The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen - Delia Sherman [4]
I dropped the clothes on a step and studied my reflection.
Now that everything fit, my outfit looked super-cool—a lot cooler than I did. My hair was okay, a slightly tamer version of the twiggy mass the moss women in the Ramble sported, but my face was just medium. I wasn’t extra-beautiful or extra-ugly, I didn’t have horns or warts or feathers or scales or green skin or anything to make me stand out in a crowd. Which was good, right?
I stuck out my tongue. My reflection returned the gesture. Then I picked up my clothes and went upstairs.
Chapter 2
RULE 2: FOLK ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SET FOOT INSIDE MISS VAN LOON’S, NOT EVEN FAIRY GODPARENTS.
Miss Van Loon’s Big Book of Rules
Early next morning, a black pony with flaming yellow eyes clattered into the courtyard of Belvedere Castle, ready to take me across the City to Miss Van Loon’s School for Mortal Changelings.
Astris was one big twitch of nerves. “Did you brush your hair? Eat your breakfast? Drink your orange juice? I know you don’t like orange juice, but it’s good for you. Do you have Satchel? What about a scarf? Are you sure you’ll be warm enough?”
Satchel is my magic bag. It’s old and beat up and smells of damp leather, but I never go anywhere without it. It gives me mortal food and holds everything I put in it without getting any heavier. “Satchel’s right here. And it’s still summer—I don’t need a scarf. Stop fussing, Astris. I went on a whole quest by myself.”
Astris patted my knee with pink paws. “I know, pet. It’s just . . . well, I worry, you know. It’s a fairy godmother’s job to worry.”
“I know,” I said impatiently. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I didn’t say good-bye. It’s against the rules to say good-bye.
It’s also against the rules to ride black ponies with flaming yellow eyes, because they might buck you off into a bottomless lake and drown you. But since the black pony in question is my fairy godfather, it’s one rule I can safely ignore.
The Pooka and I trotted east until we got to the low granite wall that marks the boundary between the Park and Fifth Avenue.
I’ve lived next door to Fifth all my life, but I’ve actually never been there. It’s all buildings, vaguely fortresslike, guarded by door wardens dressed up in ceremonial armor with elf swords at their hips—not very appealing to someone used to trees and grass. The Pooka leapt lightly over the wall; the nearest wardens glared and fingered their swords. I waved cheerfully to them as we trotted east toward Park Avenue.
Astris had told me that the strip of trees and flowers down the middle of Park Avenue was under the care of the Green Lady. She hadn’t mentioned that the trees were imprisoned in stone pots and the flowers were barricaded behind iron fences. I wanted to stop and find out if they minded, but the Pooka trotted on into Yorkville, where the German Folk live in narrow brownstone houses with white lace curtains at the windows.
“East River Park ahead,” the Pooka remarked.
Up to now, I’d been feeling pretty good. I was seeing the City, the Pooka was with me, I was going to meet mortals, everything was fine—except maybe Park Avenue. Now I panicked. “You’ll come in with me, won’t you, Pooka?”
“With the red curiosity burning my heart like a bonfire at Samhain? You couldn’t keep me out.”
A breeze sprang up, carrying a bitter, salty, unfamiliar smell. “That’ll be the East River,” the Pooka said. “Miss Van Loon’s is down a bit on the right, in case you’re interested.”
I was interested. First, I saw a wide, paved courtyard. Then, as we got closer, a solid red building, like a giant brick with windows and a door. The door was black; the windows were barred.
My heart sank.
I clung to the Pooka’s mane, more nervous than a champion and hero had any business being.
He stopped in front of the front steps, shook me off briskly, and shifted into his man shape. “Go on, knock,” he said. “They’ll hardly eat you with me looking on.”
I climbed to the door and knocked.
A long, brown, wrinkled face appeared, very like a brownie’s. It was kind of