Page 34 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

“Why?”

“Why not? You said you don’t believe. So, let’s prove it’s not real.”

I shared a quick look with Tamara. I’d confessed to her on Friday night that I sorta believed even though I didn’t want to. It bent my mind and the logic it subscribed to, but there were too many things I couldn’t explain away.

Going over all of those weird things again for my roommates had secured the idea that Estelle could somehow be telling the truth. Otherwise, how could I explain her knowing about that strange and haunting dream I’d had at age thirteen? And my car starting on the mountain road all by itself? How could she know about all of those deeply private things about me? How could I explain the magically hidden offices that transformed into a photocopy place, and then into a wooden door for YFGM? Or having James call me immediately after I’d wished he would? Or the freaky glitter rain?

There were too many unexplainable things to discount.

And, as sheepish as I was to admit it, a tiny bit of mereallywanted to believe I had a fairy godmother.

“Do you think you can prove it’s not real?” I asked Josie. She was our resident, passionate expert on imaginary worlds. She might be an inventory specialist with a super logical, analytical mind, but she was also a diehard romantasy reader. Although, to be fair, I’d often hear her scoffing while reading, complaining under her breath that the details were incorrect. Fact checking fantasy fiction. That was our Josie.

But if she felt she could prove Estelle wasn’t really a fairy godmother, and put this internal mental debate to rest once and for all, I was all over it.

“Let’s do it,” she said, grabbing her jacket and marching toward the door.

My heart lifted at her take-charge spirit, and I followed her down the steps. She’d get to the bottom of this, and I’d never felt more grateful to anyone in my life.

Half an hour later, the five of us stood outside the spot where the door for Your Fairy Godmother had appeared for me on Friday night. There was nothing here. No number 1010B.

I paced back and forth, feeling pre-emptively stupid in case my imagination had made it all up and I’d dragged my roommates across the city’s downtown for exactly nothing.

“It was like this when I first got here on Friday.”

“Did you have to say something?” Josie asked me.

“To undo a spell?” Samantha scoffed. “This is too whack-a-doodle for me. I’m going home.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and pivoted to leave. She’d recently had the rebellious shade of green stripped from her Latino curls, returning it to a healthy dark, dark brown with golden heights. She looked like the millionaire trust fund babe that she was, and I bet that this gritty, rundown street was a bit too real for her. That and our whack-a-doodle behaviour. I mean, a woman could only handle so much, right?

“Wait.” Josie caught her sleeve, watching me. “Think back.”

I shrugged. “I was talking to myself.”

“What did you say?”

“I said it was too bad YFGM didn’t exist or something.”

Beside me, Tamara gasped. With her mouth hanging open, she pointed to the building. “That was not here before.”

It was the wooden door with the maroon YFGM sign above. Not the photocopy place like on Friday. I’d somehow skipped a step.

“What?” Samantha was frowning at the buildings. “Nothing changed.”

“There’s a wooden door,” Josie said calmly, like this happened to her every day. “And sign for YGFM.”

“How did you do that?” Tamara was shaking, and Samantha and Gabby were watching like she’d lost her mind.

“Do you see it?” Samantha asked Gabby, who shook her head. Samantha crossed her arms. “We don’t see it. Are you trying to get me back for that birthday prank, Char?”

“No. The door is right here.” I reached out, not quite touching it.

“It’s a wall,” Gabby stated flatly.

“They don’t believe,” Josie told me, her expression serene.

Samantha rolled her eyes. “We aren’t four. Of course we don’t believe in magically changing doors.” She jutted out a hip, her demeanour giving off an air of exasperated impatience. “Can we go home now?”

“Yes!” I snapped, feeling freaked out and under pressure. “Go!”

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