever be ready to face TV cameras? Millions of people watched this show. Millions. I couldn’t conceive how big of a group that was. My whole city only had eighteen thousand. Could you fit a million people in twenty football stadiums? Fifty stadiums?

  I nodded at Rudger. I was as ready as I could be. I’d practiced my song so much, I could belt it out in any key, any tempo, with half my vocal chords tied behind my back. And right now I even managed to look the rock star part.

  Before Mom and I came to St. Louis, we’d stopped at an upscale mall. I tried on twenty outfits, all outrageously priced, before I found one that looked glam enough—black leather pants, red heels, and a loose black mesh top over a tight red shirt. Putting on the clothes had been like putting on a new identity. I could be someone else. Someone better.

  I’d styled my long black hair into loose curls. Even though I used half a bottle of hairspray to keep them curled, I knew they would fall out in approximately fifteen minutes. But it would be long enough.

  Rudger didn
’t notice my nod of agreement. He was staring out at the stage. “Five,” he told me.

  Crap. I only had five seconds left. Five seconds of safety. If I tripped on the way out, the girls at my school would never let me live it down.

  “Three.”

  Three? What happened to four?

  “Two.”

  Why had I done this to myself? More importantly, how could I want to do this for a living when even walking out on a stage seemed excruciatingly painful?

  “One.” He waved me on my way.

  I took a deep breath and made my legs carry me forward past the curtains, out onto the stage. Unbidden, a memory of yesterday’s lunch period flashed into my mind. While I’d stood in the lunch line, I’d heard my name. Not called, just spoken about in one of the conversations behind me. Macy and Brooklyn, girls from drama, were talking loud enough that they probably meant me to hear.

  “I don’t know why she’s trying out,” Macy said. “What does she expect to happen? Like, does she think she’s going to be discovered just because she played the lead in a few school musicals?”

  I didn’t want to listen, but what else could I do? Leave the line? I did what I always did—pretended I was invisible and deaf.

  “Her voice isn’t that good,” Brooklyn agreed. “Mr. DiCicco only chose her because he felt sorry for her.”

  “He knows she doesn’t have a social life, so she has lots of time to devote to rehearsals.”