My Fairy Godmonster Page 4

  Claire continues, “I’d like to ask you something that is very important to me.”

  “Shoot,” I say.

  “Will you be my maid-of-honor?”

  “Me?” I can’t believe she’s asking me.

  “You are so important to David. And I hope we can become friends.”

  “You must have a best friend.”

  “She’ll be my matron-of-honor because she’s married. Even if she wasn’t, I would want you to stand up with us.”

  I hold back tears. What is the matter with me?

  She adds, “It won’t be easy for you. I haven’t told Mother, yet.”

  Oh-oh. My heart thuds to my toes.

  “I know it’s a hard decision to make. You don’t have to tell me until we buy the dresses. Think about it, please?” She stands.

  I jump up and grab her hand. “I’d love to be your maid-of-honor.”

  She hugs me. “Thanks. I hear you moved out of your room.”

  “Daria’s kind of taken over and I don’t like Godzilla.”

  “Godzilla?” Claire laughs. “What a perfect name for that horrid cat. Come on, I’ll walk you up. I hope it’s not too bad.”

  We go inside, climb the stairs and I unlock my door.

  Claire hurries to the floor mirror.

  “Oh, how beautiful!”

  “All the furniture belonged to my mom.”

  She runs her fingers over the beautiful chest of drawers. “Your mother has wonderful taste. Can you tell me about her?”

  “You’ll have to ask David. She died when I was born.”

  “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault that my brother never talks about her. I used to ask Dad questions, but he looked so lost, it was worse than not knowing about her.”

  Claire says, “Don’t you have any relatives you could ask?”

  “Some distant cousins. They live in Europe.”

  “Surely there is some information inside these trunks.”

  “Haven’t opened them.”

  Surprise fills Claire’s face. “Why not?”

  I shrug.

  “If it were me, I’d have to know what’s in them,” she says.

  Why haven’t I opened them? Probably because I forgot they’re here. Or because I’m busy with the ranch. Or maybe because I’m afraid to.

  “Maybe I’ll rummage around after the wedding.”

  “If you don’t find what you want to know, I’ll get David to tell me. Then I’ll tell you. A girl should know about her own mother.”

  She sounds sad.

  “Do you know your birth mother?”

  “No. They sealed the papers and won’t tell me.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Claire moves to the door. “See you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight, Claire.”

  I put on my t-shirt and wonder what’s worse. Knowing your mother is dead or not knowing anything about her.

  Chapter 9: Do Not Enter – Interloper

  The warmth of the sun shines across my face. Oh, oh. I roll over and look at Mom’s crystal clock. Seven a.m. I overslept. Dressing quickly, I rush downstairs hoping everyone isn’t mad at me for not cooking breakfast sooner.

  I hurry into the kitchen and stop like I hit a tree. Mrs. Dudley is frying bacon.

  “Hello, Winifred. Your father went out to the stables to feed that beast. He asked me to take over the cooking chores. It’s hard to say no to him. Such a handsome man.”

  Shivers wiggle up my spine.

  “He said you wouldn’t mind. Do you?”

  Yes, you thieving rat. I keep my mouth shut for Dad’s sake.

  She keeps talking. “It’s been so long since I cooked. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. With my experience, it might be easier for me to handle the cooking, don’t you think?”

  I grit my teeth.

  “Whatever,” I manage to croak. I can’t get out of the house fast enough. I run through the kitchen and out to the stable looking for Dad.

  He’s in his office. Kong leaps up and slobbers on my shoes. I pet him, trying to calm down.

  “Good morning, Win.”

  “How could you let that woman into my kitchen?”

  Dad frowns. “I don’t like the tone of your voice. You will be civil.”

  “But, Dad, you didn’t even consult me!”

  “Before they arrived, you complained about cooking for nine people. I thought you’d like a break.”

  “She’s taking over.”

  Dad says, “You can handle it. In a month it’ll all be over. Everything runs smoothly here at the ranch because we divide chores and work together. You need to sit down, talk with Mrs. Dudley and organize a schedule.”

  “Do you see the way she treats me? And she drools over you.”

  Dad frowns and ignores the comment. “Now, I really have to work on the finances for that stallion. I need to buy him before anyone else does. This ranch needs to expand if we want to keep it.”

  Cold chills wash over me. “What are you taking about? Is the ranch in trouble?”

  “Not yet. We need that stallion for breeding. It will be an enormous financial boost. Eleven months of pregnancy and training colts until they’re ready to ride, takes time. With rising costs for equipment and vet bills, we need to expand now. I’m pretty sure I have enough saved. If we don’t buy one now, we’ll barely keep ahead.”

  “Why haven’t you told me this before?”

  “School is your priority. Talk to Mrs. Dudley about the division of labor. I expect you to set a good example for our family.”

  He goes back to his books like I’m dismissed from class. Set a good example! What about a dad who shuts out his own daughter from the important facts that affect her life?

  Stomping out, I wonder if I can live a month without shattering into a million pieces. I slump into the barn. Dancer neighs. I grab a brush from the tack room and go into his stall.

  “Hey, boy,” I whisper. I brush his silky, black coat. Dancer turns and pushes into me for a scratch on his head. Paso Fino horses are beautiful. All colors. Big brown eyes, long manes and tails, and wonderful personalities.

  I lean my head into his neck. He nickers softly. “It’s going to be a long month, Dancer.”

  He lifts his head when Scott comes down the aisle.

  “Brought you some breakfast.” He holds out a banana and apple.

  “Thanks. I’m starving.” I look at the food stains on his jeans. “What happened to you?”

  “Daria spilled her breakfast on me. Getting even, I guess.”

  Scott unfolds a napkin filled with bacon. “I snitched this when the cook wasn’t looking. She’s pretty put out you didn’t come in for breakfast.”

  Dancer nudges against Scott. A good sign.

  “Cool horse,” he says.

  I feed the apple to Dancer and eat the rest. I ask, “Ready for your first lesson?”

  “You bet.”

  Scott looks like a kid at Christmas.

  I get Dancer’s leather bridle. “This is a snaffle bit, used by those who ride English saddles. It goes in the mouth like so.” I put my fingers at the side of Dancer’s mouth. He opens it and I slip the bit inside. He takes it easily, pulling it to the back of his mouth.

  I pull the bridle over his nose. “This strap is called the crown piece and goes over his head behind the ears. The strap in front of his ears is called the browband. The one under his chin is called the throatlatch. You hook it here at the side of his head to secure the bridle.

  I grab a helmet. “See if this fits.”

  Scott stares at the black, round hat with a small brim.

  “That’s for sissies.”

  “Everyone should wear protective gear for their head. A horse can throw you when you least expect it.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “If you want to ride.”

  Scott straps on the hat.

&
nbsp; “You look like half of an English rider,” I say. “You just need the clothes. Let’s go.”

  “Hey, wait a minute. Where’s the saddle?” he asks.

  I laugh. “You don’t get one. Learning to ride bareback is the best way to feel the horse under you. To learn balance.”

  “This horse stuff is harder than it looks.”

  “No kidding.”

  We walk into the arena and I close the gate behind us.

  Scott, close beside me, says, “I thought we could go for a ride.”

  Chills. The good kind. “First things first.”

  David and John stride out from the house and lean on the fence. John laughs. “How you gonna’ stay on? There isn’t a handle.”

  “Go away.” Scott glares at his brother. “I need to concentrate.”

  David adds, “On what? The horse or the girl?”

  Scott turns pink.

  “Get lost,” I order.

  “We need your help on the big project, Scott,” says David, “if you have the time.”

  Sweat breaks out on Scott’s forehead.

  I announce, “We’ll be done in an hour.”

  David and John walk over to the hay barn, laughing.

  Scott is silent.

  Big brothers can be a pain.

  I continue with the lesson.

  “Always be aware of everything around you when riding a horse. Some horses are skittish at the slightest noise. Others think there is a lion behind every tree. Dancer is not like a rental horse that is willing to walk on a known trail and follow another horse. He is twelve-hundred pounds of muscle with a mind of his own.”

  Scott looks a little nervous.

  “Don’t worry. Dancer is terrific. Very smart. He knows what you’re thinking, so relax and you’ll be fine. Hold onto the mane.”

  I put my hands together to give him a boost up. “Put your left foot in my hands and throw your right leg over the horse. Glide on gently. Don’t come crashing down on his back.”

  Scott mounts easily.

  Dancer looks at me and shakes his head. I know he’s wondering what I’m doing on the ground.

  “Sit up straight. It’s easier to balance. Be like a clothespin on a line. Keep your heels level with the ground or a little down. I’ll lead him around.”

  “Don’t I get to hold the reins? I feel like a baby.”

  “Not yet. I don’t want you yanking on them. Dancer’s mouth is very sensitive.”

  I walk Dancer around the arena several times, so Scott can get used to the horse’s rhythm. He’s a natural. Relaxed, straight-backed and balanced.

  “You could be a good rider.”

  Scott beams. “Thanks. I never thought I’d get this dream.”

  “All guys want to be cowboys.”

  Scott looks down at me. “I want to be a horseman.”

  “You’re not like other boys.”

  “No way,” he mumbles.

  What does he mean by that? I decide not to ask.

  I put the reins over Dancer’s head and put one rein in each of Scott’s hands. “This is a direct rein. You are guiding Dancer by exerting pressure directly on his mouth. Always move your hands forward and backward slightly in rhythm with Dancer’s head as he moves. When you go left, a very little pull with your left hand. Right, use your right hand.”

  I put my hands around his to show Scott what I mean. Touching him sends a shot of hot white fire down to my toes.

  “Okay, you’re on your own,” I whisper.

  “Giddiyup,” Scott says.

  Dancer doesn’t move.

  “Sorry, I forgot to tell you about the leg cues,” I say.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  I laugh. “Squeeze both your legs into Dancer’s sides. Just a little, unless you want to gallop across the arena and land in the dust. Pressure on the left leg, to go left. Right leg, to go right. When you get better, you won’t need to use the reins to change direction.”

  Scott squeezes lightly and Dancer walks forward.

  “Awesome,” he says.

  The hour lesson flies by. I wonder why teaching Scott is more fun than teaching my other students?

  We groom Dancer and then go into the kitchen.

  Weasel and Claire argue in the dining room.

  I get us some water.

  Claire says, “I already asked Winifred, Mother.”

  “I don’t like the fact that you didn’t inform me before choosing your maid-of-honor.

  After all, I am your mother.”

  “You are making all the decisions. This is my wedding.”

  Weasel answers, “But Claire, think about it. This is the most exciting day of your life. It must be perfect. I doubt if that girl has ever worn a dress and heels. What if she falls? And then there’s her hair and complexion.”

  A rush of blood drains to my toes. I look at Scott, mortified. I tear out the kitchen door.

  I hear Scott whisper, “Winifred, wait!”

  I keep going, Mrs. Dudley’s words pounding in my head. “Her hair and complexion.” I knew I was ugly. I didn’t have to hear it from a stranger and in front of Scott.

  I rush into the stable. Dancer neighs and I don’t bother to saddle or bridle him. I slip onto his back. Grab a hank of mane. We jump over the back gate and race away.

  Dry air blows the tears from my face. Fresh pine fills my nose. My chest throbs like somebody slammed a rock into it.

  We race for miles through the forest. Dancer reaches our favorite meadow. Stops dead. I flip into the air. My butt hits the hard ground.

  “Ow!”

  Dancer whinnies in fear behind me and gallops away.

  “Whoa, Dancer! Come back!”

  Chapter 10: Monster Crossing

  What spooked Dancer? Fear sweeps through my body like a flash flood, tingling every nerve. Dragging myself up, I look around for bear or cougar.

  The air glitters with a purple mist. A dainty hand with a wand floats before my eyes.

  A sweet voice says, “Don’t be afraid. I’m your Fairy Godmoth ... OOOFFF.”

  Electricity cracks in the air. Chills slither down my spine.

  The hand disappears in a flash.

  BOOM!

  The ground shakes. I scramble backward and thump into a tree. Dark clouds

  menace the meadow. Heartbeats crash in my head. I can’t breathe or move.

  An engine roars overhead. Chrome plunges down through the mist.

  I scream and hit the ground.

  A Harley Davidson pops through the vanishing mist. Metal wings on the sides of the motorcycle clank back and forth in flight as it lands. Astride it, is a tall, female figure in a cool, red leather jumpsuit that fits like skin. Her yellow knee boots shine.

  “Be quick about it,” says the rider in an irritated, yet sexy voice. “My stylist freaks if I’m late and it’s not a pretty sight.”

  She pushes a button. The metal wings fold up against the sides of the motorcycle.

  Silence and exotic perfume fill the air.

  I try to move, but I’m shaking too much.

  Suddenly, I notice the whip hooked onto her silver-studded black belt. I scramble backward and bump against the tree. Dry bark digs into my hands.

  The rider removes the black helmet.

  I scream. It’s the monster in my nightmare.

  “Buck up,” orders the rider.

  I run away on shaky legs.

  A gloved fist grabs me by the back of my shirt. I hang in the air like the catch of the day.

  “Going someplace?” the voice purrs.

  “H-home.”

  “Not.”

  The fist swings me around. I stare into yellow, cat eyes.

  She puts me down and removes her gloves. Long claws with red fingernail polish extend beyond her four, graceful fingers.

  “W-who are you?” I stammer. I can’t stop my knees from shaking.

  “The Big Bad Wolf,” she laughs, running her claws through orange, spiky hair.

  “Ye
ah, right.”

  She smiles and I glimpse those white fangs.

  I gasp.

  “Chill. I don’t harm my assignments. Except for that Striplehook who kept trying to grope me. Had to knock him out.”

  I can’t speak.

  “Not a scaredy cat, are you?” she grumbles.

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “That’s a relief. It will make things easier.”

  She swings the whip around her head.

  I yell and flatten myself on the ground.

  “Oh, get a grip.”

  Her whip fizzles like a wet firecracker and hangs limp.

  She stares at it. “Cripes, what a bother. Let’s hope those idiots get things sorted out. The faster the better.”

  I drag myself up. “Who are you?”

  She smoothes the one wrinkle in her jumpsuit. “Your Fairy Godmonster.”

  “Sure you are,” I say. “And I’m Little Red Riding Hood.”

  Her yellow eyes turn black.

  “Look. It’s like this. FIMM is frozen.”

  “FIMM?” I ask.

  “The Fairy Instantaneous Manifestation Monitor. It regulates Fairy Godmothers, Fairy Godfathers, Fairy Godpets and the best of all, Fairy Godmonsters.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “You need a Fairy Godmother.”

  “Huh-uh,” I say.

  “FIMM doesn’t make mistakes. Your Fairy Godmother was almost here when she crashed into my bike. It caused an electrical malfunction in the biorhythmic alpha particles of FIMM. I ended up here instead of Monsterdome.”

  Her eyes gleam. “I wonder how your Fairy Godmother is doing there?” She purrs, then laughs. “She’ll definitely be freaked out.”

  My head spins.

  She whacks the top of the whip and it curls up so fast that I wonder if I saw it.

  Shoving it into her belt, her fox-like tail flips in irritation.

  “Why the whip?” I ask, biting my tongue to keep from snickering at her tail.

  “Magic wand.”

  I giggle. Can’t help myself and burst out laughing. I grab my mouth when she glares at me. It doesn’t help. I can’t stop laughing. Tears run down my face and I clutch my aching stomach.

  She watches me for a while.

  “Do you need a slap in the face?” she asks.

  I stop laughing and look into her concerned, luminous eyes. Unfortunately, I see the wings of the motorcycle behind her. I chuckle.