My Unfair Godmother(35)
“What are we supposed to do now?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? “Chrissy must have granted me the wrong wish. I’ll call her. Sometimes it takes her a while to answer, but eventually she’ll come and fix this.”
“You’re sure it’s the wrong wish?” Nick asked. “You didn’t ask for this by mistake?”
“I think I would have remembered asking her to drop my house into the Middle Ages.” I looked around the room, and called,
“Chrissy!”
Nothing happened. Everyone waited for a few moments.
“How long does it take her to answer?” Nick asked.
I shrugged. “Sometimes a few days.”
Nick groaned and put his hand over his eyes. Sandra went to the door and locked it. “We’ll stay inside. We have food in the pantry, and the water heater is full. Fifty gallons. If we ration it, it should last us for a couple of weeks.”
My father didn’t move from the couch. “This isn’t happening,” he said. “This sort of thing doesn’t happen.” A small puff of smoke went off on the coffee table, drifting like a green rain cloud over the magazines. When it dispersed, Clover stood on a stack of National Geographic magazines. His shabby green jacket had an extra dirt stain or two that he might have picked up while tromping around our yard pursuing the Merry Men.
Dad, Sandra, and Nick stared at the leprechaun in shocked silence.
Clover nodded at me. “Chrissy asked me to check in on you.” He put his hands behind his back, taking in the room and my gawking family. “Looks like everything is going well, so I’ll be off to the pub.” 116/356
“Wait!” I knelt down in front of the coffee table to be closer to his eye level. “How can you say things are going well when my house is in the Middle Ages? Why are we here?”
“Oh, that.” Clover brushed some dirt off his jacket sleeve. “The last time Chrissy sent someone off to a fairy tale, the lass did nothing but complain about the living conditions. No refrigerators, no soft beds, no comfortable shoes. It was constant whining.” Clover gave me a self-satisfied smile. “So now you have your bed and your fridge and you’ve no reason to blather on about your suffering.”
“I didn’t wish to be in a fairy tale,” I said pointedly. “I wished for the power to change things into gold. And besides, the fridge won’t work without electricity.”
Clover’s brows furrowed at this information. “Ah, well in that case, you’d best go invent some electricity. Isn’t that what mortals are best at? Innovation? I’m sure it will take you no time at all.” My hands clenched around the end of the coffee table. The sharp edge bit into my palms. “You need to send us back home.”
“Chrissy will send you home,” Clover said, straightening his hat.
“As soon as your fairy tale is done.” And then he vanished.
“Clover, come back!” I reached out and felt through the magazines as though he might be hiding underneath them. The papers rustled an empty protest.
He didn’t come back.
My father kept staring at the coffee table in astonishment. “You were telling the truth.” I assumed his astonishment was because of the magic and not because he thought I was incapable of telling the truth.
Nick said, “What fairy tale do you suppose we’re in?” Before anyone could answer, a knock sounded on the door. A booming voice yelled, “In the name of the king, open up!” 117/356
Sandra let out a whimper and clutched her throat. My father stood up. His gaze darted around the room, searching for a weapon.
Nick and I didn’t move. “How many fairy tales have kings?” he asked.
“All of them,” I said.
Nick shook his head. “Hansel and Gretel didn’t have a king. So on the bright side, our parents won’t take us out to the woods to lose us when the food runs out.”
My father walked to the door, muttering angrily.
“Don’t be so sure about that,” I told Nick.
Whoever was at the door banged on it again. “Open up, I say! It’s the king’s men!”
“The king’s men,” Nick repeated. “Humpty Dumpty. That’s not so bad.”
My heart was racing. “Yes, it is. That fairy tale never made sense.
Some big egg guy falls off the wall and all the king’s horses try to put him back together again? How exactly do horses do that? They have hooves, not fingers. Probably the reason the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again was because the horses trampled the pieces first.”
Dad put his hand on the deadbolt, but didn’t unlock it.