Bayou Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  Taylor knitted his brows. “I’m not—”

  Corentin kept hold on him. “I want so desperately to be good. With you I know I can be good.” His lip trembled “I just want us to work. I need us to work.”

  Their mouths met again, tender, loving, and not with starved need. Taylor understood the meaning behind it. It was a kiss that respected him as a princess, the kind of gentle love that a princess deserved. Corentin’s fingers threaded through Taylor’s hair as he held him there. Taylor wrapped his arms around Corentin’s neck and offered himself up with the love that Corentin didn’t seem to understand.

  Corentin’s lip trembled as Taylor pulled away. “I just want us to work.”

  Taylor shook his head. Why couldn’t Corentin understand? He gritted his teeth. “We’ll work. You’re my true love. That’s how it works.”

  “Not like this, Taylor,” Corentin snapped. He threw his arms out, indicating the room. “Like this? In this cesspit of a motel room. Cum stains on the sheets, rat shit in the bathroom? Fucked like a desperate slut I paid for with a crumpled-up fiver? You like this? You like being treated like nothing?”

  “Corentin,” Taylor whimpered and wiped at his face.

  Corentin slapped the side chair, sending it crashing to the floor. “Is this the Happily Ever After you always wanted?”

  “Stop,” Taylor cried.

  Corentin snatched up the side lamp and raised it over his head. “Is this your Once Upon A Dream? Is it?”

  Taylor lunged forward and snatched the lamp out of his hands. He then shoved Corentin with one hard push. “Dammit! I said stop!” They stared each other down, swallowing gulps of air. Taylor set the lamp onto the table.

  Corentin was the first to break the silence. “You’re not nothing, Taylor. You need to see that,” he said softly. “You’ve never been nothing to me. You shouldn’t be treated like this. I can’t use you this way.”

  Taylor clenched his fists, unsure if he should punch Corentin or a wall. He stared at the bed. “I want to sleep,” he muttered.

  Corentin seemed to sense his ending of the conversation. He frowned. “You know how excruciating it is for you. You need someone—”

  “I just want to sleep,” Taylor demanded and glared at Corentin. His breath hitched in his throat as he hyperventilated in anger.

  Corentin glared at him for several tense seconds and then picked up the chair from the floor. “Fine. I’ll take the chair,” he said, resigned.

  “I don’t want you here right now.” Taylor’s own words made his heart hammer.

  Corentin froze, and there was no mistaking what Taylor had meant. The anger came again. “Fine,” he growled and headed to the door.

  As Corentin reached for the peeling doorknob, Taylor called out, “Take your journal. It’s the seventh day.”

  Corentin didn’t answer. He spun on his heel and yanked his messenger bag from the table. He stalked past Taylor and jerked open the door.

  Taylor pressed his fingers to his lips as the tears came.

  Corentin didn’t look back as he slammed the door behind him.

  An anguished scream tore from Taylor’s throat. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

  Tomorrow, Corentin would remember why Taylor loved him.

  Tomorrow, Taylor would remember how Corentin broke his heart.

  Chapter 21: Love Can Damage Your Health

  May 9

  Idea, the Filthy Motel Room of Corentin’s Imagination

  TAYLOR TOSSED and turned in the dirty bed. The room had remained the rundown motel room of Corentin’s imagination because Taylor had imagined it remained.

  Was that what Jax meant by compromise on ideas? What bullshit that had been.

  He stared at the moldy crack in the ceiling, the brown stain flowering outward from the crackling plaster. Taylor had no intention of sleeping. He just needed a moment. Some way to make it right between them.

  He rolled onto his side and flexed his fingers, remembering the slick texture of Corentin’s wet hair.

  He needed to make it right.

  If it ever could be right again.

  A breath hitched in his throat, and the broken sobs came again. How could it all go wrong? He didn’t blame Corentin, and he didn’t blame himself. Neither of them were right, and neither of them were wrong.

  Ringo appeared in a cheerful puff of golden glitter at the worst possible moment. He made a cursory glance around the room. “Um.” Ringo scratched at his goatee in thought. “Couldn’t you have thought of something, y’know, happy? How about Tahiti? Tahiti’s happy.”

  Taylor gave him a withering look and Ringo swallowed. He had explained it all in one succinct, wordless death glare.

  “Are you gonna say something?” Ringo asked cautiously.

  Taylor only glared. His silence provided all the answers.

  “Fine.” Ringo clapped his hands once. “I’ll talk.”

  Taylor groaned like a spoiled teenager and rolled away.

  “Y’all are acting like children!” Ringo snapped. “Again.”

  Taylor answered Ringo by flipping him off.

  “You two are fucking nuts about each other, and when guys have a moment of too much of each other, this mess happens.” Ringo fluttered over in Taylor’s line of sight.

  Taylor rolled to the opposite side. He got a face full of the ratty pillow and wrinkled his nose. He’d imagined the filth of the room a little too well.

  “It’ll work out,” Ringo said. “It always does. Every time. You know it.” He nodded resolutely. “Y’all will be sitting on the couch, eating Doritos, and shoving your hands down each other’s pants in no time.” He shuddered. “I’d also like to forget the time I flew in on that. Now I can never watch Blacklist without seeing it in my head.”

  Taylor’s shoulders shuddered, and he couldn’t hold back the tears. “I don’t think I can,” he wheezed.

  “Dude. Of course you can watch Blacklist,” Ringo said, arching a questioning brow.

  “Ringo!” Taylor snapped through his cries.

  “I’m trying to be funny here.” Ringo frowned and crossed his arms. “I’m just saying, it’ll work out. Like clockwork.”

  Taylor knew the euphemism well. He sniffed and tried to swallow through his blocked sinuses. “This time I’ll never forget,” he whispered. “The fucked-up part is, he’ll be in love with me all over again in a couple hours.”

  “And….” Ringo twirled a finger. “You won’t?”

  Taylor’s lip quivered. “I will. That’s the problem. I will and I can’t take any of it back.” He shifted from the bed and then paused, waiting for the vertigo to ease in his inner ears. He shuffled across the floor, then gathered his coat and gloves. “I’ll have to live with this. I’ll be the one who has to get over it. I’ll be the one who has to forgive myself and let him love me again.”

  Ringo tossed his head with a snort. “Puh-leeze. You sound worse than a Jane Austen novel rewritten into a cliché teen romance.” He smacked his forehead. “I wonder when Storytellers create Enchants if they write in the cheesy tropes into their destinies too.”

  “Seriously?” Taylor worked one arm into his coat sleeve and struggled with the other.

  Ringo shrugged. “Well, y’know. We are storybook characters.”

  Taylor stared at him. “Do you listen to yourself half the time?”

  Ringo straightened and puffed up his chest. “Only half the time. The rest is listening to your incessant whining.”

  He chuckled. At least Ringo got him to smile. He wiped his nose with his glove and tried to swallow again to clear his sinuses. Taylor wiggled his fingers into one glove, then inched his fingers into the other. “I’m going to go apologize,” Taylor said as he tossed back his hair. “As Dad used to say, never let the sun set on an argument.”

  Ringo grumped. “Probably the only sage advice your father ever had.”

  Taylor took a breath. He didn’t know if Corentin would be open to listening, but he wa
s going to give it his best shot. If he could clear the air the slightest bit, it would be enough to start working through it. Taylor had long ago learned, with Corentin, a lot could happen in a week. He didn’t count on enchanted blizzards over New Orleans.

  As he stepped out the door, Lacey collided with his shoulder. They both stumbled back.

  Ringo fluttered between them and took the lead. “Well, howdy, ma’am.”

  Taylor blinked. “When did you get here?”

  “Aliss brought me in,” she said, her legs trembling. “She wanted my reports on Princess Valentine and Zane.” She unexpectedly lunged out for him, but he danced back. “But I need you. I need you!”

  Of course she needed him. She needed everyone. Taylor had felt sorry for her before, but now the apathy took hold. He had only known Lacey such a short time, and he had no place sweeping in and trying to save her from herself. The only thing that could help her was her realizing shooting pixie dust into her veins was not the best life choice.

  “You’re looking for a hit, aren’t you?” He accused her outright and didn’t feel the least apologetic. He was done enabling her.

  “I… need you…,” she whimpered. “I need you.”

  The helplessness in her voice slowly dismantled Taylor’s resolve. He wilted and tried to let her down gently. “Lacey, I need to go take care of something. And then I’m going to sleep. I’m super tired and it’s been a long day, y’know.”

  There. It wasn’t an exact lie, word for word.

  “But Hook! I saw him!” She flung her arms out and pointed down the hall, her pupils blown out and wild. “He’s here! You need to come!”

  Taylor narrowed his eyes. “Are you high?”

  “A valid question,” Ringo said as he perched on Taylor’s shoulder.

  “Yeah,” she spat out the answer without a second thought. “But I’m not lying!” She latched on to Taylor’s coat lapels. “You need to come! He has Corentin!”

  That was as much convincing as Taylor needed. With a flick of the wrist, his lance took form in his hand. Taylor’s shoulder sagged and the muscles strained under the weight. He tightened his grip and shifted his weight, trying to counterbalance. His lance had never been a strain before. The magic made it effortless as air, but now he struggled. Taylor regretted not training harder to better harness his magic in the last two years. But he also did just as well when he thought he was Curseless.

  “This way!” Lacey led the charge down the hall with Taylor close behind.

  Lacey was curiously light on her feet despite running in platform heels. For all of her faults, Taylor admired her hints of gracefulness. Taylor’s fingers slipped around his lance, and he fumbled for a grip.

  Ringo bobbed along and muttered in Taylor’s ear, “You okay, boyo?”

  “Fine,” Taylor lied.

  They reached the cavernous temple that the Library had deemed as their parking garage. Aliss’s candy-apple red Hummer sat on the front row, but as Taylor squinted in the dim light, the rows seemed to stretch into the horizon. The people of the Library had imagined it so, Taylor surmised.

  “Corentin?” Taylor called out over the rows of cars. He turned to Lacey and tried not to sound as panicked as he was. “Do you see him anywhere?”

  Ringo yelped behind him, and Taylor spun about, only for Ray to punch him square in the nose.

  Taylor fell back. His lance clattered to the floor, then vanished in sparks of pink magic. “How did you get out?” he snapped as he scooted back on his rear.

  “Pay off a junkie with enough Dust and they’ll do anything.” A grizzled voice came from the shadows.

  Taylor’s gaze darted toward the sound of footsteps and the random ticking in a mishmash rhythm. He saw the bladed clock hand first, followed by its owner. The titan towered over all of them. Broad-chested, with watches that ticked off the seconds and minutes strapped from his wrists to his biceps. Each tick was a sliver off from the next. His gray-green leather coat shone with the imprints of reptilian scales.

  Taylor shook his head. “You’re Zane, aren’t you?” He looked to Ray for answers. “Aliss said you two were working together.”

  Zane propped his clock hand on one shoulder. He nodded to Lacey. “And she works for me.” He glanced to Ray. “Take him.”

  Taylor shot to his feet, then turned to run. Ray was already ahead of him and caught Taylor’s knee with a lock of golden hair. Taylor crashed against the tiles, his knee crackling on impact. He tried to summon his lance, but it wouldn’t come. Ray slapped another lock around Taylor’s hands. Using his hair, Ray pulled Taylor like a marionette.

  “Where’s Corentin?” Taylor snapped as he struggled against Ray’s magic.

  “Not here to save you, apparently,” Zane said with a shrug. He nodded to Ray. “Get going.”

  Ray flicked out another lock, this time snaking over Taylor’s throat. Taylor screeched as the lock constricted, squeezing his voice out of him.

  “Don’t fight it, Dragon,” Ray commanded him. “Someone’s been looking a very long time for you.”

  “Got the pixie?” Zane asked Lacey.

  Lacey nodded eagerly and presented her prize like a child with a postcard.

  Ringo trapped in a Ziploc bag, his face and lips slowly turning blue as he choked for air.

  Ringo! Taylor tried to scream, but he could only gag. He reached out to the one thing that could help him, and his draconic soul roused to serve her dragoon master. Under Taylor’s anger, Zee came forward like an ethereal torrent. Ray’s hair shredded into ash, and Taylor dropped to his feet.

  “Give him to me!” Taylor howled, his breath smoking with Zee’s rage. He didn’t need his lance or his armor. He dashed for Zane, ready to remove him from existence as quickly and painfully as possible.

  But Ray recovered from Taylor’s attack and was ready to go again. He ensnared Taylor around the wrist, then yanked him back. The force sent Taylor crashing onto the hood of a Camaro. It crumpled across the engine block on impact. Taylor bounced once, the wind bursting from his lungs with trails of acid from his stomach.

  “Hook wants him alive!” Lacey protested. “We can’t get the Dust if he’s dead!”

  Taylor reached out, his hand trembled, and his world grew dark. “Ri… Ri…,” he said in a scratchy rasp.

  Zane loomed over him, watching him over the tip of his nose in superiority. He pulled apart the Ziploc bag just enough for Ringo to get a new puff of air. He tossed Ringo at Taylor like he was a wad of trash.

  Taylor coughed as Ringo collided into his chest as dead weight. He tried to hold Ringo close, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate as they trembled from the shock.

  Ray, Zane, and Lacey all watched him, curious as to what he might do.

  His magic was unreliable, and Zee’s power was sporadic at best. And his own wit couldn’t get him out of this one.

  “Ready to go?” Zane asked, and Ray pulled out a storybook page.

  Taylor caught the Rapunzel illustration through the thin paper.

  Ray felt along the page and nodded to Lacey. “Words are supposed to work like this?”

  Lacey nodded. “Yes, yes! Just concentrate. Find your chapter.”

  Words? Chapter? Taylor’s head spun as he tried to concentrate on all the jargon being tossed about.

  Golden strands of hair rose from the storybook page in Ray’s hand. They reached for the ceiling, spinning, twirling, and then falling like voluminous curls at their feet.

  “Grab him,” Zane said.

  Lacey laid a hand on Taylor’s ankle and Zane slapped it off.

  “Not you,” he commanded. “You’re needed here. Suit up.”

  “But I want his dust!” she whined and feverishly pointed at Ringo.

  “You’ll have plenty waiting for you in your room,” he said somewhat dismissively. When she didn’t move, he snarled at her like a beast from the deep. “Go!”

  Taylor struggled to get up, but both Zane and Ray slapped a hand on his wrist and another gripped hi
s ankle.

  “We’re going.”

  A burst of gold threads showered over them and wrapped around all those gathered.

  Taylor whimpered. He wouldn’t be able to salvage his relationship with Corentin.

  But he would find out who wanted him.

  Taylor managed to put his fingertips on Ringo. And the world around them sank into the unforgiving light.

  Chapter 22: A Decent Man in an Indecent Time

  May 9

  Idea, Study Hall

  RUNNING AWAY wouldn’t solve anything. Corentin’s stomach churned with guilt and self-loathing. He should have fought for Taylor. He should have, but he didn’t. His cowardice urged him farther and farther down the maze of halls. He needed somewhere empty, somewhere he could be alone with his thoughts and have a chance to get it straight in his mind. Truthfully, he wanted a place to privately fall apart.

  A sign reading Study Hall up ahead seemed like the last option he could find. He shouldered open the heavy oak doors and then dashed through the rows of wooden desks. Corentin’s footfalls pounded like his heart over the tiles. Weaving through the short bookcases overstuffed with reference, he found his own private corner.

  Corentin slammed the journal onto the desk like a carcass and yanked off the bungee cord with a harsh snap. He let the bag drop at his feet and threw himself into the chair.

  He had to think. Think.

  Corentin buried his face in his hands and took several long, ragged breaths. He pulled his hands away.

  Fuck. Was he crying?

  Taylor’s tears had shattered him. They always did. Taylor was the stronger of the pair, but Taylor thought it was the other way around. He believed Corentin was the fierce protector from any who would dare do him harm. But in the end, Taylor gave Corentin the courage to move forward.

  It took bravery to let Taylor start updating his journals. But Corentin felt the frailty in doing so.