The Apprentice Fairy Godmother

Chapter One

HEY! THIS ISN’T WHAT I had in mind when you said you were sending me to Earth.

Georgia Rhodes directed her comment upward, as if to close the distance between herself and her instructors at Fairy Godmother University. When she didn’t receive an immediate response, she looked down in disgust at the bright yellow bucket and the stringy, dirty mop she clutched. A blue glove encased her hand and burned her skin as if it had been plunged into boiling oil.

Aaaargh! She whipped off the glove and threw it on the floor. Resisting the urge to claw at her skin, she swore, took a deep breath and plunged her arm into the scummy, gray water. If it would wash away some of the residue–

On second thought, the water looked more dangerous than an imminent rash. She pulled free and wiped her palm on her smock, noting its repulsive mustard yellow and puce green print. Not flattering colors for any complexion, but a disaster against her olive skin- not that she cared what she looked like most of the time. But, why was she wearing too tight black pants and cheap sandals as well?

Where are my clothes? she barked. This is not funny. I own an appropriate flowing gown. How am I going to bond with a baby when I look like a nightmare?

Stupid Fairy Godmother University. Okay, she’d admit she hadn’t been the most exemplary student, and she’d made her own rules when she didn’t agree with the school’s, but was this any way to treat a soon-to-be graduate? After all, for her final assignment, she’d chosen the ugliest of the three babies she’d been shown, hadn’t she? Her unique talents would be of more use to him than those of her boring classmates. What was his name? Jason? Michael? Damien?

It didn’t matter. How could she guide him through his predestined short, little life while she wore clothes that looked like a dog had thrown up on them?

Why be a Fairy Godmother in the first place if this is the way I’m treated? So what if I break family tradition? Mom will understand.

She absently scratched the back of her hand and gave herself a mental shake. Fairy Godmothering blood ran deep in her veins, and she’d be damned if she’d let a little setback throw her plans awry. All she had to do was find little Jason-Michael-Damien-

Where was he? Had he been born yet? This certainly didn’t look like the pictures of hospitals she’d been shown.

Georgia looked closer at her surroundings. Stone tiles gave way to beige carpet while rows of desks disappeared into darkness. The only light came from a few windows and the front door. The place seemed deserted.

Had her instructor, Professor Cindi Ehlers, made a mistake? Granted, she was a featherhead, but she should know a hospital from an office building. Wasn’t she on the Fairy Godmother Draft Board, matching available Godmothers to new souls?

Where am I? Georgia asked the emptiness.

Where do you want to be? replied a voice from behind her. A deep, decidedly masculine voice.

Georgia whirled.

A man faced her, one eyebrow raised in amusement. He’d just entered through the door.

Not a man. A mortal. The breath washed out of her. A true mortal. She’d only seen them in textbooks. She’d studied their various forms, but she almost always thought of them as infants––fresh souls in need of lifetime protection. Not at all like the man before her––tall and strong, with dark hair and tanned skin.

His eyes were tawny. A light golden, honey color. She’d expected brown. They tugged at her, hypnotic, a warm beacon at the end of a long, turbulent storm.

Shock rumbled through her. Is this what mortals were like? This compelling? Creating an overwhelming need to be nearer, to touch them, to make them happy?

No wonder the art of godmothering had never died. When would she have learned this? Did they hand out the secret with each diploma?

Stunned by the enormity of the unknown connection between her species and mortals, Georgia staggered backward.

Hospital, she rasped, fighting for normalcy by answering his question. I need to get to the hospital.

Are you hurt? the stranger asked, puzzlement chasing away his amusement. He stepped toward her.

She followed his gaze to her arm, which blazed red with scratch marks. Quickly, she hid it behind her. This? No. There is to be a baby-

You’re pregnant? He stared at her midsection.

Her hand flew to her stomach. Granted, she wasn’t the slimmest student attending F.G.U., but she wasn’t overly endowed, either. Unless Professor Cindi had changed more than her clothing. . .

She hurriedly checked. No, everything appeared to be the same. Georgia narrowed her eyes at the stranger, some of his glamour falling away at the insult.

Do I look fat? she huffed.

He visibly squirmed under her gaze. No. Not at all. My mistake. I apologize.

Hmmm. He seemed sincere. The last year of her curriculum had concentrated heavily on human culture, so she knew how much they lied to get what they wanted. Still. . .his eyes, all tawny and warm, projected enough honesty for her to give him the benefit of the doubt.

All right, she conceded. An easy enough mistake, that, considering I’m wearing this hideous thing. She lifted the voluminous folds of the smock. But someone is having a baby today, and I’m supposed to be there.

Because this place is where she’d been sent, and he was the only one around, she took an educated guess. Is it you?

Was he Jason-Michael-Damien’s father and her destiny lay in accompanying at the child’s birth?

He stepped back in shock. Several moments passed before he found the composure to say, Me? No. Not at all. I’m not even married.

Hmmm. So who was the father, and what was she doing here?

Not a prerequisite, I’d say. She took another long look at him. By outward appearance alone, why shouldn’t he be the father? Dressed in a crisp, navy suit, everything polished and in place, he’d certainly know how to keep a baby clean.

I assure you, it’s an impossibility. Disappointment flickered across his face.

The need to ease his pain welled in Georgia, taking her by surprise. Was this part of the bond she would have with her mortal? If so, she didn’t know how she’d survive ultimately losing him.

Why? You’re a handsome man. Women should be swarming around you. And where was his godmother? Why hadn’t she found him a wife by now? Georgia had half a mind to turn her into the Fairy Practices and Spells Board for dereliction of duty.

No. Nothing like that, he said. Look, I just came in for some papers, but I’d like to help. Do you need a ride to one of the hospitals?

How nice of him to ask, but she had no idea of where to go. As soon as he left, she’d find a way to contact Professor Cindi and get to the bottom of this horrible mistake.

Thank you, but I’ll figure it out.

Can I at least get you some salve for your itching? Concern darkened his eyes to amber.

Glancing down, Georgia couldn’t tell the difference between the damage she’d done and that of the glove. Damn, if he wasn’t around, she’d whip out her wand and fix the problem.

It’s the glove, she said, indicating the offending item on the floor where she’d thrown it. It made me itch.

He nodded. Latex allergy. You might want to have them check it at the hospital when you get there. Until then, I have something that might help. He indicated for her to follow, and he headed to the back of the building, snapping on lights.

I’m Harrison Ford, by the way.

Harrison Ford. Why did it sound familiar?

Hmmm. She liked the name. Good and solid. A little stuffy. He’d do better as a Harry.

Her sandals made an annoying thwap-thwap sound as she followed him. I’m Georgia Rhodes. Do people call you Harrison or Harry?

He stopped and scrutinized her, as if seeking a flaw. After a long moment, in which he seemed to find an answer, he said, You can call me anything but Indy or Han.

Injured hand? Bewilderment washed over her. Why would I do that?

He gave her another stretching look that ended with a shake of his head. The same reason someone might twist your name into cracks about red clay, rednecks and backwoods sheriffs.

Red necks? Hands? Body parts must hold great importance in human culture. None of what he said made sense. Clearly, there were some serious gaps in her education. She’d definitely have to ask Professor Ehlers about this. Had she skipped a class where it had been discussed? Truth be told, she’d skipped a lot of classes. So boring. Maybe if the school would condense the information into easy-to-read notes. . .

Of course, she said after a moment, groping for the right answer. She didn’t dare risk upsetting him and lose the thirty percent this assignment counted against her final grade.

He moved around a corner and reached into a drawer. You have an interesting accent. Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?

Endure, she said automatically, citing the city where she’d been born. Lower Endure, to be precise. Only the wealthy or the old lived in Upper Endure. Georgia and her sisters (all older, all successful Godmothers, just like she would be someday) and her parents lived in the mid-reaches of Lower Endure.

Is that in England? Harrison opened a small, shiny packet. A blob-like thick cream oozed onto his palm. He lifted her arm and began applying the lotion to her hand.

Georgia frantically tried to recall her Earth geography as she fought the rising emotion caused by his touch. Is this what mortals did- make you go all hot and squiggly inside? Would she react the same when she met Jason-Michael-Damien?

Yes. England, she stammered. Is it near?

Harrison glanced up, amusement twitching the corners of his mouth. The scent of sandalwood drifted to her, warm, exotic and compelling. No. Are you sure you’re all right? You didn’t mix bleach and ammonia, did you?

No, she said, knowing neither substance. I’m fine. Except for the warm tingling she could no longer blame on her rash. I’m sorry to be a bother.

You’re not. He tossed away the packet, opened a drawer and withdrew some papers. Are you sure you don’t need a ride?

No. I’ll call someone. Best not involve herself any more in this mortal’s life. Georgia wasn’t sure of the ramifications of staying visible to him (she’d chosen to occasionally go to the beach instead of attending her ethics lessons) but it probably wasn’t good. She just wouldn’t mention her lapse to her instructors.

If you’re sure? he probed, his glance indicating he expected her to have a seizure or spontaneously combust at any moment.

Quite sure. Thank you for your help. She would have shook hands, but cream covered hers, and the awkwardness of doing it left-handed stopped her. After a moment, she backed away, as if anxious to return to her mop and pail.

Not a problem. He studied her for a minute then took his papers and walked away.

Georgia stood for a long time watching him leave, an emptiness in her she couldn’t explain.

• • •

Harrison knew his life had hit rock bottom the moment he’d considered the cleaning woman attractive. Not that cleaning women were inherently ugly. As a man who made his living with statistics and probabilities for Pioneer Assurance, he knew the likelihood of the attractiveness of some cleaning women. Maybe just not the one he’d met in his building’s foyer and subsequently doctored.

Something about her didn’t speak of conventional beauty. Her eyes, for instance, a deep brown, the color found in the darkest recesses of an old forest. Or her hair, equally dark, sticking out all over like a badly built eagle’s nest.

As for her clothes! Who had dressed her––a rummage sale? Flip-flops––Good God! The colors of her smock blinded him, and her leggings––he swore she didn’t wear underwear. Surely a panty line would have been visible, and he’d seen definite cheekdom. Tight. Round. Firm.

No, he wouldn’t think of her ass, or her lemony scent––which might be from the bleach––or her allergy or the disquieting effect she had on him. Better to forget them quickly. Permanently.

He shook his head and unlocked his immaculately maintained dark blue Taurus. He’d been inside Pioneer Assurance for only a few minutes, but the late September, Chicago heat had entered the vehicle and taken hold. A wave of stuffy, hot air hit him in the face as he opened the door.

Stuffy, like me.  Well, he’d chosen to be this way, a conscious decision stemming from his name. He hated it. So much he’d done everything in his power to be as unlike the movie star as possible. No risks, no drawing attention to himself, nothing outside of routine, routine and more routine. A comfortable, boring lifestyle. Logic told him to have his name legally changed. Respect for his mother and his late father made it impossible.

He turned the key and thought of his plans for the night. A frozen dinner. The History Channel. And work. Like compiling statistical analysis of early deaths, (like the probability of dying from a dog bite- .0002 percent). The need for dry data never lessened.

Aware of a huge gap in his life but unable to give it a name, Harrison put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot.

• • •

Now what? Georgia stared at the bleak walls of the office, trying to figure out why she’d been sent to this particular place. Certainly not for the ambience. Or the company, though she’d enjoyed the contact with her first mortal. Were they all so hypnotic? She would have liked to ask Harrison more questions, things probably not found in her textbooks, if she had bothered to study them.

Hmmm. On the bright side, she’d have something to brag about to her classmates when she returned. She’d bet most of them had been stuck with boring babies. Lumps that cried and pooped and had no personality. She, on the other hand, had interacted with a mortal man. Touched him.

He’d touched her.

She recalled her confusion when he’d applied the cream to her hand. An uncomfortable warmth returned. Was it a mortal/godmother thing? Or Harrison himself?

She normally didn’t have any problem attracting the opposite sex. Warlocks, wizards, fairies––Endure had its fair share of men all too willing to entertain her for a few hours. She enjoyed their company, but none had caused the same reactions she’d experienced with Harrison.

It had to be a mortal/godmother thing.

She’d never be able to verify it, though, until she met her own mortal. When was that going to be?

Yoo-hoo! she shouted. Anyone around? Anyone?

A persistent, annoying chime answered, accompanied by a strong vibration against her stomach. Georgia patted herself, following the sensations until her hand closed over a palm-sized communicator. She pulled it from a pocket.

Where R U? The text read on the tiny screen.

About time someone paid attention to her. Georgia recognized the abbreviated communications style of her professor.

Somewhere on Earth she punched in, taking the time to type the complete message.

Meet him yt?

How difficult was it to add an e to the last word? And Him? Jason-Michael-Damien?

No.

Her finger barely lifted off the send button before a small pop sounded behind her, accompanied by a flash of pink light. She whirled.

Professor Cindi Ehlers floated to the floor. An unnecessary action. Gravity wasn’t any different on Earth. She liked to show she had the whole levitation thing mastered.

Her instructor maintained the appearance of a twelve-year-old, a choice Georgia found annoying. If that’s the form she wanted to take this decade, she had the right to do so. Age and station gave her the privilege. But Cindi was over four-hundred-years old to Georgia’s ninety-nine, and she tended to act twelve, even while teaching the senior class.

Today, she’d dressed in pink shorts and a white top, pink shoes on her feet, laced in white. Her artificially dyed blonde hair had been pulled back with a half-dozen pink clips.

She pulled her lower lip into a pout and stared at Georgia.

U haven’t met him? she demanded.

Why am I dressed like a clown? Georgia countered. She wasn’t above making her point to her superiors. It wasn’t the first time and certainly not the last.

R U crazy? Like, who has time 4 fashion?

I’d like to make a good first impression. Why did she get stuck with all the ignorant people in the universe? Any fool, let alone a four-hundred-year old teacher, could see the wisdom of the right attire for the right job.

U R 2 B invisible. Duh. A frown crossed Cindi’s face, but she corrected it before it left any permanent marks, a mean feat after centuries of practice.

I don’t think he can focus enuf, er, enough to care. Or remember. Jason-Michael-Damien wasn’t slated for a long life.

Harrison?

Har- What? Georgia grabbed a nearby chair and slumped on it. Harry? Her Harry? Ford? No, there must be some mistake.

There must be some mistake. Memories assailed her. Tawny eyes. The brush of his skin on hers. His clean, warm smell. The hurt he tried to hide when he admitted the impossibility of impending fatherhood.

OMG. Like, don’t U read? Cindi conjured a piece of paper from the air and handed it to her.

Official Fairy Godmother Reassignment Requisition. Form FGRR95.A. (To be completed in triplicate. Use black pen only.)

Georgia quickly scanned the document, noting her name printed in one of the blanks, along with that of Steven Brooks (Steven? Her charge’s name was Steven? Where had she come up with Jason-Michael-Damien?) crossed out (in blue ink, she noted) and Harrison Matthew Ford printed above it.

You gave me a substitute charge? she demanded, her voice climbing. A grown man? Whatever happened to the ‘the baby is destined to die shortly, so do your best in the time you have’ speech you gave me? I don’t want to work on an adult. What kind of shoddy university did she belong to? Scratch that. She already knew.

Chill, Georgia. Like, Miranda qualified. She’s totally in the finals now.

Miranda? Presumably Harry’s real Fairy Godmother. What finals? This whole assignment stank.

Mahjong. Duh. Don’t U know anything? She’s like, the champ. The finals are totally in Helsinki. Bitchin’.

Georgia’s temper threatened to take over and make her smack her instructor. I don’t give a damn about any mahjong finals. Or Helsinki. Or Miranda, whoever she is. She has an obligation to her charge. Why am I substituting?

Cindi rolled her eyes. U know.

No, I don’t. Is this a test? A horrible realization hit her. It was a test. Not just her final test (counting for thirty percent) but a cruel revenge for all the classes she’d skipped, the quizzes and tests she’d managed to pass with a minimum of studying. Her instructors had formed an evil cartel and had cooked up this punishment.

You want me to fix his problems? she gasped, her brain whirling with all the things wrong with him (besides the obvious) and what she could do to eliminate them.

Duh. It’s like, EZ. U grant his wish, U pass.

What if I don’t want to pass? Wait, what was she saying? Of course she wanted to pass. To be assigned her own mortal, a lump of a baby, to mold the way she wanted. To keep out of trouble and help make happy. Seven generations backed up her desire to be a Fairy Godmother. What other life could she have? What would her family say if she chose otherwise?

Scratch that. Isn’t there any way, any way at all, I can be assigned a fresh mortal? A nice, new baby? I’ll even learn how to change a diaper. Gross, but she’d do it.

Cindi produced another paper, a list by the looks of it. A very, very short list. She glanced at it for about two seconds before shaking her head. No.

Great, just great. Her world collapsed around Georgia. There’s no other way? She hated to whine.

Cindi tsked. One wish, U pass. So, like, no way out 4 U.

Slowly, Georgia straightened, pride returning. She’d do it, and do it right. With bells on. With––oh, she couldn’t think of the right cliché, but she’d show everyone at F.G.U. what she was made of. And her family. She’d make them proud.

Okay, she conceded, heart heavy. As if she had a choice.

She held out her hand. Give me my wand.

Cindi chuckled, the sound echoing. No wand.

Wait a minute. What do you mean, no wand? All our lessons for the last five years have centered on using our wands. How can I grant his wish if I don’t have one?

So, okay, you totally had classes on wandless magic, or something. She fluttered her fingers and started to levitate. Crying big tears over this, G. C U l8r.

With a poof and a flash of pink light, she vanished.

Stop. Come back here. Georgia stamped her foot in frustration. I don’t even know how to find him.

Before she could protest further, her world turned black.

Chapter Two

GEORGIA WOKE LYING ON the floor. A carpeted floor, an indiscriminate beige surrounded by taupe walls. She sat up and noticed furniture in the same palette.

I must still be on Earth. No one from Endure would dare decorate in such a bland, boring way. Color