My Unfair Godmother(19)

The surveillance tape ended and the screen went to a reporter, who stood next to the store clerk. He was a scruffy, overweight college-aged guy with spiky hair and a goatee.

“Can you describe the attack?” the reporter asked.



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The clerk leaned close to the microphone. “It was freaky. Sort of like a bunch of Renaissance festival actors turned bad. First the head dude asked for our gold and silver. When I told him we didn’t stock that, he said to hand over my jewelry.” The clerk shrugged. “I don’t wear any jewelry except my nose ring, and I never thought anybody would want to steal that, but I gave it to him. Then the dude asked for money. I opened the cash register drawer and tried to give them the twenties, but they threw those aside and demanded the coins.” The clerk scratched behind his ear. “They made off with about four dollars in change.”

That didn’t make sense until I remembered that paper money didn’t exist in the Middle Ages.

On the screen, the newscaster smiled sympathetically. “Unfortunately the robbers caused more than four dollars’ worth of damage to the store, didn’t they?”

The clerk nodded. “Yeah—while they were swiping things off the shelves, one of them tried to yank the hot dog warmer off the counter.

When that didn’t work, he hit the glass with the back of his sword and busted in the side.” The clerk shrugged again. “Not what I would call smart thieves.”

“They’re certainly a danger to our community though,” the reporter said brightly. “Anyone with information about these crimes is urged to call the anonymous tip hotline.”

I sat down with a thunk on Nick’s bed. A tight ball of dread bounced around inside me. “This is awful.”

“I didn’t call the hotline,” Nick said, turning so he faced me. “At least not yet. It might push your dad over the edge if he knew you were friends with those guys too.”

I stared at the computer. It didn’t make sense. “They were only supposed to rob from the rich.”



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Nick’s eyes narrowed on me. “I get the whole teenage rebellion stuff to a point. You’re mad that your dad left your family. I felt the same way when my parents split.” He held up one hand to emphasize his point. “But instead of dealing with it, you want to drive everyone crazy.”

I pressed my arms over my stomach as if this could keep it from hurting. “The books, the movies—they all said Robin Hood was a good guy.”

Nick looked up at the ceiling, contemplating. “What happened the first time you came out for a visit? Oh yeah, that’s when you pretended to be anorexic and wouldn’t eat anything.” The accusation momentarily snapped my mind off of Robin Hood. “I wasn’t pretending to be anorexic. Your mom was going through a tofu and bean recipe craze.”

“And the second time you came, you had that tattoo of snakes coiling down your arm.”

“It was just henna,” I said. “It washed off.” Nick leaned against his dresser. “Yeah, but you didn’t tell your dad that. You stepped off the plane and said, ‘How do you like my new tattoo? My boyfriend and I got matching ones.’ ”

“If my dad had called and talked to me at all beforehand, he would have known I was joking. I didn’t have a boyfriend at the time.” Nick drummed his fingers against the top of his dresser. “And since it wasn’t enough to have a fake idiot boyfriend, the first thing you did when you moved here was date Bo, the genuine article.” That was the thing about Nick. He thought my dad was great, so he was bound to take his side on everything.

“You’re a smart girl.” Nick waved his hand at me like it was an accusation. “You get As in math and physics, but what is your grade in English?”



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I didn’t answer. He knew as well as I did that I had pulled nothing but Ds in English since my dad left us. It went along with my refusing to read books. I wasn’t about to excel in anything Dad loved.

“And now you claim to have conjured up Robin Hood from the past,” Nick went on. “I admit I don’t quite see the angle on this one.

How is this supposed to make your dad nuts?” Robin Hood. The reference brought my mind back to the problem at hand. I stood up. “I’ve got to get ahold of my fairy godmother.” She would be able to put a stop to this medieval crime spree. “Chrissy!” I looked for an eruption of sparkles, but nothing happened. “Chrysanthemum Everstar!” I called.

Still nothing.

“Clover?” I asked, remembering the leprechaun’s name. No one appeared in the room.