Froggy Style

by J. A. Kazimer

  The guards beamed. “Thank you, sir.” They headed off, the occasional cry of “wolf” echoing down the hallway.

  Once they were gone, I turned to Lollie. “Bitch!”

  She smacked me in the face.

  I rubbed my stinging cheek. “What the hell was that for?”

  “You called me a bitch.”

  “Not you. Sleeping Beauty.”

  She smacked me again.

  “What was that one for?”

  “I felt like it.”

  I took a calming breath. “Next time try really hard not to feel like it.”

  “We’ll see, Kermit.” She winked. “We’ll see. So, what’s with calling your sweet bride names? It’s not her fault that she’s being forced to marry the likes of you. Given the circumstances, I’d run away too.”

  “Good point.” I nodded, my fingers hovering above the door handle to Beauty’s lair. “However, my displeasure relates to her attempt on my life. Not her sudden vacation plans.”

  Color boomed on Lollie’s cheek. “What if it wasn’t her driving the Unicorn? What if Princess Beauty is innocent as well as sleepy?”

  I pointed to my skinned knee. “Someone tried to kill me this morning, remember? And I suspect that someone is a certain princess who’s currently on the run.”

  “Aw, poor baby. But what if you’re wrong too? What if it wasn’t her? What if it was someone else?”

  A smile touched my lips. “Like who, your boyfriend, Spindle?”

  Lollie’s hand fisted at her side. “I’m serious. I think you’re looking at this all wrong.”

  “We’ll see, Lollipop,” I said, tossing her words back into her face.

  “Don’t. Ever. Call—”

  I laughed and pushed Sleeping Beauty’s door open, bending low at the waist. “After you.” I waved Lollie inside the room and then followed quickly behind, my eyes glued to the gentle sway of Lollie’s hips.

  “Holy crap,” Lollie said, her mouth dropping open as she gazed around Beauty’s bedroom.

  Glancing up from Lollie’s derriere, I stepped back. In a matter of a day since I’d last entered Beauty’s bedroom, someone had wrecked the place. Books, magazines, and clothes lay scattered throughout the room as if a stampede of forest creatures had invaded.

  But the destruction of Beauty’s bedroom wasn’t what shocked me the most. What rocked me to my very perfect toes was the single stem rose, the same blood-red color as the one drying in my pocket, placed gently across Sleeping Beauty’s pillow.

  Chapter 29

  “Where is she?” I grabbed Lollie’s shoulders and gave her a hard shake. “Where is Sleeping Beauty?!” Blood pounded in my head, muffling the words pouring from Lollie’s plump, lying lips. Sleeping Beauty hadn’t run away. That damn Spindle had kidnapped her.

  Or worse.

  I didn’t want to even think about the worst-case scenario. It involved flies and trying to fit a flat-screen TV into a one-bedroom lily pad. I tightened my grip on Lollie’s arm.

  She punched me in the jaw until I let her go. “What’s wrong with you?” She screamed. “I have no idea where your precious bride went.”

  Picking up the rose petal from the pillow, I shoved it under Lollie’s nose. She sneezed in response. “Sorry, allergies,” she said, wiping her eyes.

  I stared at the wilted rose in my hand. “You’re allergic to roses?”

  “So?” Her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s not like I’m diseased or something. It’s an allergy. I take a pill each morning and I don’t even notice.”

  “But Spindle . . .”

  “This again?” She rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know anyone named Spindle.”

  “But the roses.” I held the rose up again. Lollie backed away. I dropped the offending flower. “Spindle leaves a rose at his crime scenes.”

  “So?”

  “He leaves them for you.”

  Lollie gave a high-pitched laugh. “No, he doesn’t. Why would this Spindle guy, even if I did know him, leave me flowers? I hate flowers, especially roses.”

  “Yeah, right.” I gestured to the bright blue peonies inked on the inside of her arms. “Tattoos aside, you named your shop the Rose. And you expect me to believe that’s just a coincidence? Do I look stupid?” Probably not the best question to ask considering I was standing in my missing fiancée’s bedroom, a rose in my hand and a blank look on my face, since I had no idea what to do next.

  Lollie grunted, spun around, and headed for the door. Her heels clicked on the hardwood. “Believe what you want, Kermit. I couldn’t care less.”

  I reached for her arm, dragging her back. “Liar.” Oh, she cared all right. Why else would she be here? For all Lollie’s grumblings, she had fallen for me. Hard. The poor chick was just one more notch on my belt of love.

  “For your information, Kermit,” she yanked her arm from my grip and glared at me, “I didn’t name the shop.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine.” She exhaled loudly. “A friend.”

  “Spindle?”

  “No, you jerk. Red.” At my blank look, she added, “My receptionist. Red hair. About,” she held her hand to her waist, “this high.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lollie exhaled, speaking slowly as if I was the village idiot. Which, given the past few days, I very well might’ve been. “Red, she’s a midget. It’s a genetic condition often referred to as dwarfism.”

  My face burned. “I know what a midget is. I’m talking about the fact Red named your shop.” Lollie wasn’t the type of woman to leave something as important as the naming of her shop to just anyone.

  “Well,” Lollie said, her eyes darting away. “It’s not exactly my shop. Not totally.”

  “What?”

  She scowled. “Maybe you should get your hearing checked. Perhaps all those years of debauchery, not to mention a strict fly-eating diet, have finally taken a toll.”

  I took a deep breath. “Mademoiselle, I assure you my hearing is as perfect as the rest of me. And I don’t eat flies!” Not anymore, I added silently. “Now tell me, what the hell’s going on?”

  Lollie sat down on Sleeping Beauty’s bed, her bottom molding to the mattress as if she belonged there. I felt the slightest twinge of guilt. Yeah, Beauty had likely tried to kill me, not to mention her being really annoying, but she was still my future bride, unless Spindle had already disposed of her.

  Then she was probably worm food.

  Having Lollie here, on Beauty’s bed . . .

  “Are you listening to me at all?” Lollie snapped her fingers. “I’m trying to explain how I met Red, and there you are fantasizing about a threesome.”

  Not quite, but now that she mentioned it . . .

  “Damn it, Kermit.” She leapt off the bed and stabbed her finger into my chest. “This is important. Red named the shop. I never asked why, but maybe she knows this invisible assassin, Spindle.”

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside Beauty’s doorway. Lollie grimaced, her voice turning urgent. “I have an idea how to find your wayward bride.” She grabbed my hand, and pulled me to the door. “But you have to come with me to the Rose. Right now.”

  Chapter 30

  Lollie and I headed down the stairs, pausing a few steps from the bottom. Guilt nearly overwhelmed me, not at Sleeping Beauty’s kidnapping, even though I felt sort of responsible for that, but for my growing attachment to Lollie Bliss. She had gotten under my skin, slowly, over the past couple of days. But I didn’t trust her. Not in the slightest. Lollie had her own agenda, and I doubted my or Sleeping Beauty’s continued good health topped the list.

  “Karl’s parked out front,” I began.

  “Jean-Michel? Is that you?” a high-pitched voice called from around the corner. The click of high heels followed, rapping against the hardwood floor like the little drummer boy in the gay pride parade.

&
nbsp; “Frog! That’s Sleeping Beauty’s sister, Pretty. Wait for me outside.” I turned to face Lollie, but she was already gone, disappearing out the front door in a flash of ink and blue-black hair. I glared after her departing figure. Pretty came around the corner as the front door snapped closed.

  I held up my hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

  “About what?” A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. Her blank stare met mine and she gave me a small smile.

  “Never mind.” I decided to keep Sleeping Beauty’s disappearance a secret, for now. Why worry her loving family unnecessarily? It was the princely thing to do, I assured myself. “Would you do me a favor?” I asked.

  “Of course.” She batted her eyes at me. “Your every desire is my command.”

  “Um. Good to know.” I cleared my throat. “For now, could you just show me which bedroom is Sleeping Beauty’s?” When she looked at me like I was demented, I quickly added, “From the outside. I need to know which of the windows is hers . . . for a wedding surprise.”

  Spindle had to get Beauty out of the bedroom somehow. The window seemed like the ideal choice given the guards parked outside her door.

  “How sweet.” Pretty sneered, but motioned for me to follow her down the hallway and into the garden at the back of the palace. She pushed open a large redwood door. A new world emerged before my eyes. Plants the size of a less-than-jolly-giant swept across the yard. Birds chirped a little too brightly overhead. An array of rainbow-colored stones, which looked suspiciously like gumdrops, lined the walkway.

  Pretty stepped onto the yellow brick walkway. “This way,” she said. The path was covered with multiple-colored flowers. Blond-haired fairies buzzed around playing tag with baby bumblebees. A pond filled with lily pads sat dead center of the garden, but there wasn’t a frog in sight.

  Well, except for me, and I didn’t exactly count. Not yet. Unless Sleeping Beauty stayed kidnapped—then all bets, as well as my handsome face, were off.

  I followed Pretty, half-listening as she pointed out various plant life. Where was Beauty? I wondered. Was she still alive? She had to be. I would know if she wasn’t, right?

  She was my One.

  My heart lurched at the thought of a life without her. A life filled with lonely, fly-eating evenings by the pond, a pond much like the one in front of me.

  Pausing in her flora lesson, Pretty pointed to a row of thorn-coated roses, almost black in color. The blooms appeared as big as Pretty’s head. Petals littered the ground like drops of dried blood.

  “Aren’t they pretty?” Pretty asked, fingering the closest bloom in a sensual manner. I swallowed hard, pulling my eyes from her deft fingertips, and murmured my agreement. She beamed up at me. “The . . . three of us, Beauty, me, and our mother, we used to come to the garden every afternoon during the summer. Mother would point to each flower and tell us all about them.” Pretty’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I never enjoyed gardening, but the time with Mother was priceless.” She took a shaky breath. “And then she died.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning every word. Even though my own mother was alive, albeit crazy and locked away in a tower, I understood the hole left by the loss of a parent. Thankfully I’d had a drunken fairy with a sadistic streak to fill a little bit of that void. Yeah, Mother’s Day was a bitch.

  Who had Beauty had to protect her? To bandage her skinned knees? I pictured the four-year-old menace from the pond. She’d seemed so alive, bratty, sure, but eager to take on the world. Nothing like the bitchy woman I’d met a few days ago.

  “Father did his best,” Pretty said when the silence grew between us. “But Beauty . . . well, she’s Beauty. When she’s not asleep, which is maybe an hour out of the day, she spends her time here, in the garden. Father has tried again and again to draw her out of her shell, but Beauty . . . Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  “That I will,” I said in agreement. Yet I doubted every word falling from Pretty’s pink lips. What a thorn the grief-stricken, sort-of-sleepy princess must’ve been in the king’s side. Unlike his private stock and thousand-dollar rugs, Beauty didn’t quite fit into his carefully crafted world of wealth and privilege. An embarrassment he’d called her, only hours ago. Hate bubbled inside me. The king had destroyed that precocious child from the pond, turned her into a sleepy, annoying replica. Yet every so often, a spark of that kid surfaced. And maybe, in time, I’d meet the real Sleeping Beauty, unless Spindle smothered her with a pillow.

  Damn.

  Pretty reached for my hand, pulling it against her beating heart. “I would make a wonderful queen, don’t you think?”

  “The window,” I reminded her.

  “Of course.” Her sigh was loud enough to fell a lesser man, but I was made of much sturdier stuff, namely the highest quality of snips and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails.

  Pretty brushed her fingers against her skirt. “Follow me.” She took a couple of steps, crushing the petals on the ground. They left little red stains on the yellow concrete.

  A half hour later Pretty led me back to the palace. My mind swirled with questions. The trip to Sleeping Beauty’s bedroom window had proved uneventful as well as unproductive. The dirt under the window looked untouched, as did the rose trellis winding its way up the side of the palace with the exception of the footprints Lollie and I had left less than an hour ago.

  I sighed and scratched my chin. What the hell had the king been thinking, putting in what amounted to a rose-covered ladder up to his stepdaughter’s bedroom window? A horny prince would climb anything for a little action.

  I should know.

  Which brought me to another question: If Spindle hadn’t used the window, or the rickety trellis, how had he managed to take Sleeping Beauty from her bed without anyone being the wiser? The palace wasn’t exactly empty, and Beauty wasn’t quiet. Not by any means.

  Had he drugged her? That made the most sense. But even then, he had to remove her from the palace without getting caught. So how had he done it?

  Another thought popped into my head. What if Spindle didn’t need to drug her? What if she’d left of her own accord? I shook my head. That was crazy. I wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill prince easily tossed aside by an annoying princess. Besides, what chick would choose spinsterhood or another thirty broken engagements over yours truly? I knew, deep down, that Sleeping Beauty hadn’t run away.

  Mostly because leaving would expend too much energy.

  Spindle had her. I was sure of it.

  Ninety percent. Okay, eighty-three percent when factoring in my general lack of evidence. Hell, without the rose on her pillow I was down to the low twenties. Not that any of it mattered. I had to find Sleeping Beauty, kidnapped or not, in less than 158 hours or face a fate worse than death—a ten-millimeter lime-colored penis.

  Chapter 31

  “Took you long enough,” Lollie sneered when I hopped, figuratively, into the backseat of the limo. “What were you doing in there? Or do I even want to know?”

  I waggled my eyebrows.

  “Pig!” She smacked me in the arm. “She’s your fiancée’s sister. Your kidnapped fiancée, I might add.”

  “Mademoiselle,” my gaze drifted to the tribal vine tattoo snaking out of her tank top, “are you, perhaps, a wee bit jealous?”

  Her snort grated on my ears. “Are you kidding? If anything, I’m trying to protect that young woman from the likes of you. She probably loves her sister too much to tell you to go to hell.”

  “Not bloody likely.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I grabbed Lollie’s fist before it met my flesh for a second time. “Forget Pretty. We need to focus on the big picture here.”

  “Big picture?”

  “Sleeping Beauty, of course.”

  “Of course,” she repeated with a sneer.

  “Karl,” I called to my manservant, who sat behind the privacy screen ready and willing to drive me to wherever I needed to go at a moment’s notice
. “To the Rose, and step on it.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Karl?”

  Again no response. I lowered the privacy screen. As expected, Karl sat behind the steering wheel, his chauffer hat askew. “Hey, Karl,” I said.

  “Shh!” He pointed to the phone in his hand. “I’m on the phone.”

  “I can see that.” I motioned to the palace and then to Karl’s phone. “But this is important.”

  “Oh, and my call isn’t?” Karl glared at me in the rearview mirror. “No, I wasn’t talking to you,” he said to the person on the other end of the phone. “I was talking to Jean-Michel. Yeah. That he is.”

  “I’m what? Paying you by the hour? Going to have you beheaded as soon as we get back to the hotel?” I grinned. “If you don’t hang up and drive me to the Rose by the time a certain red-haired midget closes shop, I’ll pick the option I like best.” It was already five minutes to five. The likelihood of us getting to the Rose to confront Red had vanished twenty minutes ago. But it was always fun to torture Karl. He caved so easily.

  Or not.

  “Hold on,” he said to the caller and then spun to face me. “I said I’m on the phone. Now, keep it in your pants until I’m finished. Oh, right. You don’t know how.”

  The privacy screen rose once more, blocking my cry of outrage. “Ungrateful little twerp,” I muttered. “After all I’ve done for—”

  “To,” Lollie said.

  I glared at her. “For. To. What’s the difference?”

  “I get that you’re mad, Kermit.” Her hands slid to her ample hips. “But does everything always have to be about you?”

  I jerked back as if she’d slapped me. “What? Are you saying I’m selfish?” Me? Selfish? Was she insane? I spent my life giving to others. Damn it! “I’ll show you selfish.”

  With a day’s worth of frustration, both sexual and kidnapped fiancée wise, I yanked Lollie out of her seat and onto my lap. My hand wrapped itself around the back of her neck, and I pulled her to my lips. The kiss was filled with violence and desperation, but sensual too.