Ethan makes friends in the new neighborhood,
including a tiny queen who wants him
as her replacement for



Part 1 - The Queen of Woods and Meadows
by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 1

The Fairy Court

I looked out the picture window of our new living room and saw a lot of green. In the late summer of 1998, we had moved from the city up to the mountains and into the middle of a forest of pine trees. Well, the edge of a forest; at the end of the huge lot our new home occupied, a narrow black-top road wound further down the mountain to the state highway that led to the town of Pineview.

That's what I had right now, a view of the pines.

The new house had four bedrooms upstairs and a large den downstairs that Dad intended to use for an office. Mom planned to use a corner of the dining room for her writing and we would usually eat in the breakfast nook, just the three of us. The extra bedrooms would be for if we got company, like one of my brothers visiting or my sister coming home from college. One of the two extras was actually set up as Phoebe's room, full of all of her stuff she hadn't taken with her; she would be living there during holidays, probably.

I wasn't looking forward to that particularly, but at the moment anything would be better than looking at trees; even dealing with a sister who had turned the tormenting of little brothers into an art form.

We had moved for a variety of reasons. Mostly because the smog down in Los Angeles had begun to get to all of us but especially me. I kept catching colds and they kept turning into bronchitis and then pneumonia. I spent most of the seventh grade in the hospital and had almost flunked; summer school sucks but I finally caught up and had graduated eighth grade with the rest of my class.

Not that many of them noticed. I'm scrawny with hazel eyes and mouse-brown hair. I've been the shortest kid in class since the first grade, my cheekbones stick out and my chin doesn't.. My teachers only noticed me when I coughed and as for my classmates, well, better that most of them didn't notice me since it usually resulted in pain and suffering for me when they did.

A new school might mean that no one knew what an easy target a kid who can't run makes. On the other hand, the kids might just decide to pick on the new kid on general principles. In just over a month, October 5, I'll be fourteen and in three days, on Tuesday, September 3, I would be starting high school at Pineview/Mountain Home Union School, which had all the grades from K-12 all in the same school. Mom and I had gone down and signed me up earlier in the week. I didn't particularly look forward to starting school, but again, anything might be better than looking at trees that didn't even have squirrels or birds in them.

Dad's company had decided that they could do without him being actually in the office; if he came in at least once or twice a week, he could do most of his work anywhere. Dad designs sewage treatment plants. Being able to get out of the city, (even if his commute doubled in length, it halved in frequency), seemed very attractive to Dad.

Another reason we had moved was that Mom's writing had started paying off and a big bonus check made a nice down payment on the new place. She writes Romance Novels under the name of Vicki Bartlett, which is odd because that really is her name and I had always sort of thought that writers used pseudonyms to protect their identities; kind of like Superman pretending to be Clark Kent. So, she was in the dining room, trying to get started again on her latest book; her research stuff laid out on the big oak table and her new Macintosh with the gooseneck monitor waiting on her desk for her to start banging away at the keyboard or, at least, clicking the button on the mouse.

She claimed the novelty of living in the new house kept distracting her and she hadn't appreciated it when I had pointed out that since she was a novelist this should work out fine. I knew she wouldn't appreciate me complaining either, but I had a plan.

I stayed out of sight, so she wouldn't just invent some chore for me along with a lecture about how since Phoebe moved out she had to do all the housework or stand over dad and I to make sure we did it. I waited upstairs while she did all the moving things around and shuffling papers then I stood at the top of the stairs when I heard her start typing.

"Mom," I called out, "I'm bored."

"Well," she exclaimed, "for goodness sake, Ethan, go for a walk or something."

That was my plan, to get thrown out of the house so I could go exploring. "Take a jacket," Mom added. "It's after two and it gets cool here in the afternoon."

"Got one," I said, heading for the door.

"And don't go down to the highway, there's too much traffic and there's no where to walk."

"I won't," I promised. "I'm going over the hill behind the house. There's a market down the other side and they have comic books."

"Oh, you and your comics," she sighed then apparently had another thought. "That's a long walk and a steep climb to come back, Ethan?"

"I'll be okay, Mom. I'll stop and rest as often as I need to." I made it out the glass door into the little greenhouse garden porch on the south side of the house. She gave up trying to think of things to tell me and I made my escape. I've been sick so much that she tends to dwell on everything that can go wrong.

I went out the redwood gate and set out along the path behind the house. While it looks like there is no one living near us, actually several houses occupy our little hill, just with scads of trees screening them from each other. Paths from the backs of the lots all connect; one way the path leads on up the mountain, following the ridge. I didn't know what might be up there but the other way led down to a corner gas station, a mini-market and a trailer park on the edge of town.

The state highway turned into the Main Street of Pineview at the corner where Pineview Avenue crossed it. And there sat the Pineview Shell Station and The Pine View Market Liquor Deli. Mountaineers are so inventive; imagine putting a space between Pine and View to form a whole new name for something. Next to the market, where I hoped to find some comics if they actually carried any, the Pine Home RV-Park began and stretched along Pineview Avenue for about a quarter of a mile. Pine Home represented more inventiveness since along that road lay the town of Mountain Home about six miles away. I'd seen all this on the drive over to the school yesterday.

It felt good to be outside and even better to be breathing air that didn't make my nose and throat hurt. At just 2100 feet elevation, Pineview managed to escape the smog and yet the air wasn't so thin as to be a problem for me that way. I felt pretty good.

A person might think the Shell station would be visible from the path behind the houses at the very least, but in fact the trees grew too thickly to see more than glimpses of colors that were not green. I didn't worry about getting lost, the path looked pretty well-travelled and this really was the only safe way for people from the dozen or so houses on this hill to walk to town. On my left, occasional smaller paths led to big houses, like ours, built along the narrow mountain road.

On my right, the land fell away much more steeply for a hundred feet or so before sort of leveling off. Below the tree and brush-covered slope, a wide, slightly tilted meadow opened out. When Mom and Dad and I had been along this path a day or so before, Dad had suggested that deer probably came to graze in the meadow. This time, I paused to look at the postcard-like scene for a moment, stopping to sit on a rock.

That's when I heard the giggling.

It seemed to be coming from the brushy, ditch-like gully between the slope and the meadow. I sat very still and tried to see who might be making the noise. I hadn't really met any kids since we moved in, though the giggles sounded as if they might be made by a little kid rather than someone my own age, still it would be nice not to be completely surrounded by adults.

The giggles started and stopped and started again, it almost sounded as if someone might be playing a game. Finally, I saw someone, a girl who might be about my age, moving carefully and stealthily through the brush. I looked where she seemed to be looking and spotted the giggler, a younger girl, four or five years old probably. She crouched beside a large rock and seemed to be looking at something on the ground.

They dressed similarly, in jeans and long-sleeved pullover shirts and they both had dark blonde hair pulled back in pony tails, two on the little girl and one longer one on the older girl. I decided they must be sisters and that the bigger girl intended on sneaking up on her kid sister to give her a scare. Being the youngest in my family, I felt some sympathy for the little girl; I didn't think she had any inkling that her stalker had crept so close. She seemed absorbed in whatever had attracted her attention and continued to spark giggles.

I stood and called down the hill, "Hey! Hey! Little girl?" They both looked up at me for only a moment before springing into action. The bigger girl rushed out of hiding and made a grab for her sister, calling out, "Melody!" but the smaller girl had moved too quickly. The short chase ended when the bigger sister tripped over something and went sprawling head first into a large bush. Her giggling little sister, presumably named Melody, made good her escape, moving further up the gully before disappearing from my view.

I laughed and maybe even clapped my hands. The bigger girl scrambled back to her feet and glared up toward me, "Idiot! I've got to catch her and get her home before she gets lost! Mom's going to kill me if we're still out on the mountain when she gets home!" She stamped her foot at me and started off after her sister, calling again, "Melody!"

"Sorry!" I yelled down. "I thought you two were playing a game!"

"It's no game!" she yelled, still angry. "And if you are really sorry, you'll come down here and help me catch her."

I thought about it, the slope could probably be climbed down safely if done at an angle. And they might be neighbors, it would be good to get acquainted. Besides, she looked kind of cute. "All right!" I called. "Be right down!"

She looked up at me and started to say something but I had already started down what I thought looked like an angled path leading toward the group of rocks the little girl had been so interested in. I must have taken a misstep, it happened so suddenly. One moment I had been picking my way carefully down the path, the next, my motion turned into a headlong, staggering, out of control, downhill run.

I didn't run well, I'd been an asthmatic all my life and running and I just didn't get along. I probably expressed my terror in a scream. In fact, I'm sure I did.

The rocks at the bottom came up suddenly, I tried to steer around them, still screaming. I managed to jump over the first one and stumbled over the next couple, flat-out tripped over a medium-size one and knocked the wind out of myself pancaking onto a fairly big one. Just before the collision I thought I saw something very strange between the rocks. Then I just lay there gasping for a bit, trying to get my breath back.

I heard the laughter of the bigger girl, and the giggles of the smaller one as she emerged from her hiding place. To give them credit, they both rushed to my side to see if I were seriously injured. But besides their voices, I heard other sounds, like tiny voices crying out, first in alarm and then in amusement. For a moment I seemed to hear laughter like the tinkling of miniature bells.

"Don't I get to see birdies?" I gasped, trying to make a joke of it as the girls reached me. "I see the stars and hear the bells but I wanted birdies?" My voice sounded a bit odd, I'd bruised or bitten my tongue somehow though I didn't taste the metallic tang of blood.

"You idiot," said the bigger girl, kneeling beside me.

"You were funny," said Melody, still giggling.

I tried to roll over and sit up, but things weren't working that well yet. The bigger girl took advantage of the distraction I represented to nab her sister, grabbing Melody by the wrist and tugging her close. "Got you!"

"No fair," Melody protested but she didn't put up much of a fight, instead letting herself be pulled into a sisterly embrace. They both smiled down at me, looking very much alike and very cute.

"It's Ethan," I mumbled, wondering just a bit if I had damaged my clothes or myself in such a way as to require lengthy explanations to Mom. My tongue felt swollen and partly numb; stupidly, I stuck it out to try to get a look at the damage, crossing my eyes in the process.

The girls frowned at me.

I expanded on what I had said a moment ago, "My name, it's Ethan. Not idiot, despite the evidence." I grinned when they both giggled at that. I seemed to have acquired the smoothness to make slick jokes in adversity, which was better than making faces at pretty girls, at least.

"I'm Melody," said the little girl. "And you're funny."

Her sister laughed, "I'm Dorothy Hawthorne."

"Ethan Bartlett." I stuck out my hand.

She took it, still smiling and we simply clasped hands for a moment. I think I may have blushed first but we quickly let go when we both noticed how warm it had suddenly gotten. Melody promptly stuck out her hand and I covered my confusion about what had just happened between myself and Dorothy by giving little sister's hand a quick, gentle but emphatic shake. "Pleased to meet you, Melody," I said solemnly.

She giggled. Dorothy stood, keeping a hand on the potential runaway. "We're going to have to get home," she said.

I pointed up toward the ridge, "We just moved in up there, my folks and I. Number Nine, Pine Ridge Road?"

"Uh," Dorothy seemed reluctant. "We live down that way," she pointed vaguely toward the town.

"Number Forty-Two, Pine Home Park," Melody supplied.

"Shh!" her sister scolded. "Don't tell strangers our address!"

"Ethan's not that strange," said Melody. "He's just funny. And he told us his."

"Logical," I commented, grinning.

Dorothy rolled her eyes, "Don't encourage her, we can't invite you home. Um, I'm not allowed to bring boys to our place when Mom isn't home."

"I can!" said Melody.

"Boys your own age!" said her sister.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"I'm four," said the little girl, holding up one hand, fingers spread wide, thumb folded awkwardly to the palm.

"What a coincidence," I said. "I'm four, too."

"No, you are not," they both said, and I had to laugh.

"Yes, I am. If you add both numbers together," I teased.

Melody looked puzzled and Dorothy just rolled her eyes, "Thirteen, he means he's thirteen, Molly."

"Thought your name was Melody?" I asked.

"Uh-huh, but sometimes they call me Molly, 'cause she's Dolly."

I nodded. "Dorothy, Dolly, Melody, Molly, I get it."

"We've got to go," said Dolly, starting to pull her sister away. "Thanks for helping catch her."

"I catched myself," Molly protested. They both had big blue eyes, turned up noses and waist-length blond hair. And they were leaving.

I wasn't sure I could safely stand yet, so I just sat and watched while they made their way out of the rocky gully and into the meadow. Besides, I felt fairly certain that Dolly would measure four or five inches taller than me. When Molly looked back, I waved and she giggled and waved back. "Dolly," I called. "Do you go to high school here?"

"Yeah?" she answered. They were about midway across the meadow, probably heading for another path that they knew about.

"Good," I said. "Maybe I'll see you there on Tuesday."

"I doubt it," she called back before they disappeared into the brush and trees beyond the open area. "I'm six."

"No, you're not," I heard Molly say.

"But I like older women," I said to myself. I sat there a while longer, wondering if she were in the 10th grade and whether we might have some classes together even if I was only a 9th grader.

Then I tried to get up. I couldn't seem to move my butt, it was as if I'd been glued to the rock where I sat. At first this just puzzled me but very quickly I progressed to frightened once I had braced my tennis shoes against the rock to try to push myself off. and then I discovered that I couldn't move my feet either.

Maybe I've really hurt myself, I thought. I'd better call for help before the girls get out of earshot. I opened my mouth and then I kept it open while I stared at the apparition that had appeared between my feet.

She seemed to be all of eight inches tall, a woman dressed in a green and gold gown. Her hair was golden, too, a reddish blonde and it fell around her almost touching the rock she on which she stood. On her head she wore a tiny coronet, sparkling with jewels no bigger than pencil points. In her left hand she held a rod or sceptre or wand; I wasn't too sure of the correct terminology, partly because I had decided to doubt my sanity.

I couldn't be seeing what I thought I was seeing, therefore I must be out of my mind. Perhaps I had hit my head in my uncontrolled plunge down the slope. I might be lying on the ground bleeding inside my skull. Or maybe I'd already been taken to the hospital. I knew I had to be hallucinating because, behind the tiny apparition, a pair of shimmering arcs rose above her head. Wings.

She lifted her right hand and pointed at me. "I am Lady Tintabelle, Queen of these Meadows and Woodlands. And you, Ethan Bartlett, mortal, are the assassin of King Fritharic, my royal consort."

Dimly I realized that while I had been staring at Her Tiny Majesty, I had been surrounded on the rock where I lay by several dozen additional miniature beings. Many of them held swords no bigger than nail files but probably sharper and some of them had tiny bows loaded with silvery shafts about the length of ballpoint pens.

Something else had joined the tiny queen in front of me. It looked like a weasel dressed up to play Abraham Lincoln in the Mother West Wind Theatre. I decided I had been watching too many cartoons, a weasel in frock coat and top hat? I must have hit my head really hard.

"He must pay the penalty, Your Majesty, assassination of a Royal Person carries a sentence of death," said the weasel sounding remarkably, unbelievably, like the guy who plays James Bond.

"Now, wait a minute!" I exclaimed, struggling a bit to get myself off of the rock but it was no use, whatever held me where I sat would not yield to my struggles. "You're nothing but a pack of cards!" I shouted, in desperation.

That took them aback a little, literally; the weasel and the little fairy actually took steps backwards. "Do you think it is mad?" asked Lady Tintabelle.

"Yes, I'm mad!" I said. "I'm mad that you won't let me go, or at least let me wake up!"

"We'll have to have a trial, Duke Leandro," said the queen, looking slightly pleased. Somewhere I heard other murmuring voices, and a few titters.

"Do you really think that's necessary?" asked the weasel. "We all saw him do it, it's not as if there were any doubt that he's guilty." This time he sounded more like Eric Idle.

"There's the question of motive," said Lady Tintabelle, "and then, he's claiming to be mad, so we have to make a decision on whether we should allow the insanity defense."

"Insanity defense!" Now the weasel looked slightly hydrophobic. I tried to kick him but I could not do more than twitch.

"Mom!" I called out. "Mom! I'm having a nightmare, come wake me up!"

All the fairies giggled at that; the sound I had heard before, like tiny silver bells. And suddenly, I saw in my memory something I had barely glimpsed as I careened down the hill and leapt over rocks. A scene like out of a book of fairy tales; the little queen and her court gathered beside a small puddle of water. Tiny knights and ladies-in-waiting; the humanoid ones had irridescent wings sprouting from their backs; the animalistic ones, like Duke Leandro, wore human clothing.

And my foot coming down on a richly dressed frog wearing a crown. That was the last thought I had before hearing the twing of tiny bows and feeling the sting of the needle-like arrows.

---

Chapter 2

The First Wish

I woke up suddenly, in the act of trying to dodge the arrows. Something seemed partly wrapped around my body and I struggled with it and cried out. Then I fell out of bed.

I lay there on the hardwood floor of my bedroom in the new house, a bit dazed; the quilt and blankets in a puddle of multi-colored cloth on top of me. What the heck had just happened? Had I dreamed all of that?

"What in the world happened?" I heard my mother's voice just before she opened the door of my room.

"I was wondering the same thing?" I said. What day was it? Had I even left the house? Had I really met Dolly and Molly?

Mom laughed but asked, "Are you okay? You haven't fallen out of the bed in years." She came in and squatted beside me to feel my forehead. Why, I'm not sure; mother reflexes, I suppose.

"I'm okay, Mom," I said. "Just--a new bed, I guess?" I tested myself for broken bones and contusions. Everything worked. My dream memory of fairy bows and dead frogs kept trying to get my attention but I ignored it.

Mom pulled the bedclothes off of me and piled them back on the bed then helped me up. I didn't feel like I really needed that, though there had been times in my life where I'd been too weak to stand. "I'm okay," I said again. "In fact, I feel pretty good?" And I did. I felt really good, actually. Just confused.

Mom laughed. "Well, you look and sound fine, I guess you'll live."

"Is it morning?" I asked, a little inanely.

"Yes, dear," she said. "Saturday morning, August 31st, and it's just after eight; do you want some breakfast?"

"Uh, yeah?" I nodded as well but felt a little bit panicky. It couldn't have been more than 3 p.m. when--when I got shot full of fairy arrows; I had lost a big chunk of time. "When did I go to bed?" I asked.

"I'm not sure," Mom said, heading toward the door. "You came back with your comics; we had dinner and you went up to your room about seven. You seemed pretty tired from your walk, that's a stiff climb."

"I guess." I didn't really want to tell Mom about what I'd imagined happening; but the missing time did worry me. Something she had said came back to me, "I got comics?" I looked around as she left, still chuckling; Mom was in a good mood; the writing must have gone well last night.

Two comics lay on my desk, next to my computer; I went over and looked, curious because I didn't remember buying them and because I hadn't even known for sure if the little store carried comics. They weren't ones I usually bought, and it surprised me to think that a little convenience store in a small mountain town would even carry translated Japanese manga. Normally I only glanced at the manga titles and confined my purchases to more mainstream stuff. I took the comics and hid them under a stack of books and magazines; they weren't ones I wanted to have to explain to Mom and Dad what the storylines involved.

After breakfast, Dad left for the city; Saturday traffic being light going down the mountain, he decided to make that one of his days to join the rat race. Mom got her research material out again and I went back to my room to play computer games for a bit.

I couldn't resist, I surfed the web for some info on fairies, too. Way too much stuff to read it all, and most of it contradictory. I did find out that Tolkien's elves were really fairies but he used the e-word because the f-word had already come to mean homosexual. The tall handsome elves in Lord of the Rings seemed to have very little to do with the tiny, winged creatures I may or may not have encountered on a California mountain.

Did it really happen? I couldn't decide. Maybe I just banged my head on a rock and had hallucinations while wandering around in a daze and buying copies of two comics I didn't want anyone to find. I took those out and read them, too; pretty wild stuff involving magic and super-science and weird, slightly sexual themes.

By eleven, I was thoroughly bored again. I wondered, also, had I imagined Dorothy and Melody? That would be a shame though it might explain how easily I managed the conversational end of things. Normally, I can't think of anything at all to say around strangers, especially girls.

It hadn't always been that way; when I was younger we lived in a small neighborhood where all the kids my own age happened to be girls. But that caused me problems in school; I knew entirely too much about jacks and jumprope rhymes for my own good. That probably helped along the loner tendencies my nearly constant illnesses had fostered. I couldn't play with the girls anymore, too dangerous; and the boys didn't want me around, either.

Things had changed a bit in the last few years but missing most of the seventh and eighth grades hadn't helped. My grades were good now, after two sessions of summer school, I had officially graduated junior high with a B+ average. But while I felt good about that, I also felt socially retarded.

After moping around a bit, I managed to annoy Mom at lunch enough to get tossed out of the house again. Grinning a little at my cleverness, I headed along the little pathway, enjoying the day, the warm sun and the smogless air. I found the place where I had careened down the hillside and sat down on the rock where I'd been sitting when I first saw the girls.

Off to the north, or maybe east, across the meadow, I could see what looked like a junkyard and beyond that the aerials and satellite dishes and rooflines of the mobile homes in the Pine Home Park. Dolly and Molly lived there, in number 42. Unless I had dreamed them up.

I felt an irrepressible need to go and see, even if boys my age were not allowed to visit. But how to get there? I could walk on down the path to the gas station and then along the street to the entrance of the park, but Molly and Dolly had gone across the meadow. Presumably, there would be a back entrance to the place.

First, though, I wanted to see the spot where I had run into the rocks and dreamed up the little people who were more and more becoming phantasms in my mind. The only worry I had now was the lost hours; the Court of Queen Tintabelle just could not be real.

I made my way down the steep path to the meadow, sitting on my butt to slide through the steepest part so I wouldn't lose control and go running into the rocks again. I found the place where I had stepped in some mud but no signs of an assassinated frog king.

I laughed out loud to think I had still half-believed it might have actually happened, then I set off across the meadow along the path Dolly and Molly had taken.

The junkyard turned out to be surrounded by a chainlink fence topped with barbed wire. Very discouraging until I noticed a clear path leading to a hole in the fence. The hole was triangular, about four feet high and three feet wide at the bottom; it wouldn't be that hard to negotiate but the ragged ends of the broken chain link mesh would present some hazard.

I squatted down for a moment to consider this when a large yellow and black dog appeared from between two wrecked vehicles. He snuffled his way toward me, still on the other side of the fence for the moment. He wouldn't have any difficulty getting through the hole though, I reflected.

While I debated getting up and just walking away as if minding my own business, he flopped down in a small dusty pit about fifteen feet from the hole. He lay his chin on the edge of the pit and blinked his eyes at me, making one of those teeth-clopping sounds big dogs sometimes make.

He didn't seem particularly aggressive but that didn't mean he wasn't the proverbial junkyard dog put there just to guard things.

Beyond him and beyond the wrecks and piles of rusting metal, I could see an open gate that led into the mobile home park. So, this was the way Dolly and Molly had likely come. Still, Cerebus, here, was somewhat daunting. Yes, I know, it's Cerberus who guards the underworld but there is a comic book character named Cerebus the Aardvark, too. I thought I saw a resemblance and with only one head he couldn't really be Cerberus.

"Good dog," I said tentatively. He cocked an ear at me. "Nice dog," I added and he sat up a bit to get a better look at me. " I wish I knew what you were thinking."

"What are you up to, bub?" I heard a voice say and I looked around wildly to see where it might have come from and if someone had sneaked up on me from behind. No one in sight, though someone could have been lurking in the piles of junk or the tall bushes of the meadow. I glanced back and saw the dog looking around too, as if he had heard the voice also and wondered where it came from.

"Who said that?" I stood up to get a better look around.

"What are you looking for?" asked the voice.

I looked back at the dog. He had both ears cocked toward me now. This time it certainly seemed that the voice had come from him. "Did...?" But I didn't ask the dog if he had said something; that would have just been too silly.

Besides, he opened his mouth, made one of those clopping noises again and whined at me. The voice said, "You're making me nervous, bub."

And it definitely came from the dog.

He heaved himself out of the dust pit and ambled slowly toward the hole in the fence, tail waving amiably, head held forward, nose sniffing. "I don't know you," said the voice.

"Um, no," I replied. I felt idiotic, talking to a dog, but it seemed somehow rude not to answer.

The dog looked away from me. "Didn't think so," said the voice. It wasn't that the dog moved his lips when the voice spoke, he didn't do anything overtly un-doglike but unless Edgar Bergen was hiding in that old Buick behind him, the voice was coming from the dog.

The dog blinked and glanced at me then looked away again. His tail stopped wagging. "You keep staring at me like I've got three heads or something."

"Uh, sorry." I looked past the dog and tried to peer into the shadowy insides of the wrecked vehicles. "Nobody here but you and me, kid," the--dog!--reassured me.

"Okay, yeah, uh-huh. So, do you work here?" I asked inanely.

The dog waved his tail again and shook his head. "Nah, I'm just hanging around. Sometimes there are gophers or squirrels to chase and maybe deer to look at."

I felt dizzy and disoriented so I squatted down again. The dog and I looked at each other through the hole in the fence. The dog smacked his lips and the voice asked, "You hungry?"

"Uh, no? I just had breakfast an hour or so ago," I said.

The dog sniffed. "Eggs and toast with butter?"

"Uh, yeah, right."

"Must be nice," the dog looked a bit--envious? "All I ever get is that canned stuff in the morning and some of those kibbles at night."

"Well," I said. "You're a dog." My head felt buzzy and my mouth dry; I wondered dizzily if I would still have to go to school when they locked me up in the looney ward.

"Huh?" The dog turned his head suddenly and bit himself in the flank, as if trying to get at a flea. "Sometimes," he said, "people who want to get through the fence here bring me something? A piece of bread soaked in meat grease is so-oo good."

"Uh, right."

The dog grinned at me.

"So, well, I don't have anything this time, but, uh, next time? I'll remember to bring you something?" I couldn't believe this but it really seemed to be happening. It felt as if it would be even more insane to deny the reality of what was happening.

The tail wagged more enthusiastically, "Okay," the dog agreed.

Having made a bargain with the guardian of the gates, I crab-walked my way through the tear in the fence and looked around. It wasn't Hell but it did have a sort of feel of abandoned desolation to it. The unreality of the talking dog I tried not to think about. If I did, I'd be heading home and asking to go to the hospital.

But the conversation had just been so ordinary, except for the part of being with a dog. It didn't occur to me till much later to wonder why I didn't just chuck the idea of finding Molly and Dolly and go home and hide in the closet.

I walked between piles of old appliances and the hulks of stripped luxury cars and eventually through an open gate forty feet wide into the mobile home park. Cerebus walked alongside me, his tail still waving like we were old friends out for a stroll together. He stopped at the gate and barked once, looking straight at me. His narrator voice--why did I think it sounded like Bruce Willis?--said, "Don't forget the snack, next time."

"Okay," I agreed. I must have got a concussion yesterday, I decided. I shouldn't be walking around. I definitely shouldn't be talking to dogs.

Mobile homes of various ages and design were arranged in haphazard little rows among the pines, oaks and cedars of the park. Big double-wides with landscaping all around them seemed to occupy most of one side of the park while here closer to the junkyard sat smaller travel trailers and even a few motor homes. Concrete pads served for patios and little tongues of blacktop for carports.

I walked on down the middle of the little street until I heard Gilbert Gottfried ask, "Eh? So who are you?" I looked around, expecting to see--I don't know, a person or at least a dog.

It was a monkey. One of those white-faced little guys with the prehensile tail, the kind they always draw in cartoons. He looked at me, then away, then back. "You don't live here," he said. And no, his lips didn't move either.

It's one thing to talk to a dog in the privacy of a junkyard, it's entirely another to strike up a conversation with just any stray simian in the middle of a street with homes all around.

What was a monkey doing sitting on a picket fence in front of an old mobile home, anyway? "Hi, there," I ventured. "Do you live here?" I tried to keep my voice in that register you use to talk to things you don't expect to answer.

"Yeah, sure I do," said the monk, "at least, for a while." He wiped his face with one hand and bounced a bit on his heels. I saw the other hand gripping a wide leather strap attached to a canvas collar around his neck. The strap, or leash, ran from his collar to the trunk of a dead tree about fifteen feet behind the monk; it would probably be just long enough for the monkey to stand on the ground outside the fence if pulled completely taut. Right now it hung in a low arc from the monk's neck to the base of the tree.

I stepped a little closer, trying to look casual as if I wanted a closer look at the curious animal. He grinned at me, which I seemed to remember, in monkeys was a threat, not a sign of friendly intentions. "What's a little guy like you doing outside? It can get cold out here, you know?" I said.

"The missus tossed me out for making too much noise," he explained. "She's watching something on the box; I wanted to watch Animal Planet."

I held a hand out toward him and he held his out also, reaching for me. I moved close enough that we could just link fingertips comfortably without straightening our elbows completely. He looked up at me with a very serious expression. "You're someone special, ain't you?" he asked. "You understand me, I understand you. I mean, better than with most people?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Maybe I am. I dunno, weird things have been happening. You seem like a bright little guy? I'm looking for two girls, named Molly and Dolly?"

He glanced down the street and squinted a little. "Yeah, I know them. A little one and a big one about your size? Down that way," he released my fingers to wave. "The blue trailer with the white awnings."

I saw the one he meant. "Thanks," I said. "And you are smart. Do they treat you okay here?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess so? I got to wear this noose when I'm outside all alone but mostly it's okay?" He picked at his eyebrow with finger and funny little thumb. "I've even got a coat and hat to wear when it gets cold? But me and the old man, my partner, we'll be moving to where it's warm before the real winter gets here."

"Getting acquainted with Bowser?" someone asked and I turned to see if a bluejay or a badger or maybe a baluchitherium had spoken. Instead I saw a tall boy walking toward us, what a surprise.

"Hi," I said. This guy looked a lot like the sort of kid who used to make things difficult for me back home. He was even tossing a football up between his hands, making it twirl and catching it again. He had dark brown hair on his head, the slight shadow that said he'd started shaving already and he even had hair on his arms. And jock written all over him in capital letters.

"Do Bowser," he commanded. I stared at him, baffled, but he gestured to indicate I should look at the monkey. The little beast was posing, scowling, miniature chin outthrust and right hand clenched, arm flexed. I still felt baffled but the pose looked familiar.

The boy grinned. "It's Bowser from Sha Na Na," he said.

"Who?" I asked.

"I don't know either, someone on the teevee," said the monkey. "Guy growls a lot."

"Guy from some old rock and roll band," explained the boy. "Hey, I'm Troy. Troy Clark. They call me T.C."

"Uh, hi. I'm Ethan Bartlett." We didn't shake hands. Troy stood six or eight inches taller than me and I didn't really want to give him a chance to get a hold. Besides, he had the football.

The monkey chattered like monkeys do; at the same time, saying in the voice that apparently only I could hear, "T.C.! T.C.! Gimme a nut, gimme a peanut, gimme a chip!"

T.C. laughed. "Old Bowser smells Fritos on me, I had a bag on the way back from practice. All gone, fella. Those things aren't any good for you anyway."

Bowser screamed and tried to lunge at T.C. but the leash caught him up short. "The sonoffa's holding out on me! Knock him down and I'll look in his pockets!"

T.C. laughed.

"Bowser," I said calmly. "He doesn't have any more, he ate them all."

The monkey stared at me. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." I nodded. T.C.'s pants were much too tight to conceal a bag of chips in the pockets, though I wasn't going to say that out loud.

The little monkey cursed, profanely and obscenely, but he stopped trying to attack T.C.

The tall boy laughed again, "He's a riot. He belongs to my Uncle Matt, they used to be in the carnival."

"Matt's my partner," agreed the monkey. "We're in show business."

I had to grin at that. I put out my hand and Bowser moved close enough I could scratch him under the chin.

"You're not afraid of him and he seems to like you. You visiting somebody?" T.C. asked, apparently having no intention of beating in my brains or tossing me on top of any roofs.

"Uh, we just moved in," I pointed up toward the hill. "I met a couple of girls from the park here yesterday and I...came over to see them?"

"Yeah?" said T.C. "What girls?"

"Dolly and Molly?" I said.

He laughed again. "How old are you?"

"I'll be fourteen in two months," I said.

"Yeah? You going to go to school here? Ninth grade?"

I nodded.

"Me, too. I was just at Frosh football practice." He grinned, twirling the football again..

Great. This moose was going to be a classmate "School doesn't start till next week," I said.

"Yeah, but we do football practice before school even begins. You play any sports?"

"Me? No." I may have actually shuddered at the thought. I don't think the organized mayhem that is intermural sports would appeal to me even if I had the health and physique for it.

He laughed again. "It's a small school, the coaches try to get everybody to go out for something. There's only fourteen guys going out for frosh football, we'll have to play in an eight-man league."

I had no idea what that meant so I just nodded.

T.C. looked me over and sighed. "Dolly lives down that way," he pointed with the football. "Number 42. Blue trailer. But she won't let you in, her mom sleeps days. You can talk to her over the fence."

"Okay," I said. "Thanks. Bye, Bowser."

The monkey waved at me and said mournfully, "Goodbye, Ethan. It was nice talking to you."

T.C. just laughed as I turned away and started toward the blue trailer. It seemed amazing that T.C. hadn't actually understood what Bowser said.

---

Chapter 3

The Second Wish

I actually made it to the blue trailer without encountering any more talking animals or football players. Molly was in the yard, looking much as she had yesterday. She waved at me as I got close. "Hey! Efan!" she called excitedly, "Efan's here, Dolly!" She ran to the door of the trailer to call inside then turned back toward me, jumping up and down in little kid enthusiasm.

"Hi, Molly," I said smiling at her. "It's me. Ethan."

She looked at me oddly. "I fought your name was Efan?"

"No, it's Ethan."

"Efan."

"Ethan."

"That's too hard to say! Your name is Efan!" She grinned at me and repeated it several times. "Efan, Efan, Efan! That's a boy's name, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I agreed.

"It's too bad you're a boy. If you weren't, you could come over anytime and we could all be best friends and play!"

"Yes, Molly, I suppose I could and we would and wouldn't that be fun?" I said.

Molly sighed expansively, "There aren't any other girls in the park. Efan, I just wish you could be a girl so you could come over and be our friend and play with us."

I grinned at her but turned my head when I thought I heard something. Somewhere tiny bells were ringing--or maybe it was fairy laughter?

Molly danced around me and laughed but that wasn't the sound I had been hearing.

Dolly came out of the trailer and shushed her. "Molly, don't be any sillier than usual. And try to be quiet. Mom's asleep, you know?"

Molly nodded. "She works nights," she confided in me. "And she never wakes up before it's time to get ready no matter how much noise I make outside!" She stuck her tongue out at her sister.

I laughed.

Dolly smiled and ruffled the little girl's hair. "What are you doing here, Ethan? I told you that I'm not allowed to have boys over."

"Uh, well..." I began. One problem had become immediately apparent now that we were both standing up. Dolly lacked only an inch or so of being as tall as T.C. At fifteen, she was already taller than my mom. The quick wit and easy conversation I had yesterday had evaporated. "I just wanted to see where you lived," I said lamely.

Dolly frowned, glancing around at the aging trailers and the cracked blacktop between them. I realized that she might be a little embarrassed about where she lived.

Molly piped up. "I wishded that Efan was a girl so she could come over and play with us ever' day."

Dolly just sighed and looked at me aplogetically.

I glanced around a little nervously. I heard the bells again and they seemed closer. My insanity seemed about to break from a trot into a full blown gallop. One of the scrubjays common to the area gave me the eye from the branch of a sycamore. The leaves, prematurely gone all golden, made a beautiful picture with the blue feathers of the bird. A squirrel on a nearby limb seemed to be admiring the bird too. It struck me that if someone had painted such a thing it might have become famous. The colors gleamed so vividly, like a drum solo or the smell of brownies baking or the way a snake feels when you expected it to be slimy.

The air had a crystalline quality and the greens of the pines on the mountain seemed to leap at me, suddenly appearing to be close enough to touch.

"Are you okay?" I heard Dolly ask.

"I don't know," I confessed, staggering a little and catching myself against the fence. "I've felt a little odd since I hit my head yesterday."

The jay flew down from the tree and perched on the fence about six feet from me. "You've been summoned by the queen," he piped.

I shook my head. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," Dolly said.

"Lookit the bluejay!" squealed Molly.

I looked. It was a bluejay I saw, a real one, little pointy topknot as blue as a crayon. The local scrubjays don't have topknots and are not quite so blue. "Greetings, Ethan Regicide, thou art summoned to the queen," the foreign jay said more pompously.

Regicide? I'd have to look that word up but I whispered, "Where?" My heart began hammering so loud I almost couldn't hear his reply.

"By the pond, thou knowest. Within the half hour." The bird paused to preen himself, dropped ballast on the white board atop the fence, then lifted into the air, squawking like the miniature painted crow my dad says all jays really are.

"Funny bird," said Molly. "He was at the party."

"What party?" her sister asked.

"Only, he was wearing a jacket then," Molly explained. "A yellow one with three buttons."

"I've got to go," I gasped. I let go of the fence and turned to leave, and kept on turning, spinning myself down into a sort of yoga position. I felt not just dizzy but suddenly weak and unable to stand.

Dolly came out through the gate to help me up, "You can't go anywhere! You're sick."

I didn't feel sick, at least not in any of the usual ways. Besides the weakness, I felt a little lightheaded and more than a little confused. Talking animals, fairy bells, friendly football players, pretty girls who were taller than me--it all seemed a little unreal. "I'm okay," I said when Dolly had helped me to get vertical.

"No, you're not!" she said fiercely.

That surprised me, why should she care? "I'll be fine. I have to go."

"You're not going anywhere right now. Hold the gate open, Molly," she ordered. I couldn't seem to resist, she tugged and pulled and pushed and my feet went where she wanted. I ended up on the patio beside the blue trailer. We sat down in a pair of redwood chairs there, she by choice and I by direction. "Sit down."

I sat. I wanted to say, "Yes, ma'am," but I was half-afraid she might think I was smarting off. When I smarted off to my mom, I got chewed out but getting sarcastic with my sister was likely to cause knots to grow on my head. I squinted at Dolly and wondered if she were the sort who would hit you for saying an ink smear on the cheek was an improvement.

She grinned suddenly. "You're not faking this just to get onto the patio?"

"Uh, no? I--I don't know what happened. Just I suddenly felt, well, like I should be going then I guess I turned around too fast?"

She looked at me seriously. "Are you sick a lot?"

I shrugged.

"Mmm, hmm." she said. Now she sounded like my mom.

We sat there for a moment more. I had half an hour to reach the pool to meet the queen. The queen of fairies? I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that I had imagined all of the happenings with the fairies and the animals. It wasn't working so I opened my eyes.

"Shhh," said Dolly. She pointed to where Molly had apparently coaxed a squirrel down from one of the pine trees.

"He thinks I've got a nut," Molly whispered and I could see her holding her fingers together as if she were offering a treat. I almost believed the squirrel had been fooled until he spoke.

"Audible tells me you're going to be the new King of the Fairies," said the little gray rodent. "Pleased to meet you, Your Future Majesty!"

"What?!" I squeaked.

The squirrel flinched but didn't retreat. He regarded me from the edge of the patio, ignoring Molly only a few feet away. "Call me Nick, sire. That's short for Nicafekanichinechichinicnick."

I must have made another noise. "Don't scare it away," said Dolly. Sirens were going off inside my head and some of those Fourth of July fireworks that are just a boom loud enough to make your teeth hurt and she wanted me to be quiet. I tried to sit up straighter, I tried to make sense of what had been happening but I remained too weak for the first and too sane for the second.

Molly reached toward the squirrel and Dolly warned her not. "He might bite, just look at him and don't try to touch."

"At your service, Your Betrothed Highness," said the rodent and he made a little squirrel bow, bobbing his head two or three times.

"I don't want him to leave," Molly whispered in a tight voice. "He can stay and I can get him some popcorn."

"Nick," I said, I'm not sure why.

"Yes, Your Consortship?" said the squirrel.

"What did you say?" asked Dolly.

"His name is Nick," I muttered.

Molly looked up. "Nick? What kind of name is that for a squirrel?"

"Uh, it's short for Nicafekanichinechichinicnick."

The girls giggled. Nick glanced at them. "I'm pleased to meet your other ladies but they do not understand squirrelish, do they?"

I shook my head. "Do you like popcorn, Nick?" I asked inanely.

I swear the squirrel nodded. "Oh yes, when I can get it but it doesn't keep as well as pine nuts."

"He likes popcorn!" Molly squealed so loudly Nick, Dolly and I all three jumped.

"Yes, he does," I said. Dolly grinned at me and Molly looked up with a shining face.

"Is there anything you require of me, Your Fortunate Grace?" asked the little gray fellow.

"I'll go make some popcorn!" said Molly, jumping up.

"No, you won't," warned Dolly. "I'll do it. Would you like some popcorn, Ethan?"

"I..." I couldn't get my brain around the two separate conversations fast enough. And I didn't want to look like an idiot by talking to the squirrel in front of people who could not hear his Martin Short-like voice. I rubbed my eyes and temples gingerly but the world refused to become normal again.

Dolly headed inside. Molly looked at me sideways. "Ask him if he wants to invite other squirrels 'cause when we make popcorn there is always lots!"

Of course, Molly would see nothing odd in my talking to the squirrel. I relaxed a bit. "Nick, Dolly is going to make some popcorn, and Molly says you can invite other squirrels to come and share as there will be plenty."

Molly giggled and clapped her hands.

"Very well, thank you," said Nick. "I'll tell the clan." He started back toward the tree then stopped. "But I wanted to talk to you, Your Future Majesty, about the cat. When you have the time." Then he dashed away, going back up into the pine boughs, chittering audibly and calling in squirrelese to his family members "Windfall, fellows! Jaqichekachikanicanichinic! Rickafeknekafechinichinicnick! Run and tell your uncles in the oak tree!"

I decided I'd better leave before all the squirrels in the trailer park showed up looking for handouts. Dolly couldn't stop me this time and my strength seemed to have returned. I got out of the chair and out the gate quickly. "You'd better make lots of popcorn," I told Molly. "Nick went to get his cousins!"

"Yay!" she squealed and ran to tell Dolly the news.

"Sorry!" I called back. I left before she could answer. I knew I had to find the Fairy Queen and get some answers.

Bowser wasn't on the fence anymore but T.C. was standing in the same yard, throwing the football up into the limbs of the dead tree and catching it as it tumbled back out. Typical moronic behavior for a jock I figured but for some reason I slowed down. Something seemed different about him now and I couldn't figure out what it might be.

If anything he looked even more muscle-over-brains than before. With the world knocked off its axis, why not? He caught me staring at him and waved. "Hey! Wanna toss the ball around some? The tree is a butterfingers and can't throw worth a shit!"

I felt my face turn hot, I was blushing and that baffled me even more. I shook my head. "I've got to go," I said, intending to hurry on past him.

He kept grinning. Normally a look like that on the face of one of the jock heads at my old school would have meant I was about to receive a beating. But now I found myself smiling back at him. He looked--interesting, somehow. And what the heck could be so interesting about a big, muscular, football player with nearly-black hair, dark brown eyes and dimples?

"I've got to go," I repeated, desperately trying to ignore the strange heat and tingling I felt when he looked at me. His eyes seemed magnetic and I couldn't look away from them.

"See you in school, next week," he said. "Or sooner?"

"Maybe," I mumbled and scurried past his yard. "Bye, T.C." I almost tripped from walking nearly backwards.

"Um, yeah. Bye--Eaton?" He grinned hugely.

Close enough, I didn't correct him. I managed to break the spell or whatever it was and turned away from him. Right at that moment, I looked forward to another encounter with Cerebus the Watchdog.

I went out the backgate of the trailer park, into the junkyard, looking around carefully for its unofficial guardian. I found him asleep in the dustpit he had dug near the old Buick. Remembering the old saying, I let sleeping watchdogs lie and tried to make my way out through the rip in the fence as quietly as possible.

It seemed easier, less of a strain, to duckwalk through the gap this time. When I stood up on the other side, I heard Bruce Willis say, "Remember, you owe me next time." I looked back, but the big yellow and brown animal still appeared to be sleeping.

"I'll remember," I whispered. Then I walked quietly into the meadow behind the junkyard and, as soon as I dared, started running for the rocks where I had met the Queen of the Fairies.

to be continued

Ethan doesn't remember getting engaged--or drunk!
Are you now or have you ever been a frog?

Part 2 - Have you ever been a frog?

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 4

The Fairy Gift

I found the rocks in the wash again, and the little pool of water in the midst of them. I sat on a rock to catch my breath, marvelling a little that I had run most of what had to be a quarter of a mile and I had no urge to wheeze or throw up. The mountain air must really be good for me.

No sign of the fairies, though, maybe I was early. I thought about what Nick the squirrel had said. Someone had told him that I was to be the new King of the Fairies. I rolled my eyes, thinking of that. Not like it hadn't been a pretty frequent thing to get called fairy or worse where I had gone to school.

But what had happened yesterday after the little archers had shot me with their tiny bows? And why didn't I remember?

Around me, the afternoon sun warmed the sandy wash and in the meadow a breeze ruffled the grasses making a sound like--fairy bells? Suddenly, they were all around me, the little warrior fairies and the muskrats-in-waiting, Duke Leandro and the queen herself, Tintabelle.

She stood on a rock that rose almost as high as my head with her weaselly Prime Minister or whatever behind and to her right. She smiled at me. "Good day, Beloved," she said.

"Don't call me that!" I squeaked.

"Oh, 'tis but a formal way of acknowledging that we are betrothed."

"But we're not! I can't be! I'm only thirteen!"

"A mere matter of mortal years, it doesn't make any difference. One can become betrothed at any age. People who haven't even been born yet have been promised to be wed; and that among your own people."

"Huh?" I wanted to ask her if she meant amongst Americans 'cause I sure hadn't heard of such a thing but Duke Leandro interrupted.

"He's quite correct; I don't believe it would be legal for him to wed for another four years and thirty-five days," old ferret-face intoned.

I wondered where he got the numbers but it sounded about right, my eighteenth birthday would be a little over four years away so I nodded. "Uh huh, see? I can't marry you!"

"'Tis a trifle for such as me, but in four years, my dear duke, you will be naught but elegant bones," said the Queen to her weasel.

"Better that than I should see you wed to a human!" said the Duke stiffly. "I shan't rest easy, ma'am, even in the grave, if you continue with this rash intention. This--creature!--slew our good King Fritharic and now you would make him king instead of punishing him as he ought to be?"

"Piffle, it was an accident. We established that at the trial; you didn't mean to kill poor Freddy, did you Ethan?"

I shook my head, a little dizzy to realize that for what might be bad and prejudicial reasons, Duke Leandro and I were in agreement on one thing. "I--I just can't marry you, uh, Your Majesty!"

"Oh, of course you can! And if we have to wait four years to satisfy the customs of your tribe, I can enchant a mound into an Elfhill where we can sing and dance and celebrate through the night and at dawn will four years have passed. Just like that!"

"Gurk!" I said, or something very like it. What would my parents think if I went missing for four years and then showed up with an eight-inch tall bride?

"Didn't you enjoy our betrothal party yesterday, after the trial?" she asked, a little coyly.

"I don't remember any of it!" This caused general laughter among the fairies and small animals, a tittering and giggling that made my hair stand on end. The Queen covered her tiny mouth with both hands but I could hear her bell-like laughter, too. Almost I did remember something then.

"I sat at judge for the trial and pronounced sentence. In accord with ancient barbaric law, since you have killed the king must you become the king," she explained after the laughing subsided. She danced a little in place. "Aren't I clever to have thought of such a solution to laws requiring your death?"

"When you put it that way," I admitted.

"So," she continued. "I sentenced you to marry me, elevated you to an earldom so such a marriage would not be prevented because of difference between our ranks and then graciously accepted your proposal." She tried to look demure in her diaphanous gown but succeeded in scaring me again with the sly glance she gave me.

"I proposed?" I said wonderingly.

"Yes, and very romantic, too." She nodded. "You shouted it, in fact."

Duke Leandro commented sourly, "I believe the young man shouted, 'Me marry you?' in protest and astonishment, Your Majesty."

"But I ruled that it was a proper proposal in caveman style, the most ancient tradition of his tribe," said the queen. "That's when the party really started. I think you must have drunk four or five thimbles full of faerie spirits, my love." More laughter from all, all except the taciturn weasel and me.

This jill of a queen would have her way no matter what; my doom had been pronounced and I didn't remember any of it! I wondered vaguely if I had finally left the party and gone to the store to buy the comics I had found this morning and if the store clerk would remember that I had been drunk? Maybe not, Mom and Dad apparently didn't notice when I got home last night, Mom had just said I seemed tired.

I got distracted by the arrival of a certain blue jay wearing a yellow waist coat. He fluttered to the rock beside the one the queen stood on and made a little bow toward her. "Your Majesty," he said.

"Ah, my herald. What news, John Jay Audible?" The queen beamed at the bird.

"I am here to make my report, ma'am," he said glancing sideways at me several times.

"Oh, but Ethan is already here," said the Queen, indicating me.

The bird eyed me like a traffic cop. "When I found your betrothed, he was in the company of two young females of his species. The two who were present when King Fritharic was killed."

Duke Leandro sneered, "Relatives? Paramours? Accomplices?"

"Just friends," I said, knowing that sounded weak. "Acquaintances really."

The queen looked at me indulgently. "I'm sure we will have some famous fights over your other loves, dearest, after we're married."

I choked on the implications of that.

"Subject was also seen in conversation with various animals, a dog, a monkey, and later, a squirrel. I tested his abilities by speaking to him in bluejay first. He understood that as well as he did Faerie or his own barbaric Anglisc."

The queen stared at me, puzzled. I must have looked like a magnifying mirror. "You gained the power to speak Faerie when you slew one of us but how did you learn to understand the tongues of birds and beasts?" she asked.

"I don't know! I thought you must have done it!" I exclaimed.

The miniature monarch of Woods and Meadows put her fingers to her temples and squinted at me. I thought she was about to blast me or something when she laughed. "Oh! My betrothal gift! You must have used it to..." She stopped in the middle of whatever she was about to say. Closing her eyes, she seemed to concentrate again.

Betrothal gift, I wondered. I had the impression that all of us--myself and all the other fairy folk and animals in clothing--held our breaths, waiting for what she would say next. I know I did.

When the queen's eyes flew open she glared at me. "Very clever, Lord Ethan Barnett, Earl of Pincerrie. Or should I say..." but she didn't finish that either, waving her hand abruptly in the middle of her sentence. She snatched her sceptre off a pillow carried by a mole acting as page boy. "You'll not escape marrying me so easily!" Her voice might be tiny but it held a lot of anger.

Some of the little archers had taken up positions with arrows nocked but none of them were aiming at me so far. "I don't understand what's going on," I said.

"That you will discover betimes!" she snapped and with a wave of her sceptre, the entire company of fairies disappeared. They didn't morph out or fade out, just one moment they were there and the next they were not.

I did the usual sort of cartoonish double-take, looking around for them and calling for them. "Your Majesty? Duke Leandro? John Jay?" I didn't know anyone else's names; if I'd learned any during the party last night, I'd forgotten them. I had a hunch that whatever liquid went into fairy cups should be as illegal as Romulan Ale.

After a bit of looking behind rocks and searching the reeds and grasses growing in the weedy channel that ran down the middle of the wash, I gave up. I sat down on the rock next to the one the queen had stood on and tried to think. Down in the little gully like that, I could see up the hill toward the houses on Pine Ridge but I didn't have a good view of the path toward Pine Home Park.

That's why I heard Molly and Dolly before I saw them. Molly was saying, "Efan is a nice boy," as if this were a point in dispute.

"I didn't say he wasn't," said Dolly. "I just said he was a little weird."

Molly giggled, "But he's funny weird, not scary weird."

"Shh," said Dolly. And just about that moment, they came into view, Dolly first, her being the tallest. She waved and I waved back.

Molly yelled, "Efan!" and would have run toward me but Dolly kept hold of her little sister while they reached the edge of the wash and found their way down the sandy, slippery slope.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," said Dolly.

Molly got right to the point. "Mom woke up because of all the squirrels and she said you could come over for lunch tomorrow and explain how you did that with the tree rats!"

Dolly laughed. "You should have seen it, there must have been fifty squirrels came for the popcorn, every squirrel in the court. I made five bags of popcorn in the microwave then mom got up and made a big batch the old fashioned way in the kettle."

I held my face in my hands and groaned. "Nick overdid it." I said.

"There were birds, too, fitty million of them!"

"There were a lot of birds," agreed Dolly. "Scrubjays mostly." The girls came over and sat beside me on the rocks. Dolly said, "I was worried about you. You were acting kind of like you were sick."

I smiled. "I'm okay. I'll ask my folks if I can come to lunch tomorrow. What time?"

"About four, I know that's late for lunch," said Dolly. "But it's the meal we call lunch; for Mom it's breakfast. She probably won't get home tonight till almost four and she usually stays up for an hour or two."

It sounded like an odd schedule. "Where does she work?"

"In Riverside," said Dolly.

Riverside was a small city about fifty miles away, and half of that on crooked mountain roads. "My dad works in Los Angeles," I offered, "but he only has to go to the office twice a week."

"That's an even worse drive," said Dolly.

"Worser," agreed Molly. Then she asked, "How'd you do that with the squirrels? Make them come to our house and wait for the popcorn?"

I shrugged. "I dunno?" Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, there was a lot about what had happened that I didn't know.

"Could you do it again?" Molly persisted.

I grinned. "I don't have any popcorn."

"I gots some!"

"You do?" Dolly looked at her sister.

"Sure. My pockets are full of the stuff." They were. Molly handed me some grimy popcorn.

"For gosh sakes, Molly. I thought you let the squirrels have all of the popcorn," Dolly said.

"Oh, no. I always put some popcorn in my pockets when we have any. It makes a great snack."

We all laughed and it did help me feel a bit less desperate to laugh. I threw a few not-so-fluffy, not-so-white pieces on the ground near the rocks. "Okay, folks, banquet time."

"Who are you talking to?" asked Dolly.

I shrugged "I dunno."

"No one wants it?" Molly asked after a bit, clearly disappointed.

But I heard conversation in one of the nearby clumps of grass. "You two go over there," I said to the girls, pointing to some rocks about fifteen feet away. "These guys are shyer than squirrels or jays."

Almost holding their breaths, the sisters tiptoed over and sat on the rocks. "Won't they be afraid of you?" Dolly asked.

I shrugged again. Squatting, I peered at the clump of grass. "You can come out and have some of the popcorn now. No one's going to hurt you."

"That's easy for you to say, Your Grace," piped a tiny voice. It sounded a bit like a two-inch tall Barney Fife. "You're a giant and got nothing to fear of cats or hawks or badgers."

I shook my head, grinning, no one had ever called me a giant before. "Nothing will bother you while I am here." I assured them; mice, I thought they must be, and very small ones at that since I still couldn't see them.

Molly couldn't restrain herself any longer, she let out a shriek of sheer four-year-old excitement. I saw the mice for a moment as they--and I! and probably Dolly, too--all jumped into the air about six inches.

"Ow! My ears!" Dolly said behind me.

"An owl! In the daytime!" squeaked the popcorn gallery.

Then another voice, "No owl ever made a noise like that! 'Twere a bobcat!" Amid rustling of leaves and grasses, the voices faded away, still arguing about who or what had made the terrible noise.

I couldn't persuade them to stay, I was laughing too hard.

Molly reluctantly emptied her pockets of popcorn to leave for the frightened mice and we all strolled up the wash until it became too steep to just walk. Rather than climb, we found some more rocks and just sat and talked. Well, Dolly and I sat and talked, Molly ran this way and that exploring while we made sure she didn't make a break for it.

Dolly asked me about where we had lived before and where I went to school last year. I asked her about local places, mostly the school and what teachers would be good to avoid for a freshman. She was a junior and there was almost no chance we would have any classes together, even in such a small school.

"Dolly's real smart," interjected Molly at that point.

"Shush," said Dolly.

"I'm hungry," said Molly. "I'm gonna go back and see if the mice left any popcorn."

"No!" Dolly grabbed her sister. "We'd better head back, Ethan. Mom will be leaving for work at 4:30 and sis is used to eating with her and then taking a nap."

"Okay," I agreed. "I'll walk part way back with you. Say, did you bring any food for the dog?"

"Huh?"

"To get back through the hole in the fence?" I almost explained about my deal with the sleeping Cerebus and realized in time how odd--crazy, insane--it would sound.

"You mean for Bluto?" asked Molly.

"Is that his name? Big black dog with yellow markings on his legs, face and tummy?"

"That's him," agreed Dolly. "But Bluto is just what we call him, I don't know whose dog he is or even if he has a name."

"T.C. calls him Tigger," Molly noted.

"Maybe he's T.C.'s dog?"

"No, they've got a dog. A black and white spaniel, he and the monkey go round and round sometimes." Dolly said. "You met T.C.?"

I nodded. Thinking about T.C., something suddenly happened inside me. I didn't know what it was but it felt both pleasant and painful. "Uh? What's he like? T.C. I mean, not the dog?"

"He's okay," said Dolly. "He's just a freshman this year but he's huge. He's a jock, too. They asked him to play on the JayVee team but he wanted to keep playing with his friends."

"Yeah, he's a big guy." Why did I want to laugh? "I talked to him about that monkey, the one that belongs to his uncle."

"The monkey's uncle," agreed Dolly.

I nodded. "Bowser."

"I thought his name was Matt Clark?"

"No, the monkey. Oh, you were teasing." I grinned at her.

We stopped at the edge of the meadow and stood there talking some more. I wanted to ask about T.C. again but I couldn't think why or what to ask.

"I'd be happy to be friends," Dolly said.

"Sure, we're friends," said Molly. She put her arms up for a hug and I knelt to give her one. When I stood back up, Dolly gave me a hug too. It felt nice to have friends, I'd never been very good at making them before.

"Friends it is, and I hope I can come to lunch tomorrow," I said.

"Chili-mac, chili-mac!" squealed Molly.

"We're not having chili-macaroni tomorrow, that's what we're having tonight," said Dolly.

"But I like chili-mac!"

I laughed and waved at them as they walked toward the hole in the fence. Then I turned and headed toward home myself. I kept my eye out for signs of Tintabelle and her court but they were nowhere to be seen. Soon, I'd reached the path behind the houses on Pine Ridge Road and my own back gate was only a few yards away when someone called to me.

Chapter 5

The Third Wish

I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me that there might be other kids living on Pine Ridge Road but it hadn't. I didn't jump in surprise though; maybe I'd had all the jumpiness surprised out of me already. The shadows under the trees on this side of the ridge were getting pretty dark and with a latticework fence between us, I just hadn't noticed him.

"Hey," said the voice form one of the backyards. "You live up here?"

Maybe he'd been gone the last few days or with only one yard between us, we might have met earlier. And now that I noticed him, I knew I couldn't have missed him. Taller than even T.C. and as blond as Molly with pale blue eyes like cold fire--I imagined they could look right through me for a moment and see all my secrets. It gave me a weird thrill and I laughed.

"What's so funny," he said.

"Nothing, I guess. I just didn't see you standing there."

He came toward his own back gate and leaned on it. "See me now?"

More than the color of his eyes themselves, I noticed that his eyebrows and eyelashes were a reddish gold and he had freckles on his nose. His hair was really more strawberry blond, rather than dark gold like Dolly or bright yellow like Molly. "Uh, yeah?" I felt itchy in odd places.

"So, do you live up here? 'Cause I saw you talking to those girls from the trailer park?"

I couldn't tell if he meant to sound hostile or just cool. "Yeah, I met them yesterday, but I live in number nine, Pine Ridge Road." I pointed and moved the last few yards to my own gate.

He nodded. "Oh, yeah. Just moved in, didn't you?"

I smiled and nodded. The itching spread, seeming to be everywhere under my clothes.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I'll be fourteen in a few weeks."

"Um." he said. He looked at me pretty intensely for a few moments, like he was taking in the details of my clothes and hair.

I felt my face get hot, I had to resist squealing like Molly and running for the house. I fiddled with the latch of our gate, my hands felt weak and trembly. I wanted to scratch myself or even ask him to scratch the places I couldn't reach. That bizarre notion confused me totally.

He opened the gate to his own backyard and came out onto the path. His clothes looked casual but expensive; highgrade white leather crosstrainers, a blue polo shirt, burgundy slacks. He still wasn't smiling.

I could tell that he wanted to ask me something but I couldn't stand it anymore. I dashed through our gate and through the back door, calling over my shoulder. "Gotta go!"

Closing the door to the dining room behind me I wondered, what the heck just happened?

Mom, at her writing desk in the corner echoed the question, "What happened??"

I still itched so I used that as my excuse. "I got into something that made me all itchy, I'm going to take a bath." I headed for the stairs.

That was the wrong approach. "Goodness, it wasn't poison oak, was it?" Mom started to follow me. The toxic little plant grew all over the Southern California mountains but it was easy to avoid.

"I don't think so, probably just grass seed." I went directly into the bathroom at the top of the stairs and closed the door behind me.

Mom dithered a bit, torn between motherhood and authorship. "Use soap," she said. "And rinse with cold water and if you still itch, I'll bring the calamine. How's your breathing?"

"It's fine, I'm okay, mom," I called through the door. Talking about the itching made it worse. I pulled off my shirt and threw it at the hamper.

"And don't leave a mess in there," mom added.

"Okay, okay." I picked up the shirt and dropped it into the hamper and turned on the water to maybe drown out the rest of what she might be saying.

So she shouted to be sure that I heard her. "Your brothers were just like my brothers, walking toxic waste dumps. Your father's not like that."

That was kind of funny considering that dad dealt with ways of disposing of sewage and garbage for a living. Mom was on a rant though. "My friends all tell me that girls are worse than boys for making messes but it just isn't so. You're almost as bad as Sean and Adam! I just wish you were more like your sister, you could help me around the house and I could get more writing done."

"I'll try to do better, Mom," I yelled back. The water poured into the big porcelain tub with a noise like musical thunder for a moment, a very odd effect. I let it run to get warm while I emptied my pockets onto the counter top. I sorted the stuff and threw the trash away, a piece of popcorn, a leaf, and a receipt for six dollars and change from the Pine View Market. Apparently, I really had bought those manga comics while wandering around in a drunken stupor after my betrothal party.

Betrothal party? Memories niggled at me, a song the Queen had sung? I shook my head, trying not to think about the weirdness that had come into my life.

The sound of the water changed, probably as it heated up. I sat on the toilet seat to take off my shoes and socks. The itching persisted and I paused to scratch my arms and chest. I took down my pants and scratched my legs, too.

I wondered if I had developed an allergy to pixie dust? I was already allergic to olive trees, house dust, dogs and cats--maybe Bluto/Tigger/Cerberus had triggered the itching. But the list of my allergies would fill a whole page, and most of them caused breathing problems, not itching.

I tested my breathing, it really was all right. When you've ended up in the hospital with asthma, bronchitis, pneumonia and whatever as often as I have, you develop an awareness of what your breathing sounds like. I sounded fine but I itched like crazy.

A bath would be the solution to that I hoped. I dropped my socks and pants and underclothes into the hamper, found the soap, shampoo, a washcloth and a towel and put them in place, ready for when I needed them. I reached into the bath and pulled the little lever to send the water to the showerhead, wondering vaguely why I had been being so careful and meticulous and why the room seemed so real and vivid. It almost felt like something that had happened before.

I tried to ignore whatever it was and get on with my shower even though the damp air from the hot water seemed to have made the itching a bit better. Carefully, I got into the tub and let the warm spray get me wet all over. It felt wonderful. I used the shampoo to lather my hair, rinsed it and lathered it again.

I forgot the creme rinse, I thought. Not that I use it that often but it seemed like a good idea just then. I used the extra lather from the shampoo on my face and arms and the itchy places on my chest.

I still hadn't noticed anything wrong, not really wrong-wrong anyway. I've never been muscular and at thirteen I hadn't completely lost the soft flesh of a child. Puberty was still just a concept to me, the doctors said that my illnesses had slowed my development a bit. I didn't weigh even ninety pounds yet, and stood an inch or so short of five feet. "But mice think I'm a giant," I said and giggled about it.

The water and lather did seem to help with the itching, so after rinsing my hair again I worked up a good lather in the washcloth and really started serious washing. I felt a bit zoney but after the events of the day and yesterday, that couldn't be very surprising.

The washcloth kept getting filled up with little rolls of dead skin. It reminded me how after a long camping vacation and nothing but "spit" baths, I had been so dirty that this same thing had happened. I'd been terribly itchy then, too. But I wasn't that dirty was I? I'd had a bath only day before yesterday and I hadn't been rolling in dirt or anything like that. Or had I? Who knew what I had done during my blackout. Fairy melodies and tiny winged women dancing in mid-air?

More weirdness. "People shouldn't give fairy liquor to teenagers," I muttered. "Or force them into getting married, either."

What else had they done to me? I could understand the fairy language and talk to animals too, and only the second of those surprised the Queen. Why? She'd said something about her "betrothal gift" before flying into a rage. It was all too confusing. I gritted my teeth as a wave of weak vertigo washed through me and I almost fell in the tub.

Something wasn't right. I knew I'd felt that weakness and dizziness before but this was stronger, if weakness can be stronger. It lasted longer, too. I squatted down to avoid falling forward then sat down to avoid falling backward. The water beat down on my head and my suddenly over-sensitive skin. I think I may have moaned in fear.

My chest seemed especially tender, as if the itching had gone bone-deep. I bent forward to let the falling water pound my less sensitive head and back. I'd lost the washcloth when I sat down, so I used my bare hands to explore my chest. The tenderness and itching seem to have localized in my nipples.

God, no, I thought.

The mounds of flesh behind and around my nipples were small but definitely there. I know I squeaked in surprise. They were also too sensitized by rubbing and scrubbing to bear much more manual examination; touching them made me want to squirm even though it felt sort of good at the same time.

I had breasts? Dizzy, weak and confused I might be, but that fact seemed inescapable. It had to be more fairy business. I tried to remember what Tintabelle had said, had she threatened anything like this if I refused to marry her?

No. She'd been angry when she left--disappeared--but she was angry at something I had done and not just at my insistence that I couldn't marry her. "Very clever..." she had said. And, "You'll not escape marrying me so easily!" And something about her betrothal gift to me.

I closed my eyes and whimpered. had I done something to myself? What had I done? And more importantly, could I undo it, whatever it was? Dread and fear and something close to panic bubbled in my brain. How far had this gone? Had I somehow used her betrothal gift, probably some sort of magic, to turn myself into a girl?

I laughed a little shakily--okay, I giggled hysterically. If I were a girl I couldn't very well marry the Queen of Fairies, could I? At least, not in Southern California in 1998. Maybe in Canada or New Hampshire or wherever it was? I bit my lip to stop the giggles; this is all impossible I told myself firmly.

But I didn't believe it. I mean I didn't believe it was impossible, too many impossible things had already happened. No, that was an even more confusing way of putting it but I knew what I meant.

I reached for my groin, afraid I might scream if I found what I thought I might find. Opening my eyes and looking down, I saw my penis and felt somewhat relieved. But it looked shrunken, small--tiny, even--like it sometimes got in really cold water and the water still falling on me was undeniably warm. Worried, I felt around it, searching for the customary two companions.

They weren't there. Empty folds of soft flesh hung beneath the remainder of my masculine equipment. I tried to get a better look at what had happened but the whole area seemed further away, further back than before--as if my hips were tilted at a whole new angle.

I took a breath and considered screaming but decided against it. Crying seemed like a good idea, though. It didn't help much and crying in the shower seemed sort of redundant but I did feel a bit better. I found the washcloth and rinsed the dead skin out of it several times before wiping my face.

The weakness and dizziness seemed to have mostly passed so I stood up a bit shakily and sort of finished my bath, trying to figure out what other changes there might be. More dead skin rolled off my arms and legs, the new skin showing pinker and lighter. I used the loofah-on-a-stick that mom had equipped the bath with to scrub my still itchy back. The loofah ended up full of dead skin, too. After rinsing thoroughly, I turned the water to cold, like mom had recommended. I yelped as I rinsed some more and finally turned the water off.

I stood in the tub for a few moments shivering. From somewhere, I heard mom calling, "Ethan? Are you all right?"

"The cold water rinse," I called back.

"What?"

I didn't want her coming upstairs and walking in on me. "I'm just cold from the bath!" I shouted. Shouting in a shower stall is not a good idea, it made my ears ring.

"Well, for goodness sake, dry off and get some clothes on. You'll warm up quickly enough, it's still August."

This time I stuck my head out of the stall before yelling, "Okay!" Then I grabbed the big fluffy towel I'd picked out earlier and pulled it into the tub enclosure with me.

I dried myself carefully; scrubbing and rubbing like I usually did seemed like the wrong thing to do. I felt delicate and fragile, patting myself dry would be less likely to bruise or damage my sensitized skin.

I stepped out of the shower onto the fuzzy blue rug and used the big bath towel and a second towel to soak up water from my hair. Without really thinking about what I was doing, I wrapped the big towel around me and tucked the end in under my armpit. I wrapped the second towel around my hair, dryer side inward and tucked the end of the quasi-turban behind my ear.

Then I wiped the steam off the mirror and took a look at myself.

Phoebe. I looked like my sister Phoebe. Not as she looked now, a nineteen-year-old college student, but the way she looked back when I first started school, when she was in junior high. Part of it, of course, was the towels and the way I had wrapped them. Especially since I seemed to have picked out two pink ones.

Maybe that was most of it, the towels and something about the way I was just standing there. My face hadn't changed much. My cheekbones seemed a trifle more prominent, perhaps my lips were fuller. I gasped when I noticed that my eyes were now more green than hazel. Phoebe had green eyes and red hair. I uncovered my hair and looked but of course it was still too wet to really tell what color it might be.

I unwrapped the other towel to get a better view of my body. Not really much change there, either. The flesh around my nipples seemed puffy; it didn't really look like I had breasts, exactly. But the nipples and the dark areas around them were definitely bigger. As the cool air touched them, I felt my nipples crinkle and saw them get bigger. I desperately wanted to hide them, but I didn't rewrap the towel just then.

Were my shoulders narrower, waist slimmer, hips wider? Maybe. My skin looked paler and pinker. There might have been other, more subtle changes, I couldn't tell.

I choked back a sob again but kept up my examination. I couldn't see well down below and behind my shrunken penis but my fingers couldn't find any opening there. I felt a spark of hope, I hadn't turned completely into a girl. The little cookie-like swellings behind my nipples would only be noticeable if I wore a thin t-shirt I decided. If I kept my clothes on--if my hair hadn't turned red--maybe no one would notice.

I could find the queen, find out how to get changed back, before anyone noticed. Even if it meant I had to marry her, repellent as that idea sounded.

Wait a minute.

Before, the idea had sounded scary, terrifying even. Now it felt more icky and horrible. I couldn't picture myself marrying her at all! Something warned me not to think too hard about that just now.

The first thing to do was to find out if I still looked enough like myself that no one would notice the changes. Then go looking for the Queen of Woods and Meadows. Then...

Briefly I wondered if poor King Fritharic had always been a frog.

continued in part 3 -[If Wishes Were Horses]

Read more [The Fairy King]

"If wishes were horses, all beggars would ride
And look down their noses from chargers astride.
If hope granted wings then lovers would fly
Away above clouds to castles in the sky."

Part 3 - If Wishes Were Horses...

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 6

The Fourth Wish

I combed some of the water out of my hair and found a hair dryer under the sink. I seldom used one but just then it was exactly what I wanted. I used it, and the comb, to quickly dry my hair but found myself oddly concerned with just how it looked.

It seemed much too short. Even though, at the same time, it seemed as if it might be longer than it had been this morning. I wanted to whimper.

And it was red. Not fiery red like Phoebe's or Aunt Maggie's, mostly brown but not the light ash brown it had been. It wasn't red enough to be cinnamon, more of a light auburn I decided. Really, a better color than it had been but how could anyone not notice?

I stuffed the edge of my hand into my mouth to stifle a sob. Then I cleaned up the bathroom. I used the smaller towel to wipe down the tub and shower stall and the larger one to soak up stray splashes on the floor. Then I hung both of them over the shower rail to dry a little before going into the hamper. I felt a bit cross with myself for not having remembered to bring a robe to the bathroom. Then I recalled that I didn't even know where my bathrobe might be--I hadn't seen it since the last time I got back from the hospital and we'd moved since then.

I'd put all my other clothes into the hamper so unless I turned another towel into a sari, I'd have to get to my bedroom naked. I opened the door and listened for the sound of computer keys clicking downstairs.

Hearing the reassuring sound of mom churning out professional lies, I dashed down the hall and into--Phoebe's room? For a wild moment, I actually considered raiding Phoebe's closet to see if I could find anything that would fit me. She'd moved her stuff in, what she wasn't taking to college, last weekend, before Mom and I actually moved in to live here. And she had a lot of clothes, she never threw anything away even stuff that no longer fit so probably something would fit me.

Back out again, quickly, and into my own room which was actually closer to the bathroom. "I'm losing my mind," I complained to no one.

I started to get dressed but all of my own clothes just felt wrong. The jockey-style briefs were the first problem. I simply did not want to put them on. They looked wrong, they felt wrong and I wanted to cry. I forced myself to put them on and bit my lip. The t-shirt was easier and yes, my little breasts did show a bit through the thin cotton.

I tried on three pairs of pants before I found a pair that seemed to fit right. Even though it didn't look as if it had, my butt had apparently gotten bigger. The waist of the pants didn't reach my waist but settled an inch or two lower, even so they seemed a bit short with an inch or so more of my ankles showing than usual. Had they always fit like this or had I had a growth spurt? A real growth spurt or something else?

I found an old oxford cloth shirt in my closet and put that on, wishing vaguely that it weren't plain white. What color I wanted it to be, I tried not to think about. I left the shirt hanging out to conceal where the waistband of my pants had ended up. My sneakers still fit well enough, even with my thick white socks.

I looked at myself in the long mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I looked a lot like Phoebe but I still really did look like me. Maybe I'd always looked like Phoebe? I put one hand on a hip and tried a Phoebe-pose, then turned quickly away from the mirror. That was too scary.

I went to the mirror over my dresser and tried to figure out what to do with my hair. Did it seem a little bit longer? I decided to conceal any changes. I'd never been much of one for caps but I had a few and the Anaheim Angels' cap seemed to do the best job of hiding my hair. I liked the red color, too. I resisted the urge to fuss with my hair and just crammed it under my cap. Phoebe could spend hours messing with her hair and I didn't want to get started.

I went down the stairs as quietly as I could. The house on Pine Ridge Road had three doors to the outside but to get to any of them I would have to pass within sight of my mom. I didn't want to talk to her, I didn't want her to see me, I didn't want to be asked for explanations. If I sneaked out and she discovered I was missing, I'd get a lecture later. Better than the risk of being forbidden to go look for the queen.

The stairs came down and emptied out into the short hall that ran sideways through the house. To the right and behind the stairs was the living room; to the left lay the downstairs bathroom and dad's office, the utility room and the door to the garage. Straight ahead was the dining room and the kitchen around the corner with the breakfast nook opening off of it. Diagonally across the dining room, my mom sat at her computer, clacking away at her latest opus, half-turned away from the stairs.

I contemplated my route. Straight ahead across the dining room lay the wide, glass doors out to the patio. If I went that way, mom would surely see me. I could go left down the hall through the utility room and into the backyard through the garage but that was a lot of doors to be opening and closing. I could go right and out the front door but I'd be in sight of mom a long time.

While I dithered, Mom looked up and saw me standing there. "Going out again?" she asked.

"Yeah," I admitted.

"It's after four and it gets dark early in the mountains, dear. Be back by six and we'll start some dinner." She went back to typing.

We'll start some dinner? Did she expect me to help her cook? She did, and what was worse, it kind of sounded like fun, like I wanted to learn to cook. I remembered Phoebe taking cooking lessons and getting all enthused about making pasta primavera and stuff. I could probably do that but did I really want to?

I shook my head then hurried through the dining room; the sliding glass door seemed heavier than before and I had to slow down to deal with it.

"You look cute," Mom commented. "Think the cap and bulky shirt will keep the itches away?"

"Uh, that's the idea?" I said.

"Good idea not tucking the shirt in, too." She grinned at me. "Phoebe used to love to wear your brothers' old shirts that way."

She did? I looked cute? I got out of there as fast as I could and tried not to think about it.

I went out the back gate onto the path behind the houses and started down toward what I had begun to think of as The Fairy Rocks. The sun was still more than an hour away from touching the mountains west of us but I had no real idea of how to get in touch with the queen other than going to the rocks and shouting. If she didn't answer, what could I do?

In a tense and desperate mood, I overreacted when I heard the clopping of hooves behind me. I turned quickly, realized the horse and rider were much closer than I might have thought, squealed and jumped off the path without really choosing a landing spot. I tripped over a log, tangled my legs in some fallen branches and knocked the wind out of myself against a tree trunk.

"Graceful." someone commented behind me and the horse noises stopped.

I felt my face reddening as I turned around. Sitting on a tall palomino, the neighbor boy I'd met earlier looked down at me. He still wasn't smiling but he did seem amused. So did the horse. Combined with the fact that I had bitten my tongue, their attitude made me feel cross. "You 'tartled me."

"Sorry," he said. "This is a horse path, you know."

"No, I tinnet?" I said.

He indicated a sign with a glance. "Bridal Path" it said. The misspelling didn't penetrate until later.

"Oh. Well, I'll be washing out for horses next time."

"Are you afraid of horses?" he asked.

I'd never given it much thought, not having been around the beasts much before. "N-no?" It was a very big animal and it did loom over me. "What's his name?"

"Phillip," said the horse.

"Roland," said the boy.

"What?" I said, looking from one to the other.

"Roland," the boy repeated. "What's your name?"

"Etan," I stammered. I tried again. "Etan Bartlett." I shrugged, the tip of my tongue had swollen slightly and made some sounds hard to say.

"That's an interesting name," he commented.

"Are you Phillip?"

His red-blond eyebrows went up. "Yes, Phillip Daniels. Did I tell you before?"

"Sorry," said Roland, flicking an ear. "I thought you were asking me what his name was."

I shrugged. "No, I...? Someone must have told me?"

He smiled then, just a quirk of his lips really. I grinned at him for some insane reason.

"Would you like a ride? Roland can easily carry two?"

Roland looked me over as if judging my weight and then nodded benignly.

Phillip leaned over, extending a hand toward me. "Just put your left foot on top of mine and swing up behind me."

I don't know why I did just that, but I did. He lifted me easily up behind him. He didn't have a saddle on the horse, just a blanket and a sort of thick pad. Being so close to Phillip seemed exciting and I laughed like Molly might have.

"Sit up close and put your arms around my waist," he told me. I did so. His muscles felt lean and hard under his shirt and I felt some sort of internal heat flow between us. "We're not going to go very fast, I'm just taking Roland for a long walk down the hill and back up to the stable."

"Stable?" I asked.

"Number Twenty-Three belongs to my uncle," he said. "He's got room for half a dozen horses up there, it's the last house on the hill."

"Oh, neat!" Something about the situation made me feel a bit giddy.

He patted the horse's neck and flicked the reins lightly. Roland ambled down the hill. "I live in number Five there," he nodded as we passed the gate where I had seen him earlier.

From atop the horse, I could look into the yards behind the houses, mostly at barbecue equipment but number Three had a pool, I noticed. "Who lives there?" I asked.

"The Atterberys. They're having a party on Monday and I've got an invitation. Would you like to come, too?"

"Uh?" I leaned against him enjoying myself and forgetting totally about fairies and curses and betrothal gifts.

"It'll be okay, they said I could bring a guest and you'll get to meet everyone. I'm surprised they haven't already invited you since you live here."

"Maybe," I said. "I'll have to ask my parents, maybe they got an invitation and hadn't told me?"

"Is it just you and your parents?"

I nodded against his back. "My brothers moved away and my sister is at college, she'll be here for holidays."

"It's just me and my folks, too. And mostly, just me and my mom. Dad is gone on business a lot."

"My dad works at home and mom is a novelist."

He turned to look at me over his shoulder. "For real?"

"Uh huh, she writes romance novels. Vicki Bartlett."

He smiled, a small smile that only quirked the corners of his mouth. "Well, I guess I've never read any of them then."

I laughed. I'd never read any of mom's books either but suddenly I felt curious about them. I'd have to take one of them off the long shelf at home and read it. Just so I knew what my mother had been doing.

He kept turning his head to look back at me. It put our faces awfully close together. "Aren't you supposed to be driving?" I asked.

He smiled his tiny smile again. "Roland knows the way, we won't get lost."

He turned away just in time, I thought my heart was going to pound right out of my chest from looking into those pale eyes only a few inches away. I gasped or made some noise.

He looked back again. "You okay, Eden?"

Eden? Etan? Eaton? What did he call me? What had T.C. called me? I nodded, unable to speak just then. He put a hand on my hands where they were linked around his middle. The heat I'd felt before seemed to flow from his touch again, and this time I felt it concentrating in my nipples and groin. Could he feel against his back the little breasts fairy magic had grown on my chest?

I squeaked. I couldn't seem to move and my voice wouldn't work at all. Phillip must be thinking I was a girl. And maybe T.C. had thought that, too. And what was infinitely worse, I realized I'd probably been acting like a girl around them.

Phillip looked at me, his beautiful face again only inches away. Beautiful? How could a boy's face be beautiful?

"You're scared out of your wits and you aren't going to say anything about it," observed Phillip.

I nodded.

"Are you afraid of me, or of Roland?"

"Uh..." I trailed off, trembling a little.

He must have felt that. "It's me, then," he said. He pulled up on the reins slightly; Roland stopped his steady gait and just stood there patiently. I don't know how Phillip managed it, but suddenly he was on the ground and lifting me off of the horse's back. I stood there in front of him, he still had his hands around my waist, and I had to look up to see his face. "You've never had a boyfriend?" he asked, surprising me again.

I shook my head, still unable to speak. I'd never had a real girlfriend either. I'd never been on a real date.

Phillip smiled that odd non-smile of his. "I'd like to be your first boyfriend then. It's traditional at our school for the juniors to date freshman girls. So, shall we make it a date for Monday at the Atterbery's party?"

I never saw the train that hit me but I heard it. The roaring filled my ears and my brain and the next thing I knew, I was sitting on a log beside the path and Phillip was sitting next to me.

"I didn't expect you to faint on me," he said mildly.

"I didn't either."

"Do you need to lie down?"

"No, I think I'm okay, now." I patted myself and realized then that somewhere along the way I had lost my cap. Probably when I stumbled and ran into the tree.

His smile got a bit wider, for him almost a grin. "You hadn't answered the question yet?"

He sat very close, our legs were touching and he had an arm across my back. "What was the question?" I asked, having trouble breathing.

"Will you be my girlfriend, Eden?" Before I got the breath to answer, he added, "I wish you would say yes."

"Yes." I couldn't believe I'd said that!

I felt dizzy and weak and confused. It came on suddenly this time, and I thought I knew what it was. Not just shock at giving Phillip such an answer to his question but the workings of fairy magic; fairy magic that had forced me to grant Phillip's wish. The crystal clear air, the bright colors and somewhere the sound of fairy bells, this had all happened before. There didn't seem to be anything I could do about it.

He smiled his beautiful smile at me and I know I smiled weakly back. "Good," he said. "We can go to the Atterbery's party Monday but what are you doing tomorrow?" His arm around me squeezed gently.

"I have to..." I gasped. I tried to stand up but I couldn't move.

He sat back, giving me more room. "I've gone and scared you again. I'm sorry, Eden."

He was being so sweet. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him. I wondered if I could possibly think of anything scarier. I could. "I have to...go..."

He nodded. "All right. Do you need to ask your folks about going on a date with me?"

My head wobbled and he took that for nodding yes.

"They'll probably want to meet me?"

"Gurk," I said.

He smiled again. "You're so cute when you get shy. What if I walked you home right now? Or we could ride Roland?"

"Hey," said Roland. "We were going to go all the way down the hill and back up. I need my exercise, let's get moving."

"You have to--you have to finish your ride?" I said.

Phillip looked at the horse. "You're right. Roland gets all cranky if he doesn't get his walk. He's a year older than me and for a horse, that isn't young."

"Hmmph," said Roland. I think I must have giggled, as that grunt sounded exactly like my mother's Uncle Henry when he had expressed some opinion no one else agreed with. I glanced up at Phillip and even though he didn't smile I could tell I had amused him. I hugged myself to stop the shivering.

Phillip stood. "You still don't look as if you're ready to go anywhere. Why don't you sit right there, I'll take Roland down the hill and pick you up on the way back up. Then we can just walk back to your house if you don't want to ride?"

What could I do? I really wasn't in any shape to walk anywhere yet. "Okay," I said.

"Okay, then," Phillip smiled and, well, I smiled back. "When I first saw you, I wasn't sure you were a girl with what you were wearing then. But you aren't really that much of a tomboy, are you?"

"N-no?"

"Nope." He swung easily onto Roland and took up the reins. "You're dressed like a boy but you wouldn't fool anyone. You're too cute." And he actually chuckled. "I want to see you in a dress--or a swimsuit."

I nearly fell off the log right there.

"I'll be right back, Eden, wait for me," he called as he and Roland started down the path.

I watched him ride away and when he looked back, I waved. Well, Phoebe would have and I had told him I'd be his girlfriend. I certainly hadn't promised to wear a dress, though. But a corner of my mind wondered what I would look like in a bikini.

---

Chapter 7

The Doolittle Effect

How had I gotten into this mess? It started when I stepped on that frog by the fairy rocks. Old King Fritharic was having his froggy revenge, certainly, but what would his queen, Her Tiny Majesty, Tintabelle, do about the current turn of events? If these wishes people were making--they must be part of her 'betrothal gift'--if these wishes turned me into a girl I couldn't marry Tintabelle.

Maybe she'd just give up, she really had no good reason for wanting to marry me in the first place. Fairies seemed to have whims of iron though. And if she did give up, I might be stuck like I was. I gasped at the idea, scared, thrilled, astonished and bewildered all at once.

Why hadn't the magic turned me completely into a girl? I had breasts--they itched--but I still had at least one major part of my male identity. Maybe Molly's wish--she had wished I were a girl so I could visit them anytime--maybe her wish had been defective? After all, she was only four years old. Who else had made a wish?

Mom had wished I were more like Phoebe; that's when I had started acting more like a girl. And I couldn't seem to stop. It had also turned my hair red and my eyes green, sort of.

Phillip had wished I would say yes. Or had he wished I'd be his girlfriend? I shivered. How would the magic treat his wish? Would anything else physical happen to me? Besides the aching I felt inside when I thought about Phillip holding me?

That was three wishes, I realized. Maybe the magic had run out? No, wait, I'd made a wish, too. The one that allowed me to talk to animals when I wished I knew what the dog was thinking.

Wait a minute. I had made a wish; I could make wishes? "I wish I were a boy again," I said aloud. Nothing happened. "I wish none of this had happened!" I stood up. The light didn't change, I didn't hear fairy bells, I didn't feel dizzy and weak. "I wish I'd never stepped on that stupid frog!"

Still nothing happened. I sat down. One wish to a customer, me included, apparently? And I'd wasted mine on a do-little request to understand animals. That wish had done more than I asked and Molly's had done less. Was there any sort of rhyme or reason to this at all?

I felt the tears start running down my face and soon a trickle had turned into a flood. I sat on a log in a big green forest and wept like a little girl. The second time I wiped my face with my sleeve, I decided I'd better head for home. I couldn't sit there waiting for Phillip to get back; he'd see immediately that I'd been crying. I must look a mess.

Mom would see, too, but she had seen me come home crying before. It wasn't anything new. I could even tell her part of the truth; that one of the neighborhood boys had teased me about looking like a girl. I stood up again and right then, I heard hooves.

Not the gentle plop-plop of Roland walking, this was the sound of a running horse. I took a step and peered down the path. It had to be Phillip, and he was galloping his old horse to get back to me quickly. I'd never make it home before he caught up to me, even if I ran.

I admit it. I dithered. One part of me wanted to see Phillip again, and he'd asked me to wait, it would only be polite. And the sound of the running horse excited me, I could feel my heart pounding. My lips felt hot, my nipples--!!!-- tingled and standing there in the path, I felt my thighs clench together in a pleasurable anticipation I didn't want to understand.

Here he came. He would see me standing here in just a moment. I could dive into the bushes and hope he would ride past me. Okay, I didn't do that. Instead, I squealed--like a girl--dashed back over to the log and sat down. Knees together, hands in my lap and I even ran a hand through my hair to fluff it up.

I was smiling when Phillip and Roland came around the turn where they could see me. I waved. "Eden!" Phillip called. I laughed and waved again. None of us saw the deer just before it bolted from the woods right in front of Roland's nose.

The big horse swerved, only the fact that he was running up hill gave him enough stopping power to avoid the collision. Phillip, not using a saddle, didn't stand a chance of staying on Roland's back through such a maneuver.

I screamed.

Phillip fell, rolling onto his shoulders and falling on his back with a loud thump and a yell. Somehow he landed far enough away from Roland to avoid being kicked or stepped on. The big horse crashed into some bushes, bellowing loudly--and cursing in a voice Phillip couldn't hear. I'd never heard a horse curse before but Roland was quite colorfully discussing the habit and ancestry of a certain deer with a few general expressions of disgust and anger spinkled throughout.

I ran toward Phillip, very much afraid that he had broken his neck, but he was waving a hand at me before I reached him. "I'm okay!" he said, gasping a little.

I knelt beside him, afraid to touch him and wondering if I should run to call 911. Did they have 911 in this place? I didn't have a cellphone with me because coverage in these mountains was so spotty they were almost useless.

Somewhere I heard a woman's voice saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. The queen made me do it." I looked up to try to find the voice but tears made everything blurry, I had started crying again.

"I'm okay," Phillip said again. "Just got the wind knocked out of me." He moved his feet experimentally, "See? I'm okay."

"I was so scared!"

"Well, I'm okay, don't be scared." He tried to sit up but groaned and lay back down quickly.

"I'm going to go get help!" I told him.

"No, don't!"

"But you're hurt!" I couldn't stop crying but I couldn't leave either because he had grabbed my hand.

"Well, I'm hurting but I don't think I'm really hurt-hurt." He smiled at me, the tiniest smile I'd ever seen.

I smiled back, a little goofily, probably. "You're an idiot."

His smile widened just a little. "Okay, I'm an idiot," he agreed. "Just stay with me for a moment longer. Please?" He squeezed my hand.

I sniffled back my tears and wiped my face on my sleeve again. "Why did you gallop, this isn't a trail for galloping, is it?"

"Uh, well, no. It's too narrow and there's places you can't see far enough ahead. So, okay, I'm an idiot and you can tell me so. I just don't want to hear my mom or my uncle telling me so for several hours."

Roland came over and looked down at him and snorted. The voice only I could hear sounded like Wilford Brimley. "He wanted to impress you."

I glanced at Roland.

"Good boy," said Phillip. "Roland likes a run now and then, don't you, boy? And it's easier for a horse to run uphill than down." It was? I wondered about that but the horse in question distracted me from asking about it.

Roland looked off toward where the deer had disappeared. "Don't blame me." He turned his long brown face toward me. "I've never understood a deer that well before, but did you hear what she said?"

It hadn't occured to me but of course animals didn't normally understand each other. I must radiate a sort of Doolittle effect. I nodded toward the horse and he nodded back. "Something spooked that doe," I said.

"I guess so," Phillip agreed. He tried to sit up again and I helped him. The fall had torn his shirt over his left shoulder and he must have scraped it on the hard ground. The skin looked raw and red there; oozing thick, slow blood.

"You're bleeding a bit," I said. "You need to go home and wash that out." I trembled a bit to think how much that must hurt him.

He sighed. "Give me a minute. I'll need to take Roland home and I can wash up at the stable."

We were very close just then, our faces only inches apart. I thought for a moment that he might try to kiss me and I pulled back abruptly. He groaned. I told him, "I still think I should go get your mom."

"Don't you dare," he said. He got his feet under him and stood up without help. "See? I'm fine."

I looked up at him. His torn shirt hung off his shoulder and I could see the muscles of his chest and upper arm. The scrape was mostly on top of his shoulder and his back. He didn't have the kind of muscles T.C. had been showing off, more lean and bony than meaty. Still, the sight had a strange effect on me.

The Queen had tried to kill him or at least scare him. Or scare me. Well, she'd done that but now I felt angry. It must have showed in my expression.

"What?" he said.

I shook my head. "If you're okay, then, well, I have to be going?"

"You're not mad at me?"

"No, no." I shook my head again.

He smiled. "Still my girlfriend?"

I sighed. "Phillip! I--I...." It had to be the magic, I wanted to be his girlfriend, weird as that still sounded. But it could get him killed; fairy jealousy is a thing of legends. That loomed larger than my questionable gender; I didn't want Phillip to get hurt.

He looked at me solemnly. Those blue eyes were so beautiful; the lashes turned golden in a stray beam of sunlight and I thought my heart would stop. I stepped back, how could I be seeing a boy as being beautiful?

I turned and ran.

"Eden?" He called after me.

I didn't think he could catch me, he must still be hurting after his fall.

"Eden!" he called again. "I'll stop by your house on the way back from taking Roland home!"

I didn't answer, I just ran all the way home, through the redwood gate and onto the glassed-in porch. The weight of the sliding glass door slowed me down and Mom stopped me with a word.

"Ethan?"

I did stop. I didn't look at her or she would see that I had been crying. "Yes, ma'am?" I said.

"Ethan, what's going on?"

"I can't talk about it, Mom."

She got up and started toward me. "You most certainly can talk about it..." she began.

"Just leave me alone!" I dodged past her and ran up the stairs. I don't think I had ever run up stairs before in my life. I ran to my room and threw myself across my bed, sobbing and crying. I didn't know exactly what was wrong--everything!--but it just hurt too much right then.

Mom followed me, of course. She came in quietly and sat on the bed and pulled me close to her. "Mom, please..." I protested.

"Hush," she said. "Finish crying and then you can tell me all about it."

"No, I can't."

"Hush, baby," she said. "You can always tell me about it, I'm your mother." She handed me a wad of tissues she must have grabbed on the way up.

"You wouldn't believe me," I sobbed. I couldn't tell her everything, Frog Kings and Fairy Queens, talking animals, I'd get locked up. I know I cried as if my heart had been broken, I'm not sure why. My mother held me against her and said silly, comforting things. Finally, when I began to run down, she gave me a squeeze and pushed away gently.

"Blow your nose," she ordered, making a face at me.

I blew my nose, discarded that tissue and wiped my eyes with another.

She smiled and pushed my messy hair away from my eyes. "Now tell me about it."

"I don't know what to say?"

"Just begin wherever you're comfortable, and go from there," she suggested. "Contrary to popular opinion, stories do not have to start at the beginning."

What could I tell her? I'd have to say something to explain my outburst or she would never let it rest; she'd be watching me and asking questions until she found out something to satisfy her mother instinct. I'm the baby of the family and I've been sick most of my life, Mom and I were close in ways most boys my age could not imagine.

Most boys.

I felt the tears threaten again, but I caught a glimmer of a way out of confessing to insanity. A painful way, and a difficult one because I didn't dare tell her a blatant lie or even direct evasion. She was my mom, she would know. "I'm so confused," I said. That much was true.

"You're a teenager, comes with the territory," she said, smiling.

I sat right in front of her and she hadn't noticed the change in my hair or eyes. She'd held me in her arms and hadn't felt the difference in the contour of my shape. I found that hard to believe but perhaps she had just been distracted by my weeping.

"Phoebe used to come home crying like that, regularly. Or at least every few months or so," Mom observed when I still hadn't spoken for some time. "Though I don't remember Adam or Sean indulging in such histrionics."

Ouch.

"Talk," she said. "Say something, where did you go, who did you see?"

"Uh, I went out. And there was this boy, he lives in Number Five? His name is Phillip, I met him earlier."

"Uh huh." She nodded encouragingly.

"He's older, he must be sixteen or seventeen. He has a horse, its name is Roland."

"A pony? I always wanted a pony when I was little," Mom said.

I shook my head, "Roland is a big horse. Huge. Um, Phillip offered me a ride and I got up behind him." My lip trembled.

Mom frowned a bit.

"Then...then..." I wiped away tears again.

"Then?"

"Then he asked me for a date! Mom, he thinks I'm a girl!"

"Oh." Mom seemed to be considering this while I fiddled with tissue and wiped my hands.

I got off the bed and went to my dresser where I kept a full box of Kleenex. I stared at myself in the mirror; with my eyes all red and puffy, I looked hideous. I let myself relax into a Phoebe-pose and complained, "Mom, do I look like a girl?"

She didn't deny it. She stared at me, I could see her eyes go wide in the mirror. She had a good view, a three-quarter profile front and back. I noticed that the looseness of two layers of cotton did not completely conceal my altered shape.

She took a breath. "Why would he do that? Ask you for a date? Didn't you tell him you're a boy?"

"I-I tried," I stammered. "He misheard my name. He thought I said, 'Eden'."

"Eden."

"Yeah, it almost sounds like 'Ethan', doesn't it?"

She nodded vaguely. I saw her look at my chest, my butt, the way I stood. She looked me in the eye and I hit her with a soft hammer. "I don't look like a girl, do I, Mom?" I didn't have to make my lip tremble, it did it all by itself. I felt tears leaking out of my eyes again and dabbed at them with the tissue.

"Well," she dodged the question. "Not--not really?"

"Meaning I do!" It did hurt, but at least we weren't discussing talking weasels. Was this really a wise thing to be doing? Who could know, certainly not me. I felt rattled and shaken. Mom really had been my confidant all my life, normally I could tell her anything. "I do look like a girl," I said with my lips trembling.

"Well," she backtracked. "Maybe a little, honey?"

"I don't know what's happening to me!" True enough and almost a relief to tell someone. But in the excitement of the moment, I decided to go further. "I've got to show you something!" I began unbuttoning the shirt; with three buttons undone, I just pulled it off over my head and the t-shirt with it. I threw the cloth toward my desk chair and stared into the mirror.

My little booblets actually looked a bit bigger. The cookie flesh behind my nipples had more shape. I could see Mom's eyes bugging out in the reflection. Suddenly more alarmed than I expected, I examined them with my fingertips. "They keep growing!" The nipples themselves had assumed a pointy, tent-like shape, the whole arrangement looking like candy drops sitting on top of cookies. It occurred to some part of my disorderly mind to wonder how Phillip or T.C. would react to the sight of such confections. And they were excruciatingly sensitive. "Ow!"

Mom suddenly moved, coming over to stand beside me and bending to get a better look. "How long has this been happening?" Her manner had changed from emotionally comforting to medically concerned in a moment.

"I don't know!" I wailed convincingly. "I only noticed just this week! Since we moved!"

"Your chest looks exactly like your sister's did at eleven." Mom bit her lip, reaching toward my chest.

"I'm almost fourteen, Mom! And--and--I'm s-supposed to be a boy!" I tried to move away but she pulled me toward her and gave me a hug, not too tightly but tight enough to get a reaction. "Ow! That hurts! What's happening to me?"

"I don't know," she said in my ear. "I don't know, we'll take you to a doctor."

"Am I turning into a girl, Mom?" I gave her a fiercer hug. "Ow. I feel so strange?"

She patted me on the back then released me. "I don't know that, either. I'm not a medical person. I've heard of such things in my.... But..."

"Talking to Phillip and him thinking I was a girl made me feel...weird?" I said.

"Put your shirt back on." She handed me the t-shirt. "Weird, how?"

I shrugged. I really didn't know how to explain it. "Well, besides confusing, it was also exciting. I knew he really liked me. Boys like, like that--uh, they usually want to beat me up?"

She nodded. Coming home in tears for me had usually involved various contusions, abrasions and lacerations. Once, I got a concussion and a broken wrist from being dumped into a trash bin.

"Put your shirt back on," Mom suggested, handing the t-shirt to me.

I pulled the t-shirt back on and looked at myself in the mirror. I fussed with my hair in Phoebe-fashion while considering this new perspective. What would it be like to be one of the popular kids at school? A popular girl.... The thought scared me and excited me in strange ways.

I turned to Mom. "Am I pretty?" I asked her before I had time to think of what question I might be about to ask.

"I suppose you are," she admitted. "I've always thought you were pretty, but I'm your mother."

I grinned shakily. "Phillip said I was too cute to be a boy, even if I was dressed like one."

"You did look cute," she said. "I told you so, too."

"I know! And Phillip asked me to go to a party with him on Monday, then he hurt himself, showing off." Once the gates were open, I found it hard to stop telling Mom embarrassing things. I just hoped I could avoid mentioning the fairies.

"What?" Mom looked startled.

"He galloped his horse on the trail out there, and--and a deer startled Roland and Phillip fell off and I thought he'd been killed!" All true, and the memory of wide-eyed fright I told it with was also real. "He just scraped his shoulder and tore his shirt, though. He said he'd be okay."

"Well, that's good. I suppose." Mom looked doubtful and confused, she was staring at my chest.

I looked in the mirror again. My little nubbins showed clearly in just the t-shirt. It almost looked indecent. I blushed. "I'mgonnaneedabra!" I wailed.

Mom pulled me close for another hug. "For goodness sake!" she said. "Don't be such a waterworks! Put your other shirt back on; we don't want to give your father a heart attack when he gets home!"

"Yes, ma'am." While I put the shirt on, she got up and started out of the room.

"I'm going to see if I can find a doctor to talk to," she said. "On the Saturday of a three day weekend, probably not, but I have to try."

"Mom."

"What?"

"PhillipiscomingoverlatertotalktoyouandDadabouttakingmetotheparty!"

Mom squeezed her eyes shut. "That's what you were crying about," she said.

I realized that she might be right. I realized also that I wanted to go to the party with him. I took a deep breath and made an effort to speak clearly. "What am I gonna tell him?" I choked out.

"Do you want to go to the party with him?"

"I don't know!" But I did. And Mom knew instantly that I had lied.

"Uh huh," she nodded. "We can always tell him you're too young to be dating?"

"Oh, God!" I sat down on the bed. "I've got to go to school with him later! He's going to find out!"

Mom leaned against the doorframe and rubbed her temples. "I need to talk to the doctor, maybe he can prescribe something. For me."

"I'm sorry, Mom!"

"I don't see anyway this could be your fault, honey. I'd better call your father and prepare him, he's probably on his way home now. And maybe he'll know a doctor, I can't think of anyone closer than UCLA"

I went to my desk. "I'm going to try to look something up on the web."

"Oh, lord. I can just imagine. Anything to do with sex and most of what you'll find on the internet is pornography."

"Well, okay! Then I won't!" My lip trembled again.

"Don't pout. You look just like Phoebe when you pout."

"I do?"

Mom rolled her eyes and headed out.

I sat on the bed, hugging a pillow, and struggling to get my thoughts and emotions in some sort of order. That went well enough, I considered with the last rational shreds of my sanity. But now that I've convinced my mom that I'm turning into a girl, what do I tell her when I get the fairies to change me back?

---

continued in part 4 [Non-Emergency Planning]

Read More [The Fairy King]

Does medical science have a cure for a fairy curse?

Part 4 - Non-Emergency Planning

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 8

Mom Makes Plans

I got fidgety after a few minutes and went downstairs to see what Mom might be doing. I'd given up trying to think my way out of my predicament and I didn't really see a good opportunity for going out to find Queen Tintabelle any time soon. My wanting to leave the house right now would certainly provoke a maternal veto.

Mom was at her desk in the dining room and had just hung up the phone. "I talked to your father," she said. "I didn't tell him everything but he said we should meet him at the hospital in Riverside."

I had good reason for mixed feelings about hospitals; they were uncomfortable places to spend large amouts of one's childhood. On the other hand, I knew I would have died several times if it hadn't been for doctors and hospitals. I frowned. "Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight," she said.

I felt chilled. "Is this really an emergency?"

"I suppose not, but your father is going to call a friend of his at the hospital in Riverside, a doctor who has his office there in the medical building." She paused then noted, "You look devastated."

"I guess this is one way to avoid talking to Phillip tonight," I said. I hated thinking how pitiful I must have sounded, like a lovesick Phoebe.

Her eyebrows went up. "Is that it? Won't you feel more like talking to him when you have an idea about what's going on?"

"I guess so. Oh! I forgot to tell you that, well, I had an invitation to eat lunch tomorrow with the girls I met yesterday. Well, a late lunch, at four?"

She smiled and shook her head. "You made a date with two girls in the morning and with a boy in the afternoon?"

"It was--it was all in the afternoon."

"You were busy."

"Mom! It's not like a date with the girls! We're just friends!" We both blinked at that one.

"Tell me about them."

"Uh, they live in the trailer park at the bottom of the hill. Dolly is fifteen and Molly is four. Their mom works nights somewhere in Riverside."

"How did you meet them?"

I told her about the game I thought Molly and Dolly had been playing, I didn't mention my run down the hill or my accidental assasination of the unlucky King Fritharic. "So I went over to see them today, since they were the only kids I knew around here. But there's a boy my age that lives in the park too. His name is T.C. and he's kind of big and muscular, he's a football player and his uncle has the cutest pet monkey named Bowser. Oh crap!"

"Pardon?"

I blushed. "I'm sorry, I just realized that--that T.C. got my name wrong too. I thought he was saying 'Eaton' but--he probably heard 'Eden,' too?" I covered my face with my hands. "I think only Dolly and Molly know that I'm a boy!"

"Um. Go get your jacket, it might be cool when we come back. Besides...." She didn't say it would help hide my tits. "It's almost an hour's drive to Riverside, your father will likely get there before we do. We can talk more in the car."

Well, we didn't talk much going down the mountain; the road is only two-lane part of the way and pretty twisty all of the way. I didn't want to distract Mom so I just sat and thought.

I wondered what would happen to me if it proved to be impossible to undo the wishes. I'd already registered at school as Ethan, just last week. That complicated things but it meant that only a few people in the office, plus Molly and Dolly, really knew me as a boy. Could I change my registration and attend school as a girl?

Did I want to?

That had to be Plan B. It would certainly be better to get the curse taken off so I could be Ethan again. Wouldn't it? The novelty of not being threatened with a beating by boys larger and older than me had a certain appeal. And then, Phillip had wished that I would be his girlfriend. I squirmed in the seat and sighed.

Mom chuckled.

"What?"

"Eden. That's a cute name. I'll have to use it in a story sometime."

"You mean you haven't?" I said.

"No. But you and Phoebe are named after characters in books of mine. Phoebe is the heroine of 'Emerald Dawn' and Ethan was the hero in 'Gift of Magic'."

The hairs on my neck went up with that information.

She glanced sideways at me but put her attention back on the road quickly. Neither of us said anything more until we reached the freeway.

I'd been trying to think of strategies for dealing with Tintabelle but I kept thinking of other things. Of how Phillip had smiled at me and of how T.C.'s muscular arms looked in his t-shirt. Very disturbing thoughts when I realized something else. I'd never had many such fantasies about girls, why should I be doing so about boys, now, and so vividly? It had to be the magic.

"You can't seem to sit still," Mom commented just as the sound of the tires on the pavement of the interstate announced that we were now less than twenty minutes from Riverside. The sun was setting on the western group of mountains and the sky blazed with pinks and violets. Traffic buzzed around us, Mom always drove the speed limit, forcing drivers with more urgency to go around her.

"I'm nervous," I said. "What do you think is wrong with me?"

"I'm not a doctor, honey," she said, "but it seems pretty obvious that your hormones are out of balance somehow."

"What if they find out I really am a girl, inside, and I just looked like a boy on the outside--um--till now?" Why had I suggested that?

"Well, I guess we'll consider our options when we know more?"

"Is that a possibility?"

"I suppose it is. I think I've heard of such things happening..."

"Yeah, like in the Weekly World News." I rolled my eyes and made a gagging sound. "I don't want to be a freak, Mom."

"You're not a freak, honey. You're my kid, no matter what."

"Thanks, Mom. I knew that." It did help to hear her say it though. I smiled at her.

Mom laughed. "I'm glad.We'll deal with it, whatever happens. You, your dad and me."

"Would-would you want another daughter?" I squirmed. Why spend time talking about Plan B? Why did I find the thought of being stuck as a girl so fascinating?

"I've got four children," Mom said firmly. "But you almost sound as if you would prefer to be a girl?"

"Uh.... Well, I'd never even thought about it till this started happening."

"When did it start?"

"I'm not sure I know?" I said carefully. I didn't want her to catch me in another lie. "At first, I think I didn't notice, then I didn't want to believe it, then I didn't want to tell anyone. Not even you."

Mom nodded. "Well, I suppose it didn't all just happen in the last couple of days but I'm surprised I didn't notice earlier?"

"Maybe you know me too well? It took someone who'd never met me before to notice?"

"Mmm. Could be." She took an off ramp. Once off the freeway, I was pretty much lost. I'd never been in Riverside before; we'd always just driven through. We stopped at a light and Mom studied the street signs, making sure she'd taken the right exit.

"I don't think it shows that much. Yet?" I said.

She looked at me. "No, not really." She sighed and pulled on through the intersection when the light changed. "I don't know, but do you think you've changed the way you're acting?"

I squirmed. I was pretty sure that I had, or that the magic had caused me to change the way I acted--even the way I thought about things. "I guess so," I said softly.

"Were you trying to be more--feminine?"

"More like Phoebe, I think. It was something you said." I didn't mean to tell her that.

She frowned. "When? What did I say?"

"Uh, you said you wished I were more like Phoebe?"

She looked at me astonished. "That was today! This afternoon, I was talking about cleaning up the bathroom after you used it!"

I don't know why but I started to cry again. "I tried...." I had to gulp back sobs. "I was trying...."

"It's okay, honey," she said. "You had been trying to be a boy and, at least at that moment, I had wished you were a girl?"

"Uh huh. And then it just seemed easier. And I went outside and I met Phillip and he didn't have any doubt about me! He called me 'Eden' and asked me for a date! He thought I was a girl and I was--I'm still!--wearing boy clothes!" I wiped my eyes and reached for the tissues in the console. "He liked me! And it was fun! I didn't think it would be fun...." I blew my nose, I was sure going through a lot of tissues. "Most of the time, boys like Phillip and T.C., they hate me. They make fun of me, or beat me up or threaten me!"

"I know," Mom said. "I'd always assumed it was because you were small and sick a lot. Boys--children--can be so cruel to someone who is different."

I looked out into the twilight. "They called me names. Sometimes even the girls called me names?"

Mom sighed. "We're here, honey. This is the hospital and there's your dad's car."

Dad had waited for us in the lobby. He's a good-looking guy in his late fifties, more than ten years older than Mom. What's left of his hair is dark brown, shot with gray, and his eyes are sort of the same, brown with lighter streaks. He's not that tall, Adam is half-a-foot taller, but once upon a time Dad was the C.O. of a combat engineer battalion and he still carries around that kind of authority. I think Mom bases most of the heroes in her books on Dad; at least, she teases him that she does. "I've got a million women, all over the world, more than half in love with my husband," she says.

Mom is short and kind of plump, blonde and blue-eyed, and not one of us kids looks much like her. Adam and Sean look like Dad, though taller and not so dark. Phoebe looks like Dad's sister, Aunt Maggie. I guess I do too, even more now.

Mom and Dad hugged. I hung back a little, thinking how odd it was to watch your parents kissing in public. A handful of people sat in various chairs and couches scattered around, reading magazines or talking on cellphones or just staring into space. A white-haired lady sat at a desk at one end and another desk in the middle of the room was empty.

I'd spent some time on the trip down the mountain trying to figure out what Dad was going to say. I wondered how much he might notice. I guess I feared most being a disappointment to him but he must have already gotten used to the idea that I was never going to play football at USC like Adam had, nor would I be a near-Olympic quality marathoner like Sean. Heck, even Phoebe was more athletic than me, she'd competed in the state tournament for junior tennis.

But as long as I was in there trying, Dad congratulated me on completing a one mile walk as much as he did any of the others on their trophies and ribbons. And he'd stopped giving me a handicap in chess two years ago; he could beat me almost every time but if he gave me as much as a horse, I would win nearly as much. He never pulled any punches and I remembered how proud he had been of me when I first beat him without a handicap.

Still, I had no real idea how he might react. I really didn't know him as well as I did Mom. When I was small, we were a military family and Dad served tours in such places as Ethiopia, the Phillipines and Kuwait. We didn't travel with him overseas so sometimes we didn't see him for six months or a year at a time. After the Gulf War, he resigned his commission and became a civilian. And for the first few years, he still spent half his time out of the country.

Dad motioned me to come over and I got a one-armed hug, Mom still clung to the other. He ruffled up my hair, too. "How you feeling, Ethan?" he asked me.

"Weird, but I don't feel exactly sick," I told him.

He looked at me, glanced at my chest then back to my face. "You haven't been taking any unauthorized medications have you?"

"Huh? No!" I thought he meant street drugs but later the doctor asked me the same thing and explained that he meant things like birth control pills, women's hormones, and certain herbal concoctions that had something called phyto-estrogens in them. I'd never heard of the stuff but apparently my Dad knew something about it.

"Okay, then," Dad said. "I knew you weren't, but I had to ask."

I just nodded, still confused. One of the things confusing me was that Dad himself seemed different. Bigger or something. I noticed how he smelled, the dark hairs on the back of his hands, and the way his cheeks folded when he smiled. He absolutely radiated masculine confidence. My dad is a hunk, I realized.

"You do look different somehow," he commented. "Did you try to dye your hair or something?"

I shook my head.

"Ethan says the changes have been happening for some time; finally, they just got so obvious he had to tell someone," Mom said.

Dad nodded. "You've had a peck of medical problems, kid, but this is a new one." I heard his voice and then his arm was around me again before I even realized my eyes were stinging. "Hey," he said softly.

I blinked away the tears. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to help it."

"It's okay," Dad said. He guided us to an isolated couch and we all sat down with me between them. "I didn't mean to say something that hurt, so I'm sorry, too."

A painful bubble seemed to be pressing on my heart, I wanted to call him 'Daddy' and keep crying until he made everything all right. I didn't, though my eyes felt puffy and my mouth was dry. Mom produced tissue and I wiped my eyes and blew my noise for about the eighteenth time.

"Is the doctor here? Why are we waiting in the lobby?" Mom asked.

"Finding a doctor for a non-emergency on Saturday night wasn't easy," Dad said. "Dr. Estevez is the younger brother of a man I served with. He's chief of internal medicine here and agreed to talk to us without my telling him what this was about." Dad looked at me again and I smiled shakily.

"Will he be able to make an examination?" Mom wanted to know.

"It's a hospital, surely he can borrow an exam room if we can talk him into it."

They talked some more and they tried to keep me in the conversation but I found my mind drifting. I thought of Phillip and what the doe had said. The Queen had certainly tried to interfere between Phillip and I. She seemed to think I had planned this transformation as a way of avoiding her. Then why did she not offer to change me back?

Maybe she couldn't? In every fantasy, even on old Bewitched TV shows, there were rules about magic and sometimes spells could not be reversed. Or like in Lord of the Rings, it would turn into a huge problem to unmake a magical effect. I shivered a little thinking about that possibility. A week ago, I could never have imagined such a problem and now I might have to face the rest of my life as a girl. "Life is not fair," Dad has told me numerous times but this wasn't just unfair, it bordered on the criminally impossible.

That made me smile because I thought of a twist on a political saying, "If you make laws against impossible crimes, only criminals will be able to do the impossible."

I must have made a noise becaue Dad asked, "What hit your giggle button?" I told him the new saying I made up and he and mom both laughed. It really made me feel good when Dad pulled out his PDA and wrote it down so he could share it with his friends. "Even a liberal can laugh at that one," he remarked.

Mom sniffed but grinned. She's a liberal Democrat and Dad is an independent with conservative sympathies. Pretty soon they were talking politics and my mind wandered again.

I thought about Phillip. It had been nice being liked instead of treated like a mutant but how would he react if on Tuesday I went to school as a boy? That didn't sound like a good idea for a number of reasons but the thought of just switching my life to the other gender looked like a huge problem too. I'd already registered as Ethan, for one. Going to school as a girl remained Plan B and even conceiving it proved how nutty this whole business had made me. The thing I had to do was find the Queen and get her to reverse the curse.

I tried to avoid thinking about whether I wanted the change reversed. Then again, I hadn't turned completely into a girl. I squirmed a little, remembering that I still had a penis, no matter how small.

Of course, if that disappeared, I would have to tell someone about the magic and I would have proof. Everything else I might persuade them they had just overlooked things. Even such oddities as not having testicles, who but me could swear that I ever had them? I didn't recall any doctor ever examining me down there, for all my encounters with medical professionals.

I had had them, hadn't I?

---

Chapter 9

The Non-Emergency Room

Mom said, "Here's someone."

A very tall man wearing a lab coat approached. He had black hair and a long face but he smiled pleasantly and that turned what might have been a homely face into a handsome one. When he came closer, I saw he had blue eyes, very startling against his brown skin. "I'm Dr. Daniel Estevez," he said in a deep voice that did scary things to my insides. "Are you the Bartlett family?"

Dad took over and introduced us all. When he called me Ethan, the doctor looked at me again. Still trying to deal with the effects of his voice, I probably looked back with a stupid expression. Mom nudged me.

"Uh, hello, doctor," I managed.

We followed him down a hall and into an empty office. "All right," he said. "I'm not completely clear on what this is about. Are you the patient?" he asked, looking at me.

Mom nudged me again. "Yes! I guess so?"

"What seems to be the problem?"

"Uh," I know my face turned completely red.

Mom spoke up. "Ethan has a number of medical problems but what we're here looking for advice about is a very recent development."

"Um," said the doctor.

Mom blushed a little. Good to know I wasn't the only one embarrassed. Or maybe that basso voice was hitting her, too. "Well, Ethan is almost fourteen, he's been a little late in developing and...."

Dad looked at me curiously as if expecting me to help Mom out. I still wore my stupid look and kept quiet.

"Well, things don't seem to be going in the usual way?"

Dr. Estevez was quick, he picked up on it right away. "I see. What sort of drugs or medications has Ethan been on?"

Mom had a list in her purse, we were old hands at having this kind of thing ready for emergency room doctors. Dr. Estevez asked me to confirm that I had not been taking anything else. I didn't mention the thimbles of fairy liquor that I supposedly consumed at the betrothal party. "Nothing else," I said. He asked me again, later and explained why.

"So what are your symptoms?" he asked.

"Uh, well, my...chest itches."

"Is that all?"

"There...I mean...?" I glanced at Dad. It hadn't been easy telling Mom, this was lots harder. "There's growth that shouldn't be there? I'm supposed to be a boy?" I finished miserably, almost mumbling.

He looked up at my parents. "I could give you a referral to an endocrinologist?"

I'd never heard that word before but I assumed it must be a specialist that dealt with hormones or something.

"Is there anyone who could tell us something about Ethan's condition tonight, or at least this weekend?" Mom asked. "I'm afraid that if Ethan worries about it too much, it might trigger an asthmatic crisis."

"This sort of thing can have a number of causes and only a few would be life-threatening," said the doctor, trying to be reassuring. It stunned me to think that maybe other kids had to go through something like this without a malevolent fairy wish to explain things.

"Life threatening? Like what?" Dad asked.

"Tumors on the kidneys sometimes produce such anamolous development, but they are very rare. Well, all of these conditions are rare singly, but if you add them all together.... This isn't just a little lingering babyfat?"

"Uh, no." Mom said. "Ethan's nipples protrude about a half-inch with small breasts that he claims are very tender. His hips are also very wide for a boy."

I looked away, my face burning. I saw that my Dad also looked very uncomfortable.

"Perhaps I'd best do an exam?" the doctor suggested.

"Would you please?" Mom said.

So we followed Dr. Estevez into an adjoining examination room and he invited me to sit on the elevated table. Then he examined my eyes, ears, nose and throat, took my temperature with some high tech gadget, and measured my blood pressure with another that also took my pulse. My parents waited quietly by the door.

"Ethan, would you take off your jacket and shirt, please?" he asked.

I tried giving him another stupid look instead but Mom urged me, "Go ahead, Ethan."

I unbuttoned the oxford cloth shirt and took it off. I could already see Dad looking at my chest.

"The t-shirt also, Ethan, please," said the doctor.

I pulled it off over my head and sat there, trying to sit up straight and not cringe. The A/C in the room felt amazingly chilly and my little boobies crinkled up like two enormous goosebumps.

He examined my breasts. I winced a few times and he apologized for hurting me. "They are very sensitive?" he asked. I nodded.

Mom remarked, "I swear, Ethan, they look bigger than they did a few hours ago."

I glanced down and almost fell off the table. They were bigger, at least, I thought they were. "How fast...do..." I tried to ask. More magic, I felt certain. How big would they get?

"How long ago did you first notice this growth, Ethan?"

"Just today!" I blurted out. "I mean, today I decided it had gotten bad enough I needed to talk to someone! I'm not sure when it started." I could lie to the doctor a little, as long as I didn't look at Mom.

"Growth in this stage can be very rapid," he said. "But this much development would take months for the average girl--who would probably be a little younger than you are now."

"I'm a boy!"

"I'm interested to see that apparently your mother is correct, your waist is quite slender and your hips appear to be as wide or wider than your shoulders."

"They are?" I looked down, a bit confused. I knew it must be true but had my butt really gotten that wide?

"They seem to be. Would you mind putting on an examination gown and taking off the rest of your clothes?" He smiled at me.

That smile sandbagged me, Dr. Estevez was a very handsome man, but I felt grateful that he had asked me and not my parents. "I guess not, I mean, okay?" I worried a little at my reaction to his smile but tried to ignore that. But would he have smiled like that at an ordinary boy?

He found a gown and handed it to me. "Opening in the front, please, Ethan," he said. Then he turned his back on me and spoke to my father about my other medical problems. Mom held the gown up for me to put my arms through and I belted it in front with the little piece of stretchy plastic it came with. Then I kicked off my shoes and pulled my pants and undershorts down. Mom took those and put them with my shirts.

I sat down on the vinyl cover of the examination table. Before I said something to let the doctor know I was ready, I overheard him telling Dad, "Ethan has enough nipple development that we can probably rule out one possible cause for his anomalous condition."

"What's that?" Dad asked.

"It's called Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. Normal amounts of androgens are produced by the testicles but the body cannot react to them because of a lack of the proper protein receivers in the cells. It usually prevents normal nipple development, even in girls who can also have a form of the syndrome."

My head felt as big as a balloon and about as substantial but I muttered to Mom, "I don't have those."

Dr. Estevez turned around. "Those what?" he asked.

"Test--testicles. I don't seem to have any?"

Mom and Dad looked thunderstruck, but the doctor just asked me to open the robe and spread my legs so he could examine me. He did some very embarrassing things down there for a while that I don't even want to think about. While this was happening I noticed that Mom and Dad were not watching but were instead exchanging meaningful glances in their private language. And their expressions had changed. Now they looked guilty.

"We'll be right out here, Ethan," Dad said, stepping out of the exam room; Mom followed him with a murmur of encouragement directed at me. They left the door open and I could hear them talking in low voices.

I looked up at Dr. Estevez for a moment but quickly turned my face away again. The man had indecently long eyelashes.

He poked and prodded me, almost painfully sometimes but he didn't find any testicles. "You'll need an x-ray to be sure they aren't still inguinally retained," he told me and then explained that for normal boys, the testicles descend around age six or eight. He asked but I didn't remember that ever happening for me. Had the magic altered my memories?

He asked me a lot more of questions while he conducted a very thorough exam, including asking again about drugs or hormones. He felt of my ribs and the bones of my pelvis, right through my skin. He had me swallow while holding his hand on my throat. He made me work my elbows and knees and he looked at my hands closely.

"Have you had any unusual pains recently?" he asked.

"I don't think so? Like what?"

"Abdominal cramping, that sort of thing, perhaps?"

"Uh, well, during the move last week--I think I ate something that disagreed with me?"

"Um, hmm? How long did it last?"

"Off and on for a few days, it wasn't really that bad. Kinda sick feeling more than real cramps? Maybe I had a touch of the flu?"

"It's possible," he said. "Any diarrhea or vomiting?"

"N-no. Could that have something to do with this?"

"It might."

I decided that Dr. Estevez was too much like Dad. Ask Dad a yes or no question and nine times out of ten he would answer with 'maybe'. He claimed his early training, he'd originally planned on being an astronomer, had turned him into a skeptic. "Story of my life, from stargazer to shitshoveler," he said once. "It's enough to make a man doubt anything." Phoebe and I had giggled and then laughed out loud when Mom scolded him for saying shit.

"Something funny?" Dr. Estevez asked.

"Annoying and funny," I agreed. "You aren't going to tell me anything until you know something for sure, are you?"

He grinned. "Maybe."

I rolled my eyes.

"I want to ask your parents a few things before I tell anyone anything, okay?"

"Okay," I said. His deep voice, his face so near mine, his size, even his smell seemed overpowering. I felt impossibly shy, I mean, when you're mostly naked and somebody has a hand on your crotch, it's way too late to be shy.

He straightened up suddenly. "You can put your clothes back on, Ethan, while I go talk to your folks for a bit. Okay?"

I nodded.

"It won't be but a few minutes," he reassured me; he turned and went into his office, saying, "Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett..." just as he closed the door.

Now what? Had the magic of the fairy curse provided some sort of scientific explanation for what had happened? Had the past been altered as well as my body? Had I--now--always been a girl who looked like a boy? I mulled that over for a moment but decided to put it aside while I did my own examination.

I found a small magnifying mirror and took a good look down there. I'd always been smaller than other boys, I knew that, but the magic seemed to have shrunk my male parts until they weren't much bigger than a baby's. The hole in the end of my penis must have changed shape, too; it wasn't mostly round, but more of a slit, almost half an inch long. And it wasn't really in the end, but sort of on the underside of the end. From the lower point of the slit, an odd pale line, as if drawn by a pen loaded with white ink, extended down the tiny shaft and divided the folds of flesh underneath into two distinct--things.

Had it always been like that? Was it supposed to be like that? Or was the magic eventually going to open me up along that line in order to make me into a girl completely?

I scooted down off the examining table and got dressed, a little reluctantly for some reason. My clothes seemed to fit poorly and I felt more confused than ever.

---

continued in [Meeting the Elephant]

Read More [The Fairy King]

How much is magic and how much is mystery?

Part 5 - Meeting the Elephant

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 10

Options

When I had all my clothes back on, we gathered in Dr. Estevez office. He sat in his big swivel chair beside his desk, not behind it, and we all sat in front of him with Mom between Dad and me. Dr. Estevez spoke directly to me, he'd already told my parents this while I was getting dressed. "I can't tell anything for certain without more tests; blood tests, x-rays, maybe an MRI, tissue samples for DNA tests. But, from what your folks have told me, Ethan, I can suggest some things that might explain what is happening to you. Your Mom and Dad have said that you should be told."

I glanced at them. Dad looked grim, Mom looked worried. "It's okay, Ethan. It's probably something that can be fixed."

Fixed? I blinked and looked back at Dr. Estevez.

"Ethan, when you were born you had what your doctors considered a minor birth defect. They persuaded your parents to let them surgically--repair--this problem. Nowadays, the standards of care suggest waiting as long as possible before surgical intervention."

"Huh?"

"You appeared to have what is known as a hypospadias. This is a condition in a male in which the opening of the urethra is on the underside or at the base of the penis rather than at the end."

"The pee-hole?" I asked.

"Yes. In your case, the doctors decided that your--penis--could easily be repaired. Perhaps someone wanted to write a paper." He made a face. "What they didn't tell your parents is that apparently the scrotal tissues were incompletely fused as well, so they--repaired--that, too."

I mulled that over a moment after I quit blushing from the explanation of what scrotal meant. Again, had the magic altered the past, provided some memories for Mom and Dad that would help explain things to them? Or, even stranger to contemplate in some ways, had this always been true? That nearly creeped me out and probably showed in my face.

Mom put an arm around me and murmured, "It's okay, honey. We're sorry we never told you this..." she trailed off. Embarrassment and guilt made her voice choke up. I glanced past her to Dad's face and saw a smouldering anger there.

"None of this is your fault, Ethan," Dad said. I guess he realized that his expression had scared me. He reached across Mom and we all three held hands for a moment. It did make me feel better, somehow.

Dr. Estevez continued, "Now your body seems to be producing hormones of the type developing young girls have, not the mix young boys experience. And apparently it has been doing this for sometime since your skeletal structure is far more female than male. It's not even really the immature androgyny of a child, but I can't tell more without an x-ray." He explained some things about male/female differences in hip joints, elbow bends and finger lengths.

I must have finally been cried out because no tears fell. My eyes stung and I felt my face twist as if I were weeping. Mom and I hugged each other. "It's not true is it?" I asked her.

"Well, we don't know for sure, honey?" she said.

Dad and Dr. Estevez sat there, dry-eyed and for the most part expressionless as Mom and I worked through a bit of the pain we felt. "We should have told you what we did know..." Mom sighed.

"Mom," I told her, "you would have scared the crap out of me." We both sniggered a little and got the crying under control after that.

"We should never have let those idiots experiment on you," Dad said. "That's what they were doing because they had no way of knowing how things would turn out."

"What they did was common practice, still is, in some places," Dr. Estevez said. "I'm not making excuses for them, I feel they were wrong. But our society isn't set up to deal with anyone whose gender or sex is ambiguous. They were probably trying to decide what to put on the birth certificate."

That almost got me crying again. Mom said, "One of the nurses at the delivery told me you were a girl...then the doctors said you were a boy...I didn't know what to think." She wiped her eyes, "We had a girl's name picked out for you, Megan Alexis...." I knew that "Megan's Promise" had been one of Mom's early books, it sat way to the right on the long bookshelf in our new dining room. And Dad's first name is Alexander, just like my own current middle name. Dad hadn't let Mom name any of the other kids after him but since I was planned as their last child, he'd let her give me one of his names. Megan Alexis....

"Then the doctors came and told us you were a boy," said Dad. His fists clenched, "We trusted them."

Had the magic changed the past? It must have, none of these things had been true the day before yesterday, they couldn't have been. "You're telling me I've always been a girl? I just didn't know it?" I said to the doctor.

"Perhaps, at least in one sense. We don't know for certain without further tests. But, Ethan," he emphasized my name, "you've been raised as a boy for almost fourteen years. That counts for something. Your parents aren't going to force you to do something you don't want to do. We need to do more tests; you need to see some doctors, specialists with expertise I don't have." He leaned forward, "And then someday, you'll have a choice to make. And even choosing not to choose is a choice."

Dad looked sharply at him. "Is that a realistic option?"

"Today is not the world you and I grew up in," said Dr. Estevez. "There are social groups and support groups to offer information and consultation that didn't exist even five years ago. Ethan, the catch-all term for people with your sort of problem is 'intersex' or 'intersexed'. About one child in every 300 or so is born with some sort of genital ambiguity. You're not alone."

I wondered goofily if there were support groups for people who had been cursed by jealous fairies, but I didn't say anything about that. I didn't want to appear crazy; messed-up was okay, they don't lock you up for that but talking about eight-inch-tall monarchs, fairy liquor, etc. just wasn't a good idea.

Doctor Estevez told us he couldn't order any tests for me on a Saturday unless I was admitted to the hospital or at least the emergency room. This wasn't really an emergency and even if admitted, little would be done before Tuesday. He supplied Mom and Dad with the names and phone numbers of some specialists and promised to be ready to schedule tests if Mom called his office early on Tuesday. Then he walked with us to the lobby.

We all shook hands with him there, me last. He held my hand and I looked into those dark luxurious eyes and heard that mellow bass voice say, "I wish I could help you make a decision."

Bells rang somewhere and tingles shot from where his skin touched me to someplace deep within me. It might have been magic, it might have been sex. "I think you just did, doctor," I squeaked. I'm either a girl or I'm gay, I decided; no one else would react to Dr. Estevez in that same way.

My parents and I walked toward the cars, talking about where to stop and have dinner on the way home--deliberately, without consulting each other--avoiding Topic A. Dad led the way and I rode with Mom. "Ethan?" she said.

"Umm?" I had been wondering which was worse, to be gay or to be turned into a girl.

"The doctor asked me if you had been having--cramps--lately, did he ask you that?"

"Uh-huh. Remember just before we moved, I felt kinda sick for three or four days?"

"I remember. I remembered also that you had had the same thing in late July, just before my birthday."

"Oh, yeah."

"And then in early July, before the Fourth."

I smiled. "I almost missed Adam's attempt at barbecue."

Mom paused. "Ethan, for six or eight months that I know of, you've had cramping for at least a day or two before my period started."

I didn't say anything. The implications tried to sink in but kept bouncing off my shields.

"It might have been going on longer than that," Mom went on. "Some of the times, you would have been in the hospital with asthma or bronchitis. But remember, almost two years ago? Phoebe was in the junior class play and opening night, all three of us came down with the 'stomach flu'?"

"What are you saying, Mom?"

She sighed. "What I'm saying, honey, is that I think you've been having periods for about two years now. Girls and women who live together tend to get synchronized. I get cramps, too, but I take something for them and so does Phoebe when it gets bad. But..."

"Mom!" I yelped. "I...don't you bleed down there when you have a period? I never bled and...and the cramps weren't like that, not like that...."

"Honey, you can't bleed. Those idiots sewed that part shut when you were a baby."

I boggled on that a bit, more than a bit, really. I felt as if someone had shook up a bottle of Coke and made the bubbles go up into my brain. I missed something Mom said and asked her to repeat it.

"I said, any blood that doesn't get out, gets re-absorbed by your body. And that might make the cramps worse, I don't know."

"I've got PMS," I said, wonderingly. "I really am a girl."

"Internally, it looks that way. The doctor didn't want to say so, and your father probably won't believe it until it's proven. They're logical scientists. But I'm a fiction writer. I think it's true, honey. I'm sorry."

"Could they fix things down there, so I'm like...other girls?" I hadn't meant to ask that either, it just came out.

She blinked. "I suppose so. Or they could fix things another way, remove the girl parts and give you hormones to help you grow up to be a man like your brothers."

"Mom," I said. "You know I'm not going to grow up to be like Sean or Adam."

She sighed.

Ahead of us, Dad pulled into the parking lot for a big coffee shop.

I made a noise.

"What is it, honey? You're not crying again, are you?"

"I'm trying not to laugh," I said.

"Why?"

"Uh, Mom, did you notice how handsome Dr. Estevez is? Those eyes, his voice, he's so tall..."

"I believe I did notice those things," she admitted.

"So did I."

"Have you been...noticing boys?"

"Only recently."

"Well," she said, pulling in to park beside Dad's car. "Let's not mention that to your father just yet."

"Okay," I agreed. "I wouldn't know how to tell him, anyway. Mom?"

"What?" She set the brakes and put the car in park.

"Dad's a hunk, too, isn't he?"

She grinned and nodded. "Yes, he is." We both sniggered about that.

"What are you two laughing about?" Dad asked as we got out of the cars.

"You," Mom said bluntly and kissed him.

He snorted and kissed back.

"Please!" I said. "You guys! We're in public here!"

Dad laughed. "Phoebe used to say the same thing," he noted.

---

Chapter 11

The Elephant

In the restaurant, we took a back booth for some extra privacy. At first, we didn't discuss the elephant we shared the booth with but after the waitress took our order, Dad turned to me and said, "Ethan, it looks like you have the opportunity to make a choice most people don't get."

"Huh," I said intelligently.

He nodded. "I've been thinking about it. One way or another, whichever cause this problem has, you seem to have at least two paths open in front of you."

Mom and I just boggled at him.

"You can, of course, decide you want to stay 'Ethan', a boy. They'll be able to make that happen for you, perhaps a little surgery and some hormones; it seems as if they can do a lot in that area, these days."

I gulped.

"Or," Dad went on. "Or you can choose to become the daughter that maybe we should have brought home from the hospital the first time. That might also involve some surgery and hormones."

"Alec," my mom said.

"Shh." Dad waved at her. "Wait till I finish."

I just sat there with my mouth hanging open.

"A third possiblity is you just let happen what happens and see how things turn out." Dad paused. "I think you owe it to yourself to explore your options while you still have time, before nature or whatever makes some sort of choice for you."

"What the heck are you saying?" Mom demanded. So much for her supposition that Dad wouldn't believe any of this until it had been proven.

"I think Ethan knows a great deal already about being a boy. I think perhaps he ought to consider, well, trying out his other options." Dad didn't look like he was kidding at all.

"Huh?" I said again.

"Ethan, if you took six months or a year to try living as a girl, well, then you might know more about how you want to spend the rest of your life."

"I don't believe it," Mom said flatly.

I just stared at him.

"Look, Ethan, if you decide you want to definitely go one way or the other, well you're only thirteen now..."

"Almost fourteen," Mom pointed out.

"Almost fourteen," Dad agreed. "In a year, you'll be almost fifteen. Still young enough to start any sort of treatment you decide you need to fit yourself into whichever role you choose."

"Logical," Mom said. "Alec, I forget sometimes how logical you are." Logical, I wondered?

"I know," said Dad. "You're just as astonished when I tell you that I favor one of your liberal causes for entirely pragmatic reasons. I'm logical and practical, you're romantic and imaginative; it's why we make such a good team." He grinned at her.

I giggled nervously.

Mom looked at me. "Honey, I think you don't need to make any decisions right away..."

"Well, maybe not tonight," Dad interrupted. "But this is the perfect time to make a life change, to try out a new identity. Didn't you say that almost everyone you've met so far thinks you're a girl, already?"

"Guck," I agreed.

"Alec," Mom said again.

"And we just moved here, if you were to do a--a life trial, here, for however long, well, we could either move again or something, if you decided you still wanted to be a boy." Dad's proposition did sound logical. Who would have thought that my dad would favor Plan B? But what if the fairies made me grow a beard or turn into Quasimodo or something during this life trial?

The strangest thing about the proposition was the almost unbearable lightness in my chest that contemplating it caused. I didn't know what to do but for Dad to make the suggestion made me happy in some odd and surprising way.

"Alec, are you sure this would be a good idea?" Mom asked.

"Well, no. That's the point, to see if it would be a good idea. No matter what happens, Ethan, you're our kid and always will be. You understand that, don't you?"

I nodded. Dad's words were almost echoes of Mom's earlier assurance. I felt doubly loved and even happier than I had been. I was also almost scared out of my skin. Not just by the thought of trying to live for a year or six months as a girl but by the fact that the idea had a huge amount of attraction for me.

"He doesn't need any pressure on this, Alec," Mom warned.

"No pressure," Dad assured me. "I think it would be the smart thing to do, though." He smiled at me with a tenderness I hadn't seen in his eyes in years. Maybe he had thought he should withhold some of that feeling for a boy named Ethan. But I caught a glimpse there of how he might regard a daughter, enough that I almost burst into tears again.

Our food came and we stopped talking about the elephant for a while. It surprised me how much appetite I had, I ate all my salad and burger and almost half of my fries. Dad went up to pay the bill while Mom and I headed toward the restrooms. I almost followed Mom into the Women's but stopped myself and went into the correct bathroom. Well, I went into the Men's room, though it did feel a bit odd.

I used a stall, trying not to think too much about it but when I came out of the little enclosure, a middle-aged man turning from having used one of the urinals blushed bright red when he saw me. I turned red, too. "TheothersidewasallfullandIreallyhadtogo!" I said in a rush and ran out of the room without even washing my hands.

Dad was waiting at the door for us and I went directly toward him, still blushing. He looked at me curiously then stepped outside and away from the door, I followed him so we could talk. "What happened?" he asked.

"A man, in the bathroom, um, he must have thought I was a girl?"

Dad's expression gave very little away but his eyes twinkled. I pushed my lips together tightly to keep from giggling. Mom came out about that time and looked at our expressions and scowled. "That man is complaining to the manager about you, honey," she said.

"Yikes!"

"Let's get out of here," Dad said. We headed toward the cars.

"Let's wait quite a while before we ever come back," Mom added and I had to suppress more giggles.

At the cars, Dad said, "Ride home with me, Ethan." Mom nodded so I climbed into the passenger side of Dad's car.

"We don't spend a lot of time together," Dad observed.

"You work and I go to school," I said.

"I know," Dad said. "Still, it's a pity. I spent more time with your brothers, I think, even though I was in the military back then. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm just not into a lot of the same stuff...."

"You've never liked football," Dad said.

"No." We all went to games when one of my brothers had been playing but I had never been interested in watching football on T.V.

We didn't say anything more until Dad had steered us onto the freeway. I watched the city darken. The skies above the whole area around Riverside are always full of moving lights, there are lots of military, commercial and private airfields. Once upon a time, I had wanted to be a pilot. That childish dream seemed almost closer now than my ordinary expectation last week that I would grow up to be a man.

But it didn't hurt at all to realize that I might now have a better chance of marrying a pilot than being one. It did make my face feel warm, though.

"What are you thinking about, Ethan?" Dad asked.

"I guess I'm thinking about what you said."

"It's an odd situation, isn't it?"

"You can say that again."

"Your mom told me that you got asked for a date? One of the neighbor boys?"

I blushed again. You'd think I'd wear that mechanism out with overuse. "Yeah, his name is Phillip and he has a horse named Roland."

"Which one asked you for the date?"

"Daddy!" I said and realized that I sounded exactly like Phoebe did when Dad kidded her about dating and boyfriends. "It's embarrassing enough without you teasing me."

"I'm sorry, punkin." He used his nickname for Phoebe and sometimes for Mom and I gulped.

We were quiet again for a few miles. I turned my head and watched his profile. A very masculine face my dad had and so did my brothers. I pulled down the sunshade and looked at my own face in the lighted mirror on the back. I tried to imagine having a moustache like Adam had, or a beard like Dad had grown during six months in Alaska one time. I couldn't do it, it kept looking like crayons on a photograph in my imagination. Or like my sister in some ridiculous makeup.

"Do you really not care which way I decide?" I asked my father.

"I wouldn't say that," he said. "I do care, I want you to make the best decision for you. The one that will make you happiest."

I sighed.

"I do think you should give it a chance, honey. I mean, try it for awhile, living as a girl."

I gulped.

"You might like it."

"I think that's what I'm afraid of," I said. "It would be like giving up being who I've thought I was all my life."

"Um," said Dad. We got off the freeway and onto the twisty state road that led to Pine View, for the first eight miles or so still four lanes wide. Neither of us said anything while Dad concentrated on driving. It had still been a sort of lingering twilight when we left Riverside but now, on this side of the mountain, the darkness had become complete. Thin clouds hid most of the stars and the moon had not yet risen over the eastern peaks.

Dad spoke again when we turned off the highway onto Pine Ridge Road. "I wish you would give it a try, honey. It's the only way you'll ever know which you prefer."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Even over the engine noise, I thought I heard the fairy bells ring and I knew Dad's wish had been granted. I would try living as a girl for a time. The moon rose just then, over the mountain, under the clouds, lighting them below and above with a silver purity so agonizingly beautiful I felt it like a knife under my ribs.

That's six I thought, six wishes; me, Molly, Mom, Phillip, the doctor and now Daddy. How many more were there going to be? Would all the wishes affect only me? And would all of them, except my first, be aimed at turning me into a girl?

"Okay, Daddy," I said. "I'll do it. Even though it scares the crap out of me."

He laughed, "Young ladies don't use the word 'crap' when talking to their fathers."

I giggled, a bit hysterically, maybe. I had trouble with my breathing but not the usual sort where I couldn't take a breath. Instead, I felt as if I were breathing too fast.

Dad triggered the remote and the garage door at Number Nine rolled up out of our way. Mom wasn't home yet, but she couldn't be far behind us. We parked on the left side of the garage, his side, but then we just sat there looking at each other. "Megan was the name we had picked out for you," he said.

I nodded, nervously. "Mom told me, Megan Alexis. But Phillip thinks my name is Eden."

"As in Paradise?" Daddy grinned.

My face got hot, my ears seemed to be ringing and I looked away. Something else about the wishes niggled at my mind, something I should remember but didn't. My breathing was still out of control, one breath per heartbeat.

"You can pick your own name, honey," he said, but the world began to spin just then and all my strength drained away. I barely heard Dad's voice for the roaring in my ears. Oh, yeah. This always happens after a wish, and it gets worse each time. It's as if the wish really comes out of me, and it costs me something in energy. And sanity, probably.

Maybe I had a choice about granting wishes? I tried to seize that thought and do something with it but it slipped away from me into a darkness that reached out and swallowed me up as well.

---

continued in [B is for Boy]

Read More [The Fairy King]

What's in a name? Do clothes make the girl? Can you kill your father for calling you "Daisy" in front of a boy?

Part 6 - B is for Boy

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 12

Plan B

I heard them talking about me while Daddy carried me into the house. "She fainted," he said, sounding concerned and baffled.

"What?" Mom said from behind me. "Did you just call Ethan, 'she'?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Get the door open."

I opened my eyes and looked up into Daddy's face. "I'm sorry," I said. I still felt weak and confused, my head hurt and I had a weird copper taste in my mouth.

"It's okay, sugar."

"Is he breathing all right?" Mom asked.

"I'm fine," I assured her. At least, my breathing seemed back to normal. "This is silly, Daddy, you can put me down now." But I lifted my arms and put them around his neck. He carried me down the short hallway into the living room and put me down on the couch. I relaxed and for a moment, I just lay there looking up at my parents.

"Why did you faint, honey?" Mom wanted to know.

"I'm not sure I can tell you," I said. "It took me by surprise, too." I didn't want to mention wishes or curses or fairy bells; it would lead to all kinds of confusion. If I had trouble believing in them when I had been an eyewitness and participant, how could I expect my parents to accept the existence of fairy magic? Besides, they already had an explanation they seemed to accept, an explanation that made me feel just as weird about myself as the idea of being the victim of a fairy curse. Have I always been a girl, I wondered, a girl victimized by some misguided surgery or did the magic alter the past? Either way, my life had gotten very weird in the last day or so.

"Stress," Daddy suggested. "I think you fainted because of stress. This has been pretty stressful. I'm sorry if anything I said made it worse?"

I shook my head, "No, Daddy." But it had been something he said; he'd made a wish.

Mom sat down beside me, "Can you sit up?"

I did so. She brushed at my hair. I sat with my knees together, it just felt right to do so. I left one hand in my lap and put my other arm around Mom, for comfort. "I had just told Daddy that I was going to give it a try?" I told her.

"Give what a try?" She frowned at Daddy, not at me.

I looked at her. "Being your daughter?"

"Oh, baby," she sighed. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Sure as I can be." It still scared the crap out of me, but Daddy's wish didn't leave me much choice. I felt compelled to agree to the trial now. Maybe it was what I wanted to do, too, but how much did the magic have to do with that wanting?

"You're not just doing this to avoid the boys picking on you?"

"Uh, no. That's sort of a side benefit, though." I grinned a little shakily.

Mom looked up at Daddy then back at me. "Are you going to do this because...because you've been noticing boys lately?"

I put one hand over my eyes and shivered. "I think that might be part of it?" And that might be the weirdest part of all of this.

"Adventure? Novelty? Challenge?" Daddy suggested.

I nodded. "All that, and logic and practicality, too." I giggled at the absurdity. "You made a good case for giving it a go, Daddy." I shivered again. "I'm cold."

"Hmm," he said.

Mom glared at him. "You talked her into it on the drive up?" She went to the hall closet and took out my jacket again that she had just put away.

Daddy grinned. "No, I don't think I did. And you just used a 'her', yourself."

Mom sighed and gave me the jacket to wear, then a hug. Maybe the wish had made Mom more easily talked into this, too. "Well, okay," she conceded. "But this is going to take some getting used to."

"You're telling me?" I said. The jacket helped but it felt odd, too; it was a boy's jacket.

Mom laughed and Daddy smiled. He sat down on the other side of me and I wanted to hug them both at the same time but my arms weren't long enough. "What are you going to call yourself, punkin?"

I shook my head. "Parents pick names. And you already picked mine."

Mom sniffed. "Megan Alexis," she said.

"I thought it was Megan Elizabeth," Daddy said. "I meant to tell you that in the car, punkin."

"Ethan Alexander or Megan Alexis, that's what we decided years ago, Alec," Mom said.

"You sneaked that one by me," Daddy complained. "I thought we had agreed to Ethan Montgomery and then you used Alexander when you filled out the forms." Montgomery was Daddy's mother's maiden name.

"Ew?" I said.

"My sentiments exactly, honey," Mom said. We all laughed.

I couldn't imagine being named Montgomery, even for a middle name. And especially not now. "Uh, well if it wasn't completely settled..." I began.

"Do you want to go with Eden?" Daddy asked. "That boy already thinks that's your name?"

"Um," I said. "Two boys, I think." Dad's eyebrows went up. "Well, it would save some explanations." I squirmed a little.

"Eden Alexis?" asked Mom.

"Forget Alexis," said Daddy. "You give a kid two names so if they don't like the odd one they can go with the ordinary one. Two odd names defeats the purpose."

I giggled and rolled my eyes.

"Megan Eden doesn't sound right," Mom said. "Nor does Eden Megan."

"Two odd names again. How about Margaret Eden," Daddy suggested. "No, Maggie's name is Margaret." Dad's older sister, Aunt Maggie of the red hair.

"That's why we call our little Margie--Megan," said Mom, smiling at me.

Dad laughed. "Okay with me. Punkin?" he looked at me.

I gulped. "Okay, uh, Margaret Eden Bartlett? That's my name?" It felt so weird to say it the first time. I repeated it, "Margaret Eden Bartlett." I imagined answering a roll call, filling out papers with that name. It didn't feel as weird the second time.

"That sounds pretty, and I've used Margaret in a book," Mom said. "And that way we can call you Eden or Megan--it's really a nickname for Margaret--either one, and if we slip and call you Ethan, well, we'll just pretend we lithped." She grinned at me, then kissed me on the cheek. "My little Daisy."

"Daisy?" I squeaked.

"That's what Margaret means, it's--uh?--French, for Daisy."

"Don't call me Daisy!" I said.

Daddy laughed. "Okay, punkin. Is it going to feel odd for me to kiss you?"

"Probably," I admitted.

He gave me a light peck on the forehead. It didn't feel that odd, it felt nice. I don't think he had actually kissed me in four or five years. I gave them hugs in turn. "Thank you," I said. I think I might have shed a tear or two but just at that moment, the doorbell rang.

"Who the heck would that be?" Daddy asked. "It's after eight?"

"Megan's boyfriend?" Mom suggested.

"Omigod! Phillip! He said he would come by," I squeaked.

Daddy got up and started toward the front door and I ran for the stairs. Mom followed, calling back, "It's the backdoor bell, Alec. Ding, Dong, Ding. The front bell goes Dong, Dong."

"Oh right," Daddy said and reversed direction. "I wonder if it is him?"

Somehow, Mom and I ended up in Phoebe's room.

I didn't know what to do.

Mom asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know!" I said. I had panicked. What did I know about how to be a girl?

"Well, he's only seen you in boy clothes, right?" She went to Phoebe's closet.

"Uh, yeah?" I said.

Mom started looking through tops and things. "Take off your jacket and shirt, both of them," she said.

My hands were trembling but I did so. Two little points grew on my chest when the cold air hit me. I dropped the jacket and both shirts on the bed. Having breasts felt weird, even small ones, but I had never imagined them feeling like big goosebumps.

I wanted to clasp my arms across my chest to hide them but before I could, Mom handed me a yellow top decorated with pink and blue flowers at the neckline and the short sleeves. It looked incredibly girly. "Put this on," she ordered.

I swallowed hard but pulled it on and turned to look in the mirror. The top fit very well, maybe Phoebe had left it behind because it was too small for her. I tried to adjust it a bit but nothing changed the fact that I looked like a girl wearing a girl's yellow pullover blouse which somehow just seemed right. It absolutely boggled my mind.

"Your hair is kind of short, honey," Mom complained. She took one of Phoebe's brushes and attempted to give a little shape to my boy's hair style. Luckily, I had resisted getting a haircut over the summer on the grounds that my head would need the extra insulation since we were moving to the mountains. And to me, it seemed as if my hair had grown two weeks worth in the last day or so.

The truth was, I'd always hated haircuts at the barber and going to the hair salon with Mom had been too embarrassing. I wondered what that would be like now?

"Do I look okay?" I asked when she seemed to be about finished.

She looked at my chest. "You...I?" she blinked. "You know, you really should be wearing a bra?"

"Yike." I commented.

She started going through the drawers in Phoebe's dresser. It had been moved from our other house with the contents pretty much in place. "Ah," Mom said, lifting something out. "One of Phoebe's old padded A-cups."

I made some sort of noise.

"Take off the top again," Mom ordered.

"But, you just fluffed my hair up," I protested. "Do I really need a bra?"

"Physically, no," Mom admitted. "But no daughter of mine is going to be seen with her itty-bitty-titties making tents in her blouse."

I coughed in embarrassment but pulled off the top. The bra was fairly plain, white with only a little lace inset on the cups. Mom showed me how to fasten it in front, turn it around, adjust the straps--and stuff a little extra tissue in each cup. "You'll fill out soon enough," she said. "Well, I guess you will? Hmm."

I felt sure that I would, that the magic would continue transforming me. If I didn't find some way of reversing all of the wishes, I'd probably end up as curvy as my sister. I felt my face burning again. Wearing a bra seemed strange and embarrassing but somehow appropriate and oddly made me feel more grownup. The padding made larger but smoother bumps in my new blouse when I pulled it back on. I poked one of the bumps gently, I could barely feel it, and I giggled when I saw Mom grin.

She rummaged around till she found some smaller panties in the dresser also. Pink ones with a lacy waist band. "Phoebe left a lot of stuff behind she probably should have thrown away. Her butt is too big for these, I'm sure. They belong to you now."

I stared at them.

"Megan!" Mom said sharply. "Take off those trousers and whatever you have on under them and put these panties on."

"You're not going to make me wear a skirt are you?" I asked.

"Not tonight," she grinned at me. "You wouldn't know how to avoid giving a free show. Now strip."

I did. I pulled the panties up, their cool silkiness so very different from boys' undies. What the magic had left of my maleness hardly showed once I had settled the pink panties in place. I gawked at the mirror, absurdly pleased at how I looked. My slender legs looked very girlish and the panties made them seem even more so. Someone giggled happily and I realized it must be me.

Daddy called from downstairs. "Megan! There's a boy here to see you!" He sounded as if he were enjoying himself and I wondered if he were giving Phillip a hard time.

Mom had laid out a pair of bright blue slacks and some fluffy socks on the bed. She looked my sneaks over and decided they would have to do. "Phoebe's shoes would be too big for you," she said. "Girl is only five-five and she wears an eight-double-A. Ski-foot. I hope those slacks aren't too long for you. Nor too big in the seat?"

I tried them on. The stretchy fabric didn't have to stretch much to fit me, so they worked well enough. I remembered that the last time Phoebe had worn them they looked as if they had been spray-painted on. On me they were simply snug, showing curves I hadn't really known I had acquired. I liked how I looked in them, slender but not a boy. I felt a bit dizzy with my own reactions.

Dad called again. "What's the hold up, up there?"

Mom scowled. "For gosh sake, what's he doing? He knows I'm not going to send you down looking like a tomboy!"

I giggled while putting the socks on, then slipped my feet into my sneaks and tied them quickly. My feet hadn't changed size, so they fit well enough and they didn't look anymore boyish than what a lot of girls wore. I wore a size four, narrow, and Phoebe was several inches taller than me, but size eight did sound like big feet. Bigger than I would have thought even when I found out the conversion between men's sizes and women's, later.

Mom had moved over to Phoebe's jewelry case. "Slim pickings here," she muttered. "Mostly one-of earrings and stuff with broken fasteners."

"Do I really need jewelry?" I asked. I stared at myself in a mirror and fiddled with my hair a bit.

"Yes, you do," Mom said firmly. "You should really wear at least two pieces of jewelry, not counting a watch, for any activity other than slopping the hogs." She sounded like she might be quoting her mother, my Grammy Lisle, who had grown up on a farm.

I giggled again while she fastened a gold-colored charm bracelet on my wrist. "I bought that cat's head for Phoebe myself, about four years ago," I said, fingering the charm. A teddy bear, a heart and a crescent moon kept the cat's head company. It felt very odd to wear pretty jewelry.

Mom looped a string of bright blue beads around my neck; they almost matched my slacks--Phoebe's slacks. "You'd better be careful when you unfasten this," she warned. "I'm using a small safety pin, instead of the broken clasp, but your hair is long enough to cover that sin."

"Megan!" Daddy bellowed.

"I'm going to kill him," Mom muttered, picking up the hairbrush again.

"He's a method actor," I said. My heart had resumed pounding or fluttering or whatever. I felt a bit queasy. Phillip was downstairs and he would see me and he thought I was a girl and I was about to prove it to him by the way I was dressed. Butterflies danced in my tummy and Daddy's cheerful enthusiasm made me even more nervous

"There's madness in his method," Mom muttered. She spritzed me with a dab of cologne, then searched through the cosmetics.

"What?" I asked. Phoebe's scent seemed to fill the room, flowers and a little musk and spice. I didn't sneeze so Mom must have been careful to pick one of the colognes she knew I wasn't allergic to.

She grabbed my chin. "Lipstick. Hold still." She did my mouth quickly, had me blot on a tissue and did it again. We looked at the result in the mirror.

The padded bra and the stretchy pants emphasized my new female shape. Lipstick, jewelry and fluffed out hair completed a look that might not be high fashion but surely did not look boyish. "Omigod!" I gasped, stunned at how I looked.

"You may be prettier than Phoebe," Mom said critically.

Maybe the oddest thing was that I didn't feel at all uncomfortable in the clothes, makeup and jewelry. It felt right in a way nothing else I'd ever worn had.

I did a little turn to see how I looked from the side. My padded bust stuck out enough to be noticeable but more than that, I felt surprised to realize something else. "I'm actually pretty?" I said, running my hands over my thighs to smooth my borrowed slacks.

"Margaret Eden Bartlett! Get your round little butt down here!" Daddy called again.

I closed my eyes. Daddy was treating me exactly how he had treated Phoebe; she'd always complained that he enjoyed embarrassing her and her boyfriends. "I'm going to kill him," I muttered.

---

Chapter 13

Meet the Parents

"What took you so long?" Daddy asked when he saw me at the top of the stairs.

"Daddy!" I complained. Just looking at me, he had to know what I'd been doing. But he was acting like...I don't know how he was acting? He baffled me.

"They'll never tell you," he said to Phillip. Then to me, "You look fine, punkin, but I still don't see what took so long."

Phillip looked up at me with the biggest smile I'd seen from him yet. It looked a little worn around the edges, probably from being left alone with my dad for almost twenty minutes. "You do look nice, Eden," he said.

I almost tripped, but managed to recover without having to obviously catch myself. "Thank you," I said. A hot bubble of anxiety threatened to burst inside me and flood the room with panicked giggles. The butterflies had grown as big as condors in my stomach.

"Phillip here tells me he asked you to go to a party on Monday," Daddy said, as casual as if such things happened every day..

"It's an afternoon party in Number Three, at the Atterberys', a neighborhood barbeque." Phillip explained. "And really, you're all invited, anyway?"

"Uh-huh." Dad said. "The invitation was in our mailbox this morning." He winked at me.

I got to the living room without falling on my face and looked up at Phillip. He seemed even taller than before, taller than Daddy. He had on a clean fresh shirt and his strawberry-blond hair gleamed.

Mom had followed me down the stairs. "Are we going to go, Alec?"

"Sure," Dad said. "I don't see why not. If Adam and Dannie show up, they can join us. The note from Mr. Atterbery says so. And Sean and Phoebe and whoever they might bring, too." Dannie was Adam's wife, about six months along with their first baby. I gulped, imagining having to explain what had happened to me to the rest of my family. Tomorrow? No, Monday, I would have another day to...well, maybe I could find the fairies and get all of the magic undone.

Maybe not. Maybe I would be stuck as a girl the rest of my life. I looked at Phillip and thought that possibility didn't actually sound terrible at all. It should, but it didn't.

"That's great, Mr. Bartlett," said Phillip. He didn't touch me, he just looked at me. I wondered that I wanted him to touch me; it didn't seem reasonable or sane to want such a thing.

"It's not a date," Dad said, looking at me. Then to Phillip, "Megan is too young to date, she's only thirteen."

"I'll be fourteen on the fifth of October," I said, startling myself.

"And you're sixteen?" Dad said to Phillip.

"Yes, sir. Uh, seventeen in February."

"Good God, boy, you're robbing the cradle here."

"Daddy!"

"And you must be a foot taller than our little Daisy," Dad went on.

"Don't call me Daisy!" I said.

Phillip looked a bit confused. "Daisy?" he said, looking at me.

"Don't start," I said. "I hate that nickname." I couldn't believe it when Dad started quacking. "Stop that!" I said. It took me a moment to figure out, why a duck? I wanted to throw something at him.

"Don't get smart with Megan's friends, Alec," Mom put in.

Daddy subsided with a grin. "Phillip's going to get to know us sooner or later, he only lives two doors down. The insanity in our family is all hereditary, son."

"It...!" I couldn't think what to say. No wonder Phoebe hadn't brought her boyfriends over very often. I used to think Dad's manic acts were funny but now I understood why she had said she felt like hitting him with something heavy.

"Alec!" Mom said. "Go to your room!"

"Yes, dear. All the women in the family are incredibly bossy, too." He sauntered off toward his den behind the stairwell. "Have we got any coffee, Vickie?"

"I'll make some," Mom promised, heading toward the kitchen. "Do you kids want a soda or something?"

They were leaving. Leaving me alone in the living room with Phillip. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment.

Phillip looked at my chest. "No, thank you, Mrs. Bartlett," he said politely.

Blushing, I just shook my head when Mom looked at me, then she left and I turned to walk toward the couch.

"I get it," said Phillip. "Daisy Duck. Is your Dad a stand-up comedian?"

"Uh, no? He's a sewer engineer."

Phillip made a noise that might have been a strangled laugh. "He's pretty funny." He recovered his cool quickly, I noticed, his face completely sober again.

I grinned weakly and flopped onto the couch, remembering to pull my knees together at the last moment. For a moment my brain disconnected while I tried to figure out why I felt I should keep my knees together. I didn't really need to, I wasn't wearing a skirt after all. But Phoebe always sat this way, especially if a boy were over.

I glanced toward Phillip. He was why I felt suddenly awkward, as if someone had put my joints together badly. Why should that be? I'd felt fine upstairs, even a bit graceful -- another odd thought.

Phillip sat near the other end, looking toward the kitchen and the hallway. "I guess I'd better not stay too long? Uh, are they serious about you being too young to date?"

I pulled my brain out a tailspin and managed an answer. "I guess so. No one's ever asked me before?"

"That's hard to believe." Phillip stared at me. "I thought you were cute earlier today when you were dressed like a boy, but really--uh, Megan?--you're much prettier now."

"Megan's what my folks call me," I said. "Uh...."

"Eden," he said.

I blushed but babbled on. "Yeah. I like my middle name, um..." Especially when he said it, for some reason. This just kept feeling weirder and weirder. Weirdest when it didn't feel weird but only exciting.

"I like Eden, too," said Phillip and gave me another of his secret smiles when I kept blushing.

The intensity of how I felt seemed suddenly overwhelming, I thought I might be going to pass out again. "I..I like you, too," I stammered.

"Group dates," he said.

"Huh?" My brain conjured up a palm tree with lots of hanging bunches--groups?--of dates. Stupid brain.

"We'll have to go on group dates, till they decide you're old enough? You know, like several couples or a school dance or something like that?"

Until I got old enough? When would that be? Would I still be a girl then? I shook my head. "I don't know. I'll have to find out?"

"Okay," he said. He stood up and held a hand out to me. I put my hand in his; it felt as if my pulse were right in my fingertips. He pulled me gently to my feet.

I looked up at him. I felt tiny and delicate instead of short and scrawny.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked.

"Shopping? I think?" I don't know why that occurred to me suddenly, but it sounded like a good idea. I remembered something else. "Maybe having lunch with Dolly and Molly Hawthorne?"

"Maybe we'll see each other," he said. "I usually ride Roland around four."

"Okay." I know I smiled at him, I'm just not exactly sure why. At least, why that particular smile.

He gave my hand a little squeeze and turned to go. I guess I had thought he would kiss me and the disappointment I felt surprised me. It scared me, too. I wanted him to kiss me? This all seemed to be happening so fast. Could it be this easy to slip into thinking of myself as a girl? It had to be the magic.

I followed him through to the sliding glass back door. Mom smiled at us from behind the bar separating the kitchen and dining room and Phillip politely said to her, "Good night, Mrs. Bartlett."

"Good night, Phillip. We will see you on Monday, then?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. Then to me, "Night, Eden." He smiled his gentle, quirky smile.

I felt as if my legs had turned to water but I smiled back and grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling down. "'Night. Phillip," I managed.

He stepped out into the night and I almost panicked. I had a sudden vision of squads of fairy archers and platoons of rabid raccoons waiting for him. The Fairy Queen had already demonstrated her jealousy, and there were bears and cougars in these mountains, would they obey her will? I started out the door after Phillip.

"Just close the door, Megan," Mom said sharply.

"But...it's dark out, he's...I...?"

"Don't chase him, for gosh sake, he's a big boy. He'll be safe, honey, let him go." She came around the corner of the bar to make sure I had closed the door. "You're not going to be boy crazy like Phoebe was at your age, are you?"

"I hope not," I told her honestly. I hadn't really been aware of a lot of Phoebe's activities five and six years ago but I did remember her getting grounded for three months once for staying out too long and coming home with hickies. My face burned because I suddenly imagined Phillip kissing me on the neck.

Mom gave me a hug. "Poor baby. I'm sure this is all more mysterious and confusing to you than it feels like to me."

"Uh huh." I didn't tell her about the image in my mind. Two days ago I would never have thought of such a thing. Or, was that really true?

She locked the back door while I staggered to a dining room chair and sat down. I tried to tell Mom about part of what had me so confused. "Mom, he really likes me and that is just super-strange?"

"Yes, I guess it is," she said.

"He...he wouldn't like me if he found out..." I murmured.

"Don't worry about it, dear. No one is going to know, watching you tonight--well, I have trouble believing we thought you were a boy all these years."

"Really?" What a strange thought and yet being a boy, growing up thinking I was a boy seemed just as strange. Stranger maybe.

Dad came through the hall and smiled at me. "He's a bit Wally Cleaverish, don't you think?"

"Huh?" But I knew who he meant from the re-runs on cable; the Beaver's older brother who always seemed so earnest and polite. Phillip did seem a bit like Wally. "I like him, Daddy," I said, sounding a bit defensive, probably.

"I noticed," he said drily. Then to Mom, "We'd better have a talk with her, quickly."

Mom nodded.

"Huh?" I said, probably sounding as stupid as I felt.

---

continued in [Circumstantial Evidence]

Read More [The Fairy King]

Mom discusses how to discourage a groper -- and Tintabelle delivers a verdict. Nightgowns and muskrats, it's a weird episode.

Part 7 - Circumstantial Evidence

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 14

The Truth about Boys

We sat around the dining room table, Dad drank coffee and Mom and I had diet soda. "I do know, how, um, how sex works?" I said. "And, uh..."

"You're not properly equipped. Yet." Dad scowled. "So you can't let things get that far, it's even more dangerous for you than for other girls."

Other girls. I nodded. It didn't take much imagination to fear what might happen if someone discovered my secret in the wrong circumstances.

"Boys have one thing on their mind," Dad began. "Oh, they think of other things, too, but there's one thought that is always there and they keep coming back to it. Sex."

I sighed. It wasn't that long ago that I'd been a boy, less than forty-eight hours, I knew what he was saying was true for most boys. Had it been true for me? I didn't really know.

"And since they know damn-little about sex, they think about it even more. Imagining and dreaming and picturing it. It's mostly harmless but for girls it can be dangerous."

My face burned. "I'll be careful," I whispered.

"You have to be more than careful, honey," said Mom. "You have to be aware. Even a nice boy can take things further than you or he intended if you let him. You really do seem to have the reactions a girl your age would have, so I need to give you this warning, too. If you let things go far enough, both of you will likely lose control. It's just nature trying to continue the species but you have to stop when you still can."

"You can get hurt," Daddy said. "Any girl can but for you, well, you've got a medical problem."

"I'm...I'm just trying this out?" I tried to say.

"Being a girl? I know that that was the agreement, so we're going to try to treat you like we would if we'd always known you were our daughter."

"What I meant, I'm not going to let things go that direction--at all!"

"Hmph!" said Mom. "That wasn't what I was seeing earlier this evening. You like Phillip, he likes you. If he'd tried to kiss you what would you have done?"

"Uh..." I really didn't know.

"Have a plan, sugar," said Daddy. "You were safe enough with both of us here and Phillip is a nice boy. But know what you're going to do in various situations, from changing the subject to yelling for the cops to taking direct personal action. I know you hated those self-defense classes I made you take but you do remember some of it, don't you?"

I nodded. I wasn't sure I could actually use any of it, hitting someone had never been something I wanted to learn.

Daddy frowned. "We'll get you some more classes, punkin. Phoebe hated them, too, and she's never had to use them but knowing how to fight when you have to is something everyone should learn.

"And I'll give you some lessons in how to manage boys and men so you don't end up in a situation where you need to kill one," Mom said. "We'll discuss specifics later, when your father isn't here to get embarrassed."

Dad grinned. "She's managed me for over twenty-five years," he said, "so you better listen to her, too."

 
Mom and I did talk about things after Dad went back to his office, such as why you should carry something hard and heavy in your purse sometimes and what to do if someone tries to grope you in an elevator. My brain was still going bonzo over the idea of carrying a purse when Mom got to part about the elevator. "Move away if you can, step on his feet if it's a crowded elevator then apologize all over the place. Keep apologizing until he is out of sight, and look him in the eye and smile while doing it." Mom demonstrated with a harpy-like grimace that sent me into giggles.

"Now," Mom said, "that was a first lesson. There's lots more to learn and I'm sure your father is going to want to give you more physical lessons. Expect to get harangued on this subject at irregular intervals whenever your father or I get nervous about what you are doing or the boys you are seeing."

"Oh, no!" I said.

"Oh, yes," she nodded. "We are not going to let you get hurt because we didn't tell you things you needed to know."

"Um, okay. But I reserve the right to whine and complain about it if you get too annoying." I remembered Phoebe doing so when she got parental lectures.

Mom laughed. "Don't get too smart with your mother, dear. Unlike Phoebe, you're still smaller than me and I can whup your ass."

"Mom!"

She shook her head. "I've never even spanked you, you've been a good kid. I can't believe this all sneaked up on me."

"Sneaked up on me, too," I said.

"I can't remember you ever saying anything about...well, about feeling like a girl or wanting to be one."

"I don't think I did." I felt pretty sure I hadn't and still wouldn't if my brain and body hadn't been warped by fairy magic. "I really don't think the thought occurred to me." Pretty sure.

Mom didn't say anything for a bit, we both thought about things, I guess. Finally, she said, "We knew you might be different, honey. Your father and I hadn't forgotten the decision we made when you were a baby, we're not idiots. We knew the doctors might be wrong when they told us we should raise you as a boy."

I stared at her, wondering how much the magic might have re-written my past; and wondering again if any of this were real at all. It didn't feel completely real.

"We had to let you try to be a boy, E-Eden." We both smiled at her near slip. "But we didn't want to force you, just help you when you needed it. You weren't like Sean and Adam were, all energy and noise but you were sick a lot. Still, now and then, we wondered and we talked a little about it."

"You did?" I said, feeling a bit stupid.

She nodded. "Not much," she said. "It was a scary thing to think about. And usually not directly. Alec would mention that you weren't that interested in sports or I would mention how you always seemed to notice what people were wearing and how they had done their hair."

"Huh?"

"Nothing really," Mom said. "Just you weren't a stereotypical boy, at least, not like your brothers." She sighed. "Last year, we talked about what we might say if it turned out you were gay."

"Uh? You did? Why did you think I might be gay?" I probably turned red at the idea that my parents had been talking about my--sexual orientation.

Mom shrugged. "No reason really. Little things. You didn't seem that interested in either girls or boys, really."

"I don't think I'm gay, Mom," I said.

"No, you're not gay; you like boys, don't you?" She smiled and we both giggled a bit.

Then Mom looked sad. "We're so sorry, honey. We should have figured this all out years ago but we just didn't know."

"But I didn't know either so...it's okay?" I squirmed. I almost told her right then that none of this was her fault, or Daddy's, that I hadn't always been this way, that it was just the betrothal curse of the Fairy Queen. But I couldn't see that going over real well so I kept my mouth shut. Instead I said, "Besides, uh, the doctors may discover something or...." Or I might get the magic reversed. If I still wanted to.

"We'll see, honey. But we have to give you a chance to be Megan, if you want it. And Tuesday, I'm going to call some lawyers and see what it would take to get your birth certificate changed, when and if we need to."

"Uh," I said. "School. You took my birth certificate in and showed it to them, didn't you?"

"I had it with me but they just took your transcript from West L.A. They never asked for the birth certificate."

"How will we handle that, I've already registered as Ethan?" I asked.

"Well, that's the first thing to do on Tuesday, I'll go down and register you again, as Megan--or Margaret Eden--and pull Ethan's registration. Ethan went back to live with grandma and you're here, Ethan's twin sister as far as the school is concerned. We won't say that but you have the same birthday...."

"Don't you think they'll recognize me?" I said.

Mom's eyes widened. "Wouldn't anyone expect a girl to look like her brother?" She grinned. "Besides, they saw you for only a few minutes...hmm. You know, we probably will have to tell someone, in order to keep you out of P.E. Maybe you'll have to miss the first days of school so we can get a note from a doctor?" I must have looked very worried because Mom patted my hand. "It'll be okay, I'm sure this sort of thing has happened before. Somebody knows how to handle it and we'll just have to find out who? Your Dad is a whiz on the internet, you know, there's tons of information out there, besides all the smut."

"I don't want to be weird," I said, surprising myself.

"You're not weird, for goodness sake, you've just got a medical condition."

"Mom, in school, that's the same thing! I know, 'cause I've had a medical condition all my life. The kids treat you different, even the teachers. And, and, different is bad, in school."

"It shouldn't be that way," Mom said.

"But it is," I surprised myself again by not crying, this was a painful subject I'd hardly ever talked about, with anyone. "I'd just like to be a normal kid. Even--even a normal girl is better than being a medical freak."

She didn't say anything for a moment, letting what I had said just lie there. "Are you saying you don't want us to take a note to school explaining things to them?" she asked when she decided I wasn't going to start crying.

"Why does anyone else have to know?"

"What about P.E. honey? Gym class, you can't--um--change clothes in front of the other girls."

Other girls. I didn't know what to say about that. The idea of being in a locker room full of girls changing clothes hadn't actually occurred to me until just then. "I guess not," I admitted. Not until and if the magic--or something else!--got rid of the last evidence of my former boyhood.

Mom tried to be reassuring again. "Well, I'll investigate. One of the schools I went to had a policy that shy girls could change in little private cubicles. I think there was some odd religious group around. I promise, honey, neither your father nor I will tell anyone who doesn't need to know."

I sighed. "Okay."

"The situation is strange for all of us, isn't it?"

I nodded.

She smiled. "Want to go upstairs and raid Phoebe's stuff for things you can wear?"

"Uh. I--yeah, I guess so." I knew what I wanted to do--go out looking for the Fairy Queen--but I also knew that wasn't going to happen at nearly nine o'clock.

"You don't sound so enthusiastic."

"It's not something I'd ever thought of doing, you know?" I grinned weakly. "Won't Phoebe get mad, too?"

"None of the stuff you'll be taking would fit her anymore; she should have got rid of it when we moved." Mom said. "She did get rid of some stuff, so there really isn't that much you can wear. You're so slender."

"Skinny. Scrawny."

She laughed. "No, dear, welcome to the new world, now you are fashionably thin. A lot of the girls at school are going to be envious of your figure."

I stared at her. "You've got to be kidding. Last week, I was a boy and I still don't have that much of a figure?" I looked down, startled a bit to see the protrusions that were really mostly the padding in one of Phoebe's old bras. They seemed larger somehow and it was still a bit odd to see breasts, even mostly fake ones on myself. Then again, I felt a curious sense of satisfaction at seeing the evidence of my transformation. And that was almost more disturbing than the physical changes.

Mom stood and pulled me to my feet. "C'mon, we should measure you, figure out your sizes and I'll take you shopping for some of your own things tomorrow."

I wanted to protest that I didn't want to go shopping, a boring activity in my experience, but from Mom's point of view, it did make sense. And I had already told Phillip that that was where I'd be. I followed her upstairs, thinking we would--play dress up--with Phoebe's clothes for a bit then I'd say I was tired and go to bed early, so I could get up early and go looking for Queen Tintabelle.

We found two more pairs of slacks I could wear and another of Phoebe's old bras. Mom also filched for me four tops she claimed would be indecent on my sister's more developed chest and I had a week's worth of clean panties, too. A sweater, some more junk jewelry and a few odds and ends completed our raid. Trying on the clothes had been weird but Mom seemed to enjoy it. I couldn't decide if I wanted to be pleased about all the new experiences or not, but some part of me definitely was.

"We'll buy you some of your own things tomorrow, hon," Mom promised.

"That's going to be expensive," I said. "And you just bought new stuff for me for school."

"Well, some of that you can still wear, I think?" Mom said. "Girls can wear boy's clothing and it's cute, you know?"

I blushed. I still felt like a boy wearing girl's clothes, sometimes, and that isn't cute--it's either funny or stupid or sick. At least, most people think it is. Mostly, though, I felt more and more comfortable when dressed as a girl. Things were happening too fast.

"I'm pooped," I said, and I didn't need to exaggerate the yawning to make it look real.

"Stress, excitement," Mom nodded. "Why don't you go to bed, honey? We can get an early start tomorrow, hit the malls, maybe get your hair done?"

"Yike. Okay," I headed toward my own room, carrying part of the loot. Mom followed and we put most of it away. "These jeans you can still wear," she commented about some of my new Ethan clothes.

"They're going to be tight in the seat," I said.

Mom frowned. "You'd think I would have noticed that when we bought them."

"Uh, well it--like I said, it happened really fast?"

"Oh!" Mom said and dashed off for Phoebe's room. She came back with a nightgown.

"Mom!" I complained.

"Just try it on, dear. It's brand new, Phoebe didn't take it with her for some reason and it will fit you."

I took off my shirt and pants--again--and my bra!--and pulled the nightgown on. It fell to my ankles, all soft and silky feeling; there seemed to be a lot of material. "What's it made of?" I asked, looking in the mirror at the startling image.

"Poly-cotton, but it's a nice blend. It'll be warm enough for you, but not too warm. The color looks good on you."

She was right, I thought, a kind of pale green-aqua with tiny orange-pink flower trim around the neck and sleeves that made my hair look redder and my eyes greener. The way it was cut, I looked like I had more shape up top than I actually did after taking off the padded bra. "It's pretty," I admitted.

"You're pretty, dear," Mom said. She gave me a hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Get some sleep."

"Okay," I climbed into bed, realizing as I did that the soft nightie would keep my sensitive nipples from being rubbed by the harsher sheets. It actually felt nice and I giggled a little, embarrassed that I was enjoying the feel.

Mom turned out the light and closed the door behind her. "Good night, Megan," she said.

"Good night, Mom," I said.

Of course, five minutes later, Daddy came up and knocked on the door. "You decent, honey?" he asked. Last week he would never have asked and certainly wouldn't have called me 'honey'.

"I'm in bed," I said. "C'mon in, Daddy."

He came in, "Okay if I turn the light on for a moment?"

"Sure," I said. I propped myself up on an elbow and closed my eyes until the lights were on. When I opened them, Daddy was kneeling by the bed to look me right in the face.

"Pretty strange day, huh, kid?" he said.

I nodded.

"You're a brave one, I think."

"Brave?"

"This is unknown territory, isn't it? The natives may be hostile." He grinned. "You look cute in that nightie."

I blushed. "Can I be cute and brave at the same time?"

"Sure," he said. He bent closer and kissed me on the cheek. "Good night, punkin."

"Good night, Daddy." Impulsively, I kissed him back, just a peck on the cheek. Giggling in embarrassment, I pulled the covers up around my face. Still chuckling, he left the room and turned out the light again.

I felt safe and warm though I doubted I would be going to sleep right away, too much to think about. But I surprised myself and drifted off while wondering how I in the world I would manage to find the Fairy Court and its tiny queen in the morning.

---

Chapter 15

The Fairy Trial

I had a very strange dream, probably no surprise, but I remembered parts of this one later. I woke up several times during it, or maybe I dreamed it more than once; either way I spent a restless night in and out of the Fairy Court. In the dream, I lay helpless while the tiny warriors of Queen Tintabelle bound me hand and foot to the rocks near where I had accidentally killed King Fritharic.

I spent a lot of time wondering if this were a dream or a memory and remembering that at the time, I'd wondered if it were a dream. The queen and her advisors supervised, standing around talking while others did the work. I could hear and see them since they stood on top of a flat rock right near my head.

"The sleeping draughts on the arrows will keep the giant helpless while we cut his throat," said Duke Leandro, the Grand Weasel. "I don't understand the need to bind him."

"So we can have a trial," bubbled the Queen. "Oh, it's been simply ages since we've had a capital trial and they are such fun. You shall be the prosecutor, my dearest Leandro."

The Duke looked suitably bloodthirsty at the prospect. "Well, if you insist, but it is just for form's sake, isn't it?"

"Just so," said the Queen. "We must obey the forms or we are simple woodland spirits and not a Queen and Her Court at all. I shall sit as judge. John Jay, you shall be the bailiff and Doctor Mushrat shall provide the defense." A sharp-faced, black-coated rodent scowled at that.

I tried to struggle against my bonds but I could do nothing, I couldn't even whimper. Part of me knew that I was dreaming a memory but it felt very real.

Quickly the animals and fairies set up a semblance of a courtroom there among the rocks. A small wooden fruit box served as a bench for Tintabelle and the fairies draped it with cobwebs to hide most of the colorful paper label. I could just make out the words, "Sunrise Tomatoes," through the spider silk.

The Queen conferred with her ludicrous courtiers and announced that there would be no jury. "For a jury must be made up of the peers of the defendant, and that would mean twelve more giants. I don't think so, it would just be too tiresome. I shall serve as impartial magistrate and ensure a fair trial, myself."

"Gah!" I managed to protest and I think I may have stirred a little in my sleep.

"Mushrat, keep your client quiet unless you call him to the stand or I shall be forced to gag as well as restrain him."

"Quiet you," hissed my appointed defender, the same moist, black-frocked rodent of elderly appearance who had been scowling at me since the Queen had appointed him to my defense. Then he hit me on the nose with a tiny, furled umbrella.

"Lord Prosecutor, read the charges," intoned the Queen. She looked ridiculously pleased with herself, like a little girl who has talked everyone into letting her play the princess.

Duke Leandro took a deep breath and spoke at length about my habits and ancestors, all of it fabrications or exaggerations that didn't apply to me personally. Like talking about humans capturing fairies and forcing them to lead them to treasure. Finally, he mentioned that I had slain King Fritharic, "most foully and with obvious malice. He should face the gravest penalty this court can pronounce."

The crowd began to cheer but Queen Tintabelle waved for silence and frowned, "Pronounce? I fail to see what my diction has to do with appropriate penalties."

This forced a lengthy conference in which they decided that 'pronounce' in this context amounted to the same thing as 'announce' and had no reference to the Queen's diction at all. "Although, my diction is quite adequate to the pronouncement of any conceivable sentence, I assure you," she told the weasel in a chilly tone.

Doctor Mushrat, in his first act in my defense, said, "The sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick."

"I object," said the Grand Weasel, instantly.

"Sustained," said the Queen. "You're out of order, Doctor. Sentencing comes later, right now you must tell us how you intend to plead your client?"

"Why? What's he got that I want?" said the rodent.

"No, no. Guilty or not guilty, that is how he must plead."

"He can't say a word till the arrow draughts wear off," Dr. Mushrat pointed out.

"That's why you must plead for him."

Mushrat eyed me speculatively. "Well, we all saw him do it, so I guess I have to plead him guilty."

I groaned.

"You can't plead guilty in a capital case, Doctor. The court directs you to plead your client not guilty."

"Why did you ask me how I intended to plead him if you were going to tell me how?"

"We must observe the forms," the queen reminded him haughtily.

The old rodent shivered a bit, lifted his hat and smoothed his fur. "A not guilty plea is absurd. We all know he did it!"

"But you must defend his action, Doctor. Think of some extenuating circumstance, whereby you can admit to your client's known actions but he can be held blameless for any untoward results."

"Like Ol' Freddy being reduced to a green pancake?"

Tintabelle grimaced. "Yes, like that, I suppose. Put some thought into it, surely you can think of something. Duke Leandro will present the case for the prosecution while you think about it. You may confer with your client if you wish."

The weasel puffed himself up like one of those poisonous fish I saw once on PBS. He began to harangue the court with tales of human misdeeds over the centuries. More leprecauns lost their treasure hoards as well as dryads having their trees cut down and nixies being left high and dry by humans draining their ponds. He began to go very far afield to find examples, though.

"What's this fellow Herod and the babies have to do with our case?" the queen asked, interrupting a very creative, if bloody, retelling of the Christmas story.

"It's to lay the groundwork for a charge of congenital criminality, Your Majesty," said the duke, sneering at me.

"When I'm sitting here," she remarked, "I am 'Your Honor'."

The duke nodded. "Your Honor, then, ma'am."

"But I'm still your queen," she reminded him.

"Your Majestic Honor?" the weasel guessed, looking harassed.

She nodded as if appeased. "But if you prove that his fault is congenital, then where's the guilt? Do we try and hang the trout for devouring mayflies, as is his nature?"

"Nah," said a badger in the witness gallery, "we fry'em."

Tintabelle smiled at the Duke while the crowd tittered.

The weasel looked craftily confident, sparing me a glance of pure malignant enthusiasm. "I'll get to that, Your --uh-- Your Honored Majesty. Congenital criminality is different from animal hungers. Humans are rational creatures capable of having motives for the crimes they are driven to commit by their very natures."

"It sounds species-ist to me," said the tiny Queen. "Or is that specious? But you may proceed, Honorable Prosecutor."

"Your Grace," the duke suggested, trying to insist on his title as Tintabelle had hers.

"And yours," agreed the queen.

Dr. Mushrat in the meantime, approached me in the defendant's box and tried to engage me in a discussion of worthy defenses but since all I could do was moan and mumble he eventually became so impatient that he seized my lower lip between his huge incisors and bit nearly completely through. "You great lump of suet! You mildewed mound of misfeasance, what possible defense could there be for killing the Fairy King! It's hopeless." So saying he retreated underneath my chin to mumble and grumble while the Grand Weasel ranted.

The Duke, after a particularly frothy crescendo of accusations, announced in anticlimax, "The prosecution rests, Your Majestic Honor, for we feel we have proved our case beyond a shadow of a glimmer of a thread of a doubt."

Then Queen Tintabelle turned to Dr. Mushrat and said, "You may make your case for the defense."

I thought my goose was cooked, even though intellectually I knew this was a dream that might be a memory and that I had actually survived this encounter. I have to give the old rodent credit, though, he actually came up with a defense. It was at least as ludicrous as the accusations of the weasel but I wouldn't have thought the old mushrat had enough imagination. Or maybe it was my imagination.

In the dream, Dr. Mushrat crawled out upon my chest announcing, "My client is huge! He's enormous! His body is five times longer than the body of any one of us and his legs are nearer ten times longer than ours! He's so big that his colossal head normally gets no timely information about where his distant extremities may be." Here he pointed at my shoe, "His foot killed King Fritharic! But my client is Not Guilty by reason of his enormous length and height making it impossible for him to act as a willing agent of ranacide!"

Ranacide? I thought it was regicide, another one I would have to look up when I awoke. That was the gist of the defense, though, that I couldn't be held accountable for something my foot did. The old rodent also threw in something about if humans were congenitally criminal then I couldn't be responsible for the accident of my birth either. That bit caused Duke Leandro to gobble like a turkey as he tried to voice an objection.

"Oh, do not take on so," Queen Tintabelle told the Grand Weasel. "I think Dr. Mushrat is very clever for having come up with such a defense and if you keep making noises like that someone will put cranberry sauce on your giblets." I half-expected the weasel's eyes to pop out with all the suppressed yelling he didn't utter.

The trial continued for hours it seemed. If I hadn't been asleep it would have been pretty boring as witnesses were called to establish that I had indeed stepped on King Fritharic and he had in fact, expired. I felt pretty bad about that but I had been running out of control down a steep hillside and had not seen the froggy king. Royalty less than twelve inches tall should be required to hold up signs, I wanted to suggest, but I still couldn't say anything at all.

During all of this I realized that Queen Tintabelle wasn't listening to the testimony as much as she was winking and making kissy faces at me. Scary. Before I could really decide what to do about that, things shifted in the way dreams do and the yellow-jacketed bluejay, acting as bailiff, called the court to order to hear the reading of the verdict.

"We find the defendant 'not guilty' of the charge of murder," read Tintabelle. "Murder requires intent and no one has testified that young Ethan intended to kill King Fritharic."

"Slaughter then!" the weasel interrupted. "If he's not guilty of murder then he can be charged with frogslaughter!"

"Too late for new charges, Your Grace," the queen said, showing him her dimples. "You should have thought of that at the beginning of the trial." She went on reading while the weasel sizzled. "The charge of treason is also dismissed; at the time of the incident, Ethan was not a subject of our kingdom and cannot therefore be guilty of treason. On the charge of lese majeste..." she paused, to look at me, "we find the defendant guilty, for intent does not matter in this crime."

Duke Leandro scowled but looked satisfied until the queen continued, "We reject the imposition of capital punishment in this case. By the ancient customs of our prisoner's tribe, killing a king was a time-honored method of becoming king."

"What!" exclaimed the Duke. If you've ever seen a horrified weasel, he looked exactly like that.

Tintatabelle went on. "Since the only method in our fairy tribe of becoming king is to marry me, I will consider a proposal of marriage from the accused." She looked straight at me and fluttered her eyelids.

"Me, marry you?" I exclaimed. Oh no, what a time to discover I could speak again.

"I accept!" said Tintabelle quickly.

"Your Majesty! You can't do this!" The crowd didn't seem as angry as the Duke but the noise sounded less like a breeze in the willows now. No one heard my protest that I hadn't intended my outburst as a proposal.

"He's not a noble!" screamed the Grand Weasel. "You can't marry a commoner! Your Majesty, please!"

"He's right," I said, finally making myself heard. "I'm as common as dirt!"

"Pooh!" said the Queen. "In consideration of your proposal and my acceptance, I grant you the title of Earl of Pincerrie." I heard that as 'Pinchery' (which conjured up some odd images) but I found out later it was just fancy Old English for 'Pine Ridge' or 'Pine Hills'.

Duke Leandro snatched his top hat off his head and began to chew on the brim. "This isn't a punishment! You found him guilty of lese majeste, that merits exile at the very least!"

"Poo-poo! I'll wait till he's king to pronounce sentence on that one." She leered at me. "Once you're king we can lese each others majesty with impunity." I didn't like the sound of that.

"Bring wine! Bring food! Let the Queen's Betrothal Celebration commence!" announced John Jay Audible, loudly.

The party began, complete with the drinking of fairy liquor, songs, dances, and a betrothal kiss from the queen. I still couldn't move my limbs or my body to get away. Her kiss was as light as a butterfly landing on a flower but my face tingled with it for several minutes. "I would give you a betrothal gift, Lord Pincerrie," the queen announced.

But Duke Leandro hadn't forgotten his enmity. "You can't do that, Your Majesty! I insist that you mete out a proper punishment before you begin rewarding this miscreant!"

"You don't have to give me anything," I assured her, feeling desperate. For a dream, this sure seemed real and very dangerous. My head felt ready to explode, I had been thirsty and had drunk three tiny cups of the fairy brew held to my lips without thinking about what it might contain.

The queen laughed. "Perhaps the Duke is right at last. You are a dangerous felon but I do owe you a betrothal gift." She thought a moment. "Very well, since you are a beautiful criminal, like a rose, my gift shall have a thorn." She laughed in my ear. Then she danced and sang.

Thrice three boons but never twain for ane,
A gift--and cunning curse!--now devise;
A boon will ye grant if aught lone claim,
Nor shalt spare any that be to your bane.
Thrice three wishes, but none to the wise
Nor any who know thy rank and name.

No boon may yet another unwind
Save only the ninth and last in time
If made by the one who cast this spell,
The Queen of Forest and Meadows fine,
Who's known by the name of Tintabelle;
She who speaks this wyrd against thy crime.

 
I woke up suddenly with the verses of that song reverberating in my memory and my new nightgown twisted around my body. I struggled to sit up, gasping with frightened knowledge.

Nine wishes. Any person can ask me for one except people who know about the wishes or know my rank--Earl of Pincerrie, I suppose--and my name. Which name? And can a girl be an earl? Earl-ess? That didn't sound right.

One other thing, no wish can undo another except the last wish and only if Tintabelle makes it.

Ouch.

---

Next - [How Real Can It Get?]

More [The Fairy King]

Megan considers options and strategies and makes a decision on who she really wants to be. Then, what could be more real than making pancakes for your parents?

Part 8 - How Real Can It Get?

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 16

Reality Check

The silence in the house seemed so strange after the noise and confusion of the dream-memory. I lay in my bed, trying to think about my situation, trying to plan what I should do.

How many wishes had there been? I'd counted them once before. I'd made the first when I wished that I knew what the dog was thinking. Hmm? Had I been thinking about being able to talk to animals when I wished I knew what Cerebus thought?

I couldn't be sure, too much had happened since then but all the rest of the wishes had followed quickly. Molly had made the second when she wished that I could come over to play with them by which she meant she wished I were a girl. Mom, third, had wished I were more like Phoebe; Phillip, fourth, had wished I would say yes to being his girlfriend; Dr. Estevez, fifth, had wished he could help me make a decision and Daddy, sixth, had wished that I would make an attempt at living as a girl.

That one bothered me a lot, why would Daddy wish something like that except that it fit in with the other wishes? I'd been his son for almost fourteen years, his sudden desire that I become his daughter had to be magically induced. Didn't it? Had my father regretted the decision when I was a baby to correct my appearance and raise me as a boy?

I thought about what Mom had said about she and Daddy being worried about how I might turn out. They had some reason to have doubts, apparently, but I knew that a lot of kids at school had thought I must be gay and called me names and even worse, sometimes. But to find out my own parents had noticed something really embarrassed me. And now that whole problem had vanished, like magic. Ha.

"I'm not gay," I whispered, "but I'm not sure I'm completely happy about it, either." I grinned at my own joke and suppressed a giggle. Alone there in my bed, wearing a borrowed nightgown, I felt very confused about what I should be doing and what I should be feeling. A little humor and silliness made it more bearable.

The really frightening things to consider taunted me though; first, was any of this real? Had I imagined all the fairies and magical happenings? There didn't seem anyway to know for sure, I had to trust my own senses and memory to some extent or curl up in a ball and let the world hang itself. I had to act as if I believed in fairies or admit I must be crazy. And I didn't really feel crazy.

But believing in the magic brought up the second most frightening consideration. If magic were real, what were its limits? How could I know how much of my past, even my own memories, had the six wishes altered? All of it, none of it? I couldn't decide so I left that alone for the moment.

But, why had any of the wishmakers made those particular wishes? Had Molly set the pattern; causing later wishes that reinforced hers more likely? Six wishes had been made and granted, each one I remembered being accompanied by bells and those mysterious bouts of weakness. Three more wishes and only the last one can undo what has been done and only if Tintabelle makes it herself. At least that was the best sense I could make of the song I remembered her singing.

She'd probably be willing to wish me back to being a boy -- but then she'd want to marry me. A fate I had dreaded before but now seemed doubly horrible. And that was odd, too, but true; as a girl, I had no desire to marry another female; it felt actively icky. Definitely more icky than thinking of myself as a girl.

Almost as icky as thinking about turning back into a boy, I realized.

So, what could I do to wreck Tintabelle's plans for me? And preferably, I admitted, leaving me to finish growing up as Margaret Eden Bartlett.

The remaining wishes seemed to be the only hope I had for unraveling things. Saving the last for Tintabelle, I had to figure out how to use the other two wishes to make things come out okay.

Wait a minute--I tried to remember the words of the poem. Must the last wish be Tintabelle's?

I got up quickly and turned on the light over my desk, I shivered a bit in the cool of the morning--and shivered more from a different reason when I noticed again the nightgown I wore. I grabbed my robe, still blue and only knee-length, from the back of the door where Mom must have put it last night. More warmly dressed--even in August, early morning can get cold in the mountains--I sat down at my desk and booted up the computer.

First, I tried to reconstruct Tintabelle's song from my dream. With magic, every word probably mattered so I had to get it just right to have a chance to know what might be done with the remaining wishes. I worked at concentrating on this task though a hundred other thoughts tried to push their way into my brain. I had intended to go out looking for the Fairy Queen this morning but this seemed more important and more likely to be useful. That thought gave me a bit of pause.

Just what did I hope to accomplish? After I managed a first draft of the song, I sat there in my sister's borrowed nightgown with my own short blue robe over it and tried to puzzle out just what would be the ideal outcome from all that had happened.

Changing back to a boy and avoiding marrying Tintabelle had seemed like the obvious thing to try for when I first discovered what had happened. But--and perhaps this simply resulted from the magic worked on me--I no longer really wanted to be a boy. I kept running across that astonishing conclusion and this time I let the seemingly inescapable realization paralyze me for a very long time.

What about my situation could possibly be improved by changing back to a boy? Well, I wouldn't have to learn how to be a girl; even with magical help that task looked daunting, what did I know about being a girl? Not much, I admitted to myself. But more painfully, what did I know about being a boy? Well, quite a bit more, actually, along with the knowledge that I wasn't very good at it.

I'm not agressive or even very competitive. Physically, I can't do most of the things boys are expected to do. I don't have much interest in most pursuits considered distinctly masculine like sports, cars, the military, or even girls. At least, not in the way that most boys were interested in girls, I decided. Lately, I'd sort of pretended to a masculine interest because, well, people expected it? My real interest had always been more in being friends; when I'd been small, all of my friends my own age were girls. And I really hadn't had many close friends since about the third grade.

Being sick a lot had caused some of that, but a basic incompatibility with what people expected of a boy had a lot to do with it. Even if none of this magic stuff had happened, maybe I would have been better off if I'd discovered that I'd been a girl all along, just as Dr. Estevez seemed to think.

And again, a recurring thought paralyzed me with its implications. This time, I decided to think it through more thoroughly. What if everything that seemed to be caused by magic had a perfectly normal explanation? What if I had actually been a girl--or what was the word Dr. Estevez used?--an intersex--all my life? What if I'd been imagining all of the magical explanations for things?

I tried to consider if there were any evidence of magic that could be confirmed by someone else without an explanation that fit into a conventional world view. Weather balloons or swamp gas or something? I couldn't think of anything, really. The behavior of the squirrels, perhaps, but squirrels are famously freaky in exactly that way.

I can talk to animals, I should be able to prove that, I decided. But proving that I had once been an actual boy seemed impossible. The magic--if magic were real--had covered the bases of probability too well. And if magic were not real then maybe I should tell someone about my imaginings because I really would be loopy in that case.

I felt confused and stressed out but I didn't really think I could be crazy in that way. And I'd actually had some experience in being crazy.

Once before, I had had hallucinations that had seemed perfectly real at the time. A bout of bronchitis had put me in the hospital six years ago; the bronchial infection had turned to pneumonia and my chronic asthma had kept me on the edge of hypoxia--oxygen starvation--nearly all the time. I had come very close to dying. I didn't remember much of anything from that time but my parents and the nurses and doctors agreed, I had conducted extensive conversations with people no one else could see.

And I'd never doubted the reality of what I thought was happening, apparently. I'd been so sure of my invisible visitors that I insisted everyone else should be able to see them, too. Or at least, that's what others told me about that time, my memories were faded and distorted and influenced by the reports of family and staff who had seen me conducting one-sided conversations.

One of my nurses thought I'd been visited by angels. My dad told me that from listening to my monologues, he had concluded that I had written myself into some of my favorite cartoons, movies and television shows. My mom agreed to a degree, but also she had overheard me talking with my maternal great-grandmother, a woman I had never met since she had died before I was born. "You called her, 'Nana Emily', just as I did when I was little," Mom said. "It spooked me a bit, but you asked me questions for her and I tried to answer them honestly. It only happened once."

That one remained unproven also. Had I actually been visited by the ghost of Mom's grandmother or had my literally fevered imagination constructed the visit from family tales? My mother understood such a possibility, "I talk to my characters all the time," she admitted, "when I'm awake, I know I'm talking to myself but when I'm half-asleep it seems very real."

"You've inherited Vicky's fabulism," Dad had commented. I looked the word up and found out it meant 'telling invented stories'.

Had I invented the Fairy Court and the Curse of Nine Wishes as a tale to tell myself to explain what was happening to me? It seemed possible and by Occam's Razor it ought to be accepted as a first hypothesis. I didn't want to believe it but it might be true.

So, how could I test it? It's really hard to prove a negative, the non-existence of fairies, and therefore my invention of them. Turn it around then, test the hypothesis by trying to prove it false; try to prove that fairies really did exist.

It probably wouldn't be easy. I'd seen 'I Dream of Jeanie' and 'Bewitched' on Nick at Night; people who can do magic can make it look like non-magic. I didn't know why the fairies might want to conceal their existence from mortals, but if they did they probably could. So proving fairies actually do exist, let alone that one of them had cursed me, was going to be really difficult. It seemed almost certain that no one would believe me without proof or even be willing to help me get proof.

That was the real problem with that hypothesis, all the courses of action it suggested looked difficult, impossible or likely to get me locked up. My initial dismissal of that idea still looked correct. I would be better off to keep behaving as if magic were real and fairies did exist and could curse one with a song.

I'd finished recreating the poem/song/curse/spell while I thought and I read it over several times to see, first, if I had it right and second, if it suggested any way I could get out of my difficulties.

Three more wishes. And if they're going to be undone, if I'm ever to be a boy again, the last one has to be saved for Tintabelle. But if she uses it to change me back to a boy, she'll probably force me into marrying her. But I didn't really want to be a boy anymore.

The answer came to me slowly.

Each wish had to be made by a different person and Tintabelle could only undo things with number nine. I didn't think she could make any wish but the last but if she made an earlier wish, she would be unable to use number nine to turn me back into a boy since the wishes were one to a customer. Or, get three other people to make wishes and use up all nine; either way, she would have no wish she could use to change me into marriage material. I shivered. I'd be stuck as a girl but I wouldn't end up as Darren Number Three.

I saved the file I'd created as "9wishhex.txt" and did some more thinking. I had discarded the idea of proving whether or not all this was real but the thought kept coming back.

Did it really matter?

I could drive myself nuts trying to prove I wasn't crazy. Sure, if my memory and senses were playing tricks on me, the reality might be that I'd been halfway between being a girl and a boy all along. And now, puberty might be the pudding that proved the postulate; I've got breasts, I like boys, therefore I am a girl. It scared me but not as badly as the idea of being married to someone with the powers of a minor godling.

I turned off the computer.

If magic were real, if Tintabelle really were the Queen of Woods and Meadows, fine, I didn't dare ignore her. She could be dangerous, Samantha and Jeannie with a mad on. If I got the opportunity to prove the reality of her existence, good; but I couldn't afford to act as if she didn't exist until I knew for sure.

If she weren't real, my worst case scenario might be spending some time in a rubber room. But if she were real, the sky might be the limit for what could go wrong. I might end up finding out if King Fritharic had always been a frog. Logic and practicality, my father's touchstones, demanded that I treat the fairy magic as real until proven otherwise.

The safest thing I could do would be to stay away from her, use up the wishes and hope she forgot about her crazy idea of marrying me. If she didn't get the ninth wish, she couldn't use it to undo all the others and I'd be stuck as a girl. Still a scary thought but the life it promised looked better to me now than it might have last week.

I walked over to my dresser and looked at myself in the mirror. I still looked like me but then again I didn't. As a boy's face, mine looked like a failure: chin too round, no definition to the forehead or jaw, almost a child's face. As a girl's face, though--I stared for a moment then couldn't help smiling. I really was prettier than Phoebe.

The frilly neckline of the nightie made me look more feminine and when I opened my old robe I could see my little titties "making tents" in the nightgown. I turned my face this way, then that. I ran my hands through my hair. "I'm a girl," I said aloud. I shook my head at the wonder of it all.

Then I frowned. "I'm going to ask Mom if we can go somewhere and get my hair styled," I muttered, turning away from the mirror.

---

Chapter 17

Signature Pancakes

I took a quick shower, taking a bit more care washing than I usually did. Then I dressed myself in my new role. I didn't have a whole lot of choices but this took some time. I picked a pair of ruffled panties; though I cringed a bit, I figured I might as well get myself really into this and get used to the idea. They actually felt very nice.

I put on the bra next and I padded it out a bit with a pair of thin white socks, fresh out of the package. It didn't seem to take quite as much padding as yesterday and I worried about that for only a moment.

Next I put on a pair of green slacks, decorated with little red and yellow roses at the seams high on my hips. Then a cream pull-over blouse with more roses where the pocket ought to be. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that these items looked as good on me as they ever had on Phoebe, if not better.

I experimented with the jewelry, finally choosing a simple gold chain necklace and the same charm bracelet I had worn last night. I looked the makeup over but decided against it without more lessons, then I spent five minutes trying to recreate what Mom had done with my hair last night. I finally settled for something serviceable but less than stylish, put on my socks and sneaks and headed downstairs.

It was early still, Mom and Daddy would likely not be up for an hour or more, so I poured myself a glass of milk and puttered around the downstairs for a bit. The family photographs displayed in frames on almost every horizontal surface in the front room caught my eye and I examined them.

Mom fancies herself a photographer and a lot of these were candid shots of some skill rather than just studio heads and amateur snapshots. A little annoyingly, in more than half of those featuring me, it could be considered a toss-up as to whether I looked more like a sissy or a tomboy. I stared at one of me in a particularly silly pose, looking over my shoulder and smiling at the camera with a popsicle in my mouth. Too cute.

"Gah!" I said. "No wonder I got the crap beat out of me so often." Had the pictures always showed such ambiguous images? Maybe. Again, I couldn't be sure that the photographs and my own memories hadn't been altered a bit by the magic. Maybe the effect would spread and spread until no one remembered a male me? I shivered a little and put all the pictures back. Not one of them would be a dead giveaway, I reflected with a bit of dismay, none of them showed an unequivocally male me; in the ones where I didn't look ambiguous, I looked like a tomboy.

I rinsed my milk glass and left it in the sink, something I hadn't always remembered to do in the past. Would I now? Maybe I should start breakfast? Wisely, I decided I would be out of my depth in the kitchen but resolved to pester Mom to show me the basics.

Thinking of Mom, I wandered over to the corner of the dining area she used as an office. I took some blank sheets of paper from her printer tray, and a few pens back to the dining room table. I started trying out writing my new name. "Margaret Eden Bartlett" about a dozen times, it seemed like a nice name for a girl like me, though I squirmed and shivered the first few times I wrote it.

It kind of fit me, though, or the person--girl--I would like to think of myself becoming. Nice solid, upstanding names like "Margaret" and "Bartlett" sandwiching the much spicier, "Eden." I heard myself giggle but I didn't care.

Next I wrote "Eden Bartlett" all over another paper. I tried different ways of writing it, some all flowery, some sort of brusquely efficient. The one I liked best had a few flourishes and looked very sexy, I thought. Did I want my signature to look sexy, I wondered. Why not? More giggles.

I covered another page with just my new initials: MEB, over and over again with each letter drawn carefully as a modified heart; point down for the M, right for the E and left for the B. Really cute, I decided, maybe too cute. I overlapped the letters a bit to disguise exactly what I had done a bit more and I really liked that version so I turned the page over and drew the monogram another twenty or thirty times in different sizes and using different pens.

On another sheet, I wrote "Megan Bartlett" maybe twenty times, using the heart-shaped capitals. I knew that would be what Mom and Dad would call me now and I kind of liked it too. Not as sexy as Eden, not as solid as Margaret but a fun sort of name. I would have worn pigtails as Megan when I was small, if I'd been Megan when I was small.

I even wrote "Daisy" a few times on a piece of paper, drawing a little flower for the dot on the i. But I mushed that paper up and buried it under a lot of other trash in Mom's waste can. My face felt very hot; the Daisy signature had been so embarrassingly cute, I didn't want anyone seeing it and especially not Daddy.

When Mom came downstairs a few minutes later, I was doing something even more embarrassing. I'd written several versions of my new names with different last names, Daniels and Clark. I don't know why I did that but when I heard Mom on the stairs, I shuffled that paper into the stack and had the one with Margaret Eden Bartlett on top.

"G'morning, hon," Mom said. "You're up early."

"Nervous, I guess," I admitted. I sat awkwardly at the table, wondering if Mom would say anything about how I had dressed. She had pulled on a pair of sweat pants and a large, loose t-shirt, what she usually wore to breakfast.

"You look nice, sweetie," Mom said, with a smile. "I had the oddest dreams last night," she added.

I rolled my eyes, "Believe me, they couldn't have been any weirder than mine."

She grinned, "I suppose not. Want to help me fix breakfast?"

"Sure," I agreed. "I thought about starting without you but I really don't know the first thing about how to do it?"

"Then I have to start teaching you," she said. "What have you been doing there?"

"Uh," I showed her the top couple of papers. "Practicing signing my name so I don't forget and...you know?"

She nodded. "Good idea. It's a pretty name. Megan."

I blushed and she ruffled my hair. I pushed it back a bit, "That reminds me, can I get my hair cut today?"

She nodded. "Better hide those papers from your father, he'll tease you terribly. But, yes, I think a trip to the salon is in order."

I shivered a bit as I gathered the practice signatures and disposed of them. Then I joined Mom in the kitchen and we talked as she showed me how to make pancakes. "It's going to be your first trip to a salon as a girl," she commented. "I think you'll find it a rather different experience than when Ethan went with me."

"I guess, so." I wanted to ask her lots of things but I could only think of one at the moment. "Do you think they can do much with my hair right now?"

"Sure," she said. "It's down over your collar and it covers your ears now, plenty to work with. Have them give you some bangs and feather it so it fluffs up nicely, then just a more feminine cut in back and around the ears. You'll look super, honey."

"That word still bothers me just a bit," I said.

"What? Honey?"

"No, feminine." I shivered and Mom laughed. "I'm getting used to the idea that it applies to me a little at a time."

"You're doing fine," Mom said. "Look, we'll feed your dad, then you and I will go out for the rest of the day. Shopping, a real girl's day out."

"Uh, I would kind of like to go see Molly and Dolly for lunch at three?"

"All right. We'll keep this first outing short, get your feet wet though."

I grinned nervously, amazed that I was actually looking forward to a trip to the mall with Mom.

"All right, now dear, I'm going to tell you the secrets of fluffy pancakes," she said. "Then only you and I and Phoebe will know."

"Huh?"

"One secret, and lots of people know this part, is separate part of the egg whites out and beat them with a little water to make them fluff before adding them to the batter." She showed me how to separate the eggs, putting the yolks into the bowl where we had measured out flour, sugar, salt and baking powder already. "But the real secret, our little family secret," Mom said, opening a cabinet and pulling down a bottle, "is this. Extra Light Olive Oil."

"Olive oil? In pancakes?" It sounded weird to me, but what did I know about cooking?

"Extra light is the olive oil that has had most of the olive taste removed, but it is much better than any other oil at making light and fluffy pancakes," Mom explained "Don't use 100% or Extra Virgin Olive Oil or the pancakes will taste weird." I giggled and nodded after she showed me bottles of those two. "Extra Virgin is for making salads, 100% is the cheapest kind and I use it for sauteeing vegetables and making croutons."

Her explanations demanded a hundred more questions but I kept quiet and beat the egg whites fluffy as she told me, just a few seconds with a fork, then we mixed all the ingredients, milk too, together in the big blue bowl. "Here's another secret," Mom told me. "Once you've got everything thoroughly blended, stop stirring! If you stir too much, the pancakes will be tough, like restaurant pancakes usually are."

"Wow," I said. "There's lots to remember."

"You'll get used to it when you've done it enough, now I can get a break from cooking all the time without letting your father sacrifice cow parts in the backyard." She grinned at my expression. "Just remember, you don't always have to eat your mistakes." She pointed at the garbage disposal.

I giggled and felt relieved, she'd guessed exactly what had worried me.

I knew how to crisp bacon in the microwave so I did that and poured tall glasses of orange juice and milk and set the breakfast bar, including putting out the butter and syrup so they wouldn't be ice cold. Mom supervised. She showed me how to test the griddle to see if it was hot enough; just a drop of water and watch it skitter away. "Have your spatula and plates ready but wait to start cooking the cakes until everyone is at the table. Use a quarter-cup measuring cup to dip out the batter and pour on the griddle. You can make eight cakes at once on this griddle and by the time you pour the last cake, the first ones will be almost ready to turn. Watch for the bubbles, I'll show you. Turn them all in the order you poured them and they will be nearly ready to serve by the time you turn the last one."

"Uh, huh," I said, a bit dazed. I stood there, holding a spatula in one hand and a measuring cup in the other, staring at the griddle as if it were a math final.

She laughed and gave me a quick hug. "Your dad can cook when he really wants to and he taught me the last secret of making great pancakes."

"There's more?"

"Yup." She went to a cabinet and took down another big bottle, this one full of dark brown liquid. "Mexican vanilla. It's stronger than the stuff you get in regular grocery stores and cheaper, too. You have to go to a Mexican grocer to get it but a bottle this size lasts a long time and you'll use it for lots of things. Just before you start grilling the cakes, add a teaspoon of this and stir the batter a few times; remember not to overstir."

I blinked but grinned. "No wonder I think everyone else's pancakes are terrible."

"I make good pancakes, too," I heard Daddy say on the stairs.

Mom met him at the bottom. "Of course you do, when you don't decide to experiment with orange peel or squashed bananas. But your specialty is pecan waffles." They kissed and I probably made a face.

Daddy laughed. "How you doing, punkin?"

"I'm making pancakes," I said, unnecessarily.

"You look cute with flour on your nose," he observed.

"I've got--Mom! Why didn't you tell me?" I looked in the dark mirror of the upper oven window, yes, I had flour along one side of my nose and up into my eyebrow. I brushed it off quickly while my parents laughed.

"I wanted Alec to see how domestic you looked," Mom excused herself, still laughing.

"So cook, already," Daddy said.

"Go ahead, honey," Mom said. "Remember the vanilla."

I grabbed the vanilla bottle and instead of measuring out a teaspoon just sloshed some into the batter and stirred three quick times. Then I dipped out helpings of batter and poured eight pancakes. "Mom, could you put the bacon on the plates?" I asked.

"Sure," Mom said cheerfully. Dad sat at the long breakfast bar and just watched. I flipped three pancakes each onto two plates, served Mom and Dad, flipped the last two cakes on my plate. I had just enough batter to scrape out of the bowl for one last larger pancake for me. While it browned, I rinsed the mixing bowl, measuring cups and spoons and put them in the dishwasher. Then I flipped my last cake onto my plate and joined my parents.

Those were absolutely the best pancakes I'd ever had and I laughed and wriggled with the joy of making something that came out so right. Mom beamed at me and Dad winked, and just then I felt very happy to be learning how to be a girl.

---

Next - [Darling Megan]

More [The Fairy King]

Megan's first taste of salons, shopping, and being out in public as a girl! There wouldn't be any fairies in the mall, would there?

Part 9 - Darling Megan

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 18

Mall Bunny Blitz

Since I had done the cooking, I didn't have to do my usual Sunday morning chore of cleaning up, Daddy took that over. "But you have to promise to cook pancakes again next Sunday, punkin," he said.

"Okay," I giggled. He'd put on such a hopeful, pleading face and I remembered that Mom and Phoebe laughed at his mugging, all the time. Well, I had too, but not so much, perhaps. I wondered about that.

Mom led me upstairs. "We need to get ready to go shopping," she said.

"Huh?" I said. "Get ready to go shopping, aren't I ready?" I thought I looked pretty nice, actually.

"Well, your choice of what to wear is pretty good, your instincts are in the right place. But you should have a fresh shower and don't put on any scent. You don't want to get your scent on clothes that don't belong to you yet."

"Uh," I stopped on the fifth step from the top. "You mean, try on clothes in the store?"

She laughed. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. And when's the last time you shaved your legs and pits, young lady?" She turned to grin back down at me. "C'mon, honey. You want to get back by three, right?"

"Okay," I said, following her on up. "But, Mom, I've never shaved my legs and--uh--pits? Are you sure I need to?"

"We'll see. But it's something every girl in America puts up with and it's part of getting ready to go shopping. Like a ritual." She grinned. "Besides, you want to look nice in your sundresses, don't you?"

"Dresses?" I squeaked.

"Um, hm. And if you're anything like your sister at your age, I'll have a hard time getting you out of skirts for a year or so."

"You're kidding."

"Go start your shower, I'll bring some stuff for you to use." She pushed me toward the bathroom and headed toward her bedroom.

"Mom!" I said a little desperately.

"What?" she asked, turning back.

"Uh, nothing." I felt my face turn red. "You're going to come right into the bathroom while I'm showering, aren't you?"

She grinned. "Yes. We're in the same club now, dear."

"Okay. I just didn't want to get surprised," I said. "I didn't expect to have to start shaving so soon?" I pretended to search my chin for stubble, then I giggled and Mom laughed.

"Oh, don't shampoo your hair before a trip to the salon, they'll do it for you. Better use a showercap, so your hair doesn't get wet," she added as I went into the bathroom. "There should be one of Phoebe's in there."

There was, a clear yellow plastic cap decorated with flowers. I started the water, got undressed quickly, then slipped the cap on and tucked my hair up in it. Phoebe hadn't left any of her shaving things behind, I noticed, so I just climbed in the shower and started soaping up.

I lingered a little bit on my new breasts, they seemed extremely conical today, like little soft dunce caps on my chest. I wondered if they had grown again or if I were just imagining that. They were very sensitive too, an achy sort of itchy feeling.

Mom did come right into the bathroom and slid the shower curtain back a little. "Here's one of my razors with a fresh blade," she said. "You should always use a fresh blade if you can. Guys shave every day and reuse their blades but you likely won't have to shave again for at least a week or two and once blades are wet, they don't stay sharp that long."

I took the implement gingerly, it had a bright pink handle and a doubled blade with a pale blue plastic strip on each edge of the head.

"Don't start yet," Mom said. "You soaped and scrubbed already?"

"Uh huh," I said.

"Okay, use the button on the shower head to stop the water." I did that and she handed me a can, well, a plastic can-like container. "This is shaving gel," she said. "It's what I use 'cause I usually need extra-moisturizing. You should probably get your own can and get the extra-sensitive skin kind but I don't have any of that."

"How many kinds are there?" I asked, once again feeling as if I were getting too much information at one time.

She laughed. "In this brand, about six, I think. Don't worry about it, they're all pretty much the same and if you don't have any, you can just use soap or baby oil. Just put a little on your fingers and smooth it over where you're going to shave."

"Where? Where do I start?"

Mom looked blank. "Well, I always start with my pits, I guess. I'm not sure why. Oh, I guess it's because, sometimes I don't do my legs? But that's 'cause I'm blonde and can get away with it longer."

I looked in my armpit. "I don't really have much hair anywhere, Mom. And it's fairly light-colored?"

"Lucky you," she said, grinning. "That will likely change. But you should shave your pits anyway, it will help you stay nice smelling longer, it looks better in sleeveless stuff, and you don't want anyone to think you're French or a dyke." She laughed. "Forget that last part."

With Mom giving directions and commentary, I shaved my pits and began on my legs. "How high up do I go?" I asked seriously, spreading the shaving gel on my legs. It occurred to me that I had more hair up higher and I wondered if I were supposed to shave it too.

Mom got the giggles but finally managed to say, "Just mid-thigh, honey. That's high enough this time."

I waited till I got over sympathy giggles, then shaved my legs in long smooth strokes, upward from my ankles. I didn't have that much hair on them, anyway.

The oddest thing might have been that neither of us paid the slightest attention to the remnant of my boyhood, other than the giggles about how high to shave. I felt both pleased and a little alarmed when I rinsed off in cool water at how small it seemed to have gotten but Mom didn't say anything at all about that.

"Pat yourself dry when you get out, Megan," she said. "And use the unscented deodorant I left you on your pits. You can put some of this lotion on your legs, too." She sighed. "I can't believe you didn't nick yourself once."

"Was I supposed to?" I asked, as if I thought it might be required. I stepped out of the shower with Mom right there and began patting myself dry as directed.

"It's traditional the first time," she said, laughing. "Now, hurry and get dressed, we need to go so we can get back."

"Okay," I said as she dashed out. "And thanks, Mom. You're a good teacher."

Later, after Mom had changed clothes, I had gotten dressed again, and we were in the car on our way to the mall, Mom commented, "Didn't take long for your father to decide to charm you the same way he does all females."

I giggled. "Is that what he's doing? He's acting silly."

"Uh huh, I have it on the authority of your Aunt Margaret that he was known as Bozo Barnett in high school." We both giggled.

My dad, the class clown? I shook my head. "Where exactly are we going?"

"I thought we'd just go to one of the big malls and save time. Rancho Galleria, all right with you?"

"Fine, I guess? What do I know?"

Mom just smiled and navigated the twists and turns of the highway. I tried not to feel nervous, this would be my first time in front of a crowd as a girl. I pulled down the vanity mirror and took another look at myself. It didn't tell me anything I didn't already know and I felt just as confused and nervous as before.

"Relax," Mom said. "You look fine. Those pull-on jeans and top are exactly right for going shopping, easy to get in and out of and you won't worry about wrinkling them. Have you got socks on?"

"Uh, yeah?"

She nodded. "We'll get you a pair of flats first, so you don't have to keep lacing up your sneaks."

I quivered. "Can we go to the salon first?" I asked.

She nodded, "Sure. Will that make you feel more secure? That no one is going to think you're a boy who's got odd taste in flowers?"

I winced but nodded. "Something like that," I admitted.

We pulled into the parking lot at Rancho Galleria pretty quickly, Mom parked near the wide main entrance. "I don't know any of the hair stylists in any salons around here, so we'll just go to one of the chains this time. Normally, you want to find a stylist who suits you and stick with her. Or him."

I giggled nervously and followed her in.

"Oh, not all male hair stylists are gay and even the gay ones will flirt with you sometimes," she warned as we walked up to the desk in the first salon we found. "Just laugh and pretend they are kidding."

"Good grief," I whispered.

Mom grinned. "Megan here wants a nice, easy style for starting high school," Mom told the lady at the desk.

"Arturo can take you now," the woman, said, directing me toward a small dark man standing behind a salon chair.

I tried to remember what Mom had told me. "Just cut my bangs and trim it so it's easy to take care of?" I said when he asked.

He smiled and chatted with me as he began his work, getting the feel of my hair and showing me a few styles in a book. As Ethan, I'd had my hair cut in a salon like this before and it really wasn't that much different for Megan. If he flirted with me, I didn't really notice but right away he suggested frosting my hair. "It is dark red all over, it looks as if you stayed out of the sun for the whole summer," he explained. "And it's very popular with girls your age right now."

"How long will it take?" I asked.

"Not long," he said, "ten or fifteen minutes extra, we do it first then cut the hair."

I motioned Mom to come over and we discussed it, "Some bright red strands and a few more blonde ones," Arturo explained. Talking about it made me feel lightheaded but Mom agreed with Arturo that it would look nice.

"Up to you, dear," she said.

I wanted to squirm but I stayed still with an effort and just nodded to Arturo. Mom walked back to the front but I could see her watching me while Arturo wrapped a few strands of my hair in plastic. Then I looked at more pictures of hairstyles while the chemicals did their work. I picked one that looked like the same sort of casual style Phoebe favored and vaguely wondered how long it would take for my hair to get as long as Dolly's.

Arturo returned and I showed him the style I had chosen. He shampooed the hair color out and rinsed my hair; that part felt very nice, something I remembered liking from a previous trip for a salon cut.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Megan?" Arturo asked, teasingly, as he measured and cut bangs across my forehead.

"Well, he thinks so," I said.

Arturo laughed. "But you don't say so?"

I blushed. "Well, I'm not fourteen yet, Mom and Dad say I'm too young to date."

"Very wise," he agreed. "My oldest daughter is nine, I don't have to worry about that yet." Between snips, he showed me pictures of his family, three cute children with a pretty dark-haired woman holding the youngest.

"Someday," he said, "you will have children to worry about then, you will remember how your parents cared for you and you will be a wise mother, too."

"That would be nice," I managed to say, stumbling mentally with the concept of being somebody's mother. Could that really happen?

"I would wish that for you, for every young girl," he said.

Startled, I waited for the sound of bells and the wave of dizziness that went with granting a wish. Nothing happened. I wondered if the way Arturo had phrased it had negated the wish or if it didn't count for some other reason. He continued with scissors and comb, then blowdryer and brush while I worried with the problem. He had said he "would wish" not that he did wish, but Molly's wish hadn't been precisely phrased either and this had definitely all started with hers. Maybe because he had included "every young girl" and not just me?

Why weren't there manuals on wishing available?

A young woman approached me and asked if I would like a manicure or pedicure but I shook my head, too distracted at the moment ot even consider it. "Your nails already look nice," commented Arturo, "you take care of them yourself?"

That jolted me and I took a look at my hands, spreading my fingers to look at all then of them. The nails were short but neatly trimmed. Had I done that? When? "A soft coral pink would look very pretty on them," said Arturo.

"Um," I said.

When Arturo finished with my hair, I stared at my reflection for only a moment before breaking out in a grin. My red brown hair now fell in multi-colored bangs across my forehead with blonde curls near my ears and blonde and red streaks down to my collar where it all curled under in fluffy perfection.

"I love it!" I think I squealed. No way could Tintabelle think I would make a good consort now, I definitely looked too girly to marry her.

Mom and Arturo laughed at my reaction, Mom paid the bill and we got out of there. Outside, in the mall promenade, Mom kept looking at me and smiling. "I never would have expected you to take to this so quickly?"

I sighed, wondering a bit about that myself. It had to be the magic, but I felt lighter and freer now that my hair as well as my clothes matched my obvious gender. "Well, I'm having fun so far," I said. "It's like Halloween came early this year?"

She smiled but I could tell it was one of her worried smiles. "This isn't some game you're playing, Ethan? Eden?" she asked.

"No, Mom," I said. "I'm serious about giving this a real try. Am I freaking you out?"

"Only a little," she said. "What would you like to do next?"

I tried to think about that but I remembered the wish Arturo had made that hadn't caused bells or fainting spells. That problem paralyzed my thinking for long enough that Mom suggested that we go look at clothes. "You need your own undies, for sure."

Okay, talking about underwear in the middle of the mall with my Mom got my attention. "Nordstrom's?" I suggested.

"Thank god, they don't have one here," she said. "Sears will have to do."

I laughed and we headed for Sears.

I was amazed at the variety that girl's underwear came in. Each brand had five or more styles, three or more fabrics and more colors than I could count and there were more than a dozen brands. "Mom," I said. "Help me do the simple thing here, I'm lost."

She laughed and lead me to a display of packaged undies, rather than the bins of loose lace and satin. "Everyday undies, if you're going to be active, should be cotton. That cuts down the choices, hmm."

I nodded. "But all these styles, uh, briefs?"

"Those are very full-cut panties, that cover you down your thigh a bit and up to your waist. Boy-cut style is the same but doesn't reach your waist. Hi-cuts are cut high on your thigh but reach your waist, bikini cut are high on your thigh and also don't reach your waist. Thongs, you are not going to wear thongs." She grinned. "Standard briefs, or maybe a lo-rise boy-cut style, are going to be the best choice for you."

She didn't say why but I figured that out after a moment and nodded again. "Briefs, then," I said. "What brand is best?"

"There's not a lot to choose between brands," she said. "They're all pretty good."

I passed by the brands I had gotten used to seeing on my old underwear and picked a package of Playtex white cotton briefs, making sure to check the size. "How many do I need?" I asked.

Mom laughed. "You never worried about your underwear before, did you? Eight or ten of the cotton ones, in mixed colors, maybe a package of the boy-cut ones for wearing with some of the things you might wear. Then we can pick some pretty ones for wearing to parties and things."

"Huh?" But suddenly, it did make sense. Of course, if you wanted to dress pretty you would want even your undies to be pretty. I blushed several times while we finished picking out panties but I really did enjoy myself. It seemed hard for both of us to believe that and Mom gave me several odd looks when I giggled.

Mom helped me pick out panty hose and some tights, too. then we went over to the bras. "We'll pick the A/B padded ones, dear," she said. "You'll be filling them out soon enough if things are going the way we think they are going."

"Um," I said. I already had on a bra, but buying one daunted me a bit, at first. I felt oddly excited but fearful of making some gaffe that would cause someone to suspect that at one time I had been a boy. Then I blinked to realize that more and more I thought of myself as a girl, a girl named Margaret, called Megan and sometimes Eden. I giggled a bit to discover that I felt happy about this situation.

The magic's power over me could be frightening at times, I reflected, though just then I didn't feel scared at all. But thinking of the magic caused me to think about Arturo's wish, or apparently, Arturo's non-wish. Why hadn't the magic worked for Arturo? I managed to shake off the distraction, and mentally rejoined Mom in picking out bras.

"Three for everyday and one for special occasions," she decided. "That will be enough to buy this trip, all right?"

"Sure," I agreed. Bras came in an even more bewildering array than did panties but with Mom's help, I had soon picked out three simple ones, one beige, two white; plus a delicately lacy one in my new favorite color, pink. I blushed fiercely to think of wearing it and I would have died rather than tell Mom what wicked thought went through my head when I first saw it.

We left there with everything in two bags. "Let's take this to the car and come back," she suggested.

"We're going to get more things?"

She nodded. "Some jeans, a pair of dressy slacks, we can get those at Sears or something. But do you want to try buying a dress?"

I took a deep breath; I tingled all over. "I think I do," I said. "I mean, shouldn't every girl have at least one party dress?"

Mom smiled and I giggled and we took the first load out to the car.

---

Chapter 19

Party Dress

The mall teemed with dress shops, Mom explained the differences among them to me as we strolled along. "This chain sells mainly casual and business clothes to young women, that one over there is for big girls." She grinned at me. "And maybe a few men who like that sort of thing."

I blushed and giggled and shook my head at her teasing.

We stopped in front of almost every shop window and discussed the clothes on display. "This is a fashion shop, expensive clothes for young women going to parties and such. These styles are a bit over the top for someone your age, but girls in high school do wear stuff like this, I suppose." Slim dresses, pants that fit tightly, low on the hips with tops that left belly buttons showing. I tried to picture myself wearing some of the high fashion items and decided I would feel entirely too naked. I glanced at Mom and saw her frown and grinned, figuring that she had had the same thought.

"You're at an awkward age, really," she commented.

"Tell me about it?"

She laughed. "I mean, you're not a little girl and you're not a young woman yet. You don't want to look like a little girl in grown-up clothes, and just as much, you don't want to appear like an overgrown teeny bopper."

I groaned. "How about we keep it simple? Uh, something classic?"

"Classic? Well, it's just a neighborhood barbecue, something like a sundress maybe?" My expression must have expressed my confusion because Mom laughed again. "I'll show you," she said.

We found a shop called "Fashion Hit for the Fashion Miss", which Mom said would have clothes appropriate for my age if we were careful. I felt almost as nervous as I had about buying the bras but pretty soon, Mom and I had picked out three light and airy print dresses for me to try on. My face probably looked like a stop light as I went into the dressing room.

It being the end of summer, the choices in sundresses, meaning no sleeves at all, were limited but we found two. I liked the third dress best, though; Mom called it a shirt dress. It had a green and fuschia background with big yellow flowers on it, short sleeves, a self-waist (meaning a sort of fake, sewn-in belt), shiny buttons up the front and a collar with long pointy lapels. I stripped out of my jeans and top quickly and pulled it on over my head before I realized I probably should have unbuttoned it and stepped into it.

The hem of the skirt reached almost to my knees; a good length, I thought--not too short, not too long. I grumbled a bit as I tried to fix my hair in front of the mirror, but I liked everything else about the way I looked in the dress; older than fourteen and definitely a girl without being all sissy-darling-baby-doll about it. And my hair co-operated marvelously, Arturo had worked wonders and even I could restore his masterful work with just a few flips of my borrowed hairbrush.

I almost danced out of the dressing room to show Mom and she agreed, "That is just about perfect, Megan. And you could wear that one to school." I giggled, partly with fear of doing something so strange as attending school wearing a dress. "Try the others on?" she had to suggest.

I popped back into the dressing room and carefully removed the first dress, unbuttoning it, stepping out and then buttoning again after putting it back on the hangar. Of the other two, I liked the yellow dress with the blue daisies better and I tried that one on next. My shoulders looked bony but delicate and almost as pale as milk. I knew I'd have to get some sun to look good in this sundress and with summer almost over, that might be difficult living in the mountains as we did now.

I decided that that objection applied equally to the other sundress but I stepped out to show Mom how I looked and get her opinion.

She beamed at me. "Oh, Megan, you look so sweet!" she said, then her voice broke and she started to cry.

"Mom! Mom, what's wrong?" I said, putting an arm around her.

She hugged me and whispered in my ear, "Oh, honey, I wish we could have done this years ago."

I knew her wish wouldn't come true, or hadn't, or something, and anyway, she'd already had her real wish, earlier. One to a customer and I didn't hear any fairy bells. I rather wished we could have been mother and daughter together when I was younger, too and I wondered what it would have been like to have been Phoebe's younger sister. Would we have been better friends?

We patted each other and hugged again and told each other not to cry. "It's just a dress," Mom said and then we got the giggles.

We decided to take the one sundress, even if summer were over and Mom helped me choose another simple classic, a short-sleeved, off-black dress with a little flouncy skirt that ended two inches above my knee. "Are you sure about this one?" I asked, modeling it after changing for about the eighth time.

"Oh, yes," Mom said. "You could wear that to church, or if we went out to a fancy dinner or to the right kind of party."

"I believe you," I said. "I just feel a bit odd about it?"

"Now we have to get you some more hose," she said. "And shoes."

I grinned. "This is getting to be a bit expensive, I guess I don't really need to go to college, huh?"

She checked to see if I were kidding then laughed. "I'm glad I don't have to worry about that for four more years. But we'd best get going if you're going to see your friends."

"Uh huh," I said checking the time. "Shoot, uh, if we stop to look at shoes, I'm not going to have any time left at all?"

"Well, you can wear what slacks and jeans you've got, I suppose? But shoes you really do need."

I nodded. "Okay, uh, we'll just take the dresses along instead of making another trip to the car. And I can get more hose at the shoe store?"

"Sounds like a plan," she agreed, making ready to pay with her plastic. She noticed me hesitating again, "What is it?"

"S-since I'm not going to be trying on more clothes, uh, can I wear the green and yellow dress home?" I almost couldn't believe I had asked that and neither could she for a moment. Then she smiled and nodded.

I gave her a happy kiss on the cheek and jumped back into the dressing room to put on my favorite dress, giggling madly just at the idea that I had a favorite dress.

Mom steered us to a shoe store quickly, despite my frequent pauses to look at my reflection in store windows. "What was I thinking when I wished you were more like Phoebe!" she laughed. "You're just as vain as your sister."

"I'm not, am I?" I protested. Mom only smiled, like she didn't really mind but I decided to try to cool it before she made more comparisons with Phoebe.

In the store, we browsed among the styles while Mom explained a few things to me. "School shoes should be sturdy but look good enough you won't feel embarrassed. Trainers or sneakers will probably do well enough if they are nice. No one is going to be wearing heels on that campus, too much dirt and uneven ground."

"Heels?" I squeaked.

She grinned. "We'll get you a pair of 'training heels', two inches or so, you're old enough."

I wasn't too sure about that, but I thought Mom was right about the school in Pineview. Back in Westwood, girls had worn heels to junior high, though not real tall ones. Training heels, in Mom's phrasing, probably.

After I had decided which styles I wanted to try on, we took seats and waited for the clerks to help us. A young man, he didn't look much older than Phillip, approached us and said, "Hello, ladies, I'm Don. How can I help you?"

"Megan wants a couple of pairs of school shoes, some party heels and a nice pair of sneakers," Mom said, indicating me. I giggled like an idiot, realizing that Don was quite good-looking in his neat suit and tie. It certainly made him stand out; no one wears a tie in Southern California unless they're selling shoes, snake oil or cemetery plots. That's a saying of my grandfather, Hy Barnett; I didn't make it up. But it did make me giggle even more to think of it while Don was smiling at me.

Okay, it's embarrassing to have someone hold your feet in a public place. Ten times as much when you've just been changed from a boy to a girl by fairy magic and double it for being in a skirt, and double it again for being in a skirt in public for the first time in your life.

While Don was gone to fetch my sizes, Mom teased me. "You wanted to wear a skirt to buy shoes on purpose, didn't you?"

"No! I didn't think about it!" I said.

Mom laughed. "I should have said something. But Don is a gentleman, he isn't leaving eyetracks above your knees."

"Mom!" My face must have been as red as my hair. I think even my knees were blushing.

Don returned with several boxes and I began trying them on, with his help. He even took my white socks off and slipped little silky footies on my feet for me to try on the heels and flats I had picked out. I giggled a bit at that, it tickled besides being embarrassing.

Don and Mom seem to find this amusing also. Even with the embarrassment, I don't think I've ever had such a good time trying on shoes. When we left, I had picked out a pair of black flats, some dark emerald pumps with two-and-one-quarter inch heels, white cross-trainers with orangey-pink laces and a pair of off white, low heel, ankle boots with blue trim. It sure seemed like a lot of shoes and it cost a lot too.

Walking in the heels had been odd, but not nearly as hard as they make it look in movies when someone wears heels for the first time. I resolved to practice in my room before wearing them anywhere for long. They did look nice with the dress I was wearing, though. The boots and trainers were for wearing with jeans and such and Mom insisted that the black flats would go with almost anything so I wore them out of the store along with a pair of pale yellow, lacy ankle socks.

Don waved at us as we left and I smiled at him. He waggled his eyebrows and said, "Come back soon, Megan." I giggled and just waved back.

Mom snorted. "When did you learn to flirt like that?" she asked.

I didn't know if she was serious or not. "Was I really flirting?"

"You weren't doing too badly for a beginner," she said. "Good thing I let it slip that you're only thirteen."

"I'll be fourteen in a month," I said wonderingly.

"Don't be in such a hurry," she said.

We were back in the mall, loaded down with dresses in bags and shoes in boxes when I saw something in a shop window. I stopped to stare.

"Megan," Mom called to me after continuing a few steps.

"I want to look in here," I told here and went on into the shop.

"You just bought shoes and they certainly aren't broken yet," she protested.

It was a shoe repair shop, very much narrower than most of the other shops and stores in the mall. Inside, a single counter closed off the back of the shop from the front. A middle-aged man with black hair and a thick moustache sat or stood behind the counter. Racks of shoe-related merchandise filled the front part of the little space but I didn't look at any of them.

"Can I help you, miss?" the man behind the counter asked. He had an odd lilting accent of some sort.

I didn't answer, I didn't even really look at him. My eyes were fixed on what I had seen from outside the shop. Back between the aisles of supplies and shoes waiting to be claimed or fixed, something like an old cobbler's shop from a movie had caught my eye. There were lasts and hammers and scraps of leather and bins of oddly-shaped nails. The shop wasn't that deep and all of it seemed clearly in my view.

Including the little man putting hobnails in a boot nearly as big as himself.

Mom stepped into the shop and called me again. "Megan? Weren't you in a hurry to get home?"

"In a minute, Mom," I stalled. "Who's that in the back of your shop, sir?" I asked the man at the counter.

He shook his head, "There's no one back there, Miss. Other than your fair self and your lovely mother, I'm the only other human being in here." His eyes added something to the comment somehow.

I glanced back at the cobbler's bench in plain sight and the fairy cobbler or whatever it was I thought I had seen was gone. Where the little man and the large boot had been sat an enormous calico cat.

"There's my cat," said the shop owner. "Come here, Clementine, and say hello to the pretty ladies."

The cat flicked an ear and turned to look at me. "Hello," she said in a Mae West drawl. "I would get up and come over to be petted, but I'm perfectly comfortable here."

Mom laughed, "What a gorgeous creature," she said. "Is that what you saw in the window, Megan? She's beautiful."

"I guess so?" I murmured.

"Oh, you meant the cat," said the shoe repairman with a wink at Mom. "Yes, she's pretty and she knows it, the conceited thing. I named her after the song, because shoes are mentioned in it." He grinned. "She's not a miner's daughter but she does have big feet."

"Tell him he's a windbag and a liar," said the cat. "He never listens to me, the stupid man. But you, girl, you're the one who's going to marry the Fairy King, aren't you?"

"W-what?" I stammered.

"I'm sorry," Mom said, tugging on my arm. "We really do have to go Megan, you're the one with a meeting to get to."

"Yes," said the cat. "You wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

"Nice seeing you ladies," said the man. "Come back soon."

I let Mom tow me out of the shop, a bit numb with wondering just who the Fairy King might be -- and when and where he might be waiting for me?

---

Next: [Vows and Promises]

More [The Fairy King]

Megan gets a phone call. And the King of Morning Mountains and Evening Seas makes her a promise.

Part 10 - Vows and Promises

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 20

Promises to Keep

"We've spent more than enough money and it's a good thing we started at Sears or it would have been more," Mom said as we headed out to the car. "We'd better go home now if we're going to get back in time for you to have lunch with Dolly and Molly at four."

I only half heard her as I followed her on out to the car, still worrying about what Clementine had said about the Fairy King; as if my life were not complicated enough. One more elfin monarch I needed like another hole in my head but I couldn't tell Mom about this stuff, she'd think I did have holes in my head.

But maybe the time to tell someone had finally come.

We put all our purchases into the car while I thought about that. Mom had written stories about fairies and magic; more than one in fact, though most of her romances had been firmly anchored in some sort of reality.

If anyone might believe me, my own mother might. I opened my mouth to say something and every thought I had about what I might have meant to say vanished.

Mom glanced at me as she wheeled out of the driveway of the mall. "For goodness sake, Megan, close your mouth."

I closed my mouth, feeling a bit frustrated that I couldn't remember what I wanted to talk about. That worried me, too. I wasn't sure what had just happened but I didn't like it.

Somehow I did such a good job of forgetting about the talking cat and the Fairy King that I didn't think of them again, at all, until later. Dealing with magic and fairies can be a very unreal experience and it's easy to convince yourself that some part of it never happened. But I don't think I just forgot. Some sort of fairy magic must have been at work.

Mom smiled at me and I smiled back at her. All I could think about right then was how much fun we'd had together, almost more fun than I could ever remember us having. Being Megan with Mom was different than being Ethan with her. She seemed to be the same person she'd always been but somehow, things were different now.

Mom and I talked about the shopping we'd done and other things I might need. We talked about Daddy and Phoebe, and my brothers Adam and Sean. We talked about a lot of things and did a lot of laughing on the way home. Mom said just before we started up the mountain road, "You know, hon, you're the same person you were before but somehow things are different?"

She'd had almost the same thought I'd had. "Yeah," I said. "I guess I always felt a little uncomfortable and never quite knew why?" We stopped talking so Mom could concentrate on her driving and I had plenty of time to think about what I had said.

It seemed to be true, as if a great load of expectation and obligation had been lifted off of me. I didn't really have to consider what I should do, I could just act and be myself. If I got things wrong, well it didn't seem to matter as much now. It was as if I had made a promise to be Ethan all the time but now I didn't have to keep that promise. "I'm Megan," I said outloud.

Mom laughed as she steered us around a wide curve with a view of the valley far below. "Yes, you are. It's like magic."

I nodded. It was definitely like magic. And of course, that should have reminded me that the Fairy King might be waiting for me somewhere. But it didn't, it just made me feel a little uneasy. Tintabelle and the Fairy Court I'd already met were quite enough to worry about.

 
When we got home, Daddy wanted to insist that I try everything on again and show him how I looked but I told him I didn't have time if I were going to walk across the fields to see Molly and Dolly by four.

"I can drive you over," he offered "It's just down the hill and around the corner by the road."

"Let her walk it, Alec," said Mom, smiling. "She's hoping to meet Phillip on the way so they can talk and she will have a good excuse to leave before things get embarrassing."

"Mom!" I shouted as I ran upstairs to put things away. "Don't tell Daddy that!"

I heard them laughing but I ignored it and hurried to my room. I hadn't been thinking that exactly but it did hit a little close.

 
A few minutes later, I came back downstairs, wearing the green and yellow sundress and carrying one of Phoebe's neutral-colored sweaters in case it got cold. I had on my new sneakers, too; they looked fine with the sundress I decided.

Daddy whistled at me from his office door, but I ignored him until he called me over. "Megan, Phoebe's on the phone, she wants to talk to you." He grinned at my expression.

Yikes. I took the phone and just stared at it for a moment until I heard Phoebe's voice say, "Is anybody there?"

I put the phone to my ear. "Hi. It's--uh- it's me, Megan."

Now I listened to silence for a moment. "That's really you?" Phoebe said.

Like every other idiot talking on a phone, I nodded then remembered to say, "Yes. It's me. Your new sister, Megan." I couldn't suppress an embarrassed giggle, which sounded very Phoebe-like I realized.

She laughed, too. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or hurt so I giggled again. "You actually sound different," she finally said. "This isn't some gag? Daddy said you...probably had some medical problems all along just no one knew it?"

"Um, something like that?" I couldn't tell her about the nine wishes. "They're going to do some testing?"

I heard another girl's voice in the background ask who she was talking to. "My kid sister, she's done something really annoying this time," Phoebe said and I grinned. "My roommate just came in," she said to me.

"The poor thing," I said.

She got it and laughed. "It's you all right. Are you wearing any of my clothes?"

"Uh, no? Mom and I went shopping. I've got that camel sweater of yours, though?"

"I've got some other stuff would probably fit you..." she trailed off for a moment. "Weird thought, that. Borrowing my clothes may have been the only thing you never did to annoy me."

"Well," I said, not sure how to reply to that.

"You mean you did borrow my clothes? Before?"

"No, I didn't! Look, this is way bigger a surprise to me than it is to you."

She gave me an embarrassed giggle back. "I guess it might be. You always were a bit of a fruitcake, though."

"No, I wasn't! You're the fruitcake!" We both giggled.

"Wish I could see you," she said.

"Look in a mirror," I suggested.

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess we both look more like Aunt Maggie than we do like Mom or Daddy?"

"Uh huh." I noticed the clock. "I gotta go, sis? You going to come out here tomorrow?"

"Hadn't planned to," she said. "Maybe I will now? My classes started last week and I've been so busy." Then she whispered. "I think I kinda like the idea of having a sister."

"Me, too." I giggled.

"You've always had a sister, Tinkerbell."

For a moment, I thought she'd said 'Tintabelle' and I made a noise. "You haven't called me that since I was five!" I said when I realized what she'd actually said.

"Daddy made me stop," she said. "You were the cutest little kid. Looks like I was right, huh?" She giggled and we matched.

"I really gotta go," I said.

"Daddy says you've got a boyfriend?"

"Uh. Well, Daddy likes to tease me as much as he ever did you?" Daddy made a face at me and I giggled again.

"Thought so, good grief, you're only twelve!"

"I'll be fourteen next month!"

She laughed. "Oh, yeah, you're starting high school. You sound just like I did then. So, are you going somewhere to meet this boy Daddy says asked you for a date?"

"He told you that? Good grief. Uh, no, I'm going to go have late lunch with a couple of the girls in the neighborhood."

"Uh huh," she said like she didn't believe me. "And if you just happen to see this boy? What's his name?"

"Like I'm going to tell you? Feeblewit." I used one of the old names I'd annoyed her with.

She laughed again. "Okay, I can still call you 'Piglet'."

"But not 'Eddie Munster', please," I said. She'd usually shortened that to just Eddie.

"Okay. I still love you, little sis," she said.

"Me too, you," I said and sniffed a bit.

"'Me-too'! That's what Sean and Adam used to call you when you begged to go with them," she laughed.

I grinned. They'd called her that, too; she'd been as bad about wanting to go places with our big brothers as I had. "I've gotta go, sis," I said. Daddy signaled me that I should hand the phone to him.

He winked at me as he took it. "God is punishing me with another teenage daughter after I just got rid of the last one," he said into the phone.

I giggled; I could just hear Phoebe giggling and saying, "Daddy!" at him, like she always did when he teased her. And now he teased me the same way. So I stuck my tongue out at him as I headed for the kitchen.

"Bye, Mom, bye, Daddy," I called as I started out the back door.

But Mom stopped me. "You're wearing a dress to hike over there, honey?" she asked from her desk in the dining room.

I blushed. "I just don't want anyone to think I'm a boy this time?" I said. I had on my earrings and charm bracelet, too, and just a touch of makeup, pink lipstick and a bit of blush. I'd felt very bold putting it on myself but it looked fine. I was sure Mom noticed that, too, but she just smiled and nodded. "Have fun, honey, and don't walk home in the dark. You call if you need a ride back."

"I will!" I promised and out I went, through the glass enclosed part of the patio and into the already autumn-like air of the mid-afternoon in the almost-September mountains.

 
Once out on the path behind the houses, though. I slowed down to a walk. I wondered if I would meet Phillip, or possibly the Fairy Queen. I didn't really know what I would say to either of them, but it should be obvious to Tintabelle the way I was dressed that I couldn't marry her. At least, I'd never heard of two girls marrying each other.

I worried a little about that, these were fairies and maybe their rules were different. But they had seemed concerned with human laws, too. And I felt certain that California, at least, didn't allow people of the same sex to get married. This was 1998, but things hadn't gone that far yet.

Again, I didn't have a thought about a Fairy King.

While worrying about Tintabelle, I passed Phillip's back fence and that got me to wondering where he might be. I stopped and listened for a moment but I didn't hear anyone or even any hoofbeats anywhere. I didn't want to just walk up to his back door and knock, so I kept going downhill.

I stayed on the path a bit past the spot where I had run down the steep bank and into the middle of the Fairy Court the first time. A little further down, an easier slope made crossing the wash simple and I didn't want to risk falling in my new dress.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to be outside, dressed as a girl. I felt the wind press my skirt against my legs when I left the trail to walk carefully down the slightly steeper, rocky slope to the sandy wash. I glanced uphill toward the rocks where I had first met Dolly and Molly--and the Fairy Queen. No one in sight except a few sparrows.

"Hi, guys," I said experimentally to the sparrows.

"She talks!" said one of them in a birdlike voice; well, what else?

"You're the one!" said the other. "You're the one who tricked the Fairy Queen!"

"I did not!" I protested.

One of them flew over and tried to land on my shoulder. "Don't you dare!" I said and waved him off. Aunt Margie had a pet budgie once and I knew what birds could do to nice clothes.

"Trickster!" the bird accused, hovering awkwardly. But he laughed. Now he sounded a bit like Bart Simpson.

"It's not wise to mess with the Fair Ones," said the other, eerily like Lisa. They landed, briefly, in the limbs of a small pine sapling.

"I didn't do anything on purpose," I said.

"You used your wishes to change yourself," said Bart.

"You're trying to break your engagement. The Queen is really mad," warned Lisa.

They flew around me, amused at my predicament perhaps.

"You'd better not let her catch you," warned the male.

"Or him. He's even worse," said the female.

"Him? Who's he?" I asked, thinking they might mean Duke Leandro who seemed to have conceived a real hatred of me.

They laughed, a treble titter. "The Fairy King!" said the male. And then they flew away.

The Fairy King? Did they mean that the ghost of King Fritharic sought me out? I tried to imagine being afraid of the ghost of a frog but it seemed even more absurd than everything else that had happened so far. "Leave me alone!" I shouted, angry now.

But I had heard of the Fairy King. There had been a leprecaun that had turned into a cat named Clementine. "You're the one," she'd said, "who's going to marry the Fairy King." The memory came back sharp and in focus.

By escaping Tintabelle's plans had I left myself vulnerable to someone more sinister? The sudden recall of a memory I hadn't had a moment ago scared me.

I didn't know whether I should go forward or back. The fairies were playing tricks with my mind now and that worried me a lot. I decided to stick to my plan of having lunch with Molly and Dolly, out of pure Bartlett cussedness, I suppose.

The forest and wash got very quiet then. I could hear the distant sound of traffic and the rustle of leaves when the wind wrapped my dress around me. But no sound of a living thing.

The silence spooked me more than a little but I took my time and picked a route up the other slope out of the wash and into the wide meadow. I didn't want to fall down in my dress or get my nice new sneakers too dusty. It felt a little odd to have become so careful in such a situation and I snickered at myself a little.

Out of the wash at the high end of the meadow, I could see the back fence of the trailer park where Dolly and Molly lived. Back the other way, the houses on Pine Ridge Road were now hidden by trees and the curve of the slope.

A sudden noise attracted my attention. A blue jay flew up from rocks along the wash, a familiar looking blue jay. Not a scrub jay with no topknot, or a mountain jay with a gray topknot, but a true blue jay with a pointy cap of bluest blue. There wasn't another such bird within a thousand miles, most likely.

"King Belcanto comes!" the jay screamed. "King Belcanto comes with justice for the oathbreaker!"

I stared at him as he flew back toward the mountain, still screeching, "The King of Faerie comes to hold a Fairy Court!"

Then I turned and ran toward the gap in the fence at the back. Somehow I knew that if I could get back around people, the fairies couldn't touch me.

The oddity of running in a skirt and feeling it flap around my calves and cling to my legs caused me to slow down after a bit. Wonder of wonders, though, I felt no hint of the wheezing that running usually caused me. I stopped and stood, partly bent over with my feet together and my hands on my hips.

Running wasn't very ladylike, I decided, and since I didn't know where the fairies might be, I might be running right toward them.

I looked around but the bird who had frightened me with talk of a Fairy King had disappeared. King Belcanto? Had that blue jay just been trying to scare me? Who would King Belcanto be? Wasn't Tintabelle a queen, she wouldn't have a king that ruled over her would she? A brother maybe? A shout brought me out of my attempt to puzzle out the identity of the Fairy King.

I turned to look back and saw Phillip astride Roland following the path from the little store up toward where I had first met him on the path behind the houses of Pine Ridge Road. Phillip waved and I waved back. I couldn't help it, I felt I must be grinning like an idiot.

While I pinched myself to keep from looking too foolish, Phillip and Roland picked a careful way across the widest, shallowest part of the wash, further down than where I had crossed. When I felt like I might be in control of my face, I started toward them, angling back toward the meadow edge of the wash.

People, well Roland wasn't exactly people but Phillip was. I should be safe from the fairies with people in sight.

Almost a hundred yards away, they came out onto the firmer, smoother ground of the meadow and Roland immediately broke into a trot. Phillip waved again and shouted, "Wait there!"

I did, wondering if it were safe to ride in the meadow. I knew there were gopher and mouse holes and other hazards for horses that didn't exist on the firmer ground of the path behind our houses. "Be careful," I called.

I heard Phillip laugh in that quiet way he had, as if amused at my worrying about him. But Tintabelle had tried to kill him once already. And what about this new Fairy King?

---

Chapter 21

Morning Mountains, Evening Sea

The fairies appeared around me while Phillip was still a hundred yards away. Down among the grasses and low brush where only I could see them, the tiny men and girls, in gowns and chitons, with their tiny bows were mixed in with the almost-human animals in their anachronistic garb. The mix seemed as unreal as ever, a mental schock. I gasped and stepped back.

Duke Leandro, his weaselly form in top hat and frock coat still only about eight inches tall, stepped forward and gestured back toward Phillip with his short little weasel arm. "Your lover?" he sneered the question.

I shook my head, angry but afraid. "He's just a friend," I said. The fairies tittered, like leaves in the wind.

"'Just a friend,'" said Leandro, still sneering. He looked me up and down, taking in the details of the dress I wore, my new hair-do, my jewelry and shoes. "A very clever way of nullifying your betrothal to Queen Tintabelle. I wouldn't have thought you would have the intellect to conceive such a plan. but it won't work, you know!"

I blinked. "I didn't..." I started to deny it but on one level it might be true. I hadn't been struggling against my transformation into a girl the way I had struggled against a wedding with Tintabelle. A wedding that had become even more unthinkable now. "It wasn't really a plan," I said weakly.

He snorted, his whiskers blowing out from his tiny weasel muzzle. "Not much of a plan. And it won't work. A fairy betrothal is forever unless erased by death!"

"What?" I didn't think I'd heard him correctly.

I looked up, suddenly aware of something else. Except in the area immediately around me, the bit of grass and scrub inhabited by fairies, time seemed to have stopped. Nothing moved except myself and the fairies. Less than fifty yards away, Roland and Phillip were stopped in mid-canter, like a video on pause. I gasped. Was this the spell Queen Tintabelle had referred to as an "Elfhill"?

Leandro had continued speaking during my confusion, I wrenched my attention away from the impossible scene around me and tried to concentrate on what he said.

"You can't escape your fate, Lady Pincerrie. You will either wed the monarch of faerie or someone will die," said the weasel. "I would prefer the wedding not happen; and your death would satisfy the alternate condition." He sneered at me again. Weasel faces are built for sneering.

I glanced around at a hundred fairy bows. I already knew they could take me down before I could act and if the magic on their arrows could make me unconscious it could probably also kill. Or once I was helpless, someone could just cut my throat with one of the fairy swords I'd seen. Leandro wore one now, a five inch blade with a long grip, looking like nothing so much as a miniature samurai sword. "I can't marry the queen," I said desperately. "The magic wish curse is turning me into a woman!"

"'Tis evident. But your treachery will not succeed. The Fairy King comes to wed you in Tintabelle's stead. His Majesty, Belcanto, King of the Morning Mountains and the Evening Sea, will fulfill the betrothal vows and save your worthless mortal life." He looked disgusted.

"No!" I said. "I don't want to marry anyone! And not someone I've never met!"

The voice caught me by surprise. "Now you have met me, lady." A deep, mellow voice, like that of Dr. Estevez but with a flavor of wind in the mountains and sunlight on the sea, came from behind me.

I turned quickly. A tall man, taller than Phillip, not a miniature fairy, stood within reach. His hair shone golden and his eyes were the blue that summer skies are supposed to be. He smiled and perfect teeth gleamed in a perfect mouth. He wore a midnight blue tunic, belted and trimmed with gold. Azure leggings and golden sandals adorned his beautiful long legs. He had jeweled rings on his fingers and a golden torque around his neck. I gaped.

"Your Majesty," said the weasel and all the fairies bowed. I stepped back then tried to bow also; but knowing I should curtsy, I almost stumbled when I realized I didn't know how. The fairies tittered their musical laughs and Belcanto's smile widened, his eyes twinkling. He seemed pleasantly amused and very likeable in a scary way. I think the word I want is charming, in more than one sense.

Faerie charms certainly abounded. All around us the world remained in its arrested state, except that I saw now that things were not completely frozen because Roland's forelegs had moved several inches. Phillip had changed position, too, I thought but I couldn't be sure of that. Time had not stopped outside our circle apparently, but only slowed.

While I dithered, trying to look in two directions at once, Belcanto took my hand. I wanted to snatch it back but his gaze met mine and stopped me. He kissed my fingertips. His lips felt soft as a butterfly landing. "I knew you would be beautiful," he said. Electric sensations left all my limbs tingling and I almost stumbled again.

"Your Majesty," I managed to gasp. "I don't want to marry you, either!"

He frowned at me and even his frown was beautiful. "A miscast spell has changed your sex but it hasn't released you from your promise to marry the Monarch of the Sidhe."

"But I didn't," I said. "I never promised that."

"By our laws you did; and since Tintabelle cannot marry another lady, she has yielded her claim to me." He hadn't released my hand yet and his fingers did something wonderful in my palm and to my brain.

It made it very hard to think and I still couldn't pull my hand back so I clasped his fingers to make him stop. Something about his scent made me dizzy, it seemed to be made of pines and sage and the sea and an odor I couldn't identify but was definitely male.

"Lady Pincerrie, would it be so terrible to marry me and be my queen?" he asked. The tenderness in his voice made me want to weep but the title the fairies had given me sounded so odd, I felt the courage to respond.

"I'm not a lady, sire," I said. "I'm not really a boy but I'm not a girl either."

"In only a few days you will be," said Belcanto. "The magic will continue its work, transforming you into my future fairy queen."

I took the opportunity, I had to ask. "Can the magic be undone?"

He shook his golden head. "Only the ninth wish if made by Tintabelle can undo this magic. And she has gone away from here, yielding her place to me."

I felt a thrill of relief and a pang of regret. I'd been happy enough being a boy; but being all one thing would be better and being a girl wasn't bad at all.

Belcanto pulled me to him, I could not resist him physically so I said, "I still can't marry you, I won't marry you." It sounded weak and irresolute, even to me. He held me against him and I felt his strength and his purity of purpose.

"There's a cost to every decision," he murmured. "When her magic went awry changing you into an unsuitable candidate to be her groom, Tintabelle realized that by fairy law only a death could dissolve the betrothal she had proclaimed. She still felt a weakness for you so she tried to kill your lover of horses instead but he was saved." He gestured toward where Phillip and Roland still approached so slowly. Belcanto's musical voice rang like funeral bells. "Tis easy to kill a mortal, though, I've done it many times."

I gasped and struggled against his hold. He let me go as far as the length of both our arms, tethering me by my wrist. "Don't kill him! You can't kill him!"

The warmth I had felt had left his voice. "A wedding or a death, Lady Pincerrie. 'Tis your choice, and if you will not marry the only way you may save your lover from me is to be willing to die yourself."

"You can't," I whimpered. "Phillip has not harmed you. He's innocent." I shook my hand but I could not free myself from the grip of the Fairy King.

His voice had winter in it now, glaciers and icebergs. "Only your vows or the offer of your life for his can save him, Lady." Belcanto seemed bigger than ever; his strength like a mountain, his will like the waves that pound the shore into sand.

"No, no," I sobbed and I would have fallen to my knees but he stepped closer and caught me up close again. I turned my face up to him and looked into his summer eyes through the tears that had filled my own.

"Marry me then, Megan of Pincerrie," he said. "Save him and yourself. Marry me and be the Queen of the Evening Mountains and the Sunset Sea. Be my fairy bride and you can have all the mortal lovers you desire, as well. I promise."

"I don't want to do that," I sobbed again. "I'm too young. I haven't had a chance to find out who I am yet!"

His beautiful fairy face only inches from mine, he spoke softly; gentle as the snow that covers a climber dying of exposure on a mountain, soft as the tide that pulls a swimmer to a drowning death. "This boy, Phillip. His horse can stumble again, a rathole, a patch of deep sand. Many things can happen. Phillip can fall and break his neck or his head. Choose, Megan. Phillip dies unless you save him. Offer me your life in his stead or marry me and both of you shall live."

I looked up toward Phillip and while time still seemed frozen, it began to move again as well. Time split in two. One Roland stayed frozen in midstride with Phillip safe on his back. But I saw the other Roland take two stides and stumble, he went up to his fetlocks in soft sand. I saw the other Phillip fall from the saddle. I heard the sound of his head hitting the ground.

My heart pounded,I gasped and strained to start toward them but the Fairy King held me back easily. He pulled me to him again. "'Tis only a vision I'm showing you of what might be," he said. "All you may do now is watch."

I watched, not breathing. Phillip lay unmoving and a red stain flowed from his head onto the withered green of the grass. "Save us, Lady Eden," begged Roland. He still struggled to free himself from the sand, in danger of snapping one of his fragile legs with his great strength.

The vision of what might be faded. Phillip and Roland stood like statues, caught in midstride by fairy magic but still alive. Phillip still in the saddle, Roland still with all four feet above the sand. Things were as they had been before. What I'd just seen hadn't happened -- yet.

Again I struggled to free myself. "Let me go," I pleaded.

"Choose," said Belcanto, pulling me back into his embrace. "Marriage vows or a funeral march." His voice and face were beautiful and terrible and I knew he could snuff out Phillip's life without a qualm.

I didn't seem to have any air. "I will marry you, then," I whispered to the Fairy King.

Belcanto smiled and all the warmth and wonder flowed back into his eyes and voice. He stepped back and I saw him in his majesty and beauty, The King of Morning Mountains and Evening Sea. His hair like sunlight, his eyes warm as summer skies, his lips....

He spoke. "Lady of the Daisies, Megan Pincerrie, I will marry you. The betrothal is renewed." He bowed to me without letting go of my hand, and somehow I fumbled a curtsy. Then he drew me within his arms again.

I felt lighter than foam on a breaking wave, insubstantial as mist as his arms closed around me. I made a faint noise, so frightened and baffled and charmed at the same time that I had no thought at all.

"Sealed with a kiss," he said and pressed his lips to mine. This was not a butterfly landing, this was a brand, hot as ice, cold as flame. It seared my lips and singed my soul, lifting me higher than mountains and piercing me deeper than the sea.

And with that touch of his burning cold fairy lips, King Belcanto and all the Fairy Court disappeared more quickly than it can be said.

---

Next - [Guardian at the Gate]

More [The Fairy King]

Life goes on for Megan, after her kiss from the Fairy King...

Part 11 - Guardian of the Gate

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 22

Winding the Clock

Like a video that's just been taken off pause, Roland and Phillip resumed their progress toward me. All around us, the world took up its ordinary tempo. A wind ruffled the crowns of the pines on the ridge and made surf-like waves in the wild oats of the meadow. It felt real and unreal at the same time, sort of like when you wake up and you're running a fever. I knew that feeling but this time it was the Fairy King's kiss that had heated my blood, not bronchitis.

I put a hand to my mouth, touching my lips. They felt hot and swollen. The kiss had been paradox, soft but unyielding, cool but fiery. I would remember that kiss for a long time, I knew, and not just with the memory of lips touching lips. Belcanto had touched more than just my skin, he had laid his magic on my soul--and proved to me that I had the soul of a woman.

I wanted another kiss and I wanted more than a kiss.

It took an effort to shake myself out of fantasy and back to the reality of a summery meadow on a Southern California mountain. I looked around, Roland and Phillip continued their interrupted journey toward me. Behind them lay the rocky wash separating the meadow from the trail behind the houses along Pine Ridge Road. I lived there now, in Number Nine and Phillip lived in Number Five, only two doors away.

The mid-afternoon sun still shone above the ridge that Tintabelle had called Pincerrie, the wind playing with my skirt still smelled of pines. My heart ached with the sudden beauty of a very ordinary place. I brushed tears from my eyes and took several deep shuddering breaths, willing myself back to reality.

It seemed hard to believe that only moments ago the Monarh of Morning Mountains and Emperor of Evening Seas had proposed marriage to me--and I had accepted for the sake of the horse and rider now approaching.

I watched Phillip and Roland come closer, no longer statues but moving at an ordinary pace; as if someone had rewound their clocks. The tall boy with strawberry blond hair ond the big brown horse with the pale golden mane had no idea that their lives had been threatened by the Fairy King.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to warn them. I wanted to run in my sundress to meet them but I could only move a step at a time. I still didn't seem to have any air. "Be careful!" I whispered.

Phillip waved, watching me. His pale red hair gleamed in the sun like the legends of fairy gold and one of his tiny, almost imaginary, smiles played around his mouth. He looked so young.

Belcanto had looked young, too, but the Fairy King's eyes were older than oceans. I won't be fourteen for another month, I thought despairingly, and someone who may have watched the Romans conquer Britain wants me for his bride. The three years or so between my age and Phillip's seemed so trivial on that scale.

I waved back at Phillip as he and Roland carefully picked a way across the broken ground of the wide meadow.

It would be so easy to think I'd gone crazy but there I stood in a sundress I'd bought earlier in the day watching my boyfriend approach and only last week I'd been a boy myself. Life was weird enough without fantasy making things more complicated.

Roland kept his eyes on the ground, choosing between dangers, loose dirt, bramble patches, squirrel holes. He looked large and brown and so very solid. In the sunlight, his mane gleamed golden much brighter than I had seen it before under the shadow of the trees. Now Roland's coat shone like metal, deep bronze body and bright brass mane and tail, one white stocking like silver.

Little creatures in the tall grass fled from Roland making a tiny pandemonium; a pair of mice, in particular, demonstrated a surprising vocabulary for such small rodents. The magical comprehension of animal voices I had gained with my first wish still worked, even though I didn't really want to hear a mouse warn a horse, "You great brobdignagian nag, you gallumphing galoot, get your apocalyptic hoof out of my parlor!"

I got my breath back and finally ran toward horse and horseman, trying hard not to cry because Phillip wouldn't understand.

"Eden," he said when we got close enough to speak in ordinary voices. His blue eyes sparkled. His smile flashed on and off, changing his expression from serious interest to secret delight, moment to moment. How could a boy look so beautiful? And so vulnerable.

"Hi, Phillip," I said unable to think of anything else to say. I wiped my eyes with one hand and tried to keep smiling at him so he wouldn't realize I had been crying.

"You look very nice in that dress, Eden," he said.

I did laugh then, nervously. He hadn't seen me in one before. "Thank you, I haven't worn one...all summer..." I trailed off, confused. I had never worn one before today in my whole life.

He nodded, half-smiling. "You should wear dresses more often," he said, looking at my legs.

"I smell fairies," commented Roland, before I could think too much about Phillip's admiration. The horse whuffled and flicked his ears. I looked around, concerned, but none of the little people or their human-sized king were visible. Even the mice were quiet.

Phillip patted Roland's neck. "Easy," he said. Then to me, "Are you going over to the trailer court to see the Hawthornes?"

"Yes, we're going to have lunch," I said. I'd almost forgotten about my planned lunch with Molly and Dolly. It seemed like an appointment made in some fictional previous existence, as if I'd agreed to meet Alice and the White Rabbit for tea. I think I must have looked a bit confused.

"Would you like a ride?" Phillip asked, quickly, before I could really sort out my thoughts. "You could sit sidesaddle in front of me," he offered, scooting back to show me how much room the big Western saddle had, room enough for two to ride.

I did want a ride. More, I wanted to sit on Roland with my back against Phillip and feel the big horse under me and human arms around me. I still shivered inside from the kiss of the Fairy King and I needed the warmth of humanity and the solidity of a big comfortable animal. Some of my fright must have showed in my face.

Phillip's expression changed only a little, a vertical line appeared between his eyes, a minimalist concerned frown. "You're not afraid of Roland, are you?" he asked.

The big horse snorted. "Of course not," he said. His voice made me think of oatmeal, almost logical for a horse.

I shook my head.

Phillip dismounted and stepped closer to me. "And you're not afraid of me?"

"No, no," I said, resisting an impulse to step back. "Just--the ground is so uneven. Rabbit holes."

"We'll be careful, nothing faster than a walk," promised Roland. "I'd be honored to be your steed, Lady Eden."

"Roland is very careful on ground like this, we'll keep to a walk," echoed Phillip. "Please?"

I nodded, quickly. Phillip took my hand and led me to Roland's side; we stopped with my back to the big animal. "Steady," said Phillip.

"I'm a rock," agreed Roland.

I giggled suddenly and Phillip almost grinned, or at least his lips quirked a bit. He put his hands on my waist, "Ready?" he asked. I nodded again and he lifted me easily into the saddle.

A tiny breeze ruffled my skirt. I squeaked, clasping my legs together and bending my knees to brace my heels on Roland's broad flank. With one hand I held down my skirt and with the other I grabbed the saddle horn.

"Thatta girl," said Phillip. Then, "Easy, boy," to Roland as he swung up into the saddle behind me with one hand still resting lightly on my waist.

I gasped. Phillip didn't look particularly strong but I could feel the lean hardness of his body against my back and he'd lifted me as easily as one of my brothers, Sean or Adam, could have, then he had mounted without using his hands. That impressed me.

Phillip left the reins where they were, looped over the saddle horn under my hand. "Sweet walk, Roland," he commanded.

"Sugarfoot," said the horse. I felt powerful muscles surge beneath us, his golden mane tickled my arm as we began to move.

"What's 'sugarfoot' mean?" I asked, not thinking at the moment that Phillip could not hear Roland's Wilford Brimley voice.

"That's his gait," said Phillip. "An even walk, very comfortable, but it covers ground quickly and he can do it all day long. He's almost shuffling his feet. It's also his breed, part Tennesee Walker, part Morgan, part Quarter Horse. The studbook is only about twenty years old."

He didn't ask where I'd heard the term and I didn't ask what a studbook was. I could sort of guess that it must be where horse pedigrees were recorded.

"He's a palomino, isn't he?"

Phillip shook his head. "Nope, flaxen chestnut; he looks like a palomino but he's darker. He's chestnut and pale gold instead of gold and nearly white. Different genetics, palominos don't always breed true but all the horses in the Sugarfoot studbook are flaxen chestnut."

"Huh," I said. "So Roland is pretty special?"

"Well, I like to think so," he said, patting Roland's flank. "You like horses, don't you?"

"Yes," I said.

Roland's ears twitched and I knew he was listening. "Horses know when someone likes them," Phillip commented.

I got distracted then by the pressure on my back from Phillip's arm as he reached around me to pat the horse on the neck this time. My heart seemed to beat faster and a warmth spread from every part of my body touching Phillip. I'd wanted to be here, to feel human warmth but somehow I felt frightened of what might happen. After my meeting with the Fairy King, why did an ordinary boy seem so scary? I'd agreed to marry Belcanto to keep Phillip--and Roland--safe but who would keep me safe from how I seemed to feel about Phillip?

Belcanto's kiss had lit some sort of fire inside me and I suddenly understood a lot better why Mom had described my sister Phoebe as "boy crazy." I hoped, Phillip thought the color in my cheeks was just from the wind.

"The entrance to the park is around by the road," Phillip commented. "Why were you headed this way?"

"Uh," I said. I wished I could kick start my brain. "Oh, yeah, there's an entrance through the back of the junkyard?" I pointed with my right hand. "Over there." It was almost a relief to have something else to think about but I couldn't hold onto my imagination for very long.

Roland clop-clopped that direction without orders from Phillip. The reins were still looped over the saddle horn under my left hand. The gentle motion of Roland's progress kept me very aware of Phillip's presence behind me. Somewhere, deep in the middle of my physical self, something quivered.

I looked back at Phillip, so clase were we that I could easily see the tiny flecks of silver and gold in his blue eyes. I realized that our gazes were locked, even in such an awkward pose.

Before I could think of the sky-deep blue of the Fairy King's eyes, Phillip said, "Your eyes are about fifty different colors, all of them green."

"You mean both of them," I said.

He smiled without the smile doing more than crinkle the corners of his mouth. "Both of them," he agreed.

I looked away quickly and tried not to giggle.

---

Chapter 23

The Dog with Three Names

"There's a fence," said Roland. Even though Phillip couldn't have heard the comment right from the horse's mouth, he looked up when I did. The ragged fence stretched across the angle from the back corner of the trailer park to another compound containing the offices of the junkyard and some buildings that might have been warehouses or garages. It looked as if it had been made of salvaged fencing itself, two different styles of chainlink in three different heights, part of it topped with two or three strand barbwire.

"I don't see a gate," said Phillip.

"Not a real gate," I said. "Just an opening in the fence." I pointed to the spot where two of the mismatched stretches of fencing met by simply overlapping loose ends. The four-foot-high opening I remembered would not allow Roland to enter the park this way.

Phillip grunted and Roland ambled toward the gap.

Suddenly, a black and gold form seemed to spring from a hole in the ground near a derelict Buick on the other side. "Who are you?" shouted Cerebus, simultaneously uttering one amazingly loud bark. He looked huge with his fur all bristling up, and a Rottweiler is already an enormous dog.

"Son of a bitch," said Roland. I almost laughed out loud in relief.

"Son of a mare," returned Cerebus, sharply. The big dog sniffed, then wagged his tail. "Oh, it's you," he added, looking directly at me.

"It's me," I agreed.

"The dog knows you?" asked Phillip. He had both hands on my shoulders, holding me in the saddle.

"Sure," I said. "We're old friends, aren't we?"

"You bet," agreed the dog, tail wagging. "Did you bring me something?" He moved to stand in the opening, his big head sticking through the gap. He opened his mouth and made a "yawp" sound then clapped his jaws. He looked appalingly fierce except for his tail wagging but he sounded like somebody's goofy uncle.

"He's half as big as a pony! Eden, that's a junkyard dog," Phillip protested. "They are not friendly animals."

I'd forgotten all about the toll I had promised Cerebus, the bread dipped in meat juices. "He's a nice dog," I said, a little less sure than I wanted to be.

"Sure I am," said Cerebus, adding an amiable, audible, "Woof!"

Phillip and Roland snorted doubtfully. "I could kick him into next week," offered the horse.

Cerebus stepped back, away from the gap. "You and whose cavalry, gluefoot?" he said. He showed his teeth and his tail stopped wagging.

"Be nice, Roland," I whispered, patting the big horse on the neck.

"Tell the pussycat to come out here where I can stomp him," said Roland, cheerfully.

"Cat!" yelped Cerebus. "Why you--you--you sofa! You antelope--chesterfield--you elk! I'll make a gelding of ya!" The big dog lunged back into the gap between the fencing, snarling and growling at the horse.

"Cerebus! Tigger! Bruno!" I tried all of his names, "Calm down!" I yanked on Roland's mane, "And you, stop antagonizing him."

"Huh? What did Roland do?" Phillip asked. "No, you are not getting down!" he added when I tried to slip from the saddle. Phillip's hands went to my waist now and held me firmly.

Roland gave Cerebus a horse laugh but backed off, snorting in amusement. The big black and yellow dog immediately calmed down. "That your boyfriend?" he asked conversationally, tail wagging again.

"Yeah, yes, no, I mean...." I wiggled a bit in Phillip's grip. "Let me down, he's not going to hurt me."

"What did you call him? That's an awful lot of names for a junkyard mutt and I can't let you down!"

"I don't let boys through the fence, Eden," said Cerebus Tigger Bruno. "Your boyfriend will have to wait out here with the cow."

"Your mother ate weasel food and liked it," said Roland.

Cerebus bristled again and I yanked on Roland's mane again. "Stop it, both of you!"

"What? Who?" protested Phillip. "What's Roland doing?"

"He started it," muttered the dog.

"That's 'cause I can finish it, too," said Roland smugly.

How could I explain to Phillip? "Let me down!" I squirmed some more.

"No! He may have three names instead of three heads but I'm not letting you off this horse with that monster guarding the gate!" Phillip put his left arm around my waist and linked hands, pulling me further up on the saddle.

"Phillip! Look, if you control your horse, I'll make Cerebus behave!"

The dog sniffed. "You forgot the bread and meat juice, didn't you?"

"Turn around and introduce yourself," said the horse.

Cerebus ran about five feet out through the gap, snarling and snapping and cussing and Roland shot a forefoot out in a kick that missed by yards but looked and sounded deadly. I'd never actually been able to hear a kick that didn't hit anything before.

The horse started forward. "You're all bark and bluff, rabbit-nose!" he sneered.

"I'll hamstring you, porkchop!" threatened the dog.

Phillip grabbed for the reins, still looped on the saddle horn, and I took my chance to slide off Roland's back and out of Phillip's grasp. I had to stop the two idiots before they hurt one another.

"Roland! Damnit! Eden!"

I hadn't realized what my action would do to my skirt.

I pushed my dress back down with both hands, hoping that Phillip hadn't seen my panties. What a thing to have to worry about, but there were more important worries just now.

"Eden!" Phillip yipped.

But before he could do anything to stop me, I rushed between Roland and Cerebus. "Stop it, you two!" I ordered them.

Cerebus promptly sat down right where he been barking and bouncing around, snarling at Roland. He looked up at me, "Hiya," he said cheerfully as if he hadn't been threatening massive bodily injury to the horse. I wanted to kill him.

"Nice kitty!" said Roland.

I whirled on the bigger animal and snapped, "Now you stop it, too!"

Phillip slipped from the saddle and grabbed Roland's bridle, "But he wasn't doing anything!" he protested. He couldn't hear the animals talking so he had no idea of the insults and taunts the horse had been using to get Cerebus all riled up.

How could I explain? "Cerebus doesn't like his attitude," I said lamely. "Uh, Roland curls his lip and shows his teeth."

"I did not," said Roland.

"Did too," said Cerebus behind me but he stayed sitting down.

"You did, I didn't," said Roland.

"You're a big liar and your farts smell like grass," said the dog.

"Stop it, both of you!" I snapped. Phoebe used to babysit a couple of brothers, eight and nine; at the time I was ten and tagged along with her for something to do. This argument sounded like the ones Sam and Dave had gotten into all the time. I also remembered that those verbal battles had frequently erupted into physical fights. "Boys!" Phoebe had exclaimed in disgust and so did I.

Phillip looked from me to the dog to Roland and back at me. "I didn't see either of them do anything," he said.

"They were about to," I said, frowning at each of them. "Now behave, if you can't be friends at least don't make any enemies."

"Fine with me," said Cerebus.

"Sorry," said Roland but he didn't sound sorry. "I guess I just don't like dogs," he added.

"Funny that," said Cerebus. "I'm rather found of horse...meat."

I glared at him and he lay down with his head on his paws and winked at me.

I wanted to kick him but he did look cute. "See?" I said to Phillip. "He's a good dog, he's not gonna hurt me or anybody."

"Well, he may be a pussycat..." Phillip began.

"Hey!" protested Cerebus. "Watch it."

"...but I can't let you go through that fence with him around," Phillip finished.

"How are you going to stop me?" I asked.

Phillip took a step forward. Instantly, Cerebus stood and rested his massive head against my hip. "Don't drool on me, this is a new dress," I warned him.

"Sorry," said the dog but he didn't take his eyes off Phillip. "You go on through the gate, I'll watch your back."

I put a hand through the short length of rope that served Cerebus as a collar. "You're coming with me as far as the other side of the fence."

"I don't think he's going to let me," said Phillip.

"Not you, him." I yanked on the collar and stepped backward toward the gap in the fence.

"I don't let boys through the fence," said Cerebus. "they just want to cause trouble."

"You let me through yesterday," I said, a bit puzzled.

Cerebus snorted. "Eden, you're a girl." He sniffed my other hand. "I can tell, you know."

"I..." I hadn't been a girl yesterday when I came through the fence the first time, had I? But how could I discuss this with a dog while Phillip watched and listened?

"He's got you there," commented Roland. "I knew you were a girl, too. Heck, even doofus here can tell." The big horse nudged Phillip with a massive shoulder, almost knocking him down.

"Hey!" Phillip pushed back against Roland with no effect whatsoever. "Don't you start!"

"You'd better go," I said. "Before they get into it again."

"Well," Phillip hesitated. "I'll stand here and watch.'

I sighed. "Back up about twenty feet, could you? The testosterone is getting a little thick."

He flashed me one of his minimalist grins but led Roland back to a spot more than ten yards from the fence. Cerebus watched intently, tail wagging. "Good riddance," he said to me. "Your boyfriend seems like a reasonable guy but that moose he rides is a jerk."

"Quiet," I warned him, both hands holding his collar. I didn't want him rushing after the horse. "I'm sorry I forgot the toll, your bread and meat," I said.

"That's okay," said the dog. "You can bring me some another time. I like you, Eden." He demonstrated with a tongue half as big as a bath towel.

"Hey, none of that," I said. I laughed, he was just a big goofy mutt but I felt glad to have him for a friend.

"This far enough?" asked Phillip.

"No," said Roland. "I can still see him." Phillip didn't hear that but Cerebus did and I tensed as the big dog quivered indignantly.

"Yes," I said. Straightening up, I tugged on the rope collar, "Let's go."

Cerebus obediently preceeded me through the gap in the fence. I had to let go of his collar to duck-walk through myself, using both hands to hold my skirt away from snags on the rusty wire.

While I stood up and waved at Phillip, the big black and yellow dog walked over to his dusty bed near the Buick, turned around twice, and flopped down. He lifted his head to lay his chin on the edge of the dirt he had piled up around the pit. "If you and the moose-rider have puppies, can I have one to play with?" he asked.

I just stared at him until Phillip called to me. "Everything okay?" he asked.

I turned and waved, shaking off my astonishment. I'd actually been wondering if I would be able to get pregnant eventually and what my and Phillip's kids might look like--red hair, almost certainly. I shook my head at Cerebus and whispered, "I don't think so." To Phillip I called out, "I'm fine, I'm going over to Molly and Dolly's now."

I started off that way, toward the inner gate from the junkyard to the mobile home park. "Don't wait for me," I told Phillip. "I'll probably call my Dad to come get me in the car."

"Okay," he said, sounding disappointed. Then he turned and mounted Roland and waved again.

"Goodbye, Lady Eden," called the horse.

"Bye, Roland, bye, Phillip, I'll see you tomorrow?"

Phillip nodded. "At the Atterbery's party. Goodbye, Eden."

Cerebus lifted his head and clawped his jaws. "Goodbye, see you soon."

I grinned at him. "Goodbye, Cerebus-Tigger-Bruno." I waved at everyone once more and hurried off through the gate into the park.

---

Next - [Truth or Dare]

More [The Fairy King]

Megan finds out it's all about truth and illusions. What is? Life...

Part 12 - Truth or Dare

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 24

The Truth about Fairies

The walk-through gate in the chain link fence still wasn't locked or even closed and I went through quickly. I tried to hurry a little as I passed all the parked RVs in the little lot between the junkyard and the main park. Sometime during the walk from home, I had put Phoebe's sweater on. I felt glad of it now because a breeze had come up and it was actually cool enough in the shade to be uncomfortable with bare arms.

A long metal bar painted yellow across the private street served as a gate between the RVs that were just parked and the ones that someone was living in. That gate was closed and locked this time but a person on foot could just walk around it or duck under. I suspected that the people were charged rent for parking RVs there and wondered vaguely if owners who owed rent worried about the junkyard being so handy.

Some of the older people in the lived-in RVs smiled or waved at me. I smiled and waved back. I didn't remember anyone having been that friendly when I came through last time. Maybe it was because this time I didn't look like a boy?

The low white fence of one yard attracted my attention. I slowed. The yard, like most of the others around it, was bare with only a few sad patches of grass, a few bushes and a dead tree. The trailer, or mobile home, was the first of the larger ones, a dull blue green with white trim. All the windows were curtained and a ten-year-old sedan sat in the little carport.

At first I didn't see anyone, but a black and white dog resting on the bare ground under the dead tree lifted his head and looked at me. "Looking for someone?" he asked.

"Oh," I said. I glanced around to see if anyone might be watching me talking to a dog. "I met Bowser and T.C. here the other day."

He cupped his ears in my direction, "Why are you whispering?"

I laughed. "I'm not sure. I'm Eden Bartlett, I haven't met you yet."

"No, you haven't," he agreed. He stood and glanced at the dead tree. I looked where he was looking and realized that the knot in one of the upper crutches of bare limbs was Bowser, the monkey, sound asleep, and not a football like I had seen T.C. tossing into the tree earlier. He wore a red and gold little jacket with blue trim and a cap of the same colors. He looked so cute I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

"Shhh. Whispering's a good idea, don't wake him up," said the dog. He stretched luxuriously, making his tags jingle, then ambled over to the fence, wagging his tail in a doggie smile. "He drives me crazy with his jabber when he's awake." He sniffed at me and blinked enormous brown eyes in a spaniel face.

"Okay, I can't stay to talk, Molly and Dolly are waiting for me," I said. I took another look around to make sure no one could see us.

"You're a girl," said the black and white dog. "You're looking for T.C., ain't ya? All the girls are crazy about that pup." He grinned, pink tongue lolling out of his mouth.

I blushed. "Well, I already have a boyfriend..." and a fiance, I didn't add.

"Hee, hee, hee," the dog snickered.

I backed away from the fence, "I've got to be going," I said.

"Wait," said the dog. "Watch this." He took a couple of running steps then stood on his hind legs with his front paws crossed in front of him. "That monkey thinks he's so smart." He took a few more upright steps then hopped forward like a rabbit another few before dropping to all fours. "Ta da!"

I laughed out loud. "Good dog!" I said. "That's amazing."

"I can do something else the monkey can't do," he said. "I can talk." He looked a bit confused for a moment. "I mean, not like this, I can talk out loud."

T.C.'s family must all be in the circus I decided. "You can?"

"I can say my name," he said. Then he opened his mouth and plain as can be said, "Ralph."

I stared, not sure if I'd really heard that with my ears. "Your name is Ralph?"

"No, it's Waldo," he explained. "But Ralph is my stage name. Let's see that monkey do that!" He glanced at the tree just as a deftly thrown twig caught him right on the nose.

I couldn't help it, I broke up laughing.

Bowser, safely up in the dead tree and wide awake now, laughed too. "Let's see you do that! Throw the stick, boy! Throw the stick! Hey, dogs can't throw sticks, can they?" He added an audible chittering laugh that ended in a monkey-sized Bronx cheer.

"You evil little squirrel!" Waldo snarled.

"You know what they actually call him?" asked Bowser. "They call him Cheezer, Porkbelly, Flathead and Ignatz!"

"You're Mustard Maker, Spam-for-Brains, and Noodles!" countered the dog.

One of the neighbors, a plump old lady in an improbably bright yellow pantsuit came out and said to someone back inside her dumpy, little silver trailer, "Oh, it's just the dog barking at the monkey again." Then she shouted at Waldo, "Will you shut up?"

"Hey, rube!" called Bowser, chittering and jumping from limb to limb of the dead tree with one tiny hand guiding the leather leash attached to the canvas collar around his neck. If the leash had got tangled he would have hung himself.

Waldo charged the fence separating the yards. "Mark! Mark! Mark!" he barked, meanwhile saying, in a perfect Jerry Stiller impression, "Ah, get back in your beer can, banana slug. If we need your opinions, we'll find a pile of elephant dung and ask it!"

"Waldo!" I said, trying not to laugh.

"They oughtn't be allowed to keep that monkey!" the old woman said to me. Then she reached inside her trailer and came out with a broom. "Or this damn noisy mutt either!" and she raised the broom and shook it at Waldo.

She must have been fifteen feet away but this drove Waldo into a frenzy, snarling and snapping, and he made as if to climb the fence or jump it. "I'll cut her off at the ankles and roll her down the mountain!" he swore.

The old woman didn't leave her stoop but shook the broom at Waldo again, used some profanity even a dog shouldn't have to listen to, ending with "Shut the hell up!" Then she glared at me and went back inside her own trailer, slamming the door behind her. So much for people being friendlier to a girl.

Bowser hung from a dead limb by tail and one foot, holding his cap on with a hand. "That's telling her, pup! Every clown wants to get into the act!"

Waldo kicked dirt and leaves behind him, barked a few more times, then looked back at me with a doggy grin. "Two matinees and a twilighter. And she never misses a cue. What a trouper," he said.

"We're still not giving her billing," said the monkey. Then he snickered and sent a razzberry toward the old woman's trailer.

The dog trotted over to me and flopped down on the grass. "You waiting for T.C.? He's down at the schoolyard throwing footballs, I think."

"No, I have to go," I said.

Bowser came down out of the tree, pulling his leash behind him. Waldo stood up with a woof and danced away from him. "Time for Act II?" he asked.

"Not yet," said the monkey. He hopped up on the fence and put a tiny hand on my wrist. "The fairies say you're going to be their queen," he said, making a soft, barely audible, "Chee!" at the same time.

"Those guys," complained the dog. "Sneaking around all invisible but smelling like magic, I don't trust them." He trotted over and nosed Bowser.

"Stop it," said the monk. He glared at the dog who clopped his jaws, leaving the end of a tiny pink tongue sticking out of his black and white face. "Moron," said Bowser.

"You sure you're not just some weatherman's renegade toupee?" asked Waldo without opening his mouth.

I giggled at that.

Bowser took his cap off, passed it from one hand to the other, put it back on and rubbed his face then turned back to me. "Fairies, yeah, they're a sneaky bunch, did they trick you into something?"

"Sort of," I admitted.

Waldo growled. Bowser turned to him, grabbed the corner of the dog's nose between his tiny fingers and yanked. "Do you mind! We're having a serious conversation here, primate to primate."

"Ow," said Waldo, mildly. But he backed up and sat down. "Fairies are all bastards," he added.

Bowser moved his head in a circular monkey nod that would give a human whiplash. He caught his cap as it fell off, passed it from hand to hand again, this time behind his back, then put it back on again. "Yeah," he said. "Don't you trust them, Eden. They lie, cheat and steal and they sneak under the canvas to watch the show for free."

"Bastards," Waldo commented again.

"Any deal you make with fairies is in their favor," said Bowser. "They'll twist the rules to suit themselves and if it looks like you're gonna win anyway, they'll make up new rules."

I frowned at him. "They said they'd hurt my friends if I didn't marry their king."

"Bastards," Waldo said a third time.

Bowser sighed. "Well, they've got their own twisted sense of honor, Eden. There's always a way out of their deals if you're not greedy or selfish. You're a smart girl, you can figure it out."

I stared at him. I'd already tried that in a way, and the best I'd been able to come up with was to use up the wishes so Tintabelle couldn't turn me back into a boy and marry me. But, just like Bowser had said, they'd changed the rules and now King Belcanto had forced me to agree to marry him.

I shook my head.

Waldo lay on the grass and looked at me with his head on his paws. "Be brave," he said. "They respect courage. But don't let the bastards grind you down."

Bowser gave another circular nod. "Be brave and good and they cannot harm you, Eden. They're made of air and idle thoughts and they cannot win if only you are strong."

I think I stood there with my mouth open. Pretty heavy advice from a little monkey.

His jacket had pockets and he searched in one of them, produced a peanut and offered it to me. I shook my head, he opened the peanut with his mouth, picked out the nut and ate it and threw the shell at the dog. Waldo snapped at it then spit it out. "Joker," the dog muttered.

Bowser touched my wrist again then my cheek and took my little finger in the grasp of his other hand. "Once you've been touched by faerie magic, you'll never be the same as you were," he said. "But that doesn't mean they get to have it all their own way."

Our stares locked, his warm brown eyes and my jade-flecked hazel ones. His tiny wrinkled face made him look like an old man but at least he didn't talk backward like Yoda. "Remember," he said. "You're stronger than they are because you're real and they aren't."

I'm not sure why but I nodded. "I'll remember," I said. I leaned down, pushed his cap back and kissed the little monkey on his wrinkled brown forehead. "Thank you, Bowser."

"You're welcome," he said. He grinned with all his teeth and straightened his cap then he spun in place, threw the leash over his shoulder and leaped toward Waldo. "Gimme a ride, Old Paint!" he shouted, chittering and squeaking.

Waldo stood up just as the monkey landed in the middle on his shoulders. "Rough! Roof! Ruth!" he said aloud and, "Hi ho! Simian!" in the voice I could hear with faerie magic.

They galloped around the yard, arguing. "Look out for the bushes, meathead!" warned Bowser.

"Duck, monk!" suggested Waldo as he dived through a fat cedar. Instead, the monkey leaped high, holding the leash away from himself and clearing the branches by inches. It looked like he landed back on the dog almost by accident. "I'm going under the trailer," said the dog, heading that way.

"No, you're not," said Bowser, grabbing the long silky black and white ears. "I'm steering this time!" and he yanked on Waldo's left ear to turn him away from the trailer.

"Wow! Yow!" the dog howled, turning to head around the tree. "Leggo!"

Bowser pulled off his cap with his free hand and waved it at me. "Goodbye, Eden!" he called.

I decided they wouldn't actually hurt one another, so I left them trading insults before somebody saw me laughing at them.

I glanced at the charm bracelet on my wrist, realizing I wasn't wearing a watch. Still it must be after three and Molly and Dolly would be expecting me. Back under the trees again, I pulled the sweater around me and hurried on.

---

Chapter 25

Girls Only

I stopped as soon as the blue trailer with the white trim was in sight, Space 42. This part of the park was the nicest, even though the trailers were mostly old there were large oaks and pines and sycamores between and around them. Each space had a small yard, most of them marked off by some sort of low fence. A wooden plaque attached to the fence with wire identified the Hawthornes as residents.

I hesitated to go right up to the gate because I remembered that Molly and Dolly knew me only as Ethan. How would they react when I showed up wearing a dress? I'd avoided thinking of this as a problem but now I'd come to the point where I had to face them.

How could I explain? And their mother would be awake this time, what would she think?

The door of the trailer opened and Molly bounced out, a little blonde bundle of energy and spirit. "Hi!" she called to me, dashing up to the gate.

"Hi, Molly," I said, walking closer.

She worked the latch of the gate then held it open for me. "Are you Efan's sister?"

"No," I said. "It's me." I started to walk through the gate but almost backed out at the last second when Molly shrieked.

The first two screams were wordless joy but then she shouted, "My wish comed true!" She ran past me, back into the trailer house, happily telling everyone. "My wish comed true! Efan's a girl now, my wish comed true!"

I couldn't help smiling but I shook my head.

"What in the world are you saying, Molly?" I heard Dolly ask, just as she appeared in the doorway. She stopped when she saw me. "What in the world?" she repeated.

I smiled as if nothing much were odd at all. "Hi," I said.

Molly tried to crowd past her sister, "It's Efan, he's a girl, now, so he can come over and play anytime! I wished it and it comed true!"

"Ethan?" asked Dolly.

"Um, it's really Eden?" I said. "Or really, Margaret Eden Bartlett. I prefer Eden."

"I thought your name was Ethan?" she said a little sharply.

"I'm sorry for letting you think that," I said. "When I said my name after falling on those rocks, maybe I lithped. But you thought I was a boy and I let you." I grinned and giggled. I knew I didn't sound or look like a boy now, and seeing is believing, isn't it?

Dolly stared at me for a long moment, then laughed and shook her head. "No one is going to think you're a boy today," she said.

"I hope not," I said and laughed with her.

She put a hand on top of her little sister's head. "You sure had me fooled, but this one is going to think wishes come true now."

"Wishes do come true," said Molly firmly. "I wishded Efan was a girl and she is!"

"At least you got the pronoun right this time," I said.

"Sure I do," said Molly. "What's a prodow?"

"Come on in," Dolly said. "I've got lunch ready and Mom will be out in just a minute." She rolled her eyes. "I had some trouble telling her about you and now..." She shook her head again. We all laughed.

The sisters got out of the way and I stepped into the trailer. To my right, a small, neat living room held a TV set, a couch and a chair and some bookcases. On my left, a tiny kitchen gleamed including a dinette set with four vinyl-padded chairs. Past the table, a hallway closed off with a curtain led further into the trailer. Everything was clean and seemed to be resting exactly where it should be.

"Why in the world were you dressed that way yesterday?" asked Dolly.

"Uh, well, I thought I'd go exploring and I didn't want to get good clothes dirty?"

"You must be a real tomboy," she commented.

"Not really," I said. "I'm more of a bookworm."

"You're very pretty for a worm," said Molly.

Before I could think of what to say to that, a tall woman pushed aside the curtain and entered the kitchen from the hidden hallway. She certainly looked like Molly and Dolly with blue eyes and blond hair and her smile made the resemblance even more apparent but there were two large and obvious differences.

I tried not to stare because she had a very impressive bustline with a lot of skin on display. I didn't think I'd ever seen so much cleavage on one slender woman outside of a movie. They were improbably large, so much so that I wondered if they were real. A scoop-neck, hot pink t-shirt revealed about as much as it concealed and her tight aqua-blue slacks clung to the rest of her curves as well. Smiling at me, she asked, "Who's this?"

"I wishded Efan was a girl and now she is!" crowed Molly.

"Ow! Not so loud, Melody!" her mother ordered.

I winced, not just because of the volume but also because it seemed likely that that was exactly what had happened to me. "I'm Eden Bartlett, Mrs. Hawthorne," I said quickly. "When your daughters saw me yesterday, they thought I was a boy."

"I'm Laura, not missus anything," she said. "You kids need glasses?" she asked Dolly.

"Mom! You should have seen her yesterday, no makeup or jewelry, blue jeans and a boy's shirt. She would have fooled you too."

"Hmph," said Laura. "I think I know a bit more about boys and men than you do, Dorothy." She grinned at me, "I expected to be dealing with some stammering kid but I guess this party is just for us girls, huh?"

I smiled and nodded. "Uh, I did get my hair re-styled this morning, I think I looked sort of unisex yesterday?" Would I have been staring and drooling over her attributes two days ago? I wondered if she had dressed so revealingly just to test a young male visitor. Or did she always put those globes on display? Maybe.

"I thought so," said Dolly. "That makes a big difference. And that baggy shirt and jacket made you look totally flat."

I blinked a couple of times, thinking about that.

"You've not got much up top yet," observed her mother. "You'd never have gotten away with it if you were a member of this family." She grinned, waving a hand at her chest and then at Dolly who was very well-built for a sixteen-year-old. Still I couldn't see her developing her mother's showgirl bosom naturally.

Dolly and I both blushed, I think. I said, "I wasn't trying to get away with anything, it just seemed kinda funny to go along with it."

Laura took milk and Diet Pepsi from the refrigerator, while Dolly placed bowls of green salad, chili mac and steamed veggies on the table. "It's not fancy, but there's plenty," said Laura apologetically, "and the kid is a finicky eater. Gotta have this at least twice a week."

"I like chili mac," said Molly.

"We know you do. Now go wash up," Laura ordered her. Molly scooted through the crowded kitchen without causing any collisions and her mother called after her, "Don't get water everywhere."

"I won't," Molly promised from the hallway.

"You need to freshen up, Eden?" Laura asked me. "If you just want to wash your hands, you can use the kitchen sink."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. I took off my sweater and laid it carefully on the back of the upholstered chair. After I washed up we all sat down to eat; I even managed to remember to smooth my skirt under me as I sat.

Laura looked at me approvingly then glanced at her eldest daughter. "Maybe you ought to wear skirts more often, Dolly," she said, "Eden has such good manners and she seems more ladylike."

"I don't think the dress has anything to do with it," Dolly said. "Now see what you've done," she added to me but she was smiling.

"See what you done," Molly repeated. "Wha'd she do?"

Laura laughed with my embarrassed giggle. "Do you have any younger brothers or sisters?" she asked.

"Two brothers, Adam and Sean, one sister, Phoebe, but I'm the youngest and the last one left at home."

"Were you as much of a pill as Molly can be?" asked Dolly.

"Oh, probably," I said and I winked at the little girl which caused a shriek of four-year-old glee.

"Molly!" Laura scolded. "No screaming in the house!" Then to me she added, "Don't encourage her."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. My ears still rang a bit from the squealing so I was happy to agree.

We chatted some more while we ate salad, the yellow and brown chili concoction, and steamed carrots. I took small portions but finished all of it and it tasted very good, surprisingly. Not that different from some of the meals Mom fixed when she and I were alone and she had a hot chapter or two to get out.

It all felt pretty normal, other than my being a girl now, until Molly piped up with, "Efan talks to squirrels."

Laura smiled at me. "Anyone can talk to a tree rat but do they talk back?"

"Uh huh," said Molly. "Efan told us that one squirrel's name, it was Nicky-something. An' he went to get his cousins and we made popcorn for all the tree rats in the park. And lots of birds, too! Can you talk to birds, too, Efan?"

I felt the near-edge of panic but Dolly and Laura were both still smiling. Apparently, I would not have to explain the strange happenings yesterday after all; Dolly and Laura were treating it like a kid's game. "Well, some birds." I said cautiously.

"Some birds can talk, too," said Dolly. "Parrots, cockatoos..."

"Ravens," added Laura helpfully.

I wondered that I had not seen any ravens around; these mountains were supposedly the home of lots of the big black birds. Down in the coast cities where I grew up, we had crows but I hadn't seen any of those around either.

Molly looked doubtful, "But squirrels and mice don't talk--except to Efan. And she called the mice to come out of the grass and they did!"

I shrugged helplessly. "If you're very quiet and still, and don't look directly at them, lots of animals will forget to be afraid of you."

Laura laughed. "I don't think this one has ever been quiet for more than half a minute--unless she's asleep." She stroked her youngest daughter's hair fondly.

"You should have seen it, Mom," Dolly commented. "Eden crouched down and the mice came out and looked at her as if they knew her. Then Molly let out a squeal..."

"And the mice shot up in the air! Like...like spring-inna-boxes!" Molly giggled. "That was so funny! But I'm sorry I scared them."

We all laughed again, then Dolly said, "That squirrel wasn't afraid of you either, the one you called Nick?"

"It's just a knack I seem to have--with animals." Not really a lie but it made me want to squirm to be so misleading.

Dolly nodded. "Maybe you'll be a veterinarian?"

"That's an idea," said Laura.

"What's a vetternan?" asked Molly.

"A doctor for animals," her sister explained.

I shook my head. "I'm allergic to cats," I explained. We'd never had any pets, because of my allergies and asthma--also why all of our floors were bare wood, tile and linoleum.

"Yike," said Laura. "That's like if I were allergic to drunks." She laughed. "Come to think of it, I am, which is why I quit waitressing."

Dolly looked embarrassed and I must have looked confused. Laura explained, "I'm a dancer in a club in Berdoo." She chuckled. "The pay is good, lots better than waiting tables, I only work four days a week and it keeps me fit."

I tried not to show any astonishment or disapproval. "My Mom writes Romance novels," I said for some reason.

Laura laughed again. "Spicy ones, I hope?"

My turn to look embarrassed, "Some," I admitted.

"Another profession that's looked down on, sometimes," observed Laura.

"Have we got any ice cream?" Molly asked.

"Nope," said Dolly. "You ate all of it."

"Wanna go get some?" suggested Laura. "I'll clean up here and you and Eden can go to the Pine View for some fudge ripple?"

"I wanna go, too!" yelped Molly.

"No," said Laura. "Remember? You're grounded from going to the store cause you can't keep out of the road."

"I'll be good! And Dolly and Efan can watch me!"

"No," Laura repeated. "And don't argue about it or you'll have to take a timeout in the bedroom."

Molly subsided with a murmured, "Rats."

"Wanna go?" asked Dolly. "It's not far, just out the front gate and down to the highway."

"Sure," I said.

I put my sweater back on and Dolly took a jacket and a small, navy blue purse. I'd have to start carrying a purse, I reflected as I followed Dolly through the trailer door.

---

Chapter 26

Secrets of the Squirrel Conspiracy

Outside, the sun stood about an hour above the western peaks, though it wasn't quite four o'clock. There's always a long twilight in the mountains; after the sun goes down the sky can stay bright blue for hours.

The breeze I'd felt before had strengthened a bit and came now from the north, blowing across the town before it reached the trailer park. North lay the taller forests and deeper lakes of the San Bernardino Mountains, home to resort towns like Lake Arrowhead and Big Bear.

The wind smelled of pine needles and woodsmoke, someone probably had a cookout going on this last weekend of summer. It also smelled and felt cold, or at least cooling, and I was grateful for the borrowed sweater I wore, pulling it around me and hiding my hands in the folds.

Dolly smiled. "Mom likes you, I'm glad. It's a good thing you turned out to be a girl."

"Huh? Why?" She had really startled me with that.

"Mom doesn't like men very much..." she began then looked back toward the trailer as we passed through the gate. "I mean, she doesn't like most men. Considering..."

"Considering?"

"What she does for a living," Dolly finished.

"Oh. I guess she doesn't meet the very best sort of guys in her line of work." I wondered what it would be like, to dance in front of men who wanted to look at a pretty girl. I wondered how much Laura wore while she danced--if anything.

Dolly laughed quietly. "They're not all cruds, some of them are very sweet to her. I guess it's really my dad leaving right before Molly was born."

I couldn't imagine that. I couldn't imagine my dad leaving his family but I knew that sort of thing happened all the time to other people. "I'm sorry someone hurt her that way," I said. "And you and Molly, too."

She nodded.

We walked through the older, shadier part of the trailer park till we came to the entrance. Overhead, several squirrels followed us by running along branches and jumping from tree to tree. One of them was Nick and I heard him call to me, "Lady Eden, Lady Eden! I wanted to talk to you about the cat!"

I tried to ignore him. I didn't want Dolly to see me talking to animals again. Besides, if squirrels were having trouble with a cat, what was I supposed to do about it anyway? I pulled my thoughts back to what Dolly was saying.

"I wanted you to meet my mom--before someone else started telling you about her. There are lots of rumors about what she does. Pineview is a small town."

"The rumor mill?" I guessed.

She nodded again. "They can be kind of vicious," she said.

"Ouch."

"Uh huh." She sighed. "Okay, Mom works in a 'Gentleman's Club', she dances wearing just a g-string and pasties and high heels and jewelry. But that's all she does."

I nodded. I didn't know exactly what a g-string and pasties might be, but I could guess.

"She doesn't bring men home, she doesn't sleep with any of them. And all the money she earns she gets from tips for her dancing." Dolly sounded very firm and certain, almost indignant.

"Okay," I said.

We didn't say anything for a bit, just walking along the Pine Home Road in front of the trailer park. Ahead, on the corner with the highway, just past a bridge that crossed the dry creek bed where I'd first met Molly and Dolly--and the fairies--I could see the little market where I must have bought comic books during my blackout. I felt very odd about that.

The squirrels were still following me in the trees. I could hear them chittering and complaining. I hoped Dolly hadn't noticed.

But she was intent on what she wanted to say. "I get teased a lot at school, some of it pretty cruel."

That got my attention. I wasn't any stranger to the cruel sort of teasing that can go on among kids. But I'd been teased and bullied for being me, a short, skinny, sickly boy-who-should-have-been-a-girl. I'd never been mistreated because of what my parents did for a living.

"Even Molly gets some of it in daycare," said Dolly.

"That's rotten!" I said indignantly.

"I worry about when she starts school. And I didn't want you to try to be friends with us and then find out."

"I--that's not going to make any difference to me," I said.

"You sure? You could end up getting--well, picked on for being friends with me. I live in a trailer, my Mom dances nearly naked in front of men. We're trailer trash, Eden. You live in those fancy new houses up on the ridge. High class, rich people. Maybe you don't want to be my friend."

I stopped then and stared up at her. Like her mother, Dolly was tall, taller than me by five or six inches probably. And she stood there with her shoulders back, kind of defiantly, almost daring me to say I disliked her for such lame reasons.

I thought about it for two seconds then I glared up at her. "My dad is a sewer engineer and my mom writes romance novels and I'm proud of both of them. I don't care what your mom does for a living and neither will my folks. They lived in a trailer house in Georgia when my oldest brother was born. No big deal, okay? Don't be such a snob!"

She stared back at me for a moment then she laughed. "How do you figure that I'm being a snob?"

"If you think some people are better than others because of where they live or what they do or what they look like, that's being a snob, in my book. And I've been picked on before, so don't worry about me; I'll be friends with whoever I like."

She grinned and pulled me into a hug, which surprised me but I hugged back. Phoebe used to give me lots of hugs when she wasn't enjoying tormenting me and I hadn't realized I missed it when she stopped a couple of years ago. We both giggled as we broke apart; I felt good about things for at least several seconds.

But we had stopped walking while the talking got heavy and that allowed my animal entourage to catch up to us. The line of trees separating the trailer park from the road made a highway for squirrels and one of them poked his head out of the greenery just above our heads to chitter at us.

Dolly pointed and laughed but she had heard only the chittering. "Your Imminent Majesty," said the squirrel in a voice that must have existed only in my head. "You promised that you would listen to my petition in the matter of the cat."

"Look, it's one of your other friends," said Dolly.

"Not now," I muttered.

Nicafekanichinechichinicnick, or Nick for short, put both of his front paws together and made several quick bows. "I beg of you, Lady Megan. The cat oppresses us mightily, sneaking around and harassing us at our work. It's a wonder it hasn't managed to catch one of the children in its cruel claws."

I sighed.

"It sure looks like it's begging you for something," said Dolly. "Too bad we don't have popcorn in our pockets like Molly."

"Is there a cat in the trailer park?" I asked Dolly.

"Several," she said looking a bit puzzled.

"Most of the cats are polite and seldom a problem," said Nick. "After all, the big folk feed them and we forest types don't invade big folk homes because of them. It's just one cat, a big gray male that's making all the trouble."

"Is there a big gray tom that chases squirrels?" I asked Dolly.

"Uh, yeah, I think there is. A gray tabby with white feet named Whiskers or something."

Nick sighed. "His feet are not named anything, as far as I know. The whole cat is called Thomas G. Willikers by the old woman who feeds him."

I had to smile at that, imagine having your grammar corrected by a squirrel. But Dolly couldn't hear Nick's end of the conversation and so was saved that embarrassment. She could hear my part of things, though, so I had to be careful not to look like a kook.

"Why did you ask about a cat?" Dolly wanted to know.

I shrugged, "I thought I saw one chasing this little guy or one of the other squirrels." Nicky bobbed his head in agreement.

"He sure seems tame."

"He's not really," I warned her. "I think he just likes me."

"Certainly, Lady Eden," said Nicky. "Everyone likes you but will you do something about the cat, please, Your Ladyship?"

"I'll try," I told him, nodding. "I mean, I think I'll try to see about getting a bell put on that cat."

"A bell?" said Nick, rubbing his pinkish nose with his tiny hands. "Now why didn't we think of that? If ol' Tom Gee has to carry a bell around ringing it, we'll always know where he is. What a wonderful solution! Unless of course, you were willing to hang the miscreant for his crimes?"

I shook my head. "No, a bell will do."

Dolly looked at me curiously. "I didn't say anything," she said.

"Just thinking out loud," I said. I giggled to think what a ditz I must sound like to her.

"Thank you, Your Incipient Highness. Thank you, very much! I'll go tell everyone else!" said Nicky, bobbing and chittering at the end of the branch. And then suddenly, he was gone, back into the green world of the treetops.

"Oh!" said Dolly. We both jumped a little then laughed.

"I guess he got tired of whatever little squirrel game he was playing," I said.

"You think?" she said, looking around. "That was pretty strange. Do such strange things happen around you all the time, Eden?"

"Uh," I stammered a little. I hated to lie directly. "You never know what kind of odd thing an animal is going to do."

"I've never seen squirrels--or mice--act the way they do around you. Sure your last name isn't Doolittle?" she teased.

I shook my head and giggled nervously. "We'd better get on to the store and get back with the ice cream before Molly comes looking for us."

"She'd better not!" said Dolly, but we both started along toward the corner store. There were no cars in sight and no people, an oddity for a kid from the city like me. "Do animals always act so oddly around you?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Not really." I tried to think of a way to change the subject. "Do you know Phillip Daniels? He knows you?"

She smiled. "You've met him?" I must have blushed because she said, "You have met him. He's your neighbor on the ridge, huh? Kind of cute but so solemn."

"Um," I said, wondering if I could have come up with a better choice of subjects.

"Edie!" Dolly laughed, seeing my expression. "He's a senior, you know. And he has a reputation for being a bit weird?"

"He's not weird," I said instantly.

She laughed again. "Maybe you two would be a good match. You're both a little odd." She took the sting off that with a sympathetic smile. "It's a small school, everybody's going to know."

"Know what?"

"If you go out..." she glanced at me. "He's asked you out, hasn't he?"

I nodded, face flushing again.

We came to the bridge over the wash, two car lanes wide with a walkway on each side and a white wooden railing. I stopped to look up the wash, I suppose I thought I might see Phillip and Roland on their way back home.

"He just met you, right? And he's already asked you out. That's odd, I don't think he goes on many dates."

No sight of a horse and rider; I started across the bridge.

Dolly followed. "There's something about you, though, Eden. I wish you'd tell me what it is?"

I took two more steps, halfway across the little bridge, before I heard the fairy bells.

---

Next: [A Wish Too Far]

More [The Fairy King]