The Royal Treatment (8 page)

I crossed my arms. “And Reed is Kylee’s crush, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I’m not getting at anything.” Mom tried to hide a smug smile, but I saw it. Saw it and hated it. There was nothing to be smug about.

I ran up to my room and dropped onto my bed. I needed to call Kylee, but first I needed to take a nap. The bike ride and the using-magic-to-be-like-Titania thing had drained me.

I sat up. Magic. There it was again. If that was really what I’d experienced, then Genevieve would want to know. I flopped down and closed my eyes. Now I just had to find the courage to use the card.

That night, I did my homework for the week, skimmed two yachting catalogues, and clicked through eight celebrity gossip sites (research rocks!) before I took the calling card out of my desk drawer. I placed it on my pillow and lay down next to it, staring at the pictures on my Wall o’ Awesome Things. They were mostly pictures of my favorite old celebrities. And Karl. Over the last couple of months, I’d added quite a few pictures of Karl.

I hated to admit it, but part of my motivation for wanting to do well with Façade was the prospect of seeing Karl again. Royal circles were small. Whether I subbed for Elsa or Karl’s girlfriend, Duchess Olivia, or some random royal at a charity event, our paths were bound to cross. I didn’t know what I would do or say. If I had magic, like really real magic that I could channel and use to my bidding, it would be mighty tempting to somehow get him to kiss me again. Kiss me, then date me in a few years, marry me in a few more, have some royal sons that would make nice princes and…

I kicked at my wall. I had to learn to control my daydreams. Not only would I not do that to Elsa or Karl, but I wouldn’t want to waste an ability like magic on crushes. Subbing had shown me there was a lot more to life than boys, a lot more places where others could use help. That’s what I’d want to do, if I could. Help people.

And not just royals. Sure, I enjoyed helping out the princesses while I was in Level One, but were all my Level Two jobs going to be like Millie? Did magic really exist so that Millie didn’t have to talk to an annoying boy or endure a corset? That job was a long way from the legend of the first Egyptian sub, Woserit. She’d used her magic to save a life. What was Façade’s magical purpose now?

When I peeled my foot off the wall, one of my pictures fell down. It was a black-and-white photo of Elizabeth Taylor playing Cleopatra.

She wore a gold headpiece with a beetle on top, the same figure found on the back of Genevieve’s calling card. I knew beetles symbolized something, but I couldn’t remember what. I thought about looking it up online, but it was late and I’d already been on the computer enough.

Besides, I would only be putting off what I had been putting off all day.

“Okay,” I said out loud to my Wall o’ Awesome Things. A picture of Karl in his school uniform looked down on me sternly. “So, Genevieve? I’m calling you. Now.”

The card on my pillow buzzed, the beetle on the back flashing. I watched it for a few seconds, on guard in case the bug suddenly took flight and attacked me. This is Façade we’re talking about. Anything could happen.

When the flashing stopped, my manual made a weird…trilling sound. Like an old-fashioned phone. I opened it to the image of a young man with very black skin and very white eyeballs. His features looked computer generated—no one could naturally be that chiseled. He blinked. “You called for Genevieve?” he asked in a clear accent. At first I thought it was British, but it was softer than that. Maybe…South African?

I stared at him, trying to place the accent, but also trying to figure out why there was a video of this guy on my manual screen.

“I am Genevieve’s secretary, Dominick.”

“Hi, Dominick,” I said.

Dominick sniffed. “You called for Genevieve. How may I assist you?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m Desi. She told me to contact her if I had any magical experiences.”

“She is in a meeting right now. Is this urgent?”

“Urgent? No. I had play rehearsals today and felt kind of…Never mind. I’ll try her later.”

Dominick held up a finger and pushed on an earpiece with the other. “Yes? Yes, her name is Desi.…”

He raised an eyebrow at me.

“Oh. Just Desi.” I rushed. “It’s not short for anything.”

“Last name,” he mouthed.

“Bascomb. Sorry.”

“Desi Bascomb. Something about a magic play.”

He paused, listening to someone on the other end. “Right away, Genevieve.”

He glanced up. “I am connecting you to Genevieve. Please be brief. She is very busy. I’m surprised she’s talking to you.”

His image clicked off, replaced a moment later by Genevieve. She smiled warmly. “Hello, Desi. Did you need to tell me something?”

Suddenly I felt really, really stupid. How could I say that I felt like a fairy today while I was at rehearsal? How lame is that? Genevieve already told me magic didn’t happen without the Rouge to activate it, and not outside the confines of Façade. And, of course, that made sense, especially now that I knew all about the history and that royal pact. I’d been so convinced, but now looking at Genevieve, I had some doubts.

“I…um…I…”

Dumb! This was THE HEAD OF FAÇADE. She had to be the busiest woman alive, and here she was taking a moment to talk to a lowly sub, and I couldn’t even form a sentence. But what sentence would I form? My reason for contacting her seemed sillier and sillier by the second.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this card would contact you directly. I was…working on a birthday present for you and the words just came out.”

Genevieve shook her finger. “A present? No presents! I’m far too old for such pomp and circumstance.”

“Okay.”

“I must get back to this meeting, then. Now that you’ve done…let’s call this a trial run. You know how easy it is to get a hold of me. If that buzzing feeling you spoke of returns at all, do let me know. Even if it isn’t magic, we want to figure out how to differentiate, and, of course, what your triggering emotion is. Are you sure there is nothing else?”

“Positive.” I considered mentioning the play, but I was afraid it would make me sound wishy-washy.

Genevieve’s image faded, replaced again by Dominick. He looked down at me from over his glasses. “Can I help you with anything else, Miss Bascomb?”

“No. I’m fine. Sorry. Thanks.”

“Good day, then.”

The screen went blank and I chucked my manual against the pillow. What a colossal waste of time. I shouldn’t have been worrying about calling cards and fairy buzzing. Now was the time for me to focus on my play and knock off some of my BEST training.

Now was the time for me to get back to Façade, where the
real
magic happened.

E
ver since Mom and I had had our ice cream girlie fest, we were making an effort to be more involved in each other’s lives. At least, the part of my life I could share with her. Over the next three weeks, Mom practiced my lines with me, and sometimes I’d come downstairs and sit in on her Celeste consultations (yes, Celeste, purple is your color, for the gazillionth time). The etiquette and poise involved in the Millie job proved that pageant training could help supplement my BEST. But when Mom asked me to drive up with her to meet Celeste and her mother at the Miss Teen Dream pageant, well, I think my exact words were…

“I would rather clean out a hamster cage with my teeth.”

“Your dad has a law conference in Reno. I’m not leaving you home alone.”

“I’ll stay with Kylee.”

“And I need help with Gracie.”

“So you’re not asking me. You’re telling me.”

“The hotel is nice.”

Which was my Mom’s way of saying,
You’re going. Don’t argue.

The pageant was at the Grove—a fancy downtown Boise hotel that included a banquet hall and theater, so we never needed to leave the building. The reception area paled in comparison to Façade’s, but it was the nicest building I’d seen in my real life, much nicer than the Comfort Inns we frequented on family vacations.

After two hours in the car, Gracie had Cheerios sticking to her whole body. I de-cerealized her in the lobby. Celeste showed up and hugged my mom. I thought I’d have another hour with my mom, but Mrs. Juniper had a migraine, so she released Celeste alone into the wild.

Celeste settled into strategizing mode. “It’s looking good,” she whispered to my mom. “Half these girls have never done a pageant. The city girls are the only real competition.”

“Stay positive.” Mom furrowed her brow. “The competition is mental. It’s not you versus them, it’s you versus yourself. And we want you presenting the very best Celeste.”

I kissed Gracie’s head, trying to stop the laugh tickling my throat. The “best Celeste” would have duct tape over her mouth.

Gracie conked me on the head with her shoe.

“Don’t hit. That’s bad.”

“Bad, bad, bad.”

She swung again, and I ducked. “I guess I’ll go take her to the indoor pool. Do you want to meet up at all before the pageant?”

“I don’t think so,” Mom said. “We have the breakfast, the interview, the final walk-through…Gracie would be a mess.”

“Sure. Well, good luck! I have my cell—” My purse buzzed. I stopped talking and stared at it for a second, trying to make sense of why it would be moving. My cell phone was in my pocket; the only reason I carried a purse now was so my manual and Rouge could be close by.…

My manual.

“If it’s your dad, tell him we got here fine.”

I had to leave. Now. “Right! I need to go to the bathroom, actually, so I’ll go talk in there. Uh…here, take Gracie.” I hoisted Gracie onto Mom’s hip. Gracie grabbed for her nose.

“The breakfast starts in a half hour,” Celeste said.

“Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” Mom asked.

“Yes! Right now. I’ll be back. It’s not like I can hold her on my lap in there.”

“Gross,” Celeste said under her breath.

I scurried into the large bathroom. Who would have thought working for the most glamorous agency in the world would involve so many bathroom scenes? I locked myself in a stall, pulled the manual out with shaking hands, and gaped at the new icon on the main page. A text message.

Meredith:
Are you ready for a new assignment?

I don’t know why a text shocked me so much. The manual had more secretive data than the CIA, but at the same time I wondered why this feature was only being brought to my attention
now,
why Meredith never texted me in the past. It could have majorly saved my butt.

Desi:
We have text on this thing?

Meredith:
Did you seriously ask me that? OBVIOUSLY.

Desi:
Can it wait until tomorrow?

Meredith:
You’re joking.

Desi:
I’m at a beauty pageant right now, babysitting my little sister. One day won’t matter, right? You can use the Law of Duplicity somehow. It’s not like the French Revolution Part Two is going to start because I couldn’t work yet.

Meredith:
It’s funny. I don’t see you, and I almost miss you a teensy bit. Then, two messages and I’m ready to…Look, you act like our time services are a convenience. No, we follow a precise magical schedule. I need you now.

Desi:
Then why aren’t you here? Where’s the bubble?

Meredith:
You don’t need the bubble.

Desi:
How else am I going to get to the job? Did you double book your clients?

My manual buzzed again. A picture of Meredith showed up with the words incoming call. I pushed answer.

“This thing has a
phone?
Why didn’t you tell me I could use it as a phone?”

“We just discussed freezing time, and a PHONE impresses you?”

“Why did you text me, then? Why didn’t you call? Or do that cool video thing that Gen—”

“Sweet royals! Shut up. I’m trying to save
time.
Here’s the deal: this job just came up. It’s a watcher position and absolutely perfect for you.”

“Perfect? Did I get a request? Is it Elsa?”

“No it’s more…local than that. That’s why you don’t need the bubble.”

“It’s in Idaho? There is a princess in
Idaho
? Meredith, I’m totally confused. Will you tell me what’s going on? Oh, man, if there is a costume or a comic-book convention going on—”

“Relax! You don’t even need to wear Rouge this time. Desi, you are going to stay
you.
I had a girl pop up on our magic radar, so we’re having her do her trial sub for a contestant in your beauty pageant. The contestant, McKenzie, is a pageant veteran but hates it—she only competes because her mom makes her. We’ve used McKenzie to test subs before because she loves ditching. All you have to do is watch this potential sub and make sure she doesn’t do any major damage. You’re already there anyway, so it saves us the cost of travel. Works out quite well.”

“But isn’t there an issue with me being
me
?”

“Unless the girl sets the hotel on fire with a curling iron, you don’t have to do anything but observe. You’re our security net. It doesn’t matter who you are while you’re watching.”

Making money while sitting through this pageant. Brilliant. I’d probably make more today as a watcher than the winner would make in scholarship money, and I wouldn’t have to do that cheesy cry/wave victory walk at the end.

“So when I’m done, I tell you if I think she has princess sub potential?”

“That decision is ultimately up to the council, but you will fill out some paperwork similar to a PPR, should she advance. If she’s a disaster, nothing you say matters. Which reminds me, please remember, you are WATCHING, not changing things or impacting!”

The bathroom door opened, and some girls walked in, laughing. I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “Got it. Send me the info.”

“That’s what I like to hear—brief and complacent. I’ll be back in touch after the pageant. You can text me with emergencies, but don’t abuse this feature. We’re talking blood, fire, natural disaster—If it would make the nightly news, then call. Best of luck, darling. Ta-ta.”

I was about to open the door when the two girls stopped laughing and started gabbing. Walking out then would have been awkward, so I held up my feet and waited.

“Come on, Willow, you know we’re going to be finalists. Big counties always are.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” The sound of water rushing out of the sink, and the hand dryer, blocked some of what the second girl (Willow, I guessed) said. “So many girls are on their game.”

“And a million more aren’t. Did you see that girl from Fredonia County? Celestial or Angel or something like that. Her tan was so fake and she looked so farm fed.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Does this lipstick look all right?”

“With that shirt, yes, but I hope you aren’t using it during evening gown.”

“Duh. But I have four different shades for evening gown, so you’ll have to help me decide.”

The girls laughed again and left the bathroom. I lowered my feet onto the tile. Huh. Usually, I was the girl being made fun of, and Celeste was the one doing it. Still, those girls weren’t only insulting Celeste—they were making fun of my hometown. I hoped one of them wasn’t the girl I had to watch.

As if in response to my thoughts, my manual buzzed with agency information on Real McKenzie (I didn’t need to know anything personal about the sub. She wasn’t even supposed to tell me her name). With her round cheeks, chunky glasses, and short hair streaked platinum blond and bright red, McKenzie wasn’t your average pageant contestant.

Sub-trial Client: MCKENZIE LIGHTHOUSE
, Miss Sampson County

Age:
14

Basic information provided by agency profiler:

McKenzie was forced to enter pageant by mom. She contacted Façade cover agency for look-alike. (Like all non-royal clients, she’s unaware of magical connection—our trial clients foolishly think prosthetics create their mirror image.) Given the fact that McKenzie has been in innumerable pageants and managed to place last in every one but Miss Sampson County (which had only four contestants, three of whom were disqualified after an unfortunate nail polish fight), we’re sure finalist is not in her future. Keep an eye on our sub throughout the day. Important that she stays in character, yet doesn’t do anything too extreme. McKenzie should not have to face consequences/pageant responsibilities when she returns.

I pushed the stall door open and hurried back, already searching for McKenzie. Perkiness coated the entire lobby. Girls clustered in groups, their sashes over their carefully planned “casual” outfits. I spotted McKenzie across the room, talking to Miss Idaho Falls. McKenzie’s outfit took casual to the extreme—navy cords with a hippie-style embroidered shirt. Miss Idaho Falls’ eyes kept flitting over McKenzie’s clothing, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. I was trying to make eye contact when my mom squeezed my shoulder. “Here, take Gracie. We need to head over to the banquet hall for the breakfast.”

The crowd was thinning out. All I could think about was McKenzie, who would be at the breakfast. I had to
watch
McKenzie. So…

“Can I come?” I asked.

Celeste made a face. Mom looked surprised. “To the breakfast? I thought you were taking Gracie to the pool.”

“I am. Well, I will. But…all I had were Cheerios. And I’ve always wanted to see this behind-the-scenes stuff. And Celeste’s mom isn’t going, so I could take her spot, and…Please, Mom? PLEASE?”

I held my breath. I noticed Celeste was doing the same thing.

Mom patted my arm. “As long as Gracie is happy, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I’m excited you’re taking an interest in the program. If I had thought of it beforehand, I would have asked you to make team celeste shirts.”

Somewhere in Sproutville, my T-shirt design software just cried out in terror.

We followed the stream of girls to the ballroom doors. Mom played patty-cake with Gracie as we waited. Celeste pulled me to the side.

“First you tried out for the play, now you’re moving in on my pageant. Stop trying to
be
me.”

I kept my face blank. “But Celeste. I already made a team celeste shirt. I was going to wear it with our old BFF necklaces.”

“See? You’re such a follower. I knew you were trying to be my friend again.”

“Oh my gosh. It’s called sarcasm. Try it sometime.”

Celeste flipped her hair and pushed ahead of me.

The hotel brochure featured mostly corporate events, so it was probably the first time this room was decorated with gold and pink balloons and a poise, power, and positivity! banner over the flower-adorned podium. Celeste bounced from table to table, searching for our spot. “I hope we sit by someone decent,” she whispered to my mom. “You can learn so much from the veterans.”

We found our table at the same time as the girl sitting next to us—McKenzie. Well, Fake McKenzie. Celeste’s face fell as she took in her ensemble.

“Hi! I’m McKenzie!” McKenzie gushed. “This is my mom! Isn’t this pageant exciting! Where are you girls from?”

Her excitement bordered on manic. Not the tone a bored, anti-pageant girl would take. I lowered my voice, hoping she would adopt the same calm. “I’m Desi. This is Gracie and my mom. And she”—I pointed to Celeste—“is the future queen of the universe. Together, we are Team Celeste.”

“I’m from Fredonia County,” Celeste said.

“Oh! Cool! Are you all sisters?!”

Celeste and I snorted in unison. McKenzie’s mom patted her daughter’s hand. “I’ve never seen you so excited about a pageant. You aren’t lulling me into a false sense of security, are you?” She let out a frightened laugh. “Not going to dump pig’s blood on the winner, right?”

“What? No! This is great. Oh my gosh, look at the size of this Danish! Have you ever seen a bigger Danish?!”

McKenzie prattled on about how lovely the place settings were, how pretty all the contestants looked. Her mom stared at her like she was an alien. Celeste let out an obvious yawn. I bit into a buttered bagel, thinking as I chewed.

Even though the room looked like Barbie had vomited sparkles, I was excited about this job. Millie’s gig had been so cut-and-dried, but this job
mattered
. I knew how wonderful subbing was, and I wanted to make sure Fake McKenzie got the chance to experience Façade for herself. She didn’t know it yet, but today had the potential to be one of the biggest days of her life, and it was a treat for me to be a part of that. I needed to be a big part—a kick-this-girl-in-the-pants part—because Fake McKenzie required some serious help.

To begin with, Fake McKenzie’s enthusiasm had to be dialed down a notch. So when the lights flashed once to indicate the beginning of the program, I dropped my napkin and dipped down at the same time as McKenzie to pick it up.