A Fairy Godmother's Redemption

By Maya Tyler

If only your dreams could come true with a Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo...

Drew Parker’s father abandoned him on his eighth birthday, and he hasn’t thought about him in years. When Drew discovers his father and stepmother have died in a tragic accident, he finds he's now the legal guardian of his two young half-sisters, Madison and Mackenzie. He's on his way to college and not prepared for such a responsibility. His mother refuses to help him, but thankfully he has a Fairy Godmother, a magical, who has spent years helping others to make up for the one she failed.

Singer Seraphina Jacobs thinks she’s finally made it when her second album goes platinum. Then, just before her tour is set to start, photo-shopped nudes of her appear in the tabloids and threaten to destroy her career. With her reputation at stake, her PR team rushes into action.

In a chance meeting, Seraphina makes a poor first impression on Drew. He doesn't recognize her until he wins concert tickets that include meeting her backstage. When Seraphina's manager notices their instant attraction, she capitalizes on it for some PR events. What happens when a staged romance turns into something more?

No matter what Drew and Seraphina feel for each other, their lives are being pulled in opposite directions. Will a little nudge from a Fairy Godmother help them realize what’s really important?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
• Release date: Jul 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463723494

Book preview

Chapter One

Paris, France

October 1968

Something is happening in Chicago. The disembodied voice floated into the room like a whisper in the wind. Another sign from her uncanny prescience.

Faye Delven tilted her head to one side. Her luminous, chestnut brown curls bounced against her shoulder. Only silence greeted her in the vacant Throne Room of The Royal Court of Fairies. But an empty room didn’t necessarily mean she was alone. Who is there?

She heard the loud, persistent clicking of high-heeled shoes approaching along with two very familiar voices.

…need a presence…

…PR nightmare…

Jakob Delven strolled into the Throne Room, accompanied by his assistant, Lorna. There you are, Faye. His smooth voice rolled through the air, reminding her of a hot knife slicing through an unsuspecting pat of butter.

What can I do for you, brother?

Jakob’s silver eyes opened wide, feigning hurt. Must a brother require a favor to seek out his sister?

Perhaps not a regular brother. You, on the other hand? Faye took her brother’s measure with a critical eye. Jakob looked every inch the politician, from his coiffured brown hair to his designer suit. "Are you asking as my brother or as Le Souverain?" She raised her eyebrow in response to her rhetorical question.

I would be hurt, but I fear there is no time.

Lorna observed the exchange with rabid interest. Her head bobbed back and forth between the siblings.

Then, spit it out, Jakob.

He wrinkled his nose with disdain at her blunt phrasing. Something is happening in Chicago.

And?

Why am I not surprised that you are not surprised?

Jakob… A note of impatience sounded in her tone. Her irritation vanished as she recognized the brief look of something akin to distress flashing in his eyes. What can I do, Jakob?

I need you to go to Chicago.

Faye swallowed back the barrage of questions on the tip of her tongue. Trouble in Chicago great enough to concern Jakob—especially after so many quiet decades—was, well, troublesome. It had to be one hell of a magnitudinous problem.

Jakob sank onto a plush chair. I need a drink.

Lorna made a quick exit, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug of apple cider. Her cheeks flushed. Did you want anything, ma’am?

Faye directed a hard stare at Lorna until she dropped her gaze and backed out of the room.

You did not need to scare off Lorna.

No? She arched one eyebrow. She is a mouse, always sneaking around.

She is just shy.

And we were talking about Chicago.

Right. Chicago. He stirred the cinnamon stick resting in his cider. Helene Bauer is on the warpath. We need eyes and ears there. There is no one I trust more.

What is that batty woman up to now?

He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off before he could speak.

I know. I know. You do not know. That is why you need me.

Yes. You will be able to keep things quiet. Anonymity has kept us safe all these years. If the situation is not controlled, Helene could expose us.

Spelling out the risk was unnecessary. She heard the words he didn’t say, saw the genuine concern in his eyes. I will be the dictionary definition of incognito.

I have arranged a job and an apartment for you. He handed her a thin portfolio. I will leave the cover story to you.

You knew I would say yes?

I had a feeling.

How long shall I expect to be there?

As long as it takes, Faye. We need to be on top of whatever… situation… arises. He darted his gaze toward the open doorway where Lorna stood waiting. Prevention of any crisis or mishap is the best solution, of course.

Faye remained seated, hands clasped in her lap, as her brother left the room. I do not envy his responsibilities. At least, I will not be stuck here twiddling my thumbs. She cracked open the portfolio. It contained exactly what Jakob had said. Information on a job at a bakery and an apartment for Faye Delmore. I guess it makes sense I would use an assumed surname. Identity documents in the same name were tucked into the inner pocket, along with a first-class airline ticket from Paris to Chicago.

Chicago, Illinois

Faye took a cab to the café, assessing its lack of curb appeal with disdain before stepping inside. Hello? The dusty interior didn’t bolster her confidence. With forest-green pleather booths and black-and-white checked linoleum, the café was in desperate need of a face-lift.

An apron-clad woman emerged through the swinging door in the back. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron. Welcome to Gayle’s Café. You must be Faye.

Ignoring the lackluster welcome, Faye extended her hand. Yes. I am so pleased to be—

The apartment has a separate entrance, but you can access it in the back. The woman handed her a key. Your shifts run from seven to three.

What an unfriendly woman. It will take some effort, but I am sure I can win her over. Faye accepted the key with a warm smile. I missed your name.

It’s Gayle. She pointed to the neon sign above the counter, Gayle’s Café, with the G burned out. Any other questions?

Faye shook her head, turning toward the back of the café. Thank you. I will go settle my belongings.

Your first shift is tomorrow at seven.

Forcing her lips to curl into a smile, Faye acknowledged Gayle’s pronouncement with a brief nod. I will see you tomorrow at seven.

At seven o’clock sharp, Faye reported for duty at the café, clad in the uniform Gayle had left for her in the apartment. A one-size-fits-all, shapeless, brown shift. Determined to make the best of this very temporary job, she pasted a smile on her face, keeping it firmly in place until the clock struck three.

One hasty exit and one hot shower later, Faye was ready to tackle her real job. Washing away the café grime—she didn’t even want to imagine how many layers coated every surface—felt so cathartic. How am I going to do that again tomorrow? She shuddered. I need to figure out the Helene situation so I can go home.

Outside the café, she hailed a taxi. The Bough and Pass Pub & Grill, if you please.

Without a second glance, the driver swerved back into traffic. After a white-knuckle sort of ride, he pulled up in front of a brightly lit establishment. Here we be.

She passed him the fare and stepped onto the sidewalk. Now, this is a grand place. Unlike the dingy café, the pub had an inviting sparkle to it, like it contained magic. Which it probably did. This is it. She pushed the heavy wooden doors open, stepping over the threshold. A tiny bell greeted her as she swung the door open. Every patron of the bustling pub stopped their chatter to gawk and give her the once over before resuming their socializing.

Faye hoisted herself onto a tall stool in front of the bar. "Barman?" She summoned the bartender in her native French.

A young man with a white towel draped over his muscular forearm sauntered over. "Voulez-vous boire, mademoiselle?"

His flawless French impressed her. I bet he thinks I do not speak any English. She smiled smugly. What do you think I would like?

His lips curled into a slow smile intent on seduction. You look like a lady who enjoys a tart gin and tonic.

Sounds good.

He placed her drink, complete with a twist of lime garnishing the rim, in front of her. Anything else?

I have heard this establishment dabbles in more than food and drink. She slid a few dollar bills across the bar. I am looking for some information on Helene Bauer Ricard.

His gaze immediately shuttered. Friend of yours?

No. She took a few more bills from her wallet. What can you tell me?

He pocketed the bills, glancing surreptitiously around before speaking. Who are you?

I trust you understand the importance of discretion. She pushed her collar aside to reveal her medallion, identifying her as a fairy.

His eyes widened. If you’re— He cut off his words, leaning across the bar so he could whisper the rest of his sentence. If you’re here about that lunatic, then you must know she’s out for blood. You better find her daughter Amelie before she does.

Can you tell me anything else?

Find Amelie. He scribbled something down on a cocktail napkin, placing it securely in her hand.

A cold shiver of foreboding slivered down her spine. She slipped the napkin in her purse, making a show of finishing her drink before sliding off the barstool. Thanks… for the drink.

As her cab rolled away from the pub, she pulled out the napkin. The bartender had written an address on it. 1810 Hinman Avenue, Evanston, IL.

Faye spread out a map of Illinois in her cozy apartment, which included an inset street map of Chicago and its suburbs. She located Hinman Avenue, finding it on the Evanston campus of Northwestern University. Guess I am headed back to school tomorrow.

After another brain-numbing shift at the café, Faye stood outside 1810 Hinman Avenue, shielding her eyes from the blazing afternoon sun. She took a stabilizing inhale, betraying her uncharacteristic agitation. The bartender’s words from last night ran through her mind. She hoped to find Amelie Ricard alive and well. Her stomach churned at the possibility that she might not. Stepping into the lobby, she located Amelie’s office number from the directory. Hmm… Assistant Professor of Anthropology. She arched her eyebrows in approval. Amelie must be a smart woman. Hopefully, smart enough to outwit her mother.

Hello? Can I help you? A petite girl with a shock of frizzy crimson hair stood in the open doorway of Amelie’s office, balancing a stuffed banker’s box in her arms. She coolly assessed Faye through a narrowed gaze.

I am looking for Professor Ricard.

I’m her assistant—was her assistant. You just missed the professor. I’m afraid she’s gone for the day. The girl shifted the box, propping its weight on one hip. Her office hours start at nine tomorrow morning.

Inferring the implied dismissal, Faye nodded her thanks before heading back toward the stairs. A dead end. She sighed. Hopefully not literally. Now, where could that girl be?

Ginny. Ginny, hold the door.

Professor Ricard, I thought you’d left?

Faye’s ears perked. The professor has returned. She pivoted on the stairs, quickening her step.

I forgot something.

Really? Ginny sounded incredulous, like absentmindedness was an unusual occurrence for Amelie. A woman was looking for you.

A student?

I don’t think so. Ginny pointed at Faye. There she is.

Faye raised her hand in a slow, non-threatening manner to show Amelie her medallion. May I have a moment of your time?

Amelie’s eyes flared with recognition, a reaction she covered by checking her wristwatch. I’m on my way out.

I would not be here if it was not important.

Amelie hesitated. You can walk with me.

Thank you. Faye matched Amelie’s stride as they descended the stairs. My name is Faye. I am an old— She hated to label the usurper as a friend. —acquaintance of your parents. How is your mother?

Amelie shot her a confused look. She lives in Chicago. Why didn’t you ask her directly?

There was no time for delicacy. The looming threat of exposure stemming from Helene’s bloodlust had to be stopped. I am aware of… the unrest. My concern is for you.

Me?

Has your mother threatened to hurt you… or is there any reason why your mother might threaten you?

Amelie paused on the landing, cradling her stomach protectively. Are you allied with my mother?

Faye knew what Amelie was really asking. No. My position is neutral. Does the father know?

Amelie shook her head, sending Faye a pleading glance. Everything is so complicated. I can’t tell him. Ever since I told my mother— Her voice shook. Telling him now would place him in danger as well.

Has your mother threatened you or your baby?

Not exactly. Amelie bit her bottom lip. But she demanded I get an abortion. I refused, of course. She became livid, spewing about all sorts of safety concerns. For me. But also, for us as a people. I didn’t tell her about the father, but she knew what he was. Do you understand?

I am beginning to get the picture. Who is the father?

Niall Warde.

Chapter Two

Chicago, Illinois

May 1988

Knock knock. Let the meeting of Fairy Godmothers Incorporated come to order.

Rainy Beaumont rolled her eyes as Faye mimed hitting the table with a gavel. You don’t need to make that annoying sound effect.

If someone hadn’t hidden my gavel…

Girls, girls. Ginger St. Martin interrupted the banter before Faye could begin her tirade. We have official business to discuss.

The three middle-aged fairies sat around the worn table in the heart of Faye’s Café, the official headquarters of Fairy Godmothers Incorporated or FGI for short. The still-warm kitchen smelled delightfully of cinnamon and brown sugar.

Faye had aged graciously, keeping her curly brown hair—streaked liberally with grey—shorter these days. Rainy sported blondish-grey hair styled in a middle-length bob, curling up above her shoulders. Her light green eyes twinkled with amusement. She enjoyed teasing Faye at every opportunity, although she took FGI business very seriously. Ginger had copper-colored hair that suited her perfectly and unnaturally bright blue eyes. She played peacemaker, more often than not, between staid Faye and joker Rainy. Together, this unlikely trio had formed FGI nearly twenty years ago.

Ginger uncovered her crystal ball. Let’s see who needs a little help from a fairy godmother.

Rainbow-colored clouds swirled within the crystal ball. They all leaned forward, waiting for the clouds to settle down…

A little boy with messy brown hair hopped out of bed. It’s my birthday! Vibrating with excitement, he ran out of his room and down the hall. He dashed into another room and, without warning, jumped onto a bed where two people were sleeping.

What time is it? The woman rolled over with a groan. Six a.m., Drew? Really?

I was too excited to sleep, Mom.

I can't believe you’re eight today. She ruffled the little boy’s hair affectionately. How about some of my special pancakes?

Yes, please!

Such good manners. She poked the sleeping man in the shoulder. Morning, Andrew.

Coffee, Georgia?

I’m on it. Georgia swung her legs over the side of the bed. How about you get dressed, kiddo. I’ll start breakfast—

Andrew opened one eye gingerly. And coffee?

Yes, darling, coffee too.

Thanks. Call me when it’s ready? Andrew pulled the covers over his head without waiting for a response.

Sure thing. Georgia got up, pulling Drew into a side-arm hug. Happy birthday, sweetheart.

Drew protested a little at the tight squeeze. Dad’s a grumpy bear before he gets his morning coffee, isn’t he?

Yup. You are too. Georgia pretended to scowl at Drew.

I don’t drink coffee. Drew glowered back. I know you really want to laugh.

Go. Get dressed.

With a grin, Drew scampered back to his room. What do I want to wear to school today? He put on a T-shirt and a pair of track pants, admiring himself in the floor-length mirror. Looking good.

Drew sniffed the air, smelling his mom’s pancakes sizzling on the griddle. His stomach growled. He rushed into the bathroom, pausing to wet his hair, before heading down to the kitchen.

Good morning, Dad. Drew plopped down on the chair beside his father.

Andrew swallowed a big gulp of coffee before