Monday morning was quick to rear its awesome head. Sadly enough, I had long since turned my back on the rest of humanity in a daring response to welcome, whole-heartedly, Monday mornings. Apparently I just couldn't let the fact that I was a morning person be my whole vibe; I needed more. I refused to experience the hatred and dread of leaving a weekend to return to work––now that I had a job, I would embrace it.

I strolled into the building, singing Cheryl Crow at the top of my lungs––horribly off-key, I might add. My voice clashed instantly with the blast of country music blaring from a radio at the desk. The same skinny elfin girl from Friday, bopping her head and typing furiously at her computer.

"I'm here!" I sang, threading the words into the tune but no particular lyric pun. "I'm a bit early; is Mr. Maser expecting me?"

The girl looked up, all dear-in-the-headlights. Apparently she hadn't heard me come in. "You were supposed to be here at..." Her eyes dropped to a few forms.

"9:00." It was 8:50. "I was so excited, I came early. I didn't know what the traffic would be like."

She nodded briefly.

Wasn't exactly chatty, was she? She had seemed friendly on Friday. Perhaps she was just shy. I flicked back my hair––worn today in pigtails–– and pulled up the thirty-pound leopard-print bag I had dragged from my car. Monica's type of standard equipment, though the leopard-print had been my personal touch. "I brought my kit! Mr. Maser didn't say anything about it, but I thought it best to prepared. It has everything. Brushes, make-up in all four seasons, a few cases of dye, curlers, hair dryer, shampoo and conditioner, manicure/pedicure kit, facial stuff..."

The girl's eyes just grew wider.

I was rambling. Rambling wasn't good. I knew myself that it would take ages to describe everything in the kit . I couldn't figure out why I was even bothering. Now I was the awkward one. But if I could just whip out some of that make-up... winter-tones, for this girl, and get something on her eyelids...

"I suppose Mr. Maser is in his office still," she finally replied. "I suppose he'll be wanting to see you. Mr. Maser does like punctuality."

There was something very wrong here. I leaned onto the desk, arms folded. "He told me Friday that he's all about everyone calling each other by their first names and junk. Yet he's Mr. Maser? What's that about?"

"Because," she said tersely.

Her voice was just louder enough than usual to provide some humor. We both laughed.

"I guess I should let you know my name as well," I said, extending my hand. "I'm Tansy Bryner. I don't think I said it last week."

"I guessed from your sheet." So much friendlier this time around. "I'm Mary Cromwell. The..." she gestured at the desk. "The receptionist."

"I figured as much." Yes, she was nice enough. With some makeup she would have made a great Homecoming attendant in high school. Maybe she had been. I'd have to ask her at a more appropriate time. "Work here long?"

The fresh smile instantly vanished, and her lip slid under her teeth. "Actually..."

The white door opened, and Mr. Maser stepped out. Just as badly dressed as last time. If I didn't know any better, I would have said he had lost more hair. Well, perhaps he had. "Kansy?" His eyes settled on me, and he frowned.

I assumed that was me. I raised my hand. "It's Tansy."

"Tansy. You're early."

I forced a laugh and a semi-curtsey. "Small town girl. I was taught to be early. Or fashionably late. Depended on the event. But I figured a job was important."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Well, follow me into the office."

"Good luck," Mary whispered.

I sat back down into Friday's chair and focused on a painting. I had always wished I could paint. I sort of could; at least I dabbled. Mr. Maser settled himself at his desk and began to knot his fingers. I could hear the joints crack. Disgusting.

"Good to see you bright and early, Tansy," he said.

"I brought my kit."

He barely glanced at it. "Good, good. Did you bring your standard equipment?"

The stick? I remembered shoving it in the kit the night before... "It's in here somewhere!" I snapped open the kit. Three tubes of lipstick tumbled out. That's because my thinning scissors were in their normal spots... I had to clean this thing out eventually.

Mr. Maser sighed and muttered something about hiring that other girl.

I clenched my teeth against the blush that I could feel terrorizing over my face. This was not professional. This was so not professional.

I finally found the thing stuck behind the 2-inch barrel curling iron. "Got it! What is it, anyway?"

"You mean you haven't guessed?"

"Was I supposed to?"

Then, for the first time, I saw him smile. It was scary, almost, the strange warmth it added to his features. "I believe I explained the synopsis of your job description last time. I thought you would have..." He shook his head and lifted his hand as if to wipe the entire matter away. "Never mind, many haven't. Tansy, I'd like you to follow me. Bring the standard equipment. Leave the rest. You may not need it immediately."

And for the second time in under a minute, I crossed through his door.

Mary was on the telephone, but mouthed me another "good luck."

Boy, but did that girl need lipstick. In spring colors. She was very much a spring.

"You see, Tansy," Mr. Maser said as he led me down the hall from the desk––something I hadn't noticed before. "This business... it isn't your normal beauty business. We work with more... eclectic clients, you might say. Not your average people. Normally you might wonder exactly how they come to us, but with recent advances in chronological and literary communication we have been able to set up a thriving enterprise in the service sector, and I think you should be proud to be part of such."

I nodded, not wanting to admit I hadn't understood a single word. Vocabulary had never been my strong point.

A dark-haired girl in a flowing pink dress passed us, muttering over some papers in her hand.

"'Morning, Linda," Mr. Maser said automatically. "You'll be working with Linda a lot, Tansy. Though I recommend you meet her when she is in a better mood. You see, much of this work can be quite stressful. To put it mildly. You see, we rarely have walk-in customers. They must apply for an appointment with... you." He stopped in front of a door. The white door he had mentioned before. The only difference was a gold plaque with the word "OUT".

"An exit?" I said incredulously.

"Once upon a time," he elaborated. He put his hand on the doorknob and turned.

Even Kendra couldn't have put this room together. The stick almost dropped from my hand. The room was of stone, etched into place like that of a palace, white and tan and gold, all sparkling like noontime. A thick purple carpet snaked its way through. There were shelves and shelves of all sorts of beauty supplies, all of the most respected stylists and designers. Half a dozen dryer chairs lined one wall. The mirrors were lit with what seemed to be hundreds of lights. It was beautician heaven. And beyond that... more doors. Not white and boring, but... all different. Sizes, shapes, colors. It was a door candy store.

Mr. Maser led me over the floor. It was all I could do to not rip off my sandals right then and there and just feel the carpet between my toes.

"I suppose the most appropriate job title would be something you are probably familiar with." He opened one door, one of reddish wood. "You and Linda and all the others girls are what people like to call fairy godmothers."

Was he trying to be funny again? "Fairy godmothers?"

"Exactly."

The door swung open, and I screamed.

It wasn't another room, it wasn't even the back alleys of the town.

It wasn't even morning.

It was a wood lit by a glowing moon.

Somehow I found myself pushed along by Mr. Maser down the most twirling little path of dust that would never, ever be found in a normal wood. The stick had found its way to my pocket--not a comfortable fit at all but one that seemed to find delight slapping against my ribs. Funny how it was one of the first things I would notice. A wood that was certainly not part of the zoning district, night when it was supposed to be morning, and a cute little path in the trees.

Other people would be in the floor in fetal position, doing whatever felt most childishly safe. Not that I wasn't there already in my mind. The sad thing is that I think I was definitely smiling. Probably the only thing that was keeping me from screaming.

"I like to start my employees off cold turkey," Mr. Maser drawled. His fist closed around my shoulder to steer me around a rock. A nice cute little rock in the middle of the trees.

I nodded quickly. The smile was starting to hurt. "Cold turkey. Yes. Wonderful. Of course. I don't mind cold turkey. Leap right into the job." Did I have any calming aromatherapy in the kit I had left in his office?

Mr. Maser was out to get me.

"Well, you won't actually be working with this client today. You still have training to complete. But my training, I like to have it..."

"Cold turkey?" I volunteered. My heart was about to drop through my legs, and my eyes kept whirling to the trees. Sounds were out there. Scary animal sounds. I had never been much of an outdoorsy girl. The minimum level for a small-town girl, and that was it. I wasn't good with animals. If a bat flew out of those branches and into my air, every scream building up inside me would burst out in a panic. Mr. Maser would hopefully die in the process. What sort of business was he running here?

"Cold turkey." He forced me to a stop. "Here is where she lives."

I hadn't noticed the cottage--another few steps and I would have made a face-plant with a splintery door. Black and globby and fitting in too perfectly with dark trees. It was a nightmare.

Is this where fairy godmothers worked? I wanted the pretty salon room. I wanted that back.

"I do hope she's awake," Mr. Maser mused, stepping around me. "She tends to stay up quite late--good thing late night television doesn't exist in this world."

"Who are you talking about?" I was proud of myself. I was capable of asking questions without another scream whirling out.

He ignored me and rapped sharply on the door.

For a long time no one answered. The knock seemed to ring continually into the darkness, enveloping Mr. Maser and myself in a too-awkward silence.

And then the voice. Female and rough. "Anyone gonna get that?"

Mr. Maser muttered something under his breath.

"Hello? For crying out loud, I clean all day and... hello? Anyone here?"

Was she talking to us?

The door flung open. "Oh. You."

The scene was an odd mix of beauty and Gollumesque disfigurement. A dainty hand clutched the door, its arm following loosely back to the shoulder. All was wrapped in a pale green nightdress sleeve that revealed the palest skin I had ever seen outside an albino. Thick black braids slunk down to her waist. Her dark eyes glared at us from behind a masque of green not much darker than the gown. They were brooding and matched all-too-well the frown. She was not happy to see us. "Oh, you. Maser. Rowan Maser. Did I get your name right?" Same nasty tone continued.

As fascinated as I was by the young woman, I couldn't help but want to see Mr. Maser's reaction. There was none. Just a stone hard face and a smile that somehow came off as naturally cordial. I hadn't expected much of that. "Yes, yes, you did. Did I wake you?"

She shook her head, the black braids pulling at her gown. "No, you're fine. I was reading by the fire. Great new book from town, haven't read anything good in so long. And then you knocked and I ASSUMED they were home but... men. I swear, as soon as I get a prince, I am so out-of-here!" Her hand slipped from the door. "By the way, how is that coming? I have been here for months, and I still don't have a prince. And I know that I'm gorgeous. I was told that every stupid day until I came here to these creeps that wouldn't know good looks if it bit them in the face. Which it should, speaking of that."

Ugh. Who went around saying they were hot? In that tone? But... but she was beautiful. Underneath the mask and out of the puffy nightdress, she had to be extremely beautiful. I could tell it in her features. Dainty, but not too dainty. Good and tall. Dark eyes and hair... popular for that more dramatic definition of beauty. Suddenly I felt very brash. Yes, the more I looked at her, the more lovely I realized she was. By anyone's standards.

"It's something we're working on," Mr. Maser said with surprising smoothness. "You do realize that you have to put some effort into it yourself."

She raised one perfectly trimmed eyebrow. "I have been working my hardest! I make them do their own dishes so the soap won't dry my hands. I've been exercising. I have on this stupid masque that last girl told me about, and I don't think it's making my skin any softer, but at least I'm doing it! I'm doing my part!"

Mr. Maser had no reply for that. Just the same understanding smile.

The girl sighed and, for the first time, looked to me. "Is this the new girl?" Her face lifted in the closest thing to a smile. "Doesn't look the type to encourage natural beauty?"

What was that supposed to mean? I tried to control my own freakish smile. "I hope you mean that as a compliment, honey." Somehow that last word had snuck in there with its own level of derisiveness.

She didn't seem to notice. "Sure. I'm always up for something new. Despite what this man tells you." She flicked bangs from her forehead. "But you had better be good. How is she, Master Rowan?"

"She's new," he replied. "But she seems most qualified."

She gave me an eye-over. "Well, she had better be. I didn't like the last girl. Samantha or whatever her name was. Linda wasn't too bad. Janie... she was just as bad as my stepmother. Are you nice?"

It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. I forced a nod. Had she ever heard of manners?

"Good. I like nice people. Now come back with plans that are actually good." Her hand went to the door again, tensing in obvious preparation to slam it. But my thought of manners must have somehow telepathically reached her. The smile increased, and several tons of syrup and sugar melted into her voice. "Master Rowan, are you going to introduce us?"

"Of course. How silly of me." Then he bowed. He actually bowed. "Princess Snow White, meet Tansy Bryner, your new fairy godmother. Tansy, meet the Princess Snow White."

I almost choked.

Snow White, the girl whose name was apparently Snow White, plucked up the hem of her nightdress and curtsied as proper as you could please. "Pleased to meet you. Now I need my beauty sleep." This time the door did slam.

And I stood there staring at it. Snow White. Snow White's cottage.

"Snow can be much more charming in the daylight, I'm sure you'll find." Mr. Maser spun around and began marching back down the path. "Sometimes at night, the dwarves leave for the mines, and she can get temperamental when lonely. Try not to take it personally."

Hah. She was probably the type of person that was equally nasty to everyone. But that wasn't how Snow White was supposed to be. She was supposed to be nice... was she really Snow White? I ran after him as best as I could without tripping. "That was Snow White?"

He didn't glance back at me; his hands slid down to his pockets in the most casual fashion. "That's what I said her name was, and I try not to lie where clients are concerned."

"The Snow White?" It was absolutely maddening.

"Sort of."

A thousand fairy tale retellings and Disney nights rushed through my brain. "Poisoned apple, evil stepmother, glass coffin Snow White?"

"Stepmother. The apple and the sleeping thing haven't happened yet to this one."

But the fairy tale had happened forever ago. And this one? "What do you mean?"

He sighed but did not stop walking. "Chronological events are part of it. I believe I mentioned those earlier. There is also the minor detail that we are somewhat in a different universe than ours--not quite, but close--and events flow as they will. We simply step in when we are needed."

"So she hasn't eaten the apple yet? The corset? The comb?"

"No apple. The others... maybe, I'll have to check my files. But then again, there our countless episodes of Snow White... I'm just assigning you to work with this one and get her a prince before she drives us all mad."

I still couldn't accept this. "She's Snow White?"

"Yes." We arrived at the other door, an eerie thing poking right out of a trunk. "She is Snow White. The Snow White you've always heard of. And you are going to be working with her, among other girls. You will be working for Snow White. Can you accept that?"

He had to be mad. He had to be absolutely mad. And yet... it's amazing what you will accept when it actually happens. My mind was still rushing. It was probably the fact that I couldn't clearly think that made me answer yes.

"Good. Let's get you started in training. I'll let you have a lunch break at noon."

Lunch. Good. I stepped back into the salon. It no longer looked quite so nice. Too much... too much... I had no idea too much of what.

I was going to be Biggie Sizing today.

I don't even remember the rest of that so-called Day of Training. More like rampant chaos, in my view, all dictated by a firm hand from Mr. Maser. My Mad Boss.

But there had to be actual training in there somewhere. I slid into that booth at Wendy's at noon, wrist aching and mind feeding through fact after fact after fact. I had never been one to excel at memorization. Not an idiot, but I had always been something of a slow learner. I don't think I had learned any real magic with the wand. For that's what it turned out to be, a magic wand, of all things. I supposed that was okay. Working with Snow White. Why not use a magic wand? Before any real spells could be done, one had to get the art of waving a white stick. Whoop-dee-doo. No wonder my wrist hurt. I have a faint memory of the other girl, Linda, pulling the stick--wand--from my hand and demonstrating the delicate whirls of a ribbon dancer before shoving back to me and demanding I repeat down to the breath what she had just done.

Then there was the paperwork. Oh, the paperwork. Not too much, I was thinking. Just filling out a book of who I worked with today and what I had done to them--with them, for them. An appointment book, just like at Monica's. That was good. That was okay. I think they even showed me my appointment book. Blue. Pretty. I'd have to get some stickers for it, of course.

And among all of that was the talk of the girls. Girls like Snow White. The Fairy Tales girls. It was too much for a Monday. Maybe if I had started on a Wednesday or a Thursday... But Mondays weren't meant for this. And the moment Mr. Maser set the platter of hamburger and fries in front of me I chowed right in.

He blinked and leaned back, fingers barely sliding over the wrapper of his Spicy Chicken Sandwich to open it. I wouldn't have imagined him a Spicy Chicken fan. First day on the job and I was learning more about my boss than I ever wanted to know. "Guess you were hungry, Miss Bryner."

I jammed a dozen fries into the container of ketchup and shoved them into my mouth. "I thought you were going to call me Tansy. And yes, I am hungry! Food is real! Not that... that Snow White girl."

"Oh, she's real enough." He took a large bite from his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "But I do imagine how it seems to you."

"Seems to me?" Another dozen fries. I would need more ketchup if I kept this up. And more fries. "I grew up in a podunk town, Mr. Maser. We had the most psychotic urban legends anyone could ever ask for! But nothing like this!"

"The world is full of the unreal, Tansy. Yes, that is easier to say than Miss Bryner. "And I do expect you to be the professional I hired to deal with this."

"Professional? I was trained as a beautician!" My voice raised to a peak to drag the attention in of three old ladies, a dating couple, and a bunch of teenagers sluffing out on lunchtime at the high school. "Not... not..."

"A fairy godmother?" he whispered. "Please, keep your voice down. I do have a reputation to protect."

I didn't. I leaped to my feet, threw a french fry onto his tray, and shouted "This man is certified insane!"

One of the teenagers clapped, and the restaurant returned to its normal bustle of grease in an obvious declaration of ignoring me.

How humiliating. I slunk back onto the bench.

"So tell me about your town," Mr. Maser said. Utterly calm. "Where did you grow up?"

He actually wanted to chat. Not bad for a boss who had shunned me immediately. "Green Trail."

"That's west of here, isn't it."

I nodded. "I moved here with some friends after high school. Thought I'd try my hand at college. Didn't work out so hot."

"Not one for a real education, are you? Not one to get out there and change the world."

I almost suspected he was making fun of me. Almost. Except he said the statement as a fact. It fit him well. Boring and old and gaining weight. Why couldn't he throw around facts?

I opened my Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. "I'll have you know that studying to be a beautician is indeed a real education! Just because I never had to write a master's thesis doesn't mean I didn't learn anything from there." A master's thesis. That might just be fun to write. A beautician with a master's.

He nodded, completely understanding. "And I suppose someone has to do the hair and make-up."

"Isn't that why you hired me?"

"Yes, I suppose that is why. And you did come with excellent qualifications from Monica. I met her once. Fine lady, good school she's running."

I half-wondered if they were dating. "So... what provoked you to open up a..." I could barely think the word. "This place?"

He took another bite of his sandwich.

I didn't understand. It didn't seem to be something not talking about. Unless it was a secret, of course.

"It's an incredibly long story," he finally replied. There was a piece of lettuce stuck between his teeth. I kept back a smile--for a full three seconds. "I'll tell you another time."

"But we have all of lunch."

"Which ends in ten minutes. It's not enough time."

"Sure it is." To at least floss.

"I already did the good deed of buying my new fairy godmother disgusting fast food. Is there a reason, Miss Tansy, you are smiling like that?"

I shook my head and, giggling, finished my lunch.