“Help,” Hanry says, right before the tree pushes him back down the stairs.
24IS THIS REAL LIFE OR IS IT A (REALLY WEIRD) FANTASY?
HERE, AS FAR AS Ican see it, are my problems:
I am in Fairy. Which is, apparently, in Upstate New York.
I am in a fairy castle.
I am in a wedding dress, in a fairy castle, in Fairy.
But I am not getting married. Oh no. My ex-boyfriend is.
My ex-boyfriend who was nearly murdered at his own wedding party.
I think it was meant to be a joke?
I now think I’m also here, hired as his wedding planner, as a joke.
To add insult to injury, the wooden floor in this royal en suite seems to burp a little with each of my pacing steps. Not creak, not hiccup. Burp.
And it’s only happening to me.
“She’ll be fine,” Mandy is saying on my behalf. The pixie sits primly on one of two oak chairs, across from the raised, velvet-upholstered divan beds where our royal fairy clients sprawl out with bejeweled chalices in hand. Behold: the king and queen of Fairy. The most bizarrely spiral-antlered, yet gorgeous people—or beings—I’ve ever seen. Also, they’re Hanry’s parents.
Also also? They’re drunk.
Mandy says with a shaking voice, “This is what Sabby always does at the start of consultations. She, she paces in silence. It helps her summon her, umm, inspiration.”
This is absolutely not the case. Do they all not hear the floor burping? Who can think through all this burping?
I’ve got to try and clear my head. Okay. Sure. You could argue this whole situation is my fault, because I never demanded Rochester tell me who his clients were before moving forward. I never made Hanry explain his full connection to the Community. I might have, in fact, discouraged him from talking about it, because I’ve avoided the paranormal myself for so long. I took the references his paranormal friends made to his “nobility” and “princeliness” as an inside joke, not at face value.
Clearly, this was my mistake. But wait, no more victim-blaming here: Hanry promised he washuman, which means he outright lied to me. I thought I could trust him. And he didthat?
“I see,” the queen says to Mandy, sloshing her drink artfully. “Hello. Hello, Salmon-tha. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. My pooka told us so much about you. My son, too, but also my pooka.”
Hold it. Herwhat?
“Oh!” cries Mandy. “Sabby, did you hear that?”
Of course I did. My weeks of torment flash back to mind. I dealt with at least a dozen tiny, chaotic sabotage attempts while I tried to coordinate my weddings, and they all came courtesy of a pooka whose sender remained mysterious.
Of coursethat chaos was sent by a fairy. A goddamned fairy! I can’t believe I didn’t guess it right away. The only question is: Why?
No. I know why. The pooka said it was messing with the weddings as tests. Which means this royal fairy Momzilla inflicted sabotage on me to confirm I could handle anything. She was willing to ruin several other weddings to feel confident I’d be a top-notch wedding planner for her son.
Either that, or she did it as a joke. Because I was dating her son.
Hanry said his parents loved jokes. He also said they were “notperfect” and situations with them tended to spiral out of control. This more than checks out.
And now I’m realizing: when we broke up in the catering closet, Hanry told me he’d been fighting with his parents. Moreover? Hanry just asked for my help, giving me the impression he’s not entirely on board with this situation.
So what if Hanry made a few omissions while we dated? Evidently, it wasn’talllies.
Hopefully.
In any case, I’m here. I may not be at the wedding I was expecting, but it’s time to take back control. Why? Because I may be Hanry’s ex-girlfriend and the butt of at least three jokes I can count, but I’m also a goddamned wedding professional.
