Maven Fairy Godmother: Through the Veil
Book Details
PublisherCharlotte Henley Babb
ISBN / ASINB00MKCJKW0
ISBN-13978B00MKCJKW2
Sales Rank1,167,202
MarketplaceUnited States 🇺🇸
Description
Broke, busted, and despairing over the mess of her life, Maven Morrigan is offered a job as a fairy godmother, a one-time-only last chance to make something of herself and make the world a better place.
As a woman 'of a certain age,' she is burned out doing the only work she is qualified for, her unemployment has run out, and she’s lost everything but her car—and it’s a wreck. When her prepaid cellphone, long out of minutes, rings with a job offer, she takes it on the promise of meeting a dragon, but as usual, a few details were left off the contract.
Maven's idea of how to grant her clients' wishes presents more problems than she expects when she learns that the Veil that separates Faery from Mundane is on the verge of collapse, and her new boss isn't giving her the all the facts about magic castles, dragons and trolls. But she has nowhere else to go, not even back to her old life in Mundane, until her friend and co-trainee becomes a damsel in distress.
Not knowing who to trust: her boss, her slithery familiar, or her own Bump of Direction, she has to rely on herself, her real world failures, and her sense of the absurd to survive in this imaginary garden with real frogs in it to make her clients' happy endings happen.
Excerpt - Maven grants her first wish:
"Be careful what you ask for," Maven said, "You just might get it."
The girl inspected Maven. She held up her fingers and started counting. "I just want to have, 1—the fabulous, romantic evening with 2—the beautiful clothes and 3—the lovely music and 4—the elegant food I didn't have to cook." Wistful hope shone on her face even behind the calculations of exactly what kinds of fun girls just want to have. She stuck out her thumb and added, "I was very careful."
"You asked for it." Maven wondered how a fairy godmother cast her spell. She hoped the wand would work, but in virtual reality, what could go wrong? "I will provide the clothes and the coach and the whole kit, cat and caboodle. If you like what you see, then go for the prince and make yourself happy. If not, then come back home and decide what you want. You have until midnight before it all goes away. At the twelfth bong—busted."
"I'm ready." The girl closed her eyes, held her breath, and stood very still.
How to grant a wish? The Bump suggested bopping the girl over the head, preferably with a broom handle. Maven swished the wand, but nothing happened. There was a song in the movie, but she couldn't remember how it went. "Bobbetty Boobetty Do!"
The girl opened her eyes again. "What? Do you need something for the magic...mice? A pumpkin?"
"Bring them on."
The girl ought to wash her face, too. But if Maven had magic for horses and coaches, a bath should be no sweat.
Maven never cast a spell before, but she'd written affirmations, meditations and invocations. She'd soaked her head and sunk her bankbook in all flavors of Kiss Your Kundalini and Manifest your Mojo workshops trying to make some sense of her life back when she thought she had time to make those changes. Maybe they'd work if she did them for someone else.
"I don't have a pumpkin, and there aren't any mice in the trap," Ashleigh wailed.
"Quit wailing," Maven said. "What do you have?"
Ashleigh's eyes got wider, and her lip trembled. More tears made clean tracks down her face.
Maven thought back to all the stories she had read—the wish-maker was never insightful, nor intelligent, just a hardworking, obedient, sweet, wasp-waisted, big-boob soprano. A heroine might be under all that soot for all she could see.
"Just get something big for a carriage, something to pull it, and something to drive." Maven propped her wand on one hip and scratched her head. "You're running out of time."
While the girl went scrounging, Maven visualized a castle, grand courtiers, music, food, dancing, and flowers, bigger than Hollywood prom night on steroids.
As a woman 'of a certain age,' she is burned out doing the only work she is qualified for, her unemployment has run out, and she’s lost everything but her car—and it’s a wreck. When her prepaid cellphone, long out of minutes, rings with a job offer, she takes it on the promise of meeting a dragon, but as usual, a few details were left off the contract.
Maven's idea of how to grant her clients' wishes presents more problems than she expects when she learns that the Veil that separates Faery from Mundane is on the verge of collapse, and her new boss isn't giving her the all the facts about magic castles, dragons and trolls. But she has nowhere else to go, not even back to her old life in Mundane, until her friend and co-trainee becomes a damsel in distress.
Not knowing who to trust: her boss, her slithery familiar, or her own Bump of Direction, she has to rely on herself, her real world failures, and her sense of the absurd to survive in this imaginary garden with real frogs in it to make her clients' happy endings happen.
Excerpt - Maven grants her first wish:
"Be careful what you ask for," Maven said, "You just might get it."
The girl inspected Maven. She held up her fingers and started counting. "I just want to have, 1—the fabulous, romantic evening with 2—the beautiful clothes and 3—the lovely music and 4—the elegant food I didn't have to cook." Wistful hope shone on her face even behind the calculations of exactly what kinds of fun girls just want to have. She stuck out her thumb and added, "I was very careful."
"You asked for it." Maven wondered how a fairy godmother cast her spell. She hoped the wand would work, but in virtual reality, what could go wrong? "I will provide the clothes and the coach and the whole kit, cat and caboodle. If you like what you see, then go for the prince and make yourself happy. If not, then come back home and decide what you want. You have until midnight before it all goes away. At the twelfth bong—busted."
"I'm ready." The girl closed her eyes, held her breath, and stood very still.
How to grant a wish? The Bump suggested bopping the girl over the head, preferably with a broom handle. Maven swished the wand, but nothing happened. There was a song in the movie, but she couldn't remember how it went. "Bobbetty Boobetty Do!"
The girl opened her eyes again. "What? Do you need something for the magic...mice? A pumpkin?"
"Bring them on."
The girl ought to wash her face, too. But if Maven had magic for horses and coaches, a bath should be no sweat.
Maven never cast a spell before, but she'd written affirmations, meditations and invocations. She'd soaked her head and sunk her bankbook in all flavors of Kiss Your Kundalini and Manifest your Mojo workshops trying to make some sense of her life back when she thought she had time to make those changes. Maybe they'd work if she did them for someone else.
"I don't have a pumpkin, and there aren't any mice in the trap," Ashleigh wailed.
"Quit wailing," Maven said. "What do you have?"
Ashleigh's eyes got wider, and her lip trembled. More tears made clean tracks down her face.
Maven thought back to all the stories she had read—the wish-maker was never insightful, nor intelligent, just a hardworking, obedient, sweet, wasp-waisted, big-boob soprano. A heroine might be under all that soot for all she could see.
"Just get something big for a carriage, something to pull it, and something to drive." Maven propped her wand on one hip and scratched her head. "You're running out of time."
While the girl went scrounging, Maven visualized a castle, grand courtiers, music, food, dancing, and flowers, bigger than Hollywood prom night on steroids.
