It had been well over a century since Nissa had been invited to a christening, or a naming, or any other birth celebration. It wasn’t that she was a pariah (not like that Malavena – no one wanted to invite her anywhere. Really, who could blame them after that Sleeping Beauty fiasco?) And it wasn’t just Nissa; all the fairy godmothers were having the same problem.

For a while, they had gathered occasionally in Dulcina’s lovely little garden and chattered on about the escapades of the few clients they still had. As those clients died off and weren’t replaced, the ladies found that they had more and more time on their hands. They’d begun meeting once a week to share their woes, then twice a week, then three times, and eventually they were meeting every day.

As Giselda blew animal-shaped bubbles through the end of her wand, Nissa watched and tried to recall who had brought the fairy hooch for the first time. It took her a moment before she remembered Malavena showing up with the stuff. That should have been a warning to them all that it was a bad idea.

“I was such a good fairy godmother,” said Dulcina. The rest of them rolled their eyes and prepared for the same maudlin speech Dulcina always gave.

Belinda cut in with, “I do miss helping a prince pummel an ogre or defeat a dragon.”

Dulcina glared at the interruption.

“I miss arranging those truly magical dates,” Serafina said. There was a group sigh as they all thought back to the good old days.

Except for Malavena. “Oh yes, you did that so well. What was that crap with the three-story-long ponytail ladder? Whatever made you think that was a good idea?”

Serafina pouted. “At least I didn’t get in a snit over an invitation and curse someone’s goddaughter to die.”

Malavena glared.

“I thought I handled that pretty well,” Nissa said.

“The whole sleep thing was pretty inspired,” Serafina said.

Giselda waved her cup. “And how about that pumpkin and those mice? And ruby slippers? Who uses ruby slippers?”

“They were glass slippers,” Flora said.

“Wrong story, nitwit,” Fauna added.

“Besides, what were we supposed to do?” asked Flora.

“Rent a coach and six? On our budgets?” Fauna finished.

Mortals had always thought of fairy godmothers as tiny, sweet, gentle, slightly plump creatures. None of them had ever seen a bored, centuries-old fairy woman, with a working magic wand, totally schnockered. In the past, these barb fests had been known to escalate into all-out fights with very noticeable results. Like Tunguska. Nissa always preferred the evenings like this one, where they’d just indulge in bawdy karaoke and pass out in the bowers.
*
Back in her little cottage the next morning, Nissa made a cup of tea, and bemoaned her and her friends’ lots. She looked down at her unkempt gown and wondered if fairy godmothers were going to go the way of the centaur. It’s really too bad there’s no one to fix the situation. She sipped her tea and waved her wand until her dress sparkled again. If only those ungrateful mortals hadn’t forgotten about us…

Nissa sat up straight in her chair. That’s it, she thought. If mortals have forgotten us, we can just remind them. It’s a simple matter, really.

Now all she had to do was find a suitable baby…
*
Step one-finding a newborn-was rather easy.

Nissa thought that perhaps a fresh start would be a good idea, after all the trouble she and the other ladies had gotten into in Europe. What do those mortals call the New World these days? she thought. Oh yes.

She popped directly into one of those American delis. Ignoring the startled looks of the patrons, she snatched up someone’s discarded newspaper and abandoned drink, and perused the birth announcements. The New Yorkers all turned back to their morning routines when nothing stranger happened.

The first thing she noticed was that American coffee was much stronger than tea. She took a sip, uncrossed her eyes, and swigged the stuff. It didn’t help her hangover much, but it sure woke her up.

Nissa twirled her wand, swung her legs-which didn’t reach the ground from the stool-and slowly read each announcement. Which led her to notice a second thing: there didn’t seem to be any princes or princesses in America.

She turned to an old man sitting next to her at the counter. “Where are your kings and queens?” she asked. “For that matter, where are your barons and baronesses? I’d settle for a baronet if I can’t get a prince.”

The old man glared at her and inched away. She heard him grumble something about crazy tourists to the man next to him.

Nissa twitched her wand. “Hmph. I’ll just have to improvise then.”

A quick read through the paper informed her that something called Congress ruled the country, so political royalty it would be. A few moments later she’d found a nice, wealthy family in Massachusetts, very distantly related to a Senator, who’d just welcomed an addition. Nissa tapped the picture of the happy little trio with her magic wand to get the address, and finished off her weekly caffeine allowance.

Step two-introducing herself-was a little more complicated. As it turned out, popping into the new parents’ foyer and saying, “Good, morning, morning, morning! I’m your son’s fairy godmother!” wasn’t conducive to much other than some screaming, a fainting, and a scuffle over a handgun. Turning the handgun into an angry badger didn’t accomplish anything for her mission, either – the mother, who was wielding the weapon at the time, apparently had a phobia of furry things with flashing teeth and claws.

The badger toddled off, huffing, to burrow under the sofa while the woman perched on the spindly coat rack, and her husband remained unhelpfully unconscious on the floor. Nissa leaned against the door and fanned herself. “Oh, thank goodness that’s settled.”

A screech from the other side of a bright blue Jackie O jacket on the coat rack drew Nissa’s attention. “What do you want from us?”

“Want from you?” Nissa patted her hairdo and straightened her skirts. Popping in and out was always a little rough on the appearance. “Weren’t you listening? I’m your son’s fairy godmother.”

The man, still facedown, groaned and twitched as he started to come out of his swoon.

“If it’s money you want,” the woman said, glancing at the man on the floor, “I don’t have access to the safe.”

“Fairy godmother,” Nissa said again. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Fairy godmothers aren’t real,” the woman objected.

Nissa put her hands on her robust hips. She hadn’t expected so much resistance. “Honey, I just turned your weapon into a badger.” Nissa gestured toward the couch, from under which snuffling sounds emerged. “What makes you think I’m not real?”

“You have a point.” The mother crept down from the coat rack but kept her distance.

“I want to be your son’s fairy godmother. You know, bestow a gift, help him win the heart of a princess, defeat ogres. That sort of thing.”

“Really? You can do that?”

Nissa puffed up her ample bosom. “I’m a fairy godmother. Of course I can.”

The man on the floor flopped over and groaned some more. The mother poked at him with her toe. “What’s an ogre, by the way?”

“Hmm?” Nissa had been busy watching the man twitch. “Oh, a nasty creature with a big belly that will bore you to tears if you get stuck listening to it.”

“Oh. We call those politicians these days.”

“Really? Well, I’ve been out of the loop for a while,” Nissa said.

“So,” the mother said, “what sort of gift are we talking about?”

“Well, I was thinking of something along the lines of making him tall, dark, and handsome. That’s usually a good one.”

They both stared at the man on the floor, noting his pale hair, small eyes, jowls, receding hairline, and thick neck.

“Make it tall, blond, and handsome, and you’ve got a deal,” the mother said.

“I can do blond.”

The father sat up and put his hand to his bleeding nose as Nissa headed down the hall to the nursery. From behind her, she heard, “Honey, who is that odd woman?”

“That’s our son’s fairy godmother, dear.”

“We’re going to have to keep that out of the papers.”
*
Nissa entered the nursery and leaned over the baby’s bed. Oh dear, she thought, looking down at the boy who was unmistakably his father’s son. I certainly picked the right gift for this one. She clamped the tip of her tongue between her teeth, concentrated, and waved her wand over the boy. She looked down as she finished the last flourish and breathed a sigh of relief. Serafina had managed to screw one of these up once, and the royal family had locked the monstrous child into a tower for seventeen years until a very unhappily surprised prince had rescued the poor girl. In fact, that had been one of the incidents that had led to their current employment situation. Well, that and Malavena.

After admiring her new godson, Nissa flitted home and looked around at her tiny cottage. She was appalled at how filthy it had become over the centuries of drunken neglect. After a little magic-assisted cleaning, she spent the night in her own thistle down bed rather than a bower, congratulating herself on her genius.
*
The next day at Dulcina’s, all the fairy godmothers wanted to know where she had been the previous day and why she was grinning. Before she could begin her tale, Malavena piped up. “I’ll bet she’s found herself a satyr and doesn’t want to share him with us.”

The other fairy godmothers turned on her like a swarm of flesh-eating beetles.

“Wait!” Nissa yelled. “That’s not it.” The ladies backed off. “I had this idea,” she began. “It’s really just a simple matter to solve our employment problem.” She glanced at the others. “Not that I don’t enjoy getting tossed with all of you here in this lovely garden, but I miss my work.”

The ladies murmured and nodded to each other, even Malavena, so Nissa told them about the deli, newspapers, and the American Congress. She got as far as, “So I conjured up their address and popped into their foyer…” when Serafina disappeared. The other ladies squealed in outrage at being left behind, and suddenly Nissa found herself alone in the garden with the keg.

As she sipped from a buttercup, Nissa considered going after her friends to warn them about popping in unannounced. Oh, never mind, she thought. They’ll figure it out soon enough.
*
Flora and Fauna sat at Nissa’s table sipping tea. “Oh, you should have seen it,” began Flora.

“Belinda grabbed the paper thingy from Serafina-” continued Fauna.

“-and Dulcina popped up from under the table and snatched it from her,” finished Flora.

After so many centuries, Nissa still found it a little disconcerting to listen to the twin fairy godmothers tell a story. She wondered if she had any fairy hooch stashed in the cupboard.

Fauna waved her hands about. “We fought over that thing for almost thirty minutes before-”

“-I noticed that Malavena was sitting at one of the tables with a whole stack of the silly things,” Flora said.

Nissa giggled along with her friends as they told her about the customers at the deli screaming and hiding behind the counter.

“We found these lovely boys in South Carolina,” Fauna said.

“They’re neighbors, so we can travel together for visits,” Flora said.

Nissa made the appropriate admiring remarks over the photos her friends produced. “Did the other ladies find appropriate children?” she asked.

“It took a few weeks, but it seems that-” Fauna said.

Nissa turned expectantly to Flora who continued, “Politicians are a prolific lot in America.”

Fauna nodded. “So everyone was able to find suitable newborns.” The two fairy godmothers grinned at each other and Fauna tittered behind her fingertips. “Except for Malavena.”

“She had to settle for some common boy named Bill in someplace called Seattle.” Flora told Nissa, leaning forward as she spoke. “His father’s only a lawyer. Scandalous,” she added, and pulled a photo of the boy out of the air.

Nissa wondered what sort of gift Malavena had bestowed on her godson. It certainly hadn’t been attractiveness.
*
Nissa loved her job. Over the years, she’d been called upon many times to help her godson. The boy was handsome and charming but dumb as a box of rocks. He was excellent at getting himself into trouble, and not so good at getting out of it. However, thanks to Nissa’s quick wand work, the boy developed an unearned reputation for being sweet, charming, and chaste. That, along with his surprisingly good grades in law school (which had kept Nissa rather busy for a few years) came in handy when he ran for public office.

Then came the year he decided to run for President. That didn’t go as smoothly.

“Nissa!” her godson’s mother screamed. “How did this story get into the papers?” She shook a Washington Post so viciously that Nissa had no chance of reading the headlines.

Nissa twitched her wand to snare the paper and read, “Candidate Accused of Soliciting Prostitute.”

The accompanying article told the tale of her godson hiring a prostitute at a truck stop. Smack dab in the middle of the article was a photo of her godson with his eyes squinted shut and an idiotic grin on his face. The photo had been taken through the open driver side window. In the passenger seat was a scantily clad, well-endowed woman. Wait a minute. I recognize those boobs. Only they usually belong to someone much shorter, Nissa thought.

With a flick of her wand, she lightened up the conveniently dark area over the woman’s head. Belinda’s grinning face winked back at her.

With that opening gambit, the fairy godmothers, except for Malavena, found themselves staring across the political arena at each other as their godchildren all demanded to be made President in the same election year.
*
Two days later, the public had forgotten Nissa’s godson’s indiscretion when Belinda’s hay-fever-afflicted godson reached into his pocket for a handkerchief at a charity picnic and pulled out a large pair of bright red satin panties. They obviously did not belong to his tiny wife, whose face quickly came close to matching the satin’s shade. The story flew from the local newspapers to the national level in hours.

The story was so big, in fact, that the talk show interview with a disguised man the next afternoon was almost lost in the noise. The man claimed to have purchased a small herd of camels for Flora and Fauna’s godsons, which were then used in an underground camel wrestling ring. He suspected the two South Carolina candidates had made millions, and he still hadn’t been paid for his smuggling.

For the remainder of the campaign, Nissa stuck to her godson like a barnacle. She suspected the other fairy godmothers were in similar situations. Every strange person, package, or statement was suspect. Her nerves were jagged from lack of sleep, and her right elbow inflamed from constant detection spells. But her godson mostly stayed out of the papers.
*
“Now, just remember to read your prompts,” Nissa told her godson. “I’ll project them onto the top of your podium.” She briefly envisioned the audience’s confusion if her godson tried to answer a question about national security on his own.

Nissa found herself a spot where she could see her godson-and most of the other fairy godmothers-and tapped into the sound system.

“This is KOMG with a live broadcast of tonight’s presidential debates. Tonight’s event has the largest number of participants in U.S. electoral history, and we are anxious to see how it turns out.”

Nissa heard the stagehand’s cue and watched as the candidates marched onto the stage waving and smiling. One of the men stumbled, causing subdued laughter from the audience, and Nissa glared suspiciously at the other fairy godmothers.

As the debate began, Nissa held her breath, but her godson managed to remember to read his responses off the top of his podium without being overly obvious.

Everything was going well until Flora’s godson, while answering a question about government spending, made a quip about Fauna’s godson’s wife and her collection of hats.

There was suddenly a shaggy goat where the would-be comedian had been standing. “Well, Puck’s short horns,” Nissa cursed. “Fauna!” she yelled. “What are you doing?”

Fauna ignored Nissa and squealed as her godson turned bright blue before morphing into a miniature donkey. On the other side of the stage, the goat bleated and charged the closest candidate, knocking the man on his butt.

Oh dear, Nissa thought. This isn’t going to turn out well. The auditorium was silent for a blink, and then pandemonium erupted. The fairy godmothers started flinging spells like monkeys flinging poo. A candidate fainted. Security personnel materialized from every nook and cranny in the place. Nissa gave up all hope of keeping it out of the news-not that there’d been any hope of that, what with all the cameras.

There were screams from the audience. Nissa glimpsed people scrambling over seats and knocking each other down trying to get to the doors. In her ear, which was still tuned in to the commentary, she heard, “Are you getting this? There are sixteen dumpy little women in ball gowns flying around waving little sticks, and the candidates are turning into farm animals!”

She flew down as the little donkey sent another candidate sailing off the edge of the stage. Its victory bray was cut short as a giant wad of socks materialized in its mouth. A microphone sailed past Nissa’s head, and she turned to see it nail Belinda right between the eyes. Belinda got up off the floor, screeched in a very unladylike manner, and flung a spell in the general direction the microphone had come from: a candidate cowering behind his podium sprouted bright chicken feathers from his head.

Nissa snagged her godson and flitted out of there, vaguely wondering if the camera crews had gotten her good side.
*
Dulcina poured a thimble for Flora while Fauna tenderly slapped a cold steak on Belinda’s bruised face. The fairy godmothers were ensconced at Camp David, once again drinking, while their godsons held the strangest domestic peace talks in American history.

“Fairygate?” Nissa read from the headline of the paper she’d stolen that morning. “Did you ladies see these pictures?” There on the front page (and several pages inside the paper) were photos of her, her friends, and various transfigured godsons. “I’ll bet my godson’s parents are having fits over this getting into the papers.”

Serafina, lying on a needlepoint pillow with her arm draped over her eyes, said, “I heard Congress has barricaded itself inside the Capitol and refuses to comment on the situation.”

“Except to complain to us,” Giselda pointed out.

“At least they called off the Special Forces,” Belinda commented. “That could have been tricky.”

“There’s a rumor that they’re considering a bill to limit the influence of fairy godmothers in political campaigns,” Nissa read.

“And just how do they expect to enforce such a thing?” Serafina asked.

“Oh, who the hell cares?” Dulcina poured herself another drink. “I’m about done with modern politics.”

Nissa turned the page in the newspaper, and an article caught her eye: “Bill Gates Named Most Influential.” Bill Gates? She continued to read silently; “Time, Forbes and The Guardian have named Bill Gates the most influential man of the 20th Century.”

Perhaps she’d underestimated Malavena all these centuries. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Pass the hooch, Dulcina.”

---

Linda Lindsey hasn’t seen hide nor hair of her fairy godmother since she asked to become an author. Instead of basking in literary fame and fortune bestowed by a magic wand, Linda toils away on various manuscripts in her home office near Houston, Texas. She is assisted by her pets and encouraged by her husband. This is her third short story sale. Linda can be found online at linda-lindsey.com.