The Fairy-Tale Matchmaker by E. D. Baker Page A

near the stage was getting rowdy. When Cory turned to let Olot know, she saw that he was already watching them.
    No one had brought a stool for Cheeble, so they had to wait until a busboy fetched one. While the brownie grumbled about how people always forgot him, Corystudied the crowd. She saw Chancy sitting front and center, like usual. Skippy’s three nymphs were with the ogre’s wife, giggling and waving at the satyr. Cory had to look twice when she saw the elf whose picture had been in the newspaper for punching a reporter. Marjorie Muffet was seated at a table beside a window, and Johnny Blue was sitting near the group of ogres. Cory was looking at her friends when one of her visions started making everything blurry.
    The stool arrived for Cheeble. Olot cleared his throat and said, “All right, everyone. Let’s begin.”
    The vision faded away as Cory reached for her drumsticks. One of the figures might have been Marjorie, but the other was too indistinct to tell.
Maybe it will be clearer next time
, she thought.
    The first song they played was “Fairy Spring,” one of their most popular songs. It started out slow, but would pick up tempo halfway through. Apparently, the ogres couldn’t wait that long.
    â€œThat tune’s as lively as a dead skunk and stinks just as bad!” shouted one of the ogres.
    The other ogres agreed, banging their flagons of watered-down fermented berry juice on the table. Cory shot a glance at the other members of the band. Olot’s jaw was set in a grim line, Cheeble and Skippy looked nervous, while Daisy was beginning to look frightened.They had been heckled before, but never by a group of ogres. At Olot’s signal, the band picked up the pace.
    â€œMy granny’s snoring sounds better than that,” shouted another ogre.
    â€œThe cats yowling outside my cave sound better than that,” a different one hollered.
    The ogre who had first called out slammed his flagon on the table so that the juice sloshed over the rim. “Stick ’em in a sack and toss ’em in the river. Get us some musicians who can really play!”
    The ogres were laughing and discussing who should go fetch the sack when Johnny Blue pushed back his chair, stood up, and bellowed, “QUIET!”
    Cory and her friends stopped playing as everyone in the restaurant turned to look at Johnny. Even the ogres, who she’d always thought didn’t respect anyone, seemed to respect Johnny Blue. He was half ogre, and as the best trumpet player around, he brought honor to them all. Instead of getting angry at him, as they would have if anyone else had told them to be quiet, they closed their mouths and settled back in their chairs, waiting to hear what he had to say.
    â€œPlay ‘Morning Mist’!” Johnny Blue said to Olot, and sat back down.
    It was a song that the band members had come up with during a jam session on a quiet morning when theycouldn’t get together that night. They’d been talking about how beautiful the mist was in the meadow below Olot’s cave when, one by one, they began to play. Although it was one of the band’s favorite songs, they’d played it in public only once. Evidently, Johnny Blue had been there to hear it.
    Cory and her bandmates turned to look at each other. When Olot nodded, they started to play.
    Cory’s drums beat the pulse of the earth deep beneath the ogre’s cave. Skippy’s pan pipes were the sleepy birds waking up and greeting the rising sun. Daisy’s castanets were insects in the underbrush telling of their night’s adventures. Cheeble’s ox horn and Olot’s lute played the melody of the coming day, drawing everyone together.
    As the band played, the ogres listened, their heads tilted to the side, their eyes closed. The nymphs giggled until Chancy shushed them, then they closed their eyes, too, and smiled, just like the ogres and everyone else in the room. There was