Clover let out a huff of exasperation, like I was the one being unreasonable. He reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a scroll, small even by leprechaun standards. He tapped it with one finger and the scroll grew bigger, doubling size and then doubling size again. When it stopped growing, he took hold of the top edge and let the rest fall to the ground. It unrolled as it went across the floor. “No one ever reads the contracts when they should. You lasses are in such a blasted rush to make your wishes, you’ll not even glance at the fine print. It’s only after requiring me to traipse around the ruddy Atlantic Ocean that you want a better look at the deal. Alright then...It’s in here somewhere...The first party, hereafter known as Chrysanthemum Everstar, fairy godmother in training, hereby agrees to grant the second party, hereafter known as the Doomed, three wishes—”

“What?” I twisted to better see the contract. “What was that part about the Doomed?”

Clover tilted his chin down. “Now you’re regretting you didn’t take the time to read the contract like I told you. No one ever listens to the leprechaun.”

I put one hand to my throat. “I’m doomed? It says that in the contract?”

He let out a small chuckle. “I’m only pulling your leg—or in this case, your fin.” He turned the contract so I could see it. “In all truth, you’re known as the pitiable and wretched damsel, Sadie Ramirez.”

I squinted at the scroll. Yep, my name was penned next to the words pitiable and wretched.

Clover skimmed through the contract, letting the top part fall to the floor, “Although with Chrysanthemum Everstar as your fairy godmother, doomed is implied. Ah, now, here it is—your first two wishes: I wish to have such a beautiful voice I’m famous, adored for generations, and loved by Jason Prescott.”

“Two?” I sputtered. “It was one wish.

Clover held up a finger. “Number one, you wanted a voice so beautiful you’re famous and adored for generations.” He held up a second finger. “Number two, you wanted to be loved by Jason Prescott.”

A gust of wind went through the gazebo, and I shivered even though I didn’t feel cold. It was bad enough my wish had gone horribly wrong, but now Clover was telling me I’d used up two wishes? “Jason’s love wasn’t a second wish. I only wanted to make sure he was included with the group of people who adored me for generations.” I waved a hand in frustration. “The phrase was a clarification. It’s one wish.”

“It’s two separate action items, making it two wishes. And count yourself fortunate Chrissy didn’t consider it three. Famous and adored for generations could be construed as two different things.”

I let out a humph. I only had one wish left. One. Using magic for something altruistic was quickly slipping on my list of priorities. I needed to figure out a wish that would get me out of being a mermaid, bring Jason and me back to the right time period, and still leave me with something worthwhile.

Out above the trees, a streak of lightning lit up the sky, followed quickly by a protest of thunder. Jason opened his eyes and stared blankly at Clover. “Hey, tha’s a little person. Or two. It keeps moving around.” He reached a hand in Clover’s direction, grasping at the air.

Clover stepped further away from Jason, rolling up the contract as he did. “You have the voice, you have the lad. We’ve fulfilled our part of your first two wishes.”

Another bolt of lightning split the sky, this time closer. “Chrissy didn’t change my voice,” I said. “It’s exactly the same.”

Jason’s gaze moved from Clover to me. He didn’t seem shocked to find himself lying in between a leprechaun and a mermaid, which probably meant he wasn’t completely conscious. “You look fery vamiliar,” he told me.

Clover finished rolling up the contract. “If you doubt Chrissy’s handiwork—and I don’t blame you for that—give us a song. If your voice hasn’t changed, then contractually you’ll have a leg to stand on . . . so to speak.”

I wanted more than a leg. I wanted two.

Jason squinted at me, trying to clear his vision. “I know ya from somewhere, don’ I?”

Clover shrunk the scroll and tucked it into his jacket. “You likely recognize her from her movie. She’s famous and adored for generations.”

I took a deep breath and sang the opening notes of the song I’d done for the show. I hoped more than anything my voice would be the same wavering one that had messed up the audition. Instead, the melody lifted effortlessly from my mouth. The notes sounded stronger, clearer, with a resonance that flowed through the gazebo with aching perfection.

Jason pulled himself up on one elbow, wobbling, and stared at me. “Whoa.”

I kept singing, almost as entranced as Jason. I couldn’t fault Chrissy for my voice—couldn’t claim she hadn’t changed me.

Clover folded his arms with satisfaction. “Beautiful voice: done.”

“The wish still isn’t valid.” I pointed at Jason. “He doesn’t love me.”

“Yet,” Clover said.

Jason smiled, clearly loopy. “Oh, I could love you, baby.”

Clover made a gesture like he was checking an item off a list. “Done.”

I lowered my voice. “Jason said he could love me, not that he does. And besides, it isn’t real love if he says it while he’s got a head injury.” I patted Jason’s arm. “Trust me on this. I’m not your type. For example, you might want a girlfriend who isn’t part fish.”

Jason reached out to brush a strand of hair away from my face. At least I think that’s what he was doing. He missed the first time and had to wave his hand around a bit before he found my face. “I’m not that particular when it comes to beautiful girls.”

Clover nodded smugly.

“Oh come on,” I told Clover. “That’s clearly the loss of blood talking.”

A cloud of sparkles erupted a few feet away from us, shining in the air like bits of a falling star. When the light cleared, Chrissy stood beside us in the gazebo, wand in hand and wings fluttering. Her hair was pale blue this time, which perfectly matched her blue beach dress and sequined sandals. A pair of white sunglasses was tucked on top of her head. Whatever beach she’d been on, it must have been sunnier than this one.

“So how are you enjoying your fairy tale—or in this case, your fish tail?” She smiled at her own joke, then noticed Jason laying on the ground beside me. “You’ve already rescued the prince? That was fast.” She cast a glance at the sky. “I didn’t think the storm had hit the ship yet.”

“It hasn’t,” I muttered. “Jason tried to get away from the sailors and he fell off the boat.” I touched his makeshift bandage, making sure it was tight enough. “He hit his head and nearly drowned. He could have died.”

Chrissy’s wings spanned open. “But besides that it’s going well?”

Clover tucked his hands behind his back and let out a grunt. “You know as well as I do that mortals are a perpetually unsatisfied lot. Sadie decided she doesn’t want to be a mermaid.”

“Really?” Chrissy asked, although she didn’t seem surprised. “Not many singers are as famous or adored as the Little Mermaid. I mean, you’ve got product tie-ins that span generations.”

I sat up as much as I could. I didn’t like being stuck on the ground, legless, while she looked down at me. “Yeah, about that—am I in the story version where the prince marries someone else and I die heartbroken?”

Chrissy flicked her wand around lazily, and specks of glitter dropped on the floor. “Well, you never asked for Jason to marry you.”

A sharp inward breath lodged in my throat. It was every bit as bad as I feared. “So you put me in the tragic version?”

Chrissy shrugged. “A story is what it is. I don’t create versions. And speaking of the story, you’ve already stayed here too long. The prince is supposed to get a fleeting, romantic glimpse as you serenade him. You’re not supposed to be here so long that when the two of you part you feel the need to sign each other’s yearbooks.”