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Five

Rose expected a disclaimer but Felicity Fortune simply tried to look modest. "Let's just say I—that is, we of the Godmothers—have made a study of its creation and have become somewhat—scientific—in reproducing it where and when it is needed."

"Oh, well, that's different," Rose said, settling down crosslegged on the floor and cupping her chin in her hands while nodding to Felicity Fortune to continue. Rose was a good listener. These days, other than filling out forms, listening was about all she could do. At least Felicity Fortune had a fairly original delusion. "Okay, so tell me. You're the fairy godmother, right? And you've come to make me and the city of Seattle live happily ever after?"

"I shall certainly try, with your assistance, of course. But first I think it is my turn to clear up any misapprehensions you may have about fairy godmothers and their historical role." Felicity Fortune now sounded less like an actress than a college professor. "The tales most people are familiar with tend to be highly revisionist. That is, the viewpoint taken is that of the person or people who triumphed in the situation in question, and any subtler details, random injustices or atrocities are swept under the rug."

"According to Bruno Bettelheim and some of the other authorities on the subject, the tales are metaphors for psychological processes," Rose said. "I have a lot of trouble with them even in that context. Are you trying to tell me that they are literally true stories?"

"Parts of true stories, yes. True as far as they go, yes. But highly adulterated, even by those Grimm boys, who like all boys were unduly fascinated by the gory bits. Actually, the real fault lies not in how they told the tales but the tales they left out. You see, the fairy stories mostly only tell about the cases in which we triumphed in our quest to bring truth, justice, happiness and a higher moral order to the universe."

"That is a tall order," Rose said. "I can see how if you've been doing this for a long time, parts were bound to have been left out."

"Yes, and those parts are what make us so unbelievable to a smart young woman such as yourself. Like you, we aren't always successful, and also like you, and I'm sure you'll take no offense that I say so, we do make mistakes. In a few of those instances, the tales have been altered to make us look good. For instance, there was the time Dame Agatha met a young woman and started to ask her for a piece of bread. Dame Agatha is actually notoriously bad at disguises and forgot to remove her jewels when she put on her rags. Besides which, she's a bit on the plump side. So when she asked the girl for bread, the girl, who it later turned out was having a bad episode of PMS so that the very thought of food made her nauseous, told Agatha she ought to be bloody ashamed of herself posing as a beggar when there were so many people in dire straits. It shows more intelligence than hard-heartedness, seen in that light, but before she could finish her sentence she had toads coming out of her mouth.

"Then along comes her flighty sister, sees Agatha's jewels, puts two and two together and decides Agatha's some dotty socialite with a bob or two to give away. She was dieting anyway, that one, so she gave Agatha a whole cake and as soon as she said, 'You're welcome,' right off her mouth starts dripping diamonds and pearls."

"The moral being that good manners pay?" Rose ventured.

"The moral being that manners are superficial and if you're going to impersonate a beggar you should bloody well take off your tiara first. The sister who dripped toads was ordinarily a bright and conscientious individual who read six books a week, carried medicines and food to plague victims, and privately donated to distressed families. Poor thing merely had a gruff way of expressing herself at certain times of the month, but there you were, the damage was done and she was spitting toads for the rest of her life. Being a resourceful sort, she wrote some of the earliest known papers on amphibian biology. Meanwhile, her flighty sister, who was a chatterbox, spouted diamonds and pearls until they became quite valueless and thereby bankrupted the royal treasury and the country as a whole. You never hear about that though, I daresay."

"True," Rose admitted.

"So you see what I mean. Of course, that particular example is neither life-threatening nor especially horrible, unless you have an aversion to toads, but we've dealt with many situations which were. Back in the days when these earliest case histories were compiled, there were, as there are now, plenty of wicked stepparents, starving and homeless people, abandoned and abused children and physically and mentally wounded war veterans. Besides which, there was quite a rigid class system. The unfortunates had no one to aid them save kindly individuals, who were very scarce.

"That is why the Queen of Fairy recruited us."

"The Godmothers?"

"Right."

"I don't quite understand. The little I've heard about fairies these days says that they were alien, spooky creatures who hated humankind."

"I don't know about alien and spooky, Rose dear, but humankind was even harder to love back then than it is now. Her Majesty, a truly great lady, though much misunderstood, decided that if it was ever to improve, someone must see to it that at least a few of the worthier specimens among the mortals were preserved against the depredations of the world. That is how our sorority was born. We are her agents, you see, and have continued to do her work throughout the centuries."

"That's very sweet," Rose said, gently. "But I'm afraid the Queen of Fairy couldn't even dream of some of the problems we have today—"

"On the contrary. People are not much different than they have always been, although they are, as you may have gathered, slightly better because of our efforts."

"There's never been a drug problem like there is now! It's epidemic! And there's AIDS and all sorts of other—"

"Ever heard of the Black Plague? I'm not denigrating the problems you face today, Rose, certainly not, or I wouldn't be here, but in my day a greater percentage of people died just from giving birth, malnutrition or working themselves to death than die of all of your diseases put together."

"Sure," Rose said, grinning. "And in those days you had to walk ten miles to school barefoot in the snow uphill both ways in the dark. I know."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's something parents always say. You know. Life in the old days was harder than it was now. I don't see how it's gotten much better; maybe it did for a while, but these days everything, health care, law enforcement, ecology, the economy—just everything—is deteriorating very fast. I know, I know, it's not the Black Plague, but back in your day at least the environment was still healthy and, according to you, you had enough magic to make pearls and diamonds come out of people's mouths."

"Yes, the planet was healthy, but people weren't, and while we did have somewhat more access to magic, we did not have whole organizations full of young people like you to do all of the boring bits. Nor could we always help, even with magic. Sometimes we intervened too late, sometimes the forces we could arrange on the good side were too weak for really determined wickedness, and sometimes the whole world was simply aligned against those we would aid. But we always did try. As you are trying. And we do have methods and resources not presently at your disposal."

As Felicity spoke, Rose smiled at the surreality of debating the comparative damage of the Black Plague and AIDS and the comparative merits of social work vs. magic with someone who claimed to have personal experience of all of the topics. Oh well, at least Felicity Fortune wasn't claiming to be Madonna. Rose had processed six clients like that last week—an odd split between those who thought they were the rock star and those who believed they were the mother of Christ, with one breaking the tie who thought she was the rock star and the mother of Christ.

"Sounds great," Rose told Felicity. "If only it were true!"

"It is, believe me. You do have to believe, Rose. That's always been part of the equation, and as I told you, I'm perfectly willing to give you a demonstration. Ah-ah-ah! I didn't say I wanted you to violate any secrets. Perish the thought. But surely there's someone you'd like to help who doesn't need to be kept quite so hush-hush. Someone, perhaps, not covered in your line of work. An animal, perhaps? Even animals can use good fortune and true love."

"We-ell," she said, thinking of poor Cindy Ellis in danger of losing her job at the stable to her greedy bitch of a stepmother. "You don't happen to know any honest lawyers who take cases out of the good of their hearts or are willing to barter riding lessons for services, do you?"

"Not offhand, but give me a little time, Rose. Haven't been here long. Must do some networking. That sort of situation can be solved in a variety of ways—the best of which involve making certain contacts. In the old days, we always had to involve commoners, widows and orphans, that sort of thing, with the royal family. If you could get a prince or princess interested, well, there you were. The whole thing was easy to solve. Much more difficult in a democratic country."

"Well, but then there's always your magic wand, right?"

"At one time, certainly. But these days magic, like all natural resources, must be used sparingly. Very sparingly. Dame Prudence of the Accounting Committee monitors the expenditure of magical energy even more strictly than Puget Power monitors electricity. There is a great deal of need in the world and far less magic, so we attempt to conserve that resource whenever possible and use only as much as is necessary to get the ball rolling, you might say. Most of what we do these days consists of putting the right people and the right circumstances together, very much as I suppose you do in your job with trying to find the proper organization to deal with your clients' problems. But as you know, sometimes that will not suffice, and then we resort to magic."

"So you couldn't give me a bottomless purse if you wanted to?"

"I fear not. The mere mention of that device is enough to give poor Dame Prudence apoplexy. It is definitely not within my allotment. Even if it were, I wouldn't be so reckless. The larger magical withdrawals, like the over-use of any resource, involve costs which may easily out-weigh the original benefit and result in highly unpleasant repercussions."

"I see."

"And that's only one of the problems. Magic also must be used only in aid of the worthy. There's simply not enough of it to punish wrongdoers these days."

"That figures. There aren't enough jails or counselors or any other means of dealing with them either," Rose said.

"Exactly. About all we can do in that line is to protect ourselves and those we are trying to help from them as much as possible, but mostly, the magic is only expended in aid of the worthy."

"So how do you choose who's worthy?" Rose thought every congressman who had ever tried to regulate the welfare system would love to have the answer to that particular question.

"Very carefully. If you're to use magic to bestow good fortune on an individual who might not have acquired it by other means, that good fortune must be balanced in their lives by their degree of need to begin with, or the amount of good they have done themselves or have the capacity for doing, to earn it, you see? That's one reason we so often help children and young people. With their lives ahead of them, they have the greatest potential for good and the most time to realize it."

"If you're all that magical, why let people get hurt at all? Or is it a question of not enough to go around again?"

"Partially that, I suppose, for there's certainly evil we all wish we could prevent. But often a spot of bad fortune can change someone very much for the better, developing empathy and compassion. If you can help someone out of one of those spots, then all that remains is to put opportunities to succeed at goodness in their way. Several of our more effective agents have been recruited during those periods in their lives."

"What if they never have the bad fortune? Is that good?"

"You're toying with me now, Rose. Of course, whether it's good or bad is entirely subjective. The real point is that if their fortune isn't bad, then they don't present a problem we have to deal with, and may be able to provide practical assistance to others."

"Sounds like you have a use for everybody."

"Not quite everybody. There are always a few who succumb to despair from the cradle on and will not recognize the possibility of good fortune when they see it."

"You can't help them?"

Felicity shrugged. "We're not what they need. At least, they usually aren't like the ones who actively enjoy the pain of others."

"The ones you can't fight?"

"I didn't say we can't fight them, just that we can't punish them."

"You could, you know, rehabilitate them. That's what we do these days."

"Do you really?" Felicity asked, cocking her brow again.

"Not always—well, very rarely, actually, but at least we're not trying to make two wrongs equal a right."

"Commendable, I'm sure, but I do wonder, dear, if you've considered that there are those who are not merely unfortunate or deranged but actually evil."

"Maybe. But there are so many people causing damage for other reasons that it's a little hard to tell who's who, don't you think?"

"You do have a point," Felicity conceded. "At any rate, as I said before, punishment of wrongdoers is not our purpose. If we see to it that good is distributed to the deserving and the prepared, then we may assume that evil will be discouraged at the very least."

"Discourager of Evil," Rose said. "Doesn't have much ring to it."

"That's reality for you," Felicity said. "It lacks style."

"So, back to rewarding the really deserving, if we can be judgmental in the other direction for a moment. Were you the one who turned Ace Jackson on to Merle's songs? Did you use magic to do that?"

"Oh, no, dear. That was a friend of mine. Do you remember reading that Serena Starr, the country singer, had a dreadful childhood and would have been forced to stay with the stepfather who molested her after her mother's death except that she was discovered by Dallas Glover, the agent, and made a star? Serena was one of our girls. Clients, I mean. She was delighted with Merle's songs but felt they were more Ace's style than hers."

"Wow. But how did she find out about them? Oh. Linden, I guess."

Felicity Fortune nodded. "One of our most valuable trainees."

Rose took a deep breath. By this time, she was starting to take Felicity Fortune at her word. No doubt all this talk of wishes was the result of a wish-fulfillment dream, and Rose would awaken in her own bedroom in Bremerton. Meanwhile, why not see how far this crazy conversation would take her? "Felicity, I don't know whether to believe you or not, but you were asking about animals. Do you like horses?"

"My dear, I was a jockey as a young girl."

"Good. You and Cindy ought to get along fine. I was on my way to see a friend of mine today—she's just started working at a stable up near Gasworks Park. You want to come?"

"I certainly do," Felicity said, rubbing her hands together in the most theatrical gesture yet. "Lead on, Samson. The game's afoot."

"Where are you parked?" Felicity asked.

"I take the bus when I'm on this side," Rose said.

"Highly commendable. But perhaps this time you'll let me drive?"

"Okay by me," Rose said. The visit with Felicity had taken longer than the stop to say hello to Linden, and she wanted time for a trot with Cindy before dark. Maybe Felicity was a psycho, but she seemed harmless enough. Her delusion was apparently gentle in a codependent sort of way, and she must be a friend of Linden's, or she wouldn't have had the key to the shop. Besides, if by some wild chance she was one of the rare female serial killers specializing in the murders of women running vintage clothing shops, then Rose surely ought to keep her eye on her. And even if she wasn't exactly a fairy godmother, she had a fairly interesting view of nonsupernatural ways to network and help people. Any port in a storm, Rose thought.

Felicity locked up, and the two of them ascended the ramp into the market. The day was darkening already, and garlands of lightbulbs lit the vendors' booths. They threaded their way through the throng at the seafood vendor and out onto the street. A brisk breeze whipped pieces of paper and foam cups down First. Dico Miller still huddled on the street corner.

"I thought you'd have gone off to dinner by now," Rose said, then noticed Dico was cradling his hand. "What's the matter?"

"Hurt my hand."

"How?"

"Trying to hang onto the money you give me."

"Shit," Rose said. "Who took it?"

Dico shrugged. "I dunno. Didn't look too close. It ain't healthy."

"Felicity, I . . ." Rose started to introduce her to Dico and ask if she had a job for him around the store, but the silver-haired woman wasn't paying any attention. Instead, she was kneeling at the mouth of the alley and enticing a gray alley cat by rubbing her fingers together.

"Come here, you lazy puss. Yes, that's right. Come here."

The cat came purring, expecting a treat. Instead, Felicity scooped it up and began whispering to it.

"Felicity, this is Dico. Do you think you have a . . .?"

"Most certainly. I have a very fine cat right here. Here you go, young man," she said, unloading the cat into the boy's arms, which made him swear when the cat, with unerring accuracy, landed on his sore hand. "Now you two take care of each other."

Rose rolled her eyes and nodded at Felicity, and Dico shook his head. Burdening the poor guy with a pet wasn't exactly her idea of helping him, especially with Linden unavailable to lend a hand if he was unable to feed the animal. But if Dico was dismayed, the cat took the situation in stride and had settled into the space created by the young man's crossed legs. It washed its white socks as serenely as if it was sitting on its own private windowsill.

"Here we are," Felicity said, stopping in front of a rounded boxy car, shaped rather like the old VW bugs but painted Porsche silver. It had a bumper sticker on the trunk lid that said, "Commit acts of random kindness and senseless beauty." The car bore no manufacturer's model name, nor did Rose recognize the make.

"Don't tell me. It flies," she guessed.

"No, but it is fueled by carbon monoxide from the exhaust of other vehicles, and emits oxygen fumes as its own exhaust."

"Wait a minute. That sounds suspiciously plantlike. This thing didn't start out in life as a pumpkin by any chance, did it?"

She was kidding Felicity in a way that would have been rather dangerous had the woman been seriously deranged. People got very upset if you made jokes about their delusional systems ordinarily, but Felicity just winked and said, "Really, Rose, you must allow me a few trade secrets."

"I like the bumper sticker."

"It's not original," Felicity told her. "But as Prince Charming used to say, if the shoe fits, wear it."

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