by Lex Chase
Taylor tipped forward just as a thick lock of golden hair shot upward to smash into his jaw. He fell back, crashing onto the rooftop gravel. Taylor spit blood and a chipped tooth. “Ray,” he grunted as he kicked up to his feet.
Across from him on the neighboring rooftop, Atticus crouched on a rooftop gargoyle. He waved his axe like a child’s toy. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take care of my fiendish master plan to make you stop trying to fix this mess.” He turned, waving over his shoulder. “Tah!”
Taylor took two steps forward, inches from chasing after, when Ray’s damned hair blocked his path.
Golden curls lashed to the fire escape railing and pulled tight, as Ray himself ascended by his own magical hair. He pulled off his knitted cap and swept a bow. “I’d apologize, Dragon, but I stopped making apologies when I married a Stepmother.” He smiled. “You understand, making your bed with the Axeman.”
Zee rumbled, echoing Taylor’s disgust. “Where are the children, Ray?”
“Gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Ringo said over Taylor’s shoulder. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you being skinned alive.”
Taylor skipped back, and Ringo zipped forward toward Ray. Relief washed over him; Ringo was alive and well. But there was no way Ringo could deliver on such a threat.
“Ringo?” Taylor called out, but then a hand settled on his shoulder. He spun about and looked up into Idi’s stern expression. He shook his head and immediately went on the defensive.
“Just trust me,” Idi said as he raised his hand toward Ringo. “I’m on your side.”
“Like fuck you are,” Taylor growled.
“In three seconds you will.” Idi nodded to his right. “After you, madam.”
Taylor arched a brow as Honeysuckle took flight from Idi’s right shoulder. “You’re in on this?”
Honeysuckle held up a finger. “One moment, pumpkin. This princess needs a trim.” She sped headfirst into danger, and Idi snapped his fingers. A thick length of silver wire materialized into Honeysuckle’s hands.
Ray swatted for Ringo, but Ringo dropped back and then traced figure eight patterns over Ray’s head, just out of reach.
Idi flicked his fingers, conjuring an oversized wrench into Ringo’s grasp.
“What are you doing?” Taylor asked.
Idi kept his attention on Ray. “Helping.”
As Ringo ran the distraction, Honeysuckle zipped in and wound the silver wire in a tight coil just behind Ray’s head. It held in place, despite being wound around the nothingness of air. Ray jerked away, but the coil held.
“It’s his hair,” Taylor said, catching on.
Idi nodded. “You’re up, Ringo.”
With a two-finger salute, Ringo spiraled around Ray and avoided being swatted. Honeysuckle provided the distraction by blowing bubbles into Ray’s eyes. Ringo took the wrench and tightened it onto the wired coils.
“Come.” Idi gestured to the two of them.
Ringo and Honeysuckle returned to his side, and Taylor looked on, bewildered and disbelieving.
Ray remained trapped in place as he squirmed against his bonds. Idi slowly twisted his wrist, and the wrench turned on the coil, tightening.
“What are you doing?” Taylor asked.
“Helping.” Idi twisted the wrench tighter, and Ray groaned as he squirmed.
“I said, what the fuck are you doing?” Taylor growled and raised his lance to Idi’s throat.
“Like you, I’m trying to save this Storyteller-forsaken city, and I’m trying to stop Atticus from causing even more damage,” Idi said, tightening the wrench.
Ringo and Honeysuckle nodded. “He’s legit,” Ringo said. “He saved me and Honeysuckle.”
“That doesn’t make sense…,” Taylor said, shaking his head. “Why?”
“It’s a very long, depressing story that will probably make you feel very uncomfortable about my history with your brother,” Idi said as he tightened the wrench again. Ray broke into sharp, pained screams. “Short version is, I fucked up, and I want to make it right.”
“Oh… kay…,” Taylor said as he still tried to wrap his head around it. “But you’re the Witchking. You’re a damned chaos dragon that burns Enchanted Forests to the ground and destroys entire kingdoms with a blink. You can do anything.”
“About that…,” Ringo said, pointing a finger.
Idi nodded, then frowned. “When I take a new vessel, my magic takes time to acclimate. I had possessed Charles since we were children. I’ve only been in this vessel for the last two years. I’m as powerful as an infant learning to crawl.” He tightened the wrench again. “Hence, why I can’t kill this deplorable filth outright and needed their help.”
The disconcerting sound of hissing and scraping against the concrete put Taylor on edge. The black cloud of the Skinners rose over the rooftop ledge, ready to do their master’s bidding.
“You need to get to Atticus,” Idi said. “I’ll take care of this. You three don’t need to see when I peel Ray’s scalp off.”
Taylor looked out over the city and listened for the sound of the most despair. Atticus had to be there. He turned back to Idi and tightened his grip on his lance. “You know this is all your fault, right.”
“I’m plainly aware,” Idi said as he concentrated on Ray, then glanced to the rising tide of Skinners.
“You know it’ll be a cold day in hell before I trust you.” Taylor stepped to the ledge and judged the distance across the street.
Idi smirked. “That’s good, because it’s twenty below, and here we are in this hell together.”
Taylor beckoned Ringo and Honeysuckle to his side, and the trio took off again.
Grumbling to himself, Taylor had a new problem to contend with.
Idi was now just as arrogant and insufferable as Corentin.
Chapter 29: Fever Dream
May 10
New Orleans Public Library, Algiers
“DEVEREAUX.”
The woman’s voice shot through his mind, brighter than sunlight.
“Fuck, Deveraux. Get up!”
With a groan and a cough, he squinted as the frozen concrete stung the back of his head. He blinked, and a blonde woman loomed over him, her red dress soaked in spatters of dried blood. She scowled at him, impatiently waiting for something. His death?
He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back against the ice-slicked railing. He clutched his head and felt the ragged gash along his scalp. His eyes widened as he yanked away his hands and gasped at his bloody fingers.
“You need to listen to me right now,” she said, taking a step toward him.
He threw out a hand. “What you need to do is back the fuck up,” he demanded.
With a quick glance to his left, the corpse of a young woman lay impaled on a bush root.
“Who’s she?” His voice trembled. “Who is she?” Anger and fear churned inside of him. Who was she? Who was he? Where was he? Why was he bleeding? His heart raced and his skin tingled with the pricks of adrenaline.
The woman in red raised her hands, trying to halt him. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Aliss Magnus. Your name is Corentin Devereaux, and she is Gabrielle Devereaux. She’s your sister.”
He puffed a frosted breath and sized her up. He had at least seventy pounds on her. He could overpower her if need be. “Where are we?” he asked as he shivered.
Her attitude shifted into calmness. “New Orleans, Louisiana.”
“You expect me to believe that?” He smirked. He could definitely take her.
She sighed. “I know how insane this is going to sound, but the three of us are called Enchants.” She patted her chest and seemed to search his face for understanding. “I’m the Queen of Hearts.” She pointed at him. “You are a huntsman.” And then swept a hand to the deceased woman. “Gabrielle is a witch.” She nodded to him. “We are allies. And right now, New Orleans is collapsing around us. A young man created this frozen wasteland, and we need to stop him before more people die.�
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He narrowed his eyes, considering her words. “That sounds far too insane to make up off the top of your head.”
Aliss smiled. “If you come with me, I’ll get us back to our friends, and I’ll tell you everything.”
He raised his eyes and listened to the sound of anguish in the distance. New Orleans glowed into the night. Not from beauty, but from fire as the city was rendered to ash. He nodded to her. “This is a war?”
“Very much so.” Her tone remained patient, a pleasant change from her irritation.
“How will we fight?”
“With the strength of our will.”
He smirked. “That doesn’t sound like a particularly good offense.”
She rolled her wrist, and a bolt of red light shot from her hand. A great sword in the peculiar shape of a cleaver materialized in her hand. She set her jaw. “I meant it.” She pointed to him. “Try it.”
He didn’t know where this was going, but he was going to give it a shot. He jerked out his right hand, trying to snatch some of this so-called magic. The heavy weight of a giant bow was in his hand. He clutched tightly before it could slip out of his grasp. As much as he thought her explanation was absurd, the familiarity of the bow suggested otherwise.
He didn’t know what he’d find there. But considering he had become a blank slate, any knowledge would be a gift.
“Well, we can’t hoof it.”
“And regrettably, I don’t have any magic that will get us closer.” Aliss rested her cleaver on her shoulder and seemed to consider options.
A blink of red caught his attention. He perked as the red flashed again from under a low-hanging tree. It wasn’t Aliss’s magic. “A taillight?” he asked to no one in particular as he moved closer.
The taillight flickered in the same rhythm, as if someone was pumping the brake. He waved her over.
“I think someone’s trapped in here.” He shook off the snowy branch, and it recoiled upright, freeing the trapped truck.
The red Ford F-150 looked like it had seen better days. The paint had peeled into an orangey, atomic-cherry shade, and cracked dash vinyl stood like tiny brittle scabs. The roof liner sagged into a hammock best made for a kitten. Or a rat.
Was there a rat nesting in here? Oh boy.
The headlights flashed, and the radio station dialed in random squeaking channels. The musical styles of perky pop princesses shifted to growling blues and then to the anthems of classic rock.
He stepped around the driver’s side.
It was empty.
The lights continued to blink and the radio dialed the mishmash of stations.
He drew his eyebrows together. “It seems….” He looked up at Aliss. “Happy?”
Aliss hurried to the passenger side. “And hopefully eager to help.”
He popped open the door, and an avalanche of Big Mac boxes clattered to the concrete. As he settled into the driver’s seat, as if it had been perfectly worn and fit the contours of his back.
Aliss climbed into the passenger side. She frowned as she kicked out the crumpled Starbucks cups and her boots crunched into the McDonald’s bags. “Couldn’t you have stolen something, what’s the word—clean?”
“It’s supposed to be like that,” he said as he flipped down the sun-rotted visor. The keys fell into his hand, and he grinned.
Like riding a bike.
He turned the key and revved the engine, listening to the comforting purr. Throwing the truck into reverse, he spun it out of the snowbank.
Aliss gasped, possibly trying for a scream and not quite getting there.
He tightened his grip on the wheel and licked his lip. “My name’s Corentin?”
She nodded and fastened her seatbelt.
“What kind of fucking douchey name is that?”
He hit the gas.
The Burning Streets of New Orleans
UNDER IDI’S command, Taylor took off after Atticus. Ringo and Honeysuckle flew alongside him as fast as their wings would beat, both resonating with their own chipper songs. Honeysuckle could fly in a straight, efficient path. Ringo was not so fortunate. He could keep the pace, but bobbed and rolled into frantic curlicues, thanks to his butterfly wings.
As Taylor bounded from rooftop to rooftop, his pink ribbons of light swathed the streets in massive wakes of primroses. The mundanes below yawned and curled into peaceful slumber.
He didn’t want to think about if Idi would deliver on his promise. Or even if he would kill Ray. Taylor’s trust in him was nonexistent at best, and a fragile thread of belief he was genuine at the worst. He was the Lord of Liars, after all, and was the pure embodiment of that title. Idi didn’t make promises to Enchants or witches. The only thing he delivered on was subjugating all of them.
Trails of glaciers erupted for entire blocks. The shrill crackles of the ice formations stabbed into Taylor’s inner eardrum, and he slipped from a roof ledge. He lost his grip on his lance, and it vanished from his fingers as he fell. Taylor lost his concentration for a regrettably long enough moment that he smacked into the roof of a car. Glass exploded around him, scraping his cheeks, then showering across the street and over sleeping mundanes. Around him, the primroses slowly blackened and wilted. The mundanes stirred from their slumber, and Taylor tried to slow his rapid breathing. His spell broke and the mundanes were on their feet again.
They mobbed him with insanity in their eyes. Fear gripped Taylor as he pulled himself from the ruined car. Every muscle ached as his magic faded. He had to concentrate on how to get it back without causing the most damage to the mundanes.
Groups of mundanes took hold of his arms and pulled him with his back against the car. He tried to kick away, but others took hold of his feet. One of them climbed over him, standing with his feet planted next to Taylor’s ribs. The mundane raised his bloodied baseball bat and snarled like the beast he had become.
Taylor closed his eyes, preparing for the worst.
There was a droplet of water on a still pond, and the mundanes fell back in heaps. Taylor blinked and found Honeysuckle and Ringo over him; they had encased him in the safety of a soap bubble.
The pixies exchanged high fives.
“Way to go on those countermeasures, Honeybee,” Ringo said.
“As you say”—Honeysuckle arrogantly shrugged—“eh, theatrics.”
“You two.” Taylor smirked.
“You okay, boyo?” Ringo asked as he fluttered to Taylor’s face. “Nothing broken? Nothing ruptured? Not dying?”
Taylor tried sitting up, careful to keep from accidentally brushing Honeysuckle’s bubble. “Not dying, I swear. I just lost my concentration. I didn’t know the mundanes could wake up if I botched it.” He shook his head, trying to clear away the fog.
“We didn’t know falling asleep nearly tears you apart too,” Ringo said, then thumbed his chin. “You don’t plan on randomly falling asleep in the next few minutes, do you?”
Taylor focused on his breathing, trying to find that sweet spot of the lucid dream, where his true power lay. “Don’t plan on it…,” he muttered as the soft stillness washed over him.
Ringo tugged on Honeysuckle’s sleeve. “I think our boy’s ready to rock again.”
As easy as the sunrise, Taylor rose to his feet. Honeysuckle dispersed the bubble, and she and Ringo shifted out of his way. Taylor’s lance materialized back in his hand, and he stepped off the crushed car with the same elegance and grace as if he was walking down the royal steps of a palace.
The mundanes cowered before him, unsure of what to do.
He flipped down his visor with a locking click, then tapped the butt of his lance to the cold ground.
Primroses flourished into Spring lushness, and the mundanes settled again.
Ringo waved Taylor off. “You go. We’ll be here tending to the mundanes.”
Honeysuckle pushed up her sleeves. “Nothing a good dose of tranquilizer magic on top of the Blooming Lullaby can’t fix.”
Ringo raised his brows.
“Whoa. Remind me to stay out of your way.”
“What are you doing?” Taylor shook his head.
Honeysuckle smirked, a devious disturbing twinkle in her eyes. “Casting magical Ambien. Can’t risk these guys getting up.”
Taylor glanced to Ringo. “They’re going to be holy Storyteller ouuuut,” Ringo said in a breathy growl.
“Can you cast the spell elsewhere?” Taylor asked.
Honeysuckle worked the soft yellow ball of energy between her palms. “I can’t move as fast or as widespread as you. I’ll need time between each casting, and there’s no way I can dose an entire city.”
Ringo cupped Taylor’s cheeks and touched his forehead to Taylor’s visor. “Whatever you do, don’t lose your concentration, or we’ll be in this mess all over again. Got it?”
Taylor nodded. “Like it was on a fire sale.”
Ringo bonked his fist on Taylor helm. “Atta boy. Time to save the fucking world again.”
“You know, I’m so over this preventing the apocalypse business,” Taylor said with a shrug. His armor plates clanked together with the gesture.
“Keeps life interesting.” Ringo smirked.
“Just don’t die, sweet pea,” Honeysuckle said with a kind smile.
Taylor smirked. “Thanks.”
Satisfied, he took off again. Taylor dashed through the fortress of glaciers, and with his will, ran up the rippled sides of the cackled surfaces. Primroses bloomed under his footfalls as he headed for the summit. The ice fractured under him and fluttered away into trails of flower petals.
As one glacier’s face slid under Taylor’s footing moments away from shearing off to the streets below, Taylor stabbed the blade of his lance into the ice. “Come on, Zee,” he whispered drowsily.
Zee took control. The invisible force of her spirit shot down his lance and into the ice. The titan glacier face burst into the sweetness of rose petals and drifted away on the wind, carrying Taylor’s Blooming Lullaby over half the city.
Tapping into Zee’s power, Taylor carried himself to the nearest rooftop. He couldn’t get an exact location due to his loss of the ability to read signage or two-dimensional objects. Only the bend in the Mississippi River served as a landmark.