The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen Read Online Free

As it was, I bared my teeth in what I hoped looked like a smile.
    My own kind? I’d never felt more out of place in my life.
    I examined the other changelings: Fortran, the dark-skinned boy who’d asked about Rule 0; a girl no bigger than a faun, with sleek brown hair and smooth brown skin; a tiny blond boy; a red-haired girl who looked like an oversized leprechaun with round ears. Were they my kind? Was anybody?
    “Now I’m going to ask all of you some questions,” Tester was saying, “to get an idea of your strengths and weaknesses so we know what classes to put you in.” She picked up a pencil and a pile of papers and sorted through them. “Espresso?”
    The leprechaun girl sat up straighter.
    “Name six storm spirits, please, with their countries of origin.”
    The girl called Espresso blinked slowly. It was perfectly obvious that she didn’t know there even were storm spirits, much less their names, and was wondering whether she’d get in less trouble admitting that or whether she should take a shot at making them up.
    Invention won. “There’s Buffy the Wind Queen from Transylvania, and Windy Witch from England, and—”
    “Very creative, Espresso,” Tester interrupted. “But this isn’t Story Telling. I take it you don’t know any Folk lore?”
    Espresso shrugged.
    Tester made a note on the paper. “Tosca, you meet an old woman at a crossroads. What do you say to her?”
    The little seal girl stuck her thumb in her mouth.
    Tester made another note. “Peel, what’s a Genius?”
    The little boy, who’d been looking frightened, perked up. “ Everybody knows what a Genius is,” he said. “It’s the spirit of the Neighborhood, who runs everything and protects all the Folk and the changelings. Mine’s the Burgher of Yorkville.”
    “Very good, Peel,” Tester said. “Fortran, tell me about Little Red Baseball Cap.”
    “Isn’t that a Boston question?”
    They were pitiful. Tosca knew how to say “I am under the protection of the Genius of Lincoln Center” only in French, German, and Italian. I could say the Words of Protection in a hundred languages, including an obscure Slavic dialect spoken only by the kazna peri that lived in the ravine. I not only knew “Little Red Baseball Cap,” but also “Jack and the Extension Ladder” and “Sooty Slush and the Seven Dwarfs.” By the time Tester got around to me, I was convinced that school was going to be a complete waste of time.
    “Neef. Tell me what the first mortal changeling was called.”
    My mouth dropped open. “Why would I want to know that?”
    Everybody snickered.
    Tester sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. And yet . . . Fortran, would you like to tell her why?”
    Fortran wanted to tell me so badly he could hardly sit still. “You know how Folk are always getting into stupid feuds? Well, it’s worse with Geniuses, and more dangerous for everybody because they’re so powerful and everything. So the Folk steal mortals from Outside to make alliances ’cause we’re flexible and know how to lie and stuff. I’m really good at the lying part,” he said modestly. “I’m the best liar at Columbia University.”
    Tester’s mouth twitched. “In Diplomacy, it’s called Being Tactful, and it does not necessarily involve lying. Mortal changelings are also Champions and Questers, of course—that’s been going on since Folk were Folk. In this modern age, we can also be Organizers, Personal Assistants, and Secretaries to Geniuses and Business Folk. And there are the arts: Storyteller, Composer, Artist, Magic Tech. Espresso here is going to be a Poet. She’s from the Village.”
    We all looked at Espresso, who made a face. “That’s my fairy godmother’s bag,” she said. “I want to be a hero. Questing’s where the action’s at, man.”
    Espresso, I decided, was probably my kind, even if she didn’t know about storm spirits and talked funny.
    After about a million more questions, Tester made a few more notes,