Trumpets blared. The lights flickered. The back door flew open. Everyone applauded. Partly because it was always exciting to see the Bests. But also because it was the first thing all day that felt even a teensy bit normal.

Raine—the second best godmother—looked majestic in a copper gown with wide flowing sleeves, decorated with shimmering metallic fringe. The third best godmother, Kaminari, was wearing clothes that were trim and tailored. But when the light hit her hair and clothes—wow! She shimmered like liquid glass.

But when Clotilda walked in wearing a sparkly tiara and old-fashioned fairy godmother clothes, everyone burst into giggles. These were the kind of impractical clothes you found in books but that modern fairy godmothers never wore. Her dress had big puffy sleeves, and her long tulle skirt kept snagging on all the desks.

“Why are you wearing that?” Isabelle asked. Clotilda was not the kind of fairy godmother to make such silly mistakes with clothes.

“Obviously,” Clotilda said, trying not to look miffed, “Raine and Kaminari played a joke on me.” She tugged at a satin ribbon. “They told me it was dress-up day. Their magic is stronger than mine.”

Everyone gathered around Clotilda to check out her custom glass shoes. That is, until the back door blew open with a scorching-hot gust of air. It was the special guest. They’d forgotten all about her.

(Unfortunately, it wasn’t Grandmomma.)

Instead, a very old fairy godmother—the oldest Isabelle had ever seen—hobbled into the room. She walked with a cane. She kept her wand tucked behind her ear.

This godmother was shorter than Kaminari and more stooped than Minerva. Her olive skin was so wrinkly and worn she looked old enough to have been the first fairy godmother of all time.

“Zahara!” Minerva shouted.

As fast as she could (in other words, faster than usual, but still really slowly), she limped to the antique godmother. They embraced like old friends.

“I don’t believe it,” Minerva said at least three times. “I thought you were …”

“Dead?”

Even though it could have been an awkward moment, the two old godmothers burst into fits of croaky laughter. So did Irene and MaryEllen, who apparently had also thought Zahara was dead. Even Luciana looked amused. While Raine and Kaminari helped her to Grandmomma’s chair, Clotilda didn’t move a muscle. She stood in the corner with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.

This little act of defiance had nothing to do with her dress—she was over that. She frowned because Zahara wasn’t some random ancient fairy godmother. She was the ancient fairy godmother who used to be Grandmomma’s best friend, with the emphasis on used to be. Isabelle didn’t remember ever meeting the old fairy godmother, but she’d never forget the last time some old godmother mentioned Zahara’s name around her grandmother.

It was not a nice memory. It was not fun to see your grandmomma cry.

And now Grandmomma was nowhere to be found and Zahara was getting comfortable in her chair and acting like this was totally normal. But it wasn’t normal. Or fair. Or nice. Just like everything else, this probably had to do with sparkles. So Isabelle just sat there and tried not to draw attention to herself.

For the first time since Level One began, the Worsts could not have looked happier. They scooted their seats toward the front of the room.

“Where have you been all this time?” Minerva asked. (Isabelle was sort of curious about that, too.)

“My so-called demise was obviously a rumor,” Zahara said. “The truth is, I retired. But after a while, it got boring. So when Luciana called, I un-retired.”

“When I was a young godmother, Zahara was famous for taking all the hardest-to-please princesses—even the ones who seemed destined for unhappily ever after,” Minerva told Angelica, Fawn, and Isabelle. “If there had been training back then, I would have given anything to take a class with her.”

Zahara popped the lid off Grandmomma’s candy jar and took three peppermint patties (Grandmomma’s favorite). She tossed them all in her mouth, closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. Then her mouth fell open. She began to snore.

Luciana sent a few lightning sprays through the room, and everyone (including Zahara) bolted up in their chairs.

“Zahara, can you tell the trainees about the kinds of princesses you helped over the years?” Luciana asked.

“Well, there was the one who fell in love with the handsome prince who had a curse on his head,” Zahara began. “That poor girl was the very definition of fortitude. First she saved him from drowning. Then she rescued him from an alligator. Before he was in the clear, she had to save him from his own dog.”

“I read about her,” Angelica said. “But I don’t understand: Why didn’t you just remove the curse? Wouldn’t that have been a lot faster?”

“In the old days, we didn’t care so much about speed,” Zahara said. “Back then, it was much more important to test our princesses and see if they had the strength to be happily ever after … or if they didn’t.”

Everyone gasped. Since the whole thing with Mom, getting to happily ever after (or as Angelica would say, H.E.A.) as quickly as possible was pretty much the whole point to training—at least Isabelle thought that was the point.

Maybe Zahara had been asked to retire. Maybe that’s why she and Grandmomma weren’t friends anymore. Isabelle raised her hand. “You don’t need to teach us anything about independence. Grandmomma taught us that in Level One.” (She was feeling very defensive of Grandmomma.)

At the mention of Grandmomma, Zahara didn’t even flinch. “Hello, Isabelle. The last time I saw you, I believe you were toddling around the castle. You were so cute. I see your hair hasn’t changed a bit.”

It was always annoying when adults said things like that.

“As for independence,” Zahara said, “or what I would call patience and fortitude and common sense, let me tell you about my first princess, a young ameerah named Noni, her sister, a king, and a pair of golden slippers.”

There wasn’t a fairy godmother who didn’t love a good shoe story. Fawn opened her Wish List to a page at the beginning of the book (where Noni’s story was printed). “Before you tell us the details, would you sign my Wish List?” she gushed, and giggled. “Noni’s story is one of my favorites.”

After signing Fawn’s Wish List and then Angelica’s, Zahara leaned back in her chair and started the story. “As some of you may already know, Noni was a poor girl who lived near a beautiful, winding river with her mean older sister. This sister was very jealous of Noni’s kindness and beauty and her one possession, a pair of lovely gold shoes.”

Angelica raised her hand. “The shoes were from her father, right?”

Zahara smiled. “The shoes always come from someone who loves you.” For the first time, Isabelle realized Zahara was missing two teeth. “When her sister received an invitation to meet the king, Noni asked to come along, but her sister forbade it. Probably because she knew the king would like Noni the best.”

Isabelle could totally relate to the whole sister problem. What she didn’t understand was Zahara. “So why didn’t you tell the king to have a party?” (She was pretty sure that was how Clotilda would do it.)

Luciana looked a little annoyed. “Because obviously Noni had chores to do.”

Isabelle forgot how much fairy godmothers used to love making princesses do chores. But she also never really got why they were so important.

Before she could raise her hand and ask, Zahara explained that chores made Noni a humble princess. They also gave her time. And when she said time, she meant time to become stronger and wiser. “When Noni had worked so long and so hard her feet finally couldn’t take it another day, she took off her shoes and went for a swim. She made a sincere and selfless wish for happiness. That was my cue. I turned myself into an eagle, swiped one of the shoes, and gave it to the king. He didn’t need a party because back then, kings knew that eagles meant power and happiness.”

“And the rest was easy peasy, lemon squeezy,” Fawn and Angelica said together.

Zahara nodded. “Without requiring another sparkle, the shoe led the king on a long search for its owner. Eventually, he arrived at the lovely girl’s home. By then, she had done even more chores and become very wise. So when they met, she was ready to be queen. They fell in love and lived happily ever after.”

It was hard holding a grudge when the stories were this mushy. But Isabelle still didn’t get it. “How can a wish be selfless? Won’t princesses complain if we make them work too hard?”

Zahara popped out of her chair. “Haven’t you heard a word I said? In today’s world, our princesses need to be strong. And smart. And powerful. They need a chance to show us what they’re made of.”

When everyone started talking at once, Luciana raised her wand. “Trainees, now you know why we invited Zahara to join us for Level Two training. We are going to ask you not just to be sweet and nice and full of gusto, but also brilliant and gritty and more determined than you ever imagined. Happily ever after will always be the last line of every great story, but it’s rarely easy to attain! That’s why, in Level Two, your tasks will be complicated. And so will your princesses!”

When she put down her wand, Isabelle hoped that meant a break. She wanted to go home and talk to Grandmomma. She had a million questions. Plus she was exhausted.

But it wasn’t time to take a break—not by a long shot.

It was time for official training to begin.