I stopped to say hello to Miss Jenkins, who had worked at the library for as long as I could remember.

"Is your dad coming in anytime soon?" she asked. "We just got a new book with the craziest pumpkin recipes you ever saw."

"Thanks, but he's been so busy, he hasn't even had time to read the Gabby Goblin. And you know how he loves tabloids."

She chuckled. "I've been busy, too. My sister lives in Irisia half the year, so whenever she's here, we spend a lot of time together. She was supposed to stay another week, but it looks like she has to head back early. It seems C.A.F.E. can't do without her."

My ears perked up. "Your sister works at C.A.F.E.?"

Miss Jenkins beamed. "She's the assistant to Madam Anastasia Wandwood, the Head of the Council herself."

"I'm considering an internship there," I said casually.

"How fortunate! Did you see the new flier?"

"I did." I was about to take it from my pocket, but scratched my nose instead when I saw movement in the shelves. No need to reveal that I had stolen the ad in case the Snapp-dragon was lurking. "I'm thinking about writing to them for an application."

"There's no need! My sister's got a stack of them at her place." The librarian scribbled down an address. "Drop in and ask for one. But how do your parents feel about this?"

I had nearly forgotten about Mom and Dad. "I . . . haven't really told them yet."

She clucked her tongue. "Well, at least go and learn more about the job first."

The slip of paper she gave me said 111 Bluebell Lane, which was quite a distance away. But if I walked fast, I could be there and back within the hour.

I headed east out of town, where the cobblestones cut through a sea of bright yellow corn. A long, hot walk meant I would have plenty of time to think about what I was doing.

Was it selfish of me to want to see more of the world? Everyone I knew had been to other kingdoms in Finale. I had never even set foot on the borders of Indigo. Every time I suggested a vacation, Mom and Dad had excuses at the ready.

"We're too busy, honey," Dad would say.

"It's the most important time of year for sales," Mom would add. And when I pointed out that she said that all year long, she would just hand me another shoe to polish.

Well, now I'm sixteen, sick of Indigo, and old enough to do something about it, I thought.

In Finale, kids started school at age four and learned all the basics (from math and history to elementary magic) before graduating at sixteen. This summer, everyone my age was applying to internships, trade schools, and universities, and in a short while, most would be on track to start a career.

So what I wanted wasn't all that strange, really. And, I reasoned, even if I did apply to C.A.F.E., there was no guarantee that I'd get in. I imagined thousands of other kids vying for the chance to orchestrate the next royal wedding of the century.

Feeling better, I emerged onto a hilltop and gazed down at the cottages clustered at the bottom. On the horizon, I could see the silvery turrets of Indigo Castle, home to our monarch, Queen Ingrid, and her daughter, Princess Octavia. Once upon a time, I had dreamed of being a princess. But that had changed when I found out how nasty and spoiled Octavia was. I crossed my fingers that other princesses would be different, since making them happy would be my job if I landed this internship.

Down in the village, everyone went about their daily lives without a second glance at me. In front of one house, two giggling boys were giving their puppy some water. I wondered what was so funny until the puppy yelped and began flying into the air. The children went into hysterics, each grabbing a furry little leg to keep it from floating away.

"I told you two to stay away from your father's bubbling solution!" their mother shrieked.

Next door, an elderly lady smiled at me and called out, "Would you like your fortune told, dearie?"

"No, thank you," I said, knowing that Indigo was full of tradespeople who would say anything to make a dime. Dad had always warned me about these so-called fortune-tellers. "If they could tell the future, they'd know they wouldn't get money from you," he always pointed out.

Across the street, a small girl was learning how to boil water without using fire, the way all children in Finale were taught. She had a pot handle in a firm grip, her little face pinched with concentration. "That's it, keep going!" her mother encouraged her.

I didn't stick around to see whether she succeeded, because I got distracted by the sight of a man struggling to control a large gray horse nearby.

"You looking for something, miss?" he panted, glancing at me.

"I'm trying to find Bluebell Lane . . ." I trailed off, staring at the horse. Its mouth had been smeared with some sort of red waxy substance. "Excuse me, sir, but did you know that your horse is wearing . . ."

"Lip rouge? Heavens, yes." He sighed. "This is my wife."

The horse gave a loud snort and rolled its eyes.

" . . . I see," I said.

"Well, this was my wife, anyway. We had a bit of an accident at the Tented Market," he explained. "I bought Susan this potion that was supposed to make her beautiful and whatnot. I'm not saying she didn't need it, because she did." The horse gave a murderous whinny. "Anyway, the silly woman uncorks this bottle and drinks the entire thing."

"And she turned into a horse?" I said incredulously. "You'd better get her to Mount Seasprite. Maybe they have an antidote or something."

"I'm not sure that will change much. She was always a nag," he said, neatly sidestepping her attempt to stomp on his foot. "Sorry, miss, you were looking for . . .?"

"111 Bluebell Lane."

"That's Miss Valentine's place, just through those trees there." He gestured to a path that curved away from the main road.

"Thank you." I watched him wrangle with the animal for a moment. "What's the Tented Market like? I've always wanted to see a traveling bazaar."

"It's on its way to Irisia at the moment. You've just missed it by about an hour," he said, wiping his forehead. "It's really something. You get strange folks from all over, peddling their wares. Gnomes, fairies, and reformed witches hawking potions and charms. They even have linwood balm, made from the famous trees of Heliotropia. It'll cure any transformation."

"Maybe it'll help your wife."

"Probably. Although I sort of like the fact that she can't talk."

The ferocious horse-wife began pawing the ground and I backed away. "Nice talking to you," I said, hurrying off before his spouse could break free on a crazy killing rampage.

Valentine Jenkins lived in a pink-and-white cottage with scalloped trimming and frilly shutters, set amidst a sea of rosebushes. A jug of cold lemonade and a plate of chewy chocolate chip cookies sat on the porch table.

When I rang the bell, the door was opened by a plump, pastel cupcake of a woman.

"What can I do for you, young lady?" Valentine asked, then beamed when I explained about my interest in the C.A.F.E. internship. "I'll have the paperwork for you in a jiffy. Have a seat and help yourself to refreshments!"

I didn't need to be asked twice. The cookie I bit into tasted like chocolaty butter.

Valentine returned with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a large ginger cat in the other. "I hope you don't mind if Muffet joins us. He's not feeling very well and I thought he could use some air." She squeezed herself into the chair opposite me. "How are the cookies?"

I cleared my chocolate-coated throat. "Just as good as my dad's, and he's the best cook I know. His pumpkin brownies are to die for."

"Heavens! What a compliment." She paused. "You said your name was Simpkins? Any relation to Humphrey and Elizabeth?"

I stifled a sigh. "They're my parents."

"Did you hear that, Muffet? We have a celebrity right on our front porch!"

Muffet lifted his head and gave a weak meow.

"Well, I'd say you're a shoo-in for our program, my dear," his owner declared.

I stared at her. "But I haven't even been interviewed yet. Isn't that how it usually works?"

"Oh, I have a good nose for these things," she said, chuckling. "But since you're here, I might as well give you a few questions that we ask all applicants."

"All right," I said nervously.

"First, why do you want to do an internship at C.A.F.E.? Especially in your case, when you could just work for those marvelous parents of yours?"

"Well, I want to see what else is out there. I have skills that could apply to other areas."

"What skills, precisely?"

"Craftsmanship," I said. "I help my dad make furniture all the time with larger pumpkins. Tables, chairs. Houses for dwarf customers. Even a toilet once, for a really weird tourist."

Valentine's eyes widened. "You're joking. What a flair for creativity!"

"And I help my mom design shoes. I've come up with lots of ideas," I said, encouraged by the woman's enthusiasm. "She's much faster than I am at making them, though. I think it helps that my great-grandmother was an elf."

Valentine tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Noelle, I really do think you are tailor-made for our program. We don't get many applicants with your background and talents. It is, however, a competitive field. The internship lasts four months and is very exclusive."

"What do interns do, exactly?" I asked.

"Well, they shadow our fairy godmothers – or F.G.s, as I like to call them – on client missions. They have one week of training at headquarters, but after that, what they learn is up to their mentor's discretion. They learn on the job and the type of responsibility varies greatly, but everyone has one goal in mind: make the clients happy."

"I see."

"Each intern chooses a specialty," Valentine continued. "Some F.G.s specialize in matchmaking, some study curse reversal, and others do a residency in antidotes. You wouldn't believe how many royals get poisoned or transformed into odd things."

"It happens to regular folks, too," I said, thinking of the horse-wife.

"And of course, there are always a few who want to try their hand at witch-fighting."

I coughed. "Witch-fighting?"

"Oh, yes. Witches make a lot of trouble for our clients." Valentine sighed. "The other day, Madam Riley, one of our top F.G.s, had to negotiate with an ogre who had captured her client. The ogre said he was just doing his job. Apparently a witch had paid him really good money. So Madam Riley had to hunt down the witch, and of course they had words and ended up dueling."

I tried to imagine negotiating with ogres and battling evil crones. "Do they always have to duel? Can't they come to a peaceful agreement?"

"Witches and fairy godmothers are natural enemies. It's all in a day's work. But between you and me, I'm glad I have a desk job." She winked, just as Muffet began meowing pitifully. "Excuse me while I give this gentleman his medicine. Why don't you fill out the application?"

I got to work, which only took a moment, since we had pretty much gone over all the questions. By the time she returned, I had completed the whole thing.

"It was nice meeting you, Noelle," she said, shaking my hand. "I'll submit this and you should hear back in a week or two."

"Thanks. I hope Muffet feels better," I said.

"You're sweet. I'll give him your good wishes." Valentine waved and, tucking the paper underneath her arm, disappeared into the house.