The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen by Delia Sherman Page A

disks with rings on top that smelled like tuna fish. Everything came from Central Park. The other Green Places didn’t play.”
    I sighed. “Well, at least we know it’s not here.”
    “You have any idea how many Green Places there are in New York Between, little mortal?” Snuggles asked.
    Of course I knew. When I was very little, Astris sang me to sleep with them: Fort Tryon, Riverside, Gramercy, East River, Inwood, Washington Square, Bryant, Morningside. And those were just the big ones. It was hopeless. Even if the Pooka let me quit school and I spent every minute of the next three months looking, I’d never find the Mermaid’s mirror.
    “That stupid mirror,” the Lady said, “has been more trouble than it’s worth. I wish I’d never heard of it.”
    “Me, too,” I said, “seeing how everybody in the Park is going to get poisoned.”
    The Lady ignored this. “I can never remember how to turn the dumb thing on, and when I get you to fire it up, it won’t answer my questions.”
    I stared at her. This, I thought, was what the Diplomat referred to as a piece of unearned luck. “So you’d be willing to give it back to the Mermaid Queen? If you had it, that is.”
    The Lady made a sour face. “Yes. No. I dunno. Look—the mirror’s mine. Her Fishyness is just a bad loser. But she’s threatening my Park, my Folk. I’m the Genius, right? I have to protect them.”
    Something sparked in my head. It wasn’t a plan, it wasn’t even a whole idea, but it was the beginning of one. “So if I go on a quest for the Magic Magnifying Mirror and find it, I have your permission to return it?”
    The Lady looked mulish, then thoughtful. “Maybe.”
    “And you promise you won’t try to keep the mirror for any reason expressed or unexpressed?” I wasn’t sure what this meant, but I’d heard the Diplomat say it and it sounded official.
    The Lady’s face puckered like she’d eaten a basket of lemons. “A promise is no fun if I can’t mess with it.”
    “That’s the deal,” I said. “No backsies.”
    She exchanged a long look with Councilor Snuggles, then sighed. “Howzabout this. I ever find out you ratted on me about losing the mirror, the deal’s off.”
    It was the best I was going to get. “All right. I wouldn’t anyway, but I promise I won’t tell anyone you’re the one who lost the mirror.” I wouldn’t have to, I thought. They’d figure it out for themselves. “Let’s shake on it.”
    So we did that, her hand like polished wood in mine, smooth and hard and cool.
    When the Lady let go, she said, “You’re at that mortal school, now, aren’t you? Whose bright idea was that?”
    “The Pooka’s,” Snuggles said.
    “Yeah, I remember. He jawed at me until I was ready to blast him.”
    Councilor Snuggles scratched his ear. “You said yes instead.”
    “Here’s hoping I don’t regret it,” she said, and melted back among the trees with Councilor Snuggles, leaving me standing in the middle of the Ramble in the dark. I had to cry before a moss woman would show me the way home.

Chapter 9

    RULE 400: STUDENTS MUST NOT MAKE BARGAINS WITH SUPERNATURAL BEINGS WITHOUT PERMISSION.
    Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules
     
     
    S o now I had permission to return the Mermaid’s mirror and save the Park. All I needed was a clue where to start looking for it.
    Astris and the Pooka weren’t any help. When I came back to the Castle and told them about my new quest, they just nodded. I was a hero; I found things nobody else could find. It was all part of being official Park changeling.
    They weren’t worried about whether I’d find it by the Solstice deadline, either. Astris laughed when I started listing all the Parks of Manhattan. “Silly pet. Don’t you worry. It’ll be the last place you look. It always is, in quests.”
    The Pooka was just as optimistic. “I wouldn’t be questing too hard to begin with. Whatever you do, you’ll not be finding it until the very last moment, so there’s no