What I Wore to Save the World

my eyes flew open. my heart raced. what time was it? Had I overslept? Missed the bus? Damn, now I’m gonna be late for school—

I grabbed my watch off the nightstand and peered at it in the dark. It was four A.M. Then it came back to me: I was in Wales, and I was supposed to save the world, and the fekkin’ cheap travel alarm never went off. Great.

Nobody said this saving the world stuff would be easy, I scolded myself, as I dragged myself out of bed. Suck it up and pretend you’re a superhero. My mission: go wandering in a strange forest alone to look for unicorns in the dark, and be back in time for breakfast.

Of course, if I really were some kind of übercool superhero I might have some actual superpowers to rely on, or at least a few useful gadgets: designer sunglasses that turned into night vision goggles, or a personal GPS with a “find unicorn” setting. At this point I’d have been happy with an extra sweater, frankly, because it was freezing out and my hoodie was still draped over that creepy picture of Queen Titania. Which is where it was going to stay.

But I had no superpowers or gadgets. I was nothing but a shivering half-goddess, silently ransacking the kitchen drawers trying to find a freakin’ flashlight in the dark without waking Colin or Grandpap. And I was having no luck whatsoever.

Fail! I closed the last drawer. Time to take a deep breath and give myself a pep talk. I can do this blind, I thought. I just needed to take it step-by-step: Follow the path to the boardwalk, follow the boardwalk to the forest, follow the trail marked “Faery Glen” into the woods. It’d be just like following the Yellow Brick Road to find Oz. If I steered clear of wicked witches and flying monkeys, I’d be fine.

But once I made it in to see the Wizard, then what? Would the unicorns be friend or foe? And was there any hope that I could deal with this faery-world emergency and still keep my half-goddess mojo on the down-low? Maybe then I could squeeze in a romantic summer vacay with Colin before my parents realized I’d gone AWOL and called Interpol to kidnap me and drag me home.

I deserve a final bit of fun, I thought grimly. Because once I get busted about ditching the Oxford tour I’m going to be grounded for life. I’ll only be permitted to leave the house to go to my deeply unsatisfying job as an X-ray technician.

I let myself out of the cottage as quietly as I could and looked around. The moon had already come and gone and the stars were doing their usual far-off twinkling thing, which didn’t provide much help in the ambient lighting department. All the light switches in the various cottages and buildings of Castell Cyfareddol were in the OFF position. Their residents, unlike some miserable people I could name, were asleep.

I took a few steps and nearly tripped over the jockey-on-a-seahorse statue. I eyed his lantern with envy.

It would have been easy to get completely turned around in the dark, so I took a few experimental steps to make sure I was walking uphill, in the direction of the boardwalk. Soon I fell into a hesitant rhythm. Right foot forward, put my weight on it, step. Left foot forward, put my weight on it, step.

At this rate I figured it would be sometime next week before I found the forest. But I made progress, and finally the footing changed from cool sand to smooth planks of wood. The uphill slope flattened out. I’d reached the boardwalk. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could make out basic shapes—was that a curious glint in the eye of the dragon statue that guarded the path?

Maybe it would be smarter to wait for morning, my inner wimpy voice suggested. What’s a few hours one way or another? And why was this my problem, anyway? Didn’t the unicorns have anybody else on speed dial?

Wimpy voice was damned convincing, I have to say. And it wouldn’t shut up. All I have to do is stop. And go back to the cottage. And get back into my nice, snuggly bed.

A streak of light whizzed by my face. Before I could catch enough breath to shriek I realized it was a firefly. It made me think of Tammy, who loved to chase the little light-up bugs and was always horrified when my dad suggested she put one in a jar.

“Wish there were a bunch more of you, pal,” I muttered. I’d layered on three T-shirts but my arms were bare except for the goose bumps. Light and warmth—two great concepts that I had obviously failed to appreciate enough in my life until now.

Then I noticed another bug chasing after the first. The firefly life cycle must be different in Wales, I thought, shivering. At home we usually don’t see them until August.

Another firefly. The three bugs flew in formation, making patterns in the dark that my eye was almost able to register before they disappeared. It was like when you try to write your name in the air with the tip of a lit sparkler by waving it really fast—your eye can hold the image for almost long enough to read the letters—almost, but not quite . . .

All of a sudden there were ten fireflies. Then twenty. Now I was getting anxious. Did fireflies swarm? Form angry mobs? Were they dangerous when provoked, like killer bees? Why hadn’t I paid more attention in science class?

Think, Morgan! I vaguely recalled something about monarch butterflies migrating in groups. And I knew ladybugs swarmed, because we’d found a cluster of them on the wall of the garage one year and Tammy cried and begged my dad not to spray them with pesticide. “They’re not nasty boy bugs! They’re ladybugs!” she’d bawled.

I tried to stay calm. Despite the nerve-wracking example set by killer bees and flesh-eating ants, I decided it was highly unlikely that fireflies were capable of cooperative attack behavior. I mean, evolutionarily speaking, wasn’t making your ass light up enough of an achievement? But I had to admit that the on-again, off-again phosphorescent glow of this particular flock—herd?—invasion?—was doing a pretty good job of illuminating the path. They circled and swirled in front of me, keeping pace as I walked.

I could only see ahead as far as the fireflies lit up for me, so I couldn’t gauge how far off the end of the boardwalk was, and I had no idea how long I’d been walking. It came as a total surprise when, all at once, the wooden walkway beneath my feet ended and I found myself standing on mossy ground.

I breathed it in, a damp, foresty smell. I’d made it! The sign pointing to the Faery Glen must be just ahead.

I walked forward blindly, arms extended like I was playing pin the tail on the donkey. My firefly pals must have lost patience. Now numbering in the hundreds, they swirled, swooped and landed in a flickering border around the very sign I was looking for: “This Way to the Faery Glen.”

For added effect, their butt-lights were timed like chaser lights around a billboard. It wasn’t Vegas, but you had to appreciate the effort.

“You think that’s impressive?” a low, melodious voice whinnied back from the darkness. “You should see what we can do with our hooooooooorns!”

And then, as if someone flicked a switch, a hundred whorled glow sticks lit up in front of me. Some were held straight up, some were horizontal, some were angled and crossed against one another. It was like that stupid YMCA dance, where you stick your arms out in different directions to make the letters.

“are you all right? moooooorgan? can you hear me?” A warm, soft muzzle pushed gently against my head.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled. “Sorry, lost it for minute. I haven’t slept much, and—that kind of sent me over the edge.”

I was on my ass, on the moss-covered earth. A circle of worried-looking unicorns were standing around me, snorting steam and gently pawing the ground.

“Are you sure she’s the right one, Epona?” a deep, horsey voice asked from the circle. “She seems pretty wimpy.”

“Hush,” scolded the unicorn that was nudging me. “Just because you can sleep standing up doesn’t mean everyone can! She must be tired. She came a long way, remember? And without even knowing why she was needed.” This unicorn’s voice was warm, older, and definitely female. “That doesn’t sound wimpy to me.”

I struggled to my feet, using the friendly unicorn’s mane as a support. “I’m fine. You took me by surprise, that’s all.”

To be honest, it wasn’t just the cheer that had freaked me out. I’d seen plenty of magic, but come on—these were unicorns! How cool was that? They looked like incredibly beautiful silver horses, with glowing horns and strangely human eyes.

“We wanted to welcome you in style. Show her!” At which point the unicorns leaped into formation and did another bit of horn-spelling, accompanied by chanting—“Em Oh Are! Gee A En! Gooooooo, Morgan!”—followed by loud snorts and whinnies.

“Awesome,” I said, trying not to keel over again. Just my luck, I thought. Cheerleader unicorns.

“I am Epona,” the nice one said again. “Leader of the Herd. We have many chants and dances designed to embolden your spirit for the dangerous work that lies ahead! Would you like to see more?”

Quickly I held up a hand to stop them. “Actually, I would appreciate it if we could just skip ahead to the part where you explain to me about this ‘saving the world’ stuff,” I said, brushing the moss off the butt of my jeans. The unicorns looked disappointed, so I added, “It sounds like the sooner I get started doing whatever it is you need me to do, the better.”

“I take back what I said about her being wimpy,” the unicorn with the deep voice intoned. “Listen to how eager she is to face the terror that lies ahead! To fight the unbeatable foe! To run where the brave dare not go! To strive, with her last ounce of courage—”

“Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure that’s from Man of La Mancha,” I interjected. “My parents took my sister and me to see it in a dinner theater once.”

“It’s an old unicorn song.” Epona reared up on her hind legs with pride. “ ‘ To Break the Unbreakable Horn.’ Now and then our traditions slip into your world by accident. A little faery world spillover is no biggie, especially if it ends up someplace harmless, like in a Broadway musical. But it’s been happening more often, lately.”

At that there was a round of worried-sounding snorting and neighing. “Yes,” said Epona, agreeing with whatever it was they’d said. “That is the problem, indeed. The veil is slipping. It’s already begun.”

“The veil is what separates our magical world from your human world,” Epona explained. “And it’s starting to disappear.”

She shook her lovely silver muzzle from side to side. “There have always been portals. And the occasional bit of cultural exchange has benefited both realms. But for the most part, our worlds have remained separate, and this has been for the safety of all.”

Epona lowered her head so her horn was pointing right at me. “Over time, your world has convinced itself that we of the magic realm do not really exist. We are called fiction, myth, fantasy, fairy tale. But our kind are all too familiar with the ways of humans. In fact, to some of us, what you call ‘reality’ has become a deeply addictive source of entertainment.”

Epona stamped her hooves with passion. “I mean all of it! Dancing with the Stars, stiletto heels, Facebook! There are those in the faery realm who think that you humans are simply having more fun than we are.” Epona’s long silver lashes half-lowered over her soulful eyes. “There is one magical being in particular who believes this. Unfortunately, she is very powerful.”

“You mean Queen Titania.” It wasn’t a question. As soon as I heard “stiletto heels” I knew where this was going.

“Unfortunately, you are correct.” Epona’s tail flicked with worry. “Titania’s fascination with human civilization is out of control. She believes the time has come to undo the veil between the human and magic realms.”

The unicorn’s horn blushed pink, making Epona look almost embarrassed. “She claims she is sick of hiding from mortals. She wants to shop at Abercrombie & Fitch and work out with a personal trainer. She wants to attend the Teen Choice Awards and be on the cover of Us Weekly. And she wants to bring all of us with her. Faeries, mermaids, elves, trolls, giants, leprechauns, pixies—you name it.”

“So Titania wants to turn the whole world into one big faery party, permanently?” I said dumbly. “But that would be awful! People would freak out. It would be a total mess.”

“We fear it would be worse than that,” Epona said. The rest of the unicorns nickered tragically. “No one knows better than we unicorns that your kind are not always tolerant of magical difference. Our species once ran freely on the earth but was nearly wiped out by the human tendency to destroy even beautiful things that they don’t understand. If we had not confined our surviving members to the magical dimension, the unicorns would have become stinked.”

“Indeed.” She lowered her head. “You cannot imagine how hard it was for us to come through the pool and hide here in the forest. But it was the only way we could call for your help without Titania knowing.”

“Extinct?” I thought of Tammy and her crackpot theories about math. “Do you really think that’s what would happen?”

“We believe that if the human and magic worlds were merged again, the way they used to be in the long-ago times of myths and legend, it would mean the end not only of unicorns, but of faeries, trolls, leprechauns, pixies, mermaids and every other magical being you can think of. Santa Claus. Even the tooth fairy,” Epona said sadly. “All gone.”

I hated to think she was right—but inside, I knew that she was. When humans got scared, they came out fighting. No way could this be allowed to happen. And then I remembered why Epona was telling me all this.

“Epona,” I said, trying to sound reasonable. “I totally see your point. And I agree that what Queen Titania plans to do would be a catastrophe. I’m just wondering what exactly you think I can do about it?”

“Simple, Morganne.” Epona’s big silver lips moved around her giant horse teeth with surprising delicacy. “Only the Queen of the Faeries has the power to lift the veil between the worlds—or to restore it.”

For some reason my stomach was starting to ache, just like it did right before I took the SATs. “Okay, so only the queen can lift the veil—and your point is?”