The World's Worst Fairy Godmother

The World's Worst Fairy Godmother

Bruce Coville

Contents

Chapter One: Another Fine Mess

Chapter Two: Maybelle's Last Chance

Chapter Three: Little Miss Perfect

Chapter Four: Little Stinkers

Chapter Five: Maybelle's Plan

Chapter Six: Magic Apples

Chapter Seven: Into the Woods

Chapter Eight: The Old Switcheroo

Chapter Nine: The Inner Brat

Chapter Ten: Zozmagog's Secret

Chapter Eleven: Susan's Rampage

Chapter Twelve: Farewell to Heaven

Chapter Thirteen: Out of the Blue

A Personal History by Bruce Coville

Chapter One
Another Fine Mess

Maybelle Clodnowski stood at the edge of the swamp and took two frogs from her apron pocket.

“Here we go,” she said, looking at them fondly. “This should suit you just fine.”

Before Maybelle could put the frogs into the water she heard someone clear his throat behind her. It was a deep sound. A fierce sound. A definitely disapproving sound.

Maybelle turned around. Her eyes went wide. She swallowed once, then whispered, “Hello, boss.”

Mr. Peters was as tall and slender as Maybelle was short and podgy. His nostrils flared and he raised his eyebrows so high Maybelle was afraid they might shoot right over the top of his forehead and keep on going.

“What,” he asked in his deepest, crankiest, most boy-are-you-in-trouble-now voice, “what in heaven's name do you think you're doing?”

“Sending the young lovers off to a new life?” asked Maybelle, smiling hopefully.

Mr. Peters scowled.

“They're both happy,” Maybelle added defensively.

“Happy?” roared Mr. Peters.
“Happy!
Maybelle, they're both
frogs!”

“Well, they like the outdoors.”

Mr. Peters made a rumbling sound deep in his chest. “Maybelle, the Prince of Burundia and the Princess of Ghukistan were not raised to be frogs. They were raised to be rulers of a kingdom.”

“Well, I know that, boss. But the poor things really didn't like the idea much, and I was trying—”

“You
were
trying, you
are
trying, and it looks very much as if you always
will be
trying!” roared Mr. Peters. He made a gesture with his hands, and the frogs disappeared. In their place, coughing and wheezing in a cloud of blue smoke, stood a handsome prince and an extremely beautiful princess. Both looked bewildered, and a little embarrassed.

“You two go on home,” said Mr. Peters sharply. “As for you, Maybelle, I want you to meet me in my office tomorrow morning at nine sharp.”

With another wave of his hand he disappeared in a cloud of white smoke.

The smell of newly mown hay lingered behind him.

“His office?” asked the prince, stepping out of the swamp. He shook a minnow from his boot.

“Up there,” said Maybelle, pointing toward the sky.

“Heaven?” asked the princess, her blue eyes wide.

“You could call it that,” said Maybelle. “Though at the moment it doesn't quite feel that way.” She sighed, then turned her eyes from the clouds back to the swamp. “I'm terribly sorry about the frog thing. I didn't mean for it to happen that way. When Princess Igrella kissed you, Prince Arbus, you were supposed to turn back into a human. Why Princess Igrella turned into a frog instead I'll never know.”

She shook her wand in disgust, then tucked it into the belt that held her skirt close to her plump waist.

Princess Igrella patted Maybelle on the shoulder. “No need to apologize. I was pretty upset at first, but when I thought about life in court versus life in the swamp… well, somehow a lily pad began to seem a lot more comfortable than a throne. As far as I'm concerned, all that really mattered was that Prince Arbus and I could be together.”

Maybelle smiled. “At least you're still both the same species. But maybe I can—”

Prince Arbus put his arm around Igrella's tiny waist. “We'll be fine, Maybelle,” he said nobly. “One way or another. Please… feel free to go on to your next case.”

“But maybe I should stay and—”

“We'll be fine,” repeated the prince firmly, his voice a little desperate. “Thank you for your help.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” said Maybelle cheerfully. She glanced at the sky. “Certainly more of a pleasure than tomorrow morning is going to be.”

The cloud directly above her grew dark and rumbled with thunder.

Maybelle rolled her eyes. “Such a fuss over one little mistake.”

A bolt of lightning seared down beside her, charring a clump of ferns just inches from her right foot.

“All right, all right! So it wasn't a little mistake. So no one's perfect, all right? I'll see you in the morning.”

Wrapping her cloak around her, she vanished in a cloud of pink smoke.

The smell of fresh baked muffins lingered behind her.

“I hope she'll be all right,” whispered Princess Igrella.

“I'm sure Maybelle will be fine,” said the prince. “It's her next client that I'm worried about.” He shook his head. “Really, she has to be the worst fairy godmother in the entire world.”

As Prince Arbus guided Princess Igrella out of the swamp, a teardrop fell from far above him, landing on his head.

Chapter Two
Maybelle's Last Chance

The next morning Maybelle hurried across heaven, leaping from cloud to cloud, trying not to get sunshine on her feet. The angels watched in amusement. The cherubs were in a state of high hysteria.

“Late again,” she muttered, missing a cloud and falling several feet before her wings could catch her. “Late again. Oh, Mr. Peters is going to be mad, mad, mad.”

Maybelle was almost, but not totally, correct. Mr. Peters was not merely mad. He was furious.

“Maybelle, can't you do anything right?” he exploded, when she reached the spacious cloud where he had his office.

“Of course I can, boss.”

“All right, name one thing,” he replied, crossing his arms. “One single thing that you've done right in the last one hundred and fifty-three years.”

Maybelle paused. She started to speak, then shook her head. She made a face. She started to speak again, then sighed. Suddenly her eyes lit up. “How about that lovely gown I wove for Princess Aurora? The one I made of cobwebs and eiderdown and stitched together with moonbeams?”

“It was beautiful,” agreed Mr. Peters. “Until it started to rain and the gown dissolved—while she was wearing it!”

Maybelle hunched into herself. “So I made a little slip.”

“You made a
very
little slip!” roared Mr. Peters. “That's why the princess was so embarrassed!” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't lose my temper that way. I would have been promoted by now if I could break the habit. But really, Maybelle, you're the only one who does that to me. I never even raise my voice to anyone except you. What am I going to do with you?”

Before Maybelle could answer, he said, “Never mind. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to give you another chance. Your last chance.”

Maybelle gulped. “Last chance?” she asked nervously.

Mr. Peters nodded. “This is it. Either you pull this one off, or you can trade in your wings and your wand for good.”

“Mr. Peters, you can't do that to me! The only thing I ever wanted to be is a fairy godmother!”

“Well, I hope you've got a second choice in mind.”

“But you can't—”

“Maybelle, you've had well over a century to get this right! As far as I can tell you're no better at it now than when you started. I'm sorry, but I can't let this go on forever. I've already given you more chances than I should have. I'm starting to get complaints from upstairs.” He rolled his eyes, indicating the next level of clouds above them. In a whisper he said, “I had to pull strings just to get this job for you. So to make sure nothing goes wrong, you're going to have a supervisor.”

“A supervisor? Jeepers, boss—what do you think I am? An amateur?”

“Yes. Now, your supervisor will be along simply to make sure things don't get too far out of hand. This is still your job; she will step in only if you muff things. But if she does have to step in…” He scowled and made a gesture with his hands. It looked as if he was breaking something in half.

Maybelle clutched her wand. “You wouldn't!”

“Yes,” said Mr. Peters. “I would.”

Maybelle sighed. “Who is this supervisor?”

“Edna Prim.”

“Not the Edna Prim?” cried Maybelle, her eyes growing wide.

Mr. Peters nodded.

“Fairy Godmother of the Year for the last hundred and forty-seven years running? That Edna Prim?”

“The same.”

“She's my hero!”

As Maybelle spoke a tall, stern looking woman floated down to the cloud. Her dress billowed charmingly around her. “Good morning, Mr. Peters,” she said. “I came as soon as I could.”

“There it is!” cried Maybelle, rushing forward. “The Fairy Godmother of the Year medallion! Oh, I am so impressed.”

She clutched the medallion, pulling Edna's neck forward as she did. “It's beautiful,” gasped Maybelle.

“Yes, it is, isn't it?” said Edna, yanking it back. She shook herself, looking something like a tall, thin cat that has just heard a joke of which it faintly disapproved.

“You understand the assignment, Edna?” asked Mr. Peters.

Edna nodded. “It seems like a fairly simple case. I don't see how anyone could mess it up.”

“You'd be surprised,” said Mr. Peters darkly.

“Wait a minute,” said Maybelle. “I don't understand. What is the assignment?”

“You'll see when we get there,” said Mr. Peters. “In fact, if you're both ready, I think we should be leaving. Just follow me, ladies—”