I vaguely remembered the guy’s name, but mostly I thought of him as stalker. “Look, McWhiz or something.”
“I’m flattered you made the connection, even though I’ve been unable to introduce myself in person until now. However, the name is Mick, the Magnificent Wizard of—”
“It doesn’t really matter,” I interrupted. “For one, you’re way too old for me. And since you’re not a prince, you’re not eligible to be a suitor anyway. So you can stop with the creepy fan mail.”
A quick frown marred Mick’s face before reversing; he blinded me with his pearly whites. “That was rather rude for a lady, but I’ll forgive it this time, since I’ve a keen interest in you, young Dorthea of Emerald.”
“That’s nice,” I said sarcastically and yanked on my hand, but the action only seemed to make him hold me tighter.
“You remind me of someone I used to know.”
“Good, then go dance with her.”
“That’s not possible.” He faltered on the three count of the waltz. “I made a mistake and let her slip through my fingers.”
History was about to repeat itself. Mick’s clinginess made it that much easier to “accidently” step on his shiny, gold-colored shoes.
Hard.
While he gasped and reached for his injured foot, I slipped away and out the ballroom doors into the courtyard.
I found a quiet place in the very back of the gardens, among the agave lilies and a few wisps that Dad seemed to have missed. The lilies were my favorite flowers, even though the blossoms came from a prickly cactus. Unfortunately, their beauty was marred because all of the nearby topiaries were so overgrown that the lion more closely resembled a hedge hippo than the lean and ferocious king of beasts.
Apparently, the gardener was not only rude, but also horrible at his job.
I wandered over to take a closer look and catalog all his mistakes; I’d already started a mental tally of all his faults, so that next time he crossed my path, I’d be prepared to return his previous insult. With interest.
My list-making ended abruptly. I was no longer alone in the leafy menagerie. A little girl stood in the moonlight, her skin pale as a china doll’s, her hair sparkling like spun silver. Taking a step toward me, she nearly tripped on her too-large pewter gown. The wobble made the huge fire opal necklace she wore swing wildly across her chest.
“Are you lost?” I asked, stooping low just in case her dress-up clothes tripped her up again. “What’s your name?”
“Emerald Princess, just who I was looking for.” Her voice tinkled like broken crystal. “I’m an intern with the Union of Fairy Godmothers, and I have a present for you.” The little girl smiled brightly and extended her hand. When she opened it, there was a delicate, white object inside.
While I was not the kind of girl to pass up any kind of gift, unless the union recently started using munchkin labor, the child was fibbing. But I remembered making up things at that age too, trying to get someone to play with me.
I went along with her game and gingerly picked the gift out of her palm, hoping it would at least be jewelry or something nice. Looking closer, the white seemed to be ivory but just broken pieces stuck together into a crude ball kind of shape. Something was inside as well. It was not ribbon—too thin. Perhaps silver thread. No chance this came from Blooming Dales. The child had probably made it herself.
“Um, thanks. This looks…” Terrible. Chintzy. “Like someone worked hard to make… What exactly is it?”
“It’s a Muse Day wishing star, made just for you. But you can’t show anyone,” she said with a serious face.
I placed the “star” gently into the pocket of my silk shrug; I could ditch it when she wasn’t watching. “I’ll keep it out of sight.”
“Good,” the kid said, sounding satisfied at my promise. “Wish on it well, so you’ll get exactly what you deserve.”
Before I could ask what she meant by that, the girl vanished—thin-air style.
Maybe she had a bit of fairy godmother in her after all.
“It’s not really a party until a fight breaks out and all seven dwarfs are passed out underneath the punch bowl.”
—Excerpt from “How to Have a Blast at Your Next Ball” in Fairy Vogue
4
Hate at Second Sight
“Where the spell did she go?” I asked as if the night air might answer.
“Are you blinder than all three mice? I’m right here,” Verte answered and ambled toward me, her emerald staff making a thunk-shuffle-shuffle sound.
“Not you, the… Oh never mind.”