As the King's Festival drew nearer and the rainy November days turned into frosty December nights, Cynthia got more and more nervous about the ball. She had taken to pacing around her room at the bed-and-breakfast, looking pale and distraught.

"But you were so excited when we bought your dress!" I said one morning, exactly a week before the party. "And you've been doing so well with the going outdoors thing."

"I know, but now it feels real. There are only seven days before I meet Prince Christopher." She gnawed at her fingernails. "I need to clean something, Noelle. Quick, give me a dish rag, some silver, anything. Why is everything so spotless around here?!"

"Cynthia, sit down and breathe." I pushed her into a chair and fanned her with the room menu. Did this bode ill for the ball? What would I do if she fainted in front of the prince?

Her anxiety waxed and waned over the next few days. It was yet another thing I had to deal with along with all of the other preparations for the big night, not to mention my guilt and hurt and confusion over what had happened with Kit last week.

Had I overreacted? After all, the princess was a beautiful girl. Everyone liked to look at her. Admiring a pretty face wasn't a crime.

But Kit had barely even glanced at me. And shouldn't he have? Wasn't I the girl he had kissed, the one he said he liked?

As I brushed aside Cynthia's hair so she could admire her new earrings, I wondered if it would always be this way, being a fairy godmother. Never the one to shine, never the one who made the wishes. Always the one to step aside so that everyone could look at the princess.

And yet I couldn't hate Cynthia, not when she turned to hug me. "I'll never forget what you've done for me, Noelle," she said softly. "You're the truest friend I've ever had."

I hugged her back and tried to push aside all thoughts of Kit. It was not a time to be selfish and self-pitying, not when there was a ball to plan for, a princess to marry off, and a trainer to send to the House of Godmothers.

"I made a list of everything you'll need. Here it is: jewelry, makeup, dress, and, last but not least, shoes." I pulled the glass slippers out of my bag and handed them to Cynthia, whose jaw dropped as she held them up to the light.

"They're beautiful," she breathed, but when she tried them on, they were too big. She slipped and slid as she walked across the room. "Can we stuff something in the toes, maybe?"

"No good. People will see it." I chewed on my lower lip, thinking.

I considered melting the shoes again to see if I could shrink them, but I didn't want to ruin our handiwork. Then an idea came to me - sandpaper. From the kit Mom had given me, I took two slivers of sandpaper, wrapped them with cotton, and lined the slippers with them, which seemed to do the trick.

As the days went by, I grew more confident that I had thought of everything, from pins for wardrobe malfunctions to pre-wetted handkerchiefs for touch-ups.

But then, one day in the village, I overheard a conversation that rang a bell in my head. I stopped so suddenly that Cynthia bumped into me.

"Oh, no," I said. "I forgot about your transportation."

She shrugged. "That's all right."

"No, it's not," I said, groaning. "The palace is too far for you to walk there in glass slippers. We need a carriage."

But I had my doubts as to whether we'd be able to find one, and it turned out I was right. The whole kingdom was packed with tourists, not to mention all of the princesses come from afar to try and bag the prince like a Christmas turkey. Every last vehicle, it seemed, had been reserved.

"All of mine were reserved months in advance," one carriage-maker told me gleefully. "Why don't you try borrowing a shopkeeper's wagon?"

"I can't have my princess riding in a shopkeeper's wagon," I said disdainfully, though the minute we left, I went and asked every shopkeeper I could find.

But my efforts were in vain. Every single wagon had been taken. I was told that some of the other fairy godmothers had paid a king's ransom for one, even if it was falling apart and painted to hide the splinters.

I slumped against the wall of the last shop with a sigh. I thought about begging for the use of an official C.A.F.E. carriage, but if even the butcher's wagon was reserved, those were most likely unavailable. "I am a horrible fairy godmother. How could I have forgotten?"

Cynthia patted my shoulder. "You're a wonderful fairy godmother," she said reassuringly. "You remembered the extra bandages to show the prince what a wonderful mother I'd make if I stepped on his foot while dancing and had to wrap up the wound."

She kept talking, but I was busy wondering whether there was time to write home to Dad to borrow his wagon. Maybe Dad could send me the wheelbarrow he used to shuttle pumpkins around in the patch.

I chuckled, imagining Cynthia on a wheelbarrow, glass slippers in the air as I hurtled her toward the castle. And then it hit me.

PUMPKINS.

My eyes flew open.

"I've got it."

Cynthia nodded. "I know. You're going to keep it with you and if I feel nauseated, you'll open it and hold it under my chin . . ."

I shook my head impatiently. "No, no, I'm not talking about the emergency barf bag." I rubbed my hands together. "If we can't find a carriage, or a wagon, or a wheelbarrow, then we're just going to have to make a vehicle."

This time, I was not stuck in the woods.

This time, I had time to execute my plan.

With only two nights left until the ball, I gathered pen and paper and feverishly drew design after design. I sketched ink doors and windows. I experimented with different types of vine wheel spirals. I left the top on every pumpkin I drew, which would look prettier and also shield Cynthia from bad weather. I didn't want my client arriving with limp curls if it decided to rain. I scrawled in comfortable seats and fastenings with which to harness the horses.

Or horse, rather.

I had rushed to headquarters as soon as I came up with the idea and had consulted Maud. She looked pale and had dark shadows under her eyes, but had perked up at my plan.

"I can get you a horse," she promised. "You can use one of Grandma Lin's stallions."

I hauled the three remaining pumpkins from Dad off my windowsill and into a quiet corner of the park, where I could work in privacy.

My first attempt was a failure, because I couldn't remember what I had done the first time with my magic wand. I finally figured it out with my second pumpkin, but forgot to make a door when I hollowed it out.

"Attach a wooden one," suggested Muffet, who had come to watch me work.

"That wouldn't look very pretty," I said doubtfully.

I triumphed at last with the third pumpkin, which was a good thing because my gossamer powder was running low. The carriage was large and rather magnificent (if I did say so myself) and had two perfect doors that opened out on hinges I had cut from the tough pumpkin stem. The seats were roomy enough to accommodate two girls in big gowns.

I used the thickened vines from all three pumpkins for the wheels, doubling the curlicues to make them extra strong. I attached them to the carriage with pieces of the stem and used all of my strength to push it along so I could test the way they rolled.

At last, I harnessed Maud's grandmother's stallion to the carriage and threw an enormous cloth over the whole thing. I had to bring it back through the village to Cynthia's bed-and-breakfast, and I didn't want the surprise to be spoiled before the big night.

On the day of the King's Festival, Cynthia looked pale, but recovered enough to shake Muffet's paw when I introduced them. She decided not to go shopping with us to find him a ribbon for the ball, though, saying she needed a nap.

I had been too busy to think of anything but the ball. But now that I had a spare moment to walk in the fresh air with Muffet, thoughts of Kit came rushing back. A week of sleeping on it had convinced me that I'd been acting petty and jealous. And for what?

It was clear from the way Cynthia talked about Prince Christopher that she didn't have feelings for Kit. Maybe they'd made an extra effort to be friendly because they both liked me.

The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt.

"Muffet, do you mind if we take a detour to the market?" I asked the cat, after we had purchased some purple velvet ribbon for him.

This time, he didn't joke or tease me. He only nodded and padded beside me quietly, as though he sensed I was upset.

I'll tell Kit I'm sorry, I decided, and I was being stupid.

But it seemed I would never get to do so, because when we got there, we saw only a vast, empty field of dead grass.

The market had packed up and left sometime in the night and all traces of it were gone, as though it (and Kit) had never been there at all.

I devoted myself to getting Cynthia ready for the ball that night, though both my head and heart ached. What else could I do? I had acted childish and jealous, and now I didn't know whether I would ever see Kit again.

I wiped my wet eyes with the back of one hand and focused on wrapping pieces of Cynthia's hair around my magic wand. When I finished, bouncy golden curls framed her face, which was a sickly shade of sea-foam green.

"Are you going to be okay, Cynthia?" I asked.

She nodded weakly, reaching for a hair pin with shaking hands.

I patted her shoulder, thinking that the barf bag was a good idea after all, when someone knocked on the door.

Muffet stood outside, wearing his new purple velvet ribbon. It gleamed against his pale orange fur, which had been brushed to a shine. He looked at me in my long, pale gold gown with approval. The dress was sleeveless with a modest scoop neck. The straight skirt clung to my figure and fell to the floor gracefully. "You look like a princess, Noelle," he said.

"Thanks, but no one will be looking at me," I said, and it wasn't just modesty.

For Cynthia was standing in front of the mirror in her midnight blue gown, with her hair and makeup done to perfection. Her gown was off-the-shoulder and tightly fitted around the waist, bursting into a gorgeous bell skirt with a fluttery layer of sparkling chiffon on top. She had matching deep blue feathers pinned in her cascading golden curls, and looked truly breathtaking.

That is, except for her seasick expression.

"Oh, Noelle, what if my shoes break?" she moaned, sinking into a chair. "What if I pass out? What if the prince doesn't like me!?"

I took her hand. "Cynthia, will you get a grip? Nothing's gone wrong yet."

She gasped. "You shouldn't have said that! You just jinxed us. Now I'll never marry the prince!"

I sighed, beginning to regret all the emphasis I'd placed on her winning the prince's heart. "Listen. Tonight's main goal is to enjoy yourself," I said soothingly. "Eat cake, drink punch, and dance with whoever asks you, even if it's not Prince Christopher. Okay?"

Cynthia dabbed at her eyes. "I'll try."

At that moment, the clock struck eight. Muffet and I looked at each other, and I shrugged. "Here goes. Come on, Cynthia, the carriage is waiting."

"You found us a carriage?" Her expression hovered between shock and astonishment when I took her downstairs and unveiled the pumpkin carriage. I had to admit it looked a little strange, that fluorescent bulbous shape teetering on curling green vines.

And yet, it looked almost stately, with the elegant doors and the two small lanterns I had found to hang on either side. Of course, it also helped that the horse belonged to Madam Lin Chu. The glorious white stallion looked quite capable of chasing down any witch that needed to be taken out. He tossed his mane and held his head high when he saw us coming.

Even Muffet had been rendered speechless, since he hadn't yet seen the final product. "Noelle Simpkins" was all he managed to get out.

"Noelle, it's beautiful," Cynthia breathed. "Did you make this?"

"I had some practice," I said humbly.

They admired the seats I had carved inside, lining them with neat rows of the vines so they would be nice and dry to sit on. I gave Cynthia the seat facing forward, since I was afraid she would get even sicker before we arrived, and sat opposite her with Muffet in my lap.

I pounded on the door twice and the white stallion took off. The night air felt cool on our faces, which seemed to calm Cynthia somewhat.

"I feel better knowing you'll be with me the whole time," she told me.

"Actually, I've been to a few of these. Fairy godmothers never join the party," Muffet said. "They stay in the peanut gallery and watch as the royals mingle below."

"The peanut gallery?" I echoed.

"It's the balcony above the ballroom. All the fairy godmothers hang out there to socialize and brag," the cat explained. "You can heckle other people's clients, but I would advise against it, seeing as this is your certifying exam."

"Thanks for the tip," I said.

Cynthia's face was pale green again. "I'll be alone?"

"No, of course not! There will be many nice people to talk to," I said, "and if you get lonely, just look up. We'll be cheering you on from the balcony."

Outside the windows, the villagers had gathered to watch our pumpkin go by. Some merely stared, while others hooted and shouted at us.

"Looks good enough to eat!" someone yelled.

"Try it and I'll strangle you with a wheel!" I called back, which elicited snorts from the other onlookers.

"Nice! You already know the fastest way to a prince's heart is through his stomach!" a woman hollered.

The good-natured jokes continued all the way through town. Muffet and I enjoyed them, but Cynthia remained silent, breathing so rapidly I feared she would pass out.

"Noelle, I can't wear these shoes. I'm sweating all over them." She plucked a damp slipper from beneath her gown.

"Where's the sandpaper I put inside?" I demanded.

"It hurt my feet," she said, looking so distressed that I agreed to exchange her glass slippers for my own black velvet pumps.

"These are still too big, but at least no one will see if we stuff handkerchiefs inside," I said. "Better?"

"A little," she said faintly.

I patted her knee as our carriage traveled through the palace gates and up the hill, where servants stood lighting the way with ostentatious lanterns. "Why don't I park the carriage and you go inside? Try to relax."

The palace looked magnificent, illuminated by rose and tangerine candles that floated in the moat. Our carriage pulled up to the steps and a footman opened the door. "Who shall I say is here, madam?" he asked me, with a nervous look at Cynthia's green face.

"Princess Cynthia of Indigo," I said, as he helped her out of the carriage. I squeezed her hand. "I'll be right in after I park the pumpkin." She gave me a weak smile as the door closed and we pulled away.

"I hope she doesn't faint," Muffet said. "She's awfully delicate, isn't she?"

"You would be too if all you did was hide in a castle and polish stairs," I pointed out.

Carriages, carts, and wagons littered the hillside. It looked like most guests had already arrived and there was hardly a space left. We did a couple of laps before I spotted a gap between two wagons.

"There! Beneath that tree," I called out the window to the stallion.

The cat looked skeptical. "Are you sure this is legal, Noelle?"

"I'm sure dozens of carriages aren't parked properly," I said, waving an impatient hand. "What are they going to do, ticket everyone? Come on."

I slid the sweaty glass slippers onto my own feet and led the way into the King's Festival.

Muffet and I entered a grand hallway illuminated by thousands of candles. Evergreen garlands with red-and-gold ribbons decorated the walls and doorways, and the air smelled like cinnamon and flowery perfume. My glass slippers sank into the thick, luxurious crimson carpet leading into the castle. We could hear the sounds of laughter and music echoing from the ballroom beyond.

A well-dressed chamberlain with a large cane bowed low to me. He eyed Muffet but said nothing (probably trained not to question fairy godmothers' weird quirks). "Welcome. Enjoy your evening, Your Highness."

It crossed my mind that he must be getting tired of calling everyone that, just as he thumped the cane on the floor and bellowed: "PRINCESS CYNTHIA OF INDIGO!"

My jaw dropped. "Wait a second!"

"Yes?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Didn't a Princess Cynthia come through here earlier?"

"No, not a one."

Muffet and I exchanged worried glances. "Are you sure?" I persisted.

The chamberlain drew himself up haughtily. "Madam, I have worked here for twenty-five years and have never once made a mistake. Please do not keep their Majesties waiting."

"Just go with it, Noelle. I'll find her," Muffet hissed at me, then disappeared.

I entered the great ballroom by myself, feeling self-conscious.

The king and queen, who stood on a platform just inside the door, were a handsome couple. He had grown stout, but was still good-looking and had an impressive build. His wife was small and dainty, with walnut hair and stunning hazel eyes.

"Welcome to our home, my dear princess," the king said kindly. "I knew your father well before he died."

I curtsied, not sure what to say. I didn't want to correct the king, of all people. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

The queen looked me over with approval. "It's so nice to see a young lady choose simple attire. So many of the princesses here are trussed up like peacocks."

I laughed weakly along with them, wondering whether to break the news that I was dressed that way because I was a fairy godmother. A fairy godmother who had lost her princess and would be in very deep trouble if she didn't find her.

And then the queen gestured to the young man beside her. "This is our son, Christopher."

The prince looked at me.

I looked at him.

And I thought I knew how Cynthia must have felt in the carriage.

The prince had his mother's eyes, and her hair, too. The black hair was gone (clearly, it had been a wig) but that familiar half-smile was still there.

"It's Princess Cynthia, is it? I was hoping I'd see you tonight." He took my hand with a slow smile, which widened when he saw the necklace I wore. I had put on the glass shoe charm at the last second as a tribute to a boy I thought I'd never see again.

And yet, here he was, standing before me with the crown of Irisia on his head. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and looked deep into my eyes, opening his mouth to say something.

The king cleared his throat. "Christopher, shouldn't you let go of the young lady's hand? There are other guests waiting."

Reluctantly, the prince released my hand as a trio of giggling blondes scurried in, announced by the chamberlain as the Princesses Mia, Maia, and Mysella of Midwinter. They ignored the king and queen and dove straight for the prince, whose eyes were still on me.