The Fairy Godmother by Mercedes Lackey Page A

although she had no real idea of what would happen, she was not going to fall asleep now. She was going to enjoy every moment of this until she was forced out of the experience by waking up. So she fought the impulse, then the need to put down the book, to close her eyes, fought it even though the words on the page stopped making sense, though her lids drooped until she could not even see the page, and until the book dropped from her numbing fingers and her last conscious thought was that the candle in the sconce above her head had just gone out of its own accord.

5
    â€œG ood morning, Mistress!”
    The cheerful voice startled her awake, and even if it had not, the ruthless pulling aside of the curtains at the windows to let in a flood of sunshine surely would have.
    Elena sat straight up in bed. A real bed. The same real, luxurious bed she had dreamed that she had climbed into last night. And she was in the same, gorgeous, glorious room that she had imagined in her dream.
    Except that she was awake, very much awake, and she was still here. Those were her clothes folded up on the chair, which a little brown woman who probably stood no higher than her waist—whose ears, she could see, were rather pointed—was picking up, unfolding, and tsk ing over. Shewas dressed in a miniature, muted version of Madame Bella’s eccentric costume.
    She must be a Brownie, like the two old men last night. Which meant that they, too, were real.
    â€œOh, Mistress, these’ll never do, these garments of yours,” the Faerie woman said firmly, and with, perhaps, just a touch of disdain. “Maybe for working in the garden after rain, but not for every day. Not for an Apprentice.”
    She had not been in her position a day, and already she was making mistakes, it seemed. This wasn’t a very auspicious start. And last night, Madame Bella hadn’t said a word about clothing.
    â€œBut I’m afraid they’re the best I have—” Elena said, weakly. “I’m terribly sorry, but my stepmother—I’ll wear whatever you like—”
    The Faerie woman interrupted her, with a wave of her hand. She didn’t seem annoyed; relieved, perhaps, that Elena had volunteered to wear what she chose. “Oh, not to worry, not to worry. You won’t need the whole turn-out for weeks and weeks yet, and Robin will have it all tailored up for you by then.” The little woman bustled about the room, unpacking Elena’s few things and folding them away in a chest. “Till then, I expect some of Madame’s things will do. You’re much of a size.” She opened one of the two wardrobes and began pulling clothing out.
    Remembering Madame’s rather—flamboyant—style of yesterday, Elena wondered if she ought to say something. Not that Madame Bella’s clothing wasn’t good but—
    But fortunately, it seemed, the little woman’s taste was a good bit quieter than Madame’s. Out came a fine whitelinen shift and petticoat, a white blouse liberally trimmed at the cuffs with lace, a black twill skirt piped in green, and a black vest embroidered in green and purple, and a sash to match. Still far more colorful than anything Elena had worn in years, but by no means as eye-popping an ensemble as Madame’s.
    No corset, so there wasn’t any need for help with dressing; and just as well, as Elena would really rather do without a corset if she could. Before the old woman could make a move to serve as a body-servant, Elena quickly climbed out of bed and put the clothing on, feeling an unaccustomed urge to giggle with nervousness. It wasn’t that she was shy about disrobing in front of a stranger—years living among the rest of the servants had cured her of any such illusions of modesty. No, it was the giddy and dizzying rush of realizing that this was real.
    It wasn’t a dream—it wasn’t a dream. She was the Apprentice to a Fairy Godmother. She