“I don’t have any magic files.” He actually rolled his eyes at me. Even standing less than half a foot tall I could see him do it. He pointed over to the computer sitting on my desk. “And what do you call that?”

“A Macintosh.”

More eye rolling. “Run a search for magic,” he said,

“and then check C for contract. Really, you don’t think those things were built without the help of magic, did you?”

154/431

Actually, I thought they were built with the help of technology, but perhaps those things were closer together than I’d realized.

I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer.

And the weird thing was that sure enough, when I ran a search under the keyword “magic” a file came up. I hit the Print button and the contract emerged from my laser printer in the same long parchment form it had been in when I’d signed it for Chrissy. I read it while Clover dragged Ding Dongs around the Rubbermaid box, effectively turning them into Hostess furniture.

After searching halfway through the contract and not finding anything of use for getting Tristan back, I glanced over and saw a black pot—about the width of a cereal bowl but with much higher sides—had been added to the box. It was filled to the brim with golden coins. Clover must have put it in the box through magic, as there was no way he could have lifted it. I let out a sigh. It was too bad he couldn’t just use magic to return it to Ireland. Postage rates being what they are and all.

I kept reading the contract. I read about the First Party, hereafter known as Chrysanthemum Everstar, who was, as directed in Provision Five Article B, oblig-ated to fulfill three of my wishes. I read about the limitation on the wishes—there were a lot of those—including that I couldn’t wish for something that would violate any 155/431

of the already stated, or hereafter stated, provisions and articles.

Really, the sentence lengths alone were enough to give me a headache.

The part that made my stomach sink—about four feet down the parchment roll, near the end—was the statement that all wishes were considered permanent and binding, their consequences real and lasting. That meant I couldn’t undo wishes.

I laid the contract on my lap and looked down at Clover, who had stolen a pair of my socks and seemed to be using them as a beanbag chair. “How does this help?

It says wishes are permanent.”

“Aye, but didn’t you read the part that says you’re allowed to oversee all efforts made on your behalf to fulfill your wishes? That means if you ask, Chrissy is required to let you go to the Middle Ages and oversee Tristan’s progress.”

“And how exactly would that be a good thing?” Clover held out his hand in my direction. “Lass, it’s as clear as the ink it’s written with. You have to go back and help him become a prince so he can come home again.”

Chapter 10

I pressed the contract against my chest, wrinkling the paper. “But I . . . I hated the Middle Ages. It was smelly and cold, and they didn’t have plumbing. Isn’t there an easier way?”

Clover leaned back into my socks and shook his head.

“Mortals. You’re a terminally lazy bunch. You can’t walk anywhere so you’ve got to invent cars. You can’t do your own work so you’ve got to invent dishwashers and washing machines. You can’t even walk up the bloomin’

stairs. You’ve got to invent elevators.” I didn’t point out that I thought all of those inventions were actually a good thing. I just said, “How can I help him become a prince? I thought the only way you became a prince was if your father was a king. Tristan’s dad is a dentist.”

“Aye, well that’s the fly in the ointment, isn’t it? Still, I’ve done me part to help you. Could you throw in a few Froot Loops for the trip? I’ve become fond of those.” I went downstairs, grabbed the box of Fruit Loops and the duct tape, and then stomped back upstairs.

“Okay,” I told him after I’d sprinkled a layer of Froot Loops into the box. “Once I dump the computer 157/431

gremlins in there with you, I’m going to tape this thing up tight. Any last bits of advice?”

“Aye. If someone tells you that you’re worth your weight in gold, they’re either ignorant or an insincere flatterer. Right now gold is worth upward of $9,000 a pound. And a lass like you”— he surveyed me for a moment—“must weigh at least $1,203,660.” He squinted and nodded a bit. “Maybe even $1,299,950.”

“Okay, thank you very much for that assessment on my weight.”

As I carried the trap over to the box, the computer gremlins clicked away in my direction.

Clover said, “The gremlins wanted you to let the rest of their mates know they can’t make that soccer tournament/data-eating party they throw in your computer every year. But don’t worry, I’ll just have the lads e-mail that information to your computer when we reach Ireland.”

Okay, there are some things it is just better not to know about, especially if you can’t think about updating your computer protection because you’ve got to plan a trip to the Middle Ages. And that’s what I was doing. I slid the computer gremlins into the box and slammed the lid on tight, but my mind kept going over the things I’d need to bring. Soap. Shampoo. Deodorant.

158/431

I cut off pieces of duct tape and secured the sides of the box. “You’ll go out in the mail tomorrow,” I said loud enough for him to hear me. Which immediately presented a problem. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow after the post office opened to go back to the Middle Ages. It was nearly 6:30 now. Every hour I delayed going back to the other world would be another week gone by in Tristan’s life.

I mulled this over while I wrote out and taped an address label to the top of the box. Then I checked the computer for postal rates. According to the USPS Web site, it cost about $250 to mail a seventy-pound package to Ireland. After my prom dress purchase, I had about $35 to my name.

The only thing I could do was return the prom dress to the store, get my money back, and use it for postage. I took the dress out of my closet—a pale cream vision of lace and beading—and stared at it for a moment. Even though I didn’t have a date, even though my ex-boyfriend was somewhere in my house right now with my sister, it was depressing to take it back. It was like admitting defeat, like saying no one would ever again think that I was special enough to wear it.

I cradled it in my arms so it wouldn’t drag on the floor and left my room.

159/431

Jane and Hunter sat on the couch in the family room with their schoolwork spread out in front of them on the coffee table. They stared at me as I walked down the stairs. I realized Jane would ask less questions about mailing the package than my parents so I walked over to her. “Hey, I need someone to mail a package for me first thing in the morning. Can you do it before school?” She looked at the dress and then at me, uncertainly.

“Okay.”

“I’ll leave you some money for postage. It’s going to cost about two hundred and fifty dollars since I’m mailing it to Ireland.”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars?” Hunter spit out.

“What are you mailing?”

I laid my dress on the back of our ottoman while I grabbed my purse from the coat closet. “It would probably be better if I didn’t tell you.”

“You have to tell me,” Jane said. “The post office clerks ask about the contents of international packages for customs’ paperwork.”

“Oh.” I sifted through the contents of my purse looking for the dress receipt. “In that case you’ll need to lie.” Which was a bonus reason for having Jane mail it for me. She could lie without creating reptile buddies to keep her company.

“It’s nothing dangerous, is it?” Hunter asked.