Page 83 of Fairy Godmothers Aren't Cheap

Sorry. That was a dry one. Didn’t finish it.

What? He’d had at least six hours to read it. Where was his passion?

I snapped a photo of the artifact and fired it off, but there were too many reflections in the image, thanks to the glass.

Dad

Sorry, I’m no use.

Me

np

Dad

What?

Me

NP is short for: No problem.

“Hey, Richard,” I called. “Why can’t we ever see these without glass? Do you have a key? I’d like to see the uniform cracking. Plus, I heard it varies on the inside of the piece, but I can’t see that when it’s locked up. And also? I’m pretty sure this is a reproduction.”

“It is not.”

“I think it might be.” He came closer, and I stepped back, giving him room. “You’ve swapped a bunch out lately. Are you selling them off or something?”

“We most certainly are not!” With an indignant huff, he bent over the glass case.

“Look! The cracks aren’t right, and the colouring is off. That could be this crappy lighting, though. But I bet if you weighed this vessel, it would be too light for its size.” The more I studied it, the more wrong it felt.

Richard wordlessly looked at the piece, then grabbed his keys and opened the case.

I gasped, hands outstretched to accept it. Even though it was a repro.

He hugged the handled vase-like vessel to his chest. “Come along.”

“Where?” I almost skipped alongside him, I was so delighted by the idea that I was about to go somewhere off limits and test one of the exhibit pieces for authenticity.

“To settle your mind and prove this is an original.”

Yes! “Except, it’s a fake.”

Now that it was out of the case, I could definitely see the colouring was off. I wished James was here so I could share the triumph with him. But he wouldn’t be back until later tonight, and anyway, I didn’t make wishes any longer.

* * *

It was a fake.

I’d never seen a grown man grow pale so quickly.

Richard had let me into the back rooms of the museum, and I trailed slowly, sucking in the old-world vibes that surrounded us as we passed crated artifacts on our way to his office and the stored artifact records.

Richard must have weighed that vase about eight times before bolting back to the pottery exhibit, demanding I point out all of the fakes. We’d spent a blissful hour carting pieces to his office and weighing them, and then comparing them to his meticulous records. I couldn’t have been happier.

Richard, however, was losing his mind. I think he’d pulled out about half his hair before he finally dismissed me, looking like a shell of a man.

I’d asked him what he planned to do, but by that point he was beyond speech, and I’d quietly let myself out, eager for James’s plane to land so I could fill him in on the drama.

---