My Unfair Godmother Page 4
I waited for the guy to scowl at the detective. Instead his voice came out casually. “It’s who we thought and she named them all.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, thin box. A recorder.
My mouth dropped open. I felt like I had been punched. “You work for the police?”
His gaze flickered back to me. “When I have to.” He turned to the detective. “She didn’t know they were going to do it beforehand, and she didn’t get away because she was behind the building calling someone to ask how she should stop Bo. The guys saw the police coming and took off without her.”
The detective let out a short dismissive laugh. “What a great catch Bo is.” He took the recorder from the guy and slipped it into his breast pocket. “We’ll send some officers out to see if we can track down our missing artists. Thanks for your work.” He turned to me almost as an afterthought. “Be glad you decided to cooperate with us, Tansy. It would have gone much worse for you otherwise. Your parents will pick you up soon.”
I couldn’t process much of what the detective said. He walked back across the lobby, and I stared at the guy who I had thought was my age, but was obviously some sort of undercover police officer. I had trusted him and he betrayed me. Why hadn’t I seen that coming?
I wanted to call him a string of names. Instead I slowly said, “You lied to me.”
“And you were an accessory to a crime. Which of us has had a worse night?” He stood up and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans as though to say he was finished with this job. I turned sharply away, erasing him from my line of vision. I didn’t want to look at him.
“You made the right choice to tell us, even if you don’t know it yet,” he said.
I clenched my teeth. “Drop dead.”
“And they couldn’t pin the other crimes on you,” he said as if I hadn’t spoken. “They couldn’t even pin this one on you. You don’t have any traces of spray paint on your hands or clothes. Anyone could tell you weren’t involved in the graffiti.”
Which made this that much worse. They had known I hadn’t done it and had bullied me anyway. “You are such a jerk,” I said.
He laughed, and I hated the sound of it. “You know, Tansy, you’ve got the good guys and the bad guys confused. Your life will get better once you figure them out.”
He turned, walked across the lobby, and disappeared through the same door the detective had gone through.
I hated him. And I hated that as he walked away, I noticed how nicely his jeans fit across his muscular thighs. You shouldn’t notice that about a person you hate.
Chapter 3
My dad didn’t say anything as we climbed into our car. He had been tight-lipped and angry the entire time he was at the police station. He pulled out of the parking lot going about twice the speed limit, which was sort of careless considering where we were.
His silence didn’t last long. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused tonight?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “The only person in Rock Canyon who is worse to have on your bad side than Mayor Rossman is Police Chief Gardner. If there was ever a chance of saving the library, it’s gone now. All because you had to spray paint commentary about the library on city hall.”
My father should have known I didn’t do that. I know how to spell “library.”
“The police chief has been in a bad mood for a long time and is just looking for people to take it out on. You put us front and center in his sights.”
I wanted to say I was sorry, but I’ve always been lousy at apologies. Somehow I couldn’t say the words while he was yelling. Eventually he would ask why I had gone along with Bo, and then I would explain that I hadn’t known, and had called Nick to ask for advice.
Dad gripped the steering wheel with increasingly white knuckles. “This is the end of it, Tansy. No more rebellious friends, no more attitude. If Bo says hi to you in the hallway at school, you are to walk by him without so much as a nod. Do you understand?” He still didn’t wait for me to answer. “You’re grounded until further notice, and from here on out, any friends who can’t produce proof that they’re on the honor roll will not have access to your phone number.”
I didn’t point out that none of his punishments mattered because I wouldn’t have friends now anyway.
He went on berating me about everything I had done ever since I moved in with them. He had a whole list. I wondered why he didn’t come out and say he didn’t want me. It was more than obvious. By the time we reached our house, tears pinched the back of my eyes.
When the car stopped, I opened my door and choked out, “What gives you the right to tell me how to live my life?”
“I’m your father,” he shouted, emphasizing every word. “And that boy deserted you at a crime scene!”
“Yeah, and you deserted me a long time before that!” I slammed the car door, ran into the house, and didn’t stop running until I reached my room.
For a while I lay on my bed, hugging my pillow to my stomach and crying. The real problem behind all of this, I decided, was that I kept looking for someone to love me. My father. Bo. All those guys I dated in Queens—I had gone out with some gems there. The guy who hit on my best friend. The guy who wanted me to do his math homework. The guy who was always too busy playing computer games to talk on the phone. Actually, that described a lot of them.
When was I going to learn that trying to pry affection out of people just made me vulnerable? I always ended up getting hurt. Love was a liability. I wouldn’t look for it anymore. I would give up on love and become one of those high-powered career women who crushed people beneath her stiletto heels.
My mom called. She yelled at me about being involved with vandals and then for telling my father he deserted me. I took it stoically. It was par for the night.
A half hour later my cell phone beeped. I opened a text from Bo. His message consisted of four-letter words—except for the part where he said he never wanted to see me again. I supposed that meant the police had found him.
I put my face back down in my pillow and tried to fall asleep, tried to stop the emotions that squeezed me. I made myself think of the positives: having no friends would make it easy to move to my grandma’s in December.
Well, not really. Grandma didn’t want footprints, let alone boarders, in her house. After she found out about tonight, she was going to harp on my criminal past for as long as I lived with her. She would probably count her possessions every night to make sure I didn’t pocket something.
There were no positives to this.
I heard a noise, like something tiny clearing its throat. I looked up. The room had a dim glow that hadn’t been there before, and when I glanced at the end of my bed I saw what looked like a six-inch leprechaun doll standing there.
A voice with a thick brogue accent said, “I must be at the right place. There’s the damsel crying her eyes out, but no bloomin’ fairy. I should have known that dosser would be late.”
My first thought was that Nick had come into my room and was hiding at the end of my bed with a puppet in an attempt to cheer me up. He used to do that sort of thing with Kendall when she came for visits. Her Beanie Baby cat would have conversations with her about his plans to conquer the world. I wasn’t twelve though, and I wasn’t in the mood for these sorts of games. Even if I was glad that Nick cared.
“Just what I need right now,” I said dryly, “a leprechaun.”
“I’m short on gold,” he said, “so it won’t do you any good to ask for it.”
“Of course you are. You wouldn’t be my leprechaun if you weren’t broke.” I picked up my pillow and chucked it toward the end of the bed.
The leprechaun ducked as the pillow flew over his head, which was pretty amazing considering I didn’t see Nick’s hand holding the doll anywhere. Were there strings somewhere?
The leprechaun stood back up and pointed a finger at me—a perfectly formed, movable finger. “Attacking a magical creature is grounds for a curse, you know.”
“Just because your life is right pathetic doesn’t mean you’re excused from good behavior.” The leprechaun reached up and straightened the tiny green bowler hat perched on his head. “I’ve turned people into pebbles for less.”
I blinked at him. He was still there. I blinked again. “I’m asleep.”
The leprechaun surveyed me with furrowed brows. “I don’t mean to contradict you, but you seem fairly awake—moving around and talking and all.” He kept watching me. “The constant blinking is a little odd though.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I’m asleep.” I dug my fingernails into the back of my hand to prove my point. In dreams you didn’t feel pain. But I felt it now. Insistent sharp jabs.
The leprechaun frowned. “Are you away in the head, lass?”
I let out a shrill gasp and sat back so hard I banged my back into my headboard. “You’re a leprechaun!”
He folded his arms. “Yeah, real observant, you are.”
“Leprechauns are real?”
“That logic would follow, wouldn’t it?” He huffed and cocked his head at me. “You’re not the brightest star in the constellation, are you, lass?”
I shrunk back on the bed, glancing around to see if there were more of them in the room. My dresser and bookshelf were clear. Nothing sat on the carpet but my shoes. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“Wasting my time, apparently. Aye, fairy godmothers are an unreliable bunch. And yours is worse than most.” He sat down on my bedspread with a thump and kicked his legs out in front of him. His green suit was embroidered with leaves, but a couple of buttons were missing and the sleeves looked worn. Scuff marks lightened the front of his boots, and one heel was chipped.
A down-and-out leprechaun was sitting on my bed.
“You wouldn’t have something to eat around here, would you?” he asked. “A Ding Dong, perhaps? I’m partial to those.”
Then the other thing he said clicked in my mind. “I have a fairy godmother?” I could barely wrap my mind around the idea. I would have asked more questions, but a fountain of sparklers erupted in the middle of the room.
My fairy godmother was coming. With my luck, she had probably come to yell at me like my parents had.
The sparklers winked out with a puff, and a teenage girl with long pink hair, sunglasses, and translucent wings appeared in my room. She wore a violet miniskirt and thigh-high black boots. She held a silver wand, and a lavender sequined purse hung from her shoulder. I could already tell she was stunning even before she slipped her sunglasses onto her head. Somehow I hadn’t expected my fairy godmother to be so young. Or to be wearing frosty purple eye shadow.
Instead of yelling at me for my police encounter, she smiled, and when she spoke, her voice had the same tinkling sound as wind chimes. “Greetings, Tansy. I’m Chrysanthemum Everstar, your fairy godmother.”
“Fair godmother,” the leprechaun called from the end of the bed.
Chrysanthemum’s gaze shot over to the leprechaun, and her eyes widened in unhappy surprise. Her voice was no longer sweetness; it was as sharp as glass. “Clover, what are you doing here?”
The leprechaun crossed his arms. “I’m your assistant. I’m assisting.”
Chrysanthemum thrust her wand downward in agitation. A stream of glittery lights shot across my floor and flashed up the length of my wall. For a moment the room lit up like a glowing candle.
Chrysanthemum walked toward Clover, her hand on her hip. “I told you I didn’t want your help.”
“Which means for once we agree. I would rather play nursemaid to a viper than help you, but unfortunately the Unified Magical Alliance scheduled me to be your assistant. Again.” He shook his head in disgust. “They couldn’t just punish me for abandoning my last assignment and be done with it. No, they had to resort to slow, aggravating torture.”
Chrysanthemum turned back to me, her smile decidedly forced. “Ignore that bitter little man on the bed. He’s of no consequence.”
Except that he could turn me into a pebble if he was mad. My gaze ricocheted between them.
“As I was saying,” Chrysanthemum continued, her voice like wind chimes again, “my name is Chrysanthemum Everstar, but you may call me Chrissy. My assistant, on the other hand, is only allowed to call me ‘The Most High Boss’ or ‘Your Excellence of Fairyness.’ ”
“You don’t have to worry about supplying names for me,” Clover called to her. “I’ve plenty of me own for you.”
Chrissy flicked her wand and sparks flew around the room, a couple of them nearly hitting the leprechaun, but she kept her gaze on me. “Since I’m your fairy godmother, I’ve come to grant you three wishes—”
“She’s technically only a fair godmother,” the leprechaun called, “because her grades in fairy school were only average.” He folded his arms across the front of his worn green suit. “Go ahead, ask her if she can prolong time properly. She can’t.”
Chrissy turned and glared at him. “Which doesn’t matter since very few mortals ever wish to prolong time.” She flung her wand hand in my direction, and sparks zinged past me. “Do you really think Tansy wants this moment to go on forever? Look at her. Her eyes are bloodshot, her face is swollen—she basically looks like something a troll regurgitated. Who would want that every day for the rest of their lives?” Chrissy took a deep breath and her pale wings fluttered. She tapped the end of her wand into her palm and turned back to me. Her voice was softly lilting again. “Now, back to spreading happiness. You’re allowed three wishes. Well, at least you will be once you sign the paperwork.” She shot Clover a challenging look. “I assume that since you’re my assistant, you have a copy of the contract?”
He stepped toward us, reaching into his suit pocket. “Of course I do.” Not finding it in the first pocket, he checked another, then another, until he pulled out a tiny roll of parchment. He stepped to the end of the bed and handed it to me. “There you are. All in perfect order. Just sign at the bottom.”
I took the scroll from his hand. It was no bigger than a stick of gum. “I’m supposed to sign this?”
Clover nodded and lowered his voice. “A word of warning, make sure you read the fine print.”
I unrolled a bit of the scroll with one finger. “It’s all fine print.”
Chrissy took the contract and tapped it with her wand. “Which is why my assistant should have maximized it before he gave it to you.” It grew until it was nearly the size of a roll of paper towels. Chrissy studied the top of the scroll for a moment, wiping her finger disapprovingly against a dark spot on the paper. “Clover, you spilled something on the contract.”
“I’ve a weakness for chocolate. I can’t help it.”
“You’ve a weakness for too many things.” Chrissy pulled a pen from her purse and handed it and the scroll to me. “You can read through this if you want, but quite frankly I have a job interview in ten minutes, so I’m in a bit of a rush.”
“What?” Clover called from his side of the bed. “I thought you already had your dream job.” He laughed while she narrowed her eyes. As though to let me in on the joke, Clover said, “She’s a tooth fairy lackey. Works nights stealing teeth from wee little tykes.”
“I’m not a lackey,” she snapped, “I’m a team member. And I don’t steal teeth, I grope around under pillows until I find the discarded ones.” To me she said, “It’s so revolting. I would quit in a second, but hey, it’s expensive to accessorize when you have high fashion standards. I need some sort of part-time job.” She pushed a strand of glossy pink hair behind her ear. “I’m hoping Muse Incorporated will hire me. I could totally flit around inspiring art and music. I mean …” She waved a hand over herself. “I’m completely inspiring.”
Clover let out a snort. “Oh, right. That’s what’s causing me head to ache right now. It’s all the inspiration.”
I finge
red the scroll, feeling awkward for interrupting them, but I had to ask the question that had been on my mind since Chrissy popped into my bedroom. “Why do I get a fairy godmother? I’ve never had anything good happen to me in my life.”
Chrissy and Clover stopped arguing. Clover pursed his lips, then muttered, “Well, you certainly didn’t earn one because of your overwhelming gratitude for all the good things that have happened in your life.”
Chrissy stepped toward me. “I’m glad you brought that up. It’s true most maidens earn their fairy godmothers by doing good deeds or by helping poor beggars who turn out to be fairies in disguise. But to tell you the truth, I’ve never been big on dressing up in rags and waiting around in the snow to see if someone offers me their coat. If I’m out in the snow, it’s because I’m skiing with some buff elf guys. However …” She reached into her purse and pulled out a disk that was a little larger than a CD. “I needed an extra-credit project, and your life qualified according to the pathetic-o-meter.”
She handed me the disk, which had a picture of me in the center of a pie-shaped graph. A large portion of it was colored blue, a small portion was yellow, and little lines dotted the circumference like minutes on a clock. At the edge between the blue and yellow, it read: Dated a hoodlum. 78 percent pathetic. Beneath this line, in smaller print, was the sentence: Willingly listened to dreadful band music. And underneath this, in even smaller print: Refuses to read novels, simply to aggravate her father.
I couldn’t read the other sentences. They were too small. “That’s really … nice,” I said, staring at the disk. “You’ve got a pie chart of all the ways I’m pathetic.”
“You can keep it,” Chrissy said. “That way you can track your progress.”
“Great,” I responded, without enthusiasm. How can you be enthusiastic when you find out your fairy godmother thinks you’re 78 percent pathetic?
“Since you didn’t technically earn your fairy wishes in the traditional way,” Chrissy went on, “you should know about the dishonesty clause.” She took the scroll and unrolled it to a place in the middle. The ends of the scroll lay across my carpet like lolling tongues. “Here, read this.”