Excerpt of Diary Of A Teenage Fairy Godmother by Kathleen Baldwin

The Music of the Mission

Waiting.

Watching.

Lilliana Skye stood in the upper branches of a tall oak overlooking Lake Elm High and peered through the leaves. She listened closely to the strange music of human emotions as students shuffled through the front doors of the small Texas high school. Some of them emitted low, plodding oboe sounds with sad notes of doubt and aloneness. Others pulsated like wild offbeat snare drums.

Her first mission. She'd studied and prepared for this day her whole life. Soon, very soon, she would walk among the humans. Her own inner music soared up, whistling excitedly, flying out of harmony with the trees and wind. With a deep breath Lilliana calmed herself and tucked her training manual securely under her arm. Any minute now her orders would arrive.

She tugged down the short, uncomfortably tight skirt—a perfect disguise. A new dress may not solve any problems, but it sure was fun. Lilliana had duplicated the outfit, every last detail, from page thirty–eight of the latest Teen Vogue. She was totally prepared. Ready. Nothing to worry about. After all, these humans were just teenagers, like her. Well, except, none of them had a pair of five–foot–seven–inch wings sprouting out of their backs. Lilliana retracted hers.

Just then a bright red cardinal burst through the thick canopy of the old oak tree. He swooped down and dropped a small scroll into her hands.

"Thank you, Napoleon."

The feathered messenger landed on Lilliana's shoulder as she unrolled the parchment and read "School records altered. Proceed." Gryndelyn's official seal glowed on the bottom. As soon as Lilliana finished reading it, the message disintegrated into dandelion fluff and scattered on the breeze.

Suddenly, thunder shook the air. Except there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

Lilliana's attention snapped back to the school. The deep rumble blotted out the noise of the students. She searched for the source of the explosive roar. There! The loud, angry vibrations came from a girl in army boots and a camouflage T–shirt, the one who resembled a third world dictator stomping up the school steps.

Lilliana drew in a quick breath. She knew that girl. She'd memorized that profile, and she recognized the wild unruly hair, hair the color of deep red autumn leaves. It was Cinderella's offspring, Lilliana's C.O., the girl she was supposed to help. It was Jessica Harrison whose soul thundered as violent and black as a winter storm.

Yet, beneath Jess's throbbing drums of rage, Lilliana heard the unmistakable strains of anguish—taut strings of grief. Grief that resonated so sharply it hurt to listen.