After one particularly sluggish morning of trade, Lyle looked forward to the rush that arrived when the kids escaped from school. For the first time in days, it wasn't raining, and a small crowd soon gathered on the pavement outside.
"Ben," he called, sidling toward the back office. "It's going to get manic in a minute. I'll need a hand." And it would be nice to have Ben's attention for a little while.
"Mmmm, yeah, I'll be out shortly, love," said Ben, distracted as ever. "I'm kind of busy."
"Doing what, pray?" A quick peep confirmed Ben was on the office PC. Rather than the stocktake spreadsheet, he perused a colourful blog on fairy lore.
"You know what. I'm trying to find a permanent home for your family," said Ben, not looking up from his screen. "It's becoming an emergency."
"Unless Bella's gone and posed—fins out—for today's edition of Vanity Fair, why's it so urgent at this precise moment?"
Ben either didn't hear or didn't rise to Lyle's snide comment. "So, there's this island called Kern-Heliog," he said, "which apparently translates from some ancient language as the Isle of Eternal Happiness. It's a lost fairy sanctuary. You are a kind of fairy, right?"
"Of a kind," confirmed Lyle, twisting on his toes impatiently. "Undines are fairies of the waters, and I'm specifically a fairy of the oceans, though I never saw an air, earth, or fire fairy in all my long years in Shanty Wood. I don't think there are many lef—"
"So, this is my plan," said Ben, as if he'd not listened to a word Lyle uttered. "There are tons of myths about long-lost islands—Atlantis, Lyonesse, Ys, Isles of Eternal Youth, and all that whatnot. However, Kern-Heliog is the only long-lost paradise specifically associated with fairies. If we could find a way to get your family there, they'd be safe for good. Trouble is, the island only appears on the Cornish horizon once every seventy-seven years. The only other way to reach it is through a magic portal. I've identified the forest where this is hidden, but the exact location has never been known to humans."
"It can stay that way for the next half hour then." The bell on the parlour door ding-donged as the first customers entered. Lyle harrumphed loudly, but to Ben, he remained as invisible as the fairy island. He rushed to greet the little redheaded boy at the front of the line, who'd already placed a pile of coins on the counter.
"Let me guess, Alfie," said Lyle, mustering an air of professional cheer, "pink candyfloss and popcorn sorbet, as usual, eh?"
Eventually, Lyle resorted to magic to stop the queue snaking out down the street. He flounced out into the back office, shot Ben a loaded glare, and simultaneously conjured up a toffee-banana sundae, a double-choc-peppermint milkshake, and two loads of toasted-marshmallow-and-salted-caramel waffles that he'd no way have time to prepare alone.
"Yes, I know," he sniped, as Ben deigned to glance at him. "It'll mess up the stocktake, but that's your problem, mate."
He returned to the shop, plastered on his best customer services smile, and placed the tray graciously on the counter.
"You really are the most efficient ice-cream man in town, Lyle," said the harassed-looking grandmother, another regular, who'd placed the large order.
Lyle beamed all the brighter. Satisfying the nicer customers was always rewarding. "Thank you, Mrs Laurence. I aim to please."
The rush didn't abate for another three quarters of an hour. Ben never showed. He at least had the excuse of his phone ringing, which Lyle heard him answer. When the final customer departed, Lyle changed the "open" sign to "closed" ten minutes early, and stomped into the office. He tore off his splattered apron and hurled it to the lino floor. "Thank you so much for your kind assistance, Benjamin."
"It looks like you coped admirably without me." Ben rose and wrapped his arms about Lyle's middle, setting Lyle bristling. "I've had fantastic news, love. The call was from Janine at the Wessex Coastal Protection Board. The woman she appointed as her deputy had a change of heart and turned the job down. Janine's offered it to me after all."
Squeezed around the waist and lifted a good inch in the air, Lyle emitted a noise caught between a squeak and a grunt. "Aren't you happy for us, Lyle?" said Ben, as he dropped Lyle back down. "Our life is changing for the better. We're moving to Bournemouth and it's going to be amazing."
Valiantly warring with his irritation, Lyle cupped Ben's stubbly cheeks and planted a kiss on Ben's forehead. "Congratulations. I'm thrilled, of course I am."
"You should be." Ben slid his hands to cup Lyle's arse. "That was your last session serving frozen desserts to the masses. As soon as I got off the phone from Janine, I called Bertrand and handed in both our notices. This is it—our final shift. We never have to come back here again."
Lyle blinked. Had he heard that correctly? Ben had quit Lyle's job on Lyle's behalf, without consultation. "Pardon me, you did what?"
"Bertrand was a bit miffed," continued Ben, "but he couldn't say no. I'd usually have to give a fortnight's notice, but I have enough annual leave built up to go right now. You're on a zero hour contract, and I'm your line manager anyway, so… eh, what the hell?"
Lyle gripped Ben's arms and wrenched that horrible, possessive grip from his backside. "How dare you! I enjoy this job and you know it. Maybe it's not what I want to be doing forever, but… but…"
Lyle hissed, fists flexing and clenching, as he backed toward the shop door. Deliberately—furiously—he sent his fins ripping through his uniform at his shoulders and thighs. The small bolt of lightning that pranged around the room wasn't entirely deliberate, but he no longer gave a toss. All of his dark suspicions rushed back. No way was this problem all in his head. Ben treated him like he was even more dependent than he was. No, blow that. Lyle's husband treated him like shit.
Ben stamped out the fire from a pile of till receipts, which the wayward lightning had set smouldering. He then rushed to grab Lyle bodily when Lyle turned to flee, fins flailing and too livid to conceal them before he ran into the street. "For heavens' sakes," cried Ben. "I honestly didn't think you'd mind."
Lyle yanked his tattered clothing from Ben's grip. When he turned to glare, Ben greeted him with the soulful gaze that'd melted Lyle's heart so many times. Lyle refused to be duped again. The loving man he'd trusted so implicitly had been replaced by a stranger.
"Maybe I should not have made that call on your behalf." Ben raked his hair, apparently contrite.
"No, you shouldn't have," said Lyle, his voice wrecked by his emotion. "You might have got me this job, but I've proven myself good at it and I've made lots of friends. I'm willing to go with you, but can't we at least decide on these things together? Isn't that what marriage is all about?"
"Of course it is. I'm sorry. I really am. We'll plan everything else together, I promise, although…" A smirk tugged Ben's lips, his jollity coming too soon for Lyle's liking. "I'd a good reason for what I did. After I'd spoken to Janine and Bertrand, I made another call. I've finally booked us a proper honeymoon. Now we've quit, we can go right away."
"Oh." Lyle's already tight stomach clenched. He'd wanted a honeymoon holiday, although he'd been happy to wait while they saved up their coffers, depleted since the wedding. Once again, he'd also have liked a say in the matter. "Where are we going?"
Ben brushed his thumb across Lyle's cheek, cooling and calming against Lyle's flaming skin, and imbued with a fizzle of magic. "It was supposed to be a surprise," said Ben, "but I'll tell you now if you like."
"I've gone off surprises." Lyle jerked his head sideways, throwing off Ben's drugging touch. "I'm not a child. Tell me."
"I can do better than that," replied Ben. "Let's tidy up here, and I'll show you."
Ben turned to gather up his personal belongings, including the sword, which he retrieved from the oversized shop safe. At first, Lyle mutely refused to help before surrendering to a sense of duty. He wiped down the counter then checked the freezers were shut so none of stock would ruin. Though far from appeased, his sorrow at leaving the parlour blunted his fury a little. When he noticed Ben l
ocking the place up from the inside rather from the outside, Lyle's confusion provided another distraction. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Ben shouldered his tennis bag, his countenance disarmingly blank. He stretched out a hand toward Lyle. Lyle planted his fists firmly on his hips. He was about to reiterate his demand when Ben grabbed his wrist and dragged him close enough to plant a dry kiss on his cheek.
The contact sent magic lancing into Lyle like a high-voltage current. His tummy performed a dramatic flip, and then the little parlour vanished.
Chapter Six
As quickly as the ice-cream shop evaporated, a new scene structured itself around Lyle. He'd arrived next to a miniature castle—a sprawling single-storey stone structure fortified with crenelated turrets at both ends. Once his splintered faculties caught up with him, he grew aware of Ben's grip, a manacle about his wrist. Too startled to be cross, Lyle tugged himself free.
"I said I'd show you," said Ben, casual as if they'd stepped into the street outside the parlour. "If my calculations are correct, I've transported us several hundred miles. We're in Cornwall. Bet you didn't know I could do that."
"No, I didn't." Ben had accomplished a feat of transportation beyond Lyle's wildest dreams, most likely Cully's too, and Lyle didn’t much like where they'd arrived at. Save a single-track driveway, which wound eastward and away, the building was surrounded by trees, their lofty peaks shrouded in mist. Clumps of fading bluebells huddled between the mossy trunks, shuddering beneath an onslaught of rain.
"What is this place?" asked Lyle, pulling his tattered shirt around himself. It reminded him all too keenly of his long, lonely stretch in Shanty Wood.
"It's an old hunting lodge." Ben Ben peeled up the doormat to retrieve a large old-fashioned key then slid it into an equally sizable latch, turning it with a clunk. "These days, it’s a holiday cottage. I've had my eye on it for a week or so, and managed to rent it cheap on a last minute deal."
"How far are we from the sea?" asked Lyle.
"A mile or so." Ben beckoned Lyle toward the door and out of the rain. "It's only about five miles from the last spot where Kern-Heliog appeared on the horizon. In fact, this is the very forest where the magic portal to the island is said to be concealed."
"Oh, great! So much for a honeymoon. No wonder you never—"
Ben sliced up a silencing hand. "Honestly, love, this cottage is the very best I can afford in any part of the country. This is first and foremost a romantic getaway, I swear to you, but we can advance our progress toward Kern-Heliog while we're here."
Lyle wanted to lash Ben with another rapier sharp objection. Mustering all his resolve, he bit it back. Objections were getting him nowhere with Ben—or, with this version of Ben, whose apologies rang hollow. Something was definitely afoot. Lyle had to believe it wasn't his lovely Ben to blame but the magic messing with him.
Now they were in Cornwall, Lyle could journey to Clewell's palace and carry out an investigation of his own. However, to do so, he'd need to keep his emotions in check. He'd also need magic, his best source of which was still Ben, who he followed into the lodge. Inside the vestibule, faded tapestries covered the walls, adorned with scenes of knights, maidens, and unicorns. A plethora of electric candle-bulbs flooded a lambent light across the stone-flagged floor.
"Seeing as this is our honeymoon, maybe I should've carried you over the threshold," Ben said, as he placed down his luggage. "But my back's a bit achy, so—"
"Allow me, Benjamin." Lyle scooped Ben up with a satisfying grace, so he cradled Ben in his arms. Ben threw his arms around Lyle's neck, momentarily stunned, as Lyle stepped through the nearest arched doorway into what fortuitously turned out to be the bedroom. Brocade curtains and a riot of rope and tassels decorated a colossal four-poster bed.
"That looks robust enough for a horny dragon," said Lyle, recalling his shapeshifting mishap that'd destroyed their bed on their wedding night. "Fancy being thrown down on that bed and ravished?"
Ben opened his mouth to speak. Lyle silenced him by kissing him hard. Without breaking away for long enough to allow Ben more than a whimper, Lyle laid Ben flat on the quilt and vaulted on top of him. The sturdy bedstead didn't even creak, and Lyle kissed Ben even fiercer, quietly satisfied when Ben arched upward, fretting against Lyle with an obvious need. Lyle sent his fins skimming over every inch of Ben's still frustratingly-clothed body. Their physical desire for each other hadn't diminished, and Lyle thrilled at the magic that scorched from Ben. Yet even as he loosened the remnants of his uniform, unsettling questions battered him.
He was doing this chiefly so he'd enough strength to leave Ben. The notion drifted through his mind that he was somehow being unfaithful, at least to the Ben he'd married—to the Ben he really loved and who reciprocated that love. Then he had to stop thinking, before his anguish dulled his lust, let alone tore his heart in two.
He concentrated on the sensation of skin chafing against skin, and their mutual roughness ignited a blistering heat. They grappled and rolled, Lyle battling to remain on top, using all his strength to pin Ben down. He soon straddled Ben, clamping Ben's hips between his thighs. Ben's gaze burned with desire, a twist of mutiny, and a faint bewilderment.
"Are you sure you should do this," said Ben, although he seemed unconvinced by his own stuttered words. "It's better for you if I—"
"I'll show you what's best for me." Lyle plied Ben with fins and body, lips and shaft, with every iota of his experience. Soon Ben screamed for more, for Lyle to delve harder and deeper. Swept away, Lyle willingly complied. He teased Ben's sweet spots until Ben couldn't breathe, struck those depths inside Ben that only Lyle could reach. He forgot how broken they were, until their climaxes had destroyed them, one after another, and they lay panting on the ruined bedclothes.
Lyle's chest felt as empty as his core now brimmed with magic. He spooned around Ben, hugging him tight. The notion of leaving Ben, even this changed version of Ben, made him want to weep.
A loud clanging bell interrupted his painful reflections. "What's that?"
"The front door, I expect. Nothing to worry about." Ben extracted himself and fished his trousers from where they'd landed on a tattered deerskin rug. He put them on, then slipped on a shirt without buttoning it, and hurried from the room. Lyle listened to him open the front door, decidedly uneasy.
"Hi, Cully," said Ben. "You made it. Thanks for coming."
Lyle sat bolt upright. Ben had invited his sister on their so-called honeymoon. Forgetting his resolution to remain calm and calculating, let alone that he owed Cully an apology, Lyle's temper soared to a boiling point. Wrapped only in a sheet, he stormed into the vestibule. "What's she doing here?"
"You didn't tell him what was going on?" Cully asked Ben.
"He never tells me anything anymore," yelled Lyle. Ben rushed to his side, taking his arm, attempting to steer him back to the bedroom.
"Calm down," said Ben. "Breathe, before you bring the ceiling down or something. Look, I thought you understood. This is our honeymoon, and it's going to be romantic, but it makes sense if Cully drops by, so we can work together to find Kern-Heliog, and—"
Lyle tuned out Ben's patronizing spiel and wrenched himself free yet again. He shoved a perplexed-looking Cully aside from where she stood in the doorway and barrelled off into the forest.
He stumbled over meandering roots, slipping on wet leaves and snapping stems beneath his bare soles, scratching them till they bled. On reaching a small clearing, he paused, panting, and pressed the heels of his hands into his skull. How dare Ben treat him like this? How dare he? He had to believe this Ben wasn't his Ben. He simply couldn't hate Ben, or desire vengeance on Ben—the love of his life, his hero, his everything. He must fight to get the Ben he loved back, although after a day or so, he'd be helpless without this "new" Ben's magic.
While despair threatened to claim him, the drizzle eased off. A crescent moon emerged from beneath the blanketing clouds. He blinked, lashes beaded with tears, and sank
to his knees on the mulch.
The Goddess Moon. Back in Shanty Wood, when he'd been trapped in the tower and left to die, she'd been his only hope. She'd gifted him all the scant power he could gather, which had been enough to survive and break out. She hadn't forsaken him then.
He didn’t need magic right now, so soon after fucking Ben, but he had to see if she could help him. He reached out toward her meagre ivory glow. The reply set him crumpling forward, a sobbing, choking wreck. Maybe he could learn to endure the agony, but for now, he wanted to sleep, to fade away…
"Lyle! Where are you?" Cully's voice roused him a few minutes later. She sounded close, tramping through the wet undergrowth. He growled, frustrated at the effort of moving at all, let alone rising from a heap. "If you can hear me, Lyle, we need to talk."
He pushed himself onto his haunches, and a flashlight blinded him. He flinched, covering his eyes.
"Oh Lyle." Cully sounded so devastated for him that he flinched even harder. He must look pathetic, naked save the filthy bedsheet that hung from him like a rag. Cully put down her light without turning it off and crouched in front of him. He let her pull him up into a hug.
"I wish I'd called," she said. "I assumed you didn't want to talk to me. I'm sorry."
"You shouldn't be," he mumbled. "I'm the one who should apologise, about how I broke the news about Clem. I… I couldn't seem to help myself." He sobbed into her shoulder, unleashing countless emotions he didn't want to articulate, and feeling all the worse because of how pitiful he must appear.
"It's alright," she soothed, petting his hair awkwardly.
Shit. She forgave him for his spite, just like that. That was love.
"It's not alright," he snivelled. "I took my anger out on you because I could. Because you were being kind, and I knew it would hurt. You didn't deserve it. I-I'll never act like that again." He meant it. He was no longer the angry, landlocked soul he'd once been, and he must let the old bad habits go.
"I sort of did deserve some comeuppance for deserting you to your fate with the family," she said, "so forget it. We've got plenty else to worry about." She clasped his shoulders, holding him at arm's length to see him better. "I had no idea Ben wasn't keeping you in the loop. If that bastard has dared hurt you—"
The Isle of Eternal Happiness Page 4