Americana Fairy Tale (15 page)

He braced himself, counted to three, and then dashed through the stalks at a full sprint. The leaves whisked by, and petals licked at his face. Atticus wailed his pleasure and maintained his sprint for only ten seconds until he collapsed in a shivering heap. He pulled his knees into his body and shuddered. “So good… so good…,” he whispered.

The cooling salve of a shadow crept over him, and he rolled onto his back to greet the man standing over him. “Feels good to let go, doesn’t it?” Charles asked, his eyes flickering like green flames.

It was two pleasure-drunk seconds too late when Atticus recognized Charles. “Ch-Cha-Char…,” Atticus stammered, still shivering and on the peak of a perpetual orgasm.

“Shhhh…,” Charles said. He stooped over Atticus and ran a finger over his cheek. Atticus screamed as his pleasure rampaged again. “You like that?”

Tears of the frustration of unending desire stung Atticus’s eyes. “Uh-huh…” was the only thing he could manage to get out. His body seized with a sudden burst of pleasure, and he groaned drunkenly. “You did
this
,” Atticus ground out through clenched teeth.

“This is what Taylor has,” Charles said as he took a seat next to the writhing Atticus. “Taylor has this
every day
.” He picked at a few blades of grass. “He has the freedom to give in to the pleasure of whatever he desires. He doesn’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks. He does what he wants, how he wants, on his terms.”

As his body jerked with a spasm again, Atticus watched Charles. He didn’t understand. And this was important, but he was too far gone to truly care.

“You ran through those sunflowers,” Charles said, then smiled. “That was your choice. You were taking ownership of your innermost desire. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Atticus tossed his head back and cried out as another climax came, more intense than the last. “Yes, yes,
yes
!” he bellowed.

“Are you agreeing? Or are you just thanking Mother Storyteller I found a way for you to finally get off?”

“God,” Atticus cried out. “This is amazing….” He drifted off, panting for breath.

“And it can keep being amazing,” Charles said, considering the blades of grass in his hand.

“
Fuck
,” Atticus gasped as his back arched against his will. “I’m… I’m….”

“The word is ‘coming,’ sweetheart. You’re doing it. Go ahead and say it.”

Atticus fell into Charles’s kind smile. His eyes watered, and he slammed his hands into the grass. “I’m coming
hard
!” Atticus roared, and his body trembled.

Charles laughed, and Atticus was enthralled by the sound. “I think you overdosed yourself on the magic,” Charles said. “Enchants kill themselves that way. Going out with a smile, as they say.” He swirled his finger just over Atticus’s forehead. “Okay, let’s cool those hormones. I need you to listen to me. If you listen, I’ll let you go running through the sunflowers until you pass out.”

Clarity returned to Atticus’s mind. He put a hand to his chest, feeling the slow slam of his heart. He gulped several deep breaths as the last waves of pleasure coursed out of him.

“Before you say anything,” Charles said, and Atticus gestured to interrupt. Charles halted him. “I’m on
your side
.”

Atticus hesitated. “My side? How can you be on my side?” he croaked.

“I want to see you succeed,” Charles said. “My methods may seem questionable to you right now, but you’ll see the validity soon enough.”

Atticus slowly sat up. He realized he sat side by side with Charles, but he didn’t feel any urge to run away. Or even the urge to punch him. It was peculiarly pleasant sitting next to him in the small patch of grass. Atticus looked away before he could be drawn in by Charles’s spiky blond hair and haunting blue eyes.

“Atticus,” Charles said, and Atticus met his gaze. “I know how you kill yourself with keeping it all in. How you hide what you feel, who you feel for. How you mask your anger and jealousy at Taylor. How you’re forced to clean up the mess time and again. The pressure to be the good
one and the perfect one. It’s too much for one person to bear. You need to let it go.”

Atticus frowned, and the shame made him shiver. He stood suddenly and turned away. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know Taylor stole a dance as well as a phone number of a young man named Vladimir at a Hatfield Jubilee when you were teens.”

Atticus stiffened. “Don’t say it,” he said in warning.

“You loved Vladimir,” Charles said without any hint of malice or disgust. “And when Taylor bragged about it, you knew then you couldn’t let anyone know you wanted to know a man’s touch as well.”

“It’s not true,” Atticus whispered and clenched his fist.

“Start taking ownership of your wants,” Charles said and slowly rose to his feet. “I’m on your side.”

Atticus spun on his heel and roared in Charles’s face, “It’s
not
true!”

Charles stood motionless.

Panic raced through Atticus’s mind. He fought to bury his innermost thoughts and make it convincing enough. “As Snow White, I have responsibilities, things that I have to constantly stay on top of. Meeting the rare female princes, considering weddings, discussing compatibility with carrying on our lines. I want to get married. I want to be a father. I want to live happily ever after with my Prince Charming!” Atticus was screeching before he knew it.

Charles didn’t blink. And the silence hung between them.

“There’s only one thing you said in that diatribe that was true,” Charles said, crossing his arms.

Atticus wasn’t winning, and Charles was digging truth out of him stone by stone. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want,” Atticus begged him. “Can everything go back to the way it was? I just want my brother back. I’ll do anything to have my brother back. Please. Charles. Please. Stop this.”

Charles smirked. The expression made Atticus’s stomach tighten once again. “A kiss,” Charles said, and Atticus barked a sound of horror.

“I-I can’t,” Atticus stammered helplessly. “I won’t. I’m not like that!” He clutched at Charles’s shirt. “Please, please. Not that. Anything but that.”

Charles rested his hands gently over Atticus’s own. The warmth of his fingers made Atticus shiver. “I’m on your side, Atticus. I haven’t lied to you,” Charles said. His tone was even, patient.

Atticus’s mouth wiggled into a frown. Charles was right; he’d do it without thinking. After the immense gift of pleasure Charles had given him, his body craved to repay his kindness and test both of their limits. Atticus fought his decision to believe Charles. He had to have been lying. He was Idi the Witchking, returned to enslave the world. He was the Lord of Liars himself. But Atticus couldn’t pull away from their closeness.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, clearly embarrassed. “I shouldn’t have forced you. That was horrific. How about you remain with me as my guest? No more being locked in that awful room, no more cages of children’s bones. You will have full reign of your own home. Just stay with me a little while.”

Atticus sucked in a sharp breath when Charles hooked two fingers under his chin and guided their eyes to meet.

“Will you stay with me?” Charles asked. Something in his smile made Atticus warm, but his confused emotions didn’t know what to make of it.

Atticus weighed his options. If he refused, he’d probably be thrown into an oven and eaten. If he agreed…. His mind drew a blank on what could come of it. Was he simply agreeing to being horrifically disposed of anyway? “Y-y-yes…,” Atticus said in barely a whisper.

“Yes?” Charles asked, and Atticus met his blue gaze.

Atticus placed his hand on Charles’s and squeezed gently. He nodded. “I’ll stay.”

M
AKING
M
EMORIES

Wigwam Motel, Holbrook, Arizona

June 7

T
HE
WARMTH
of the rising sun stirred Taylor into slow, easy, waking dreams. Lying on a beach, he let the cool Caribbean waves lick his toes. The gulls cawed overhead, and the trees swayed in the lazy breeze. He sighed, squinted against the light, and opened his eyes to the reality of the Wigwam Motel. Corentin’s astringent motor-oil scent, mingled with the moldy carpet, crept up his nose. It was that curious scent of something sweet with something rotten, and he couldn’t tell one from the other. His eyes itched with the airborne allergens. The white concrete walls gleamed like an institutional prison in the yellow light.

It was dirty. Taylor knew this. He loathed himself for his lustful urges. He hated himself as he lay there, savoring Corentin’s flannel on his naked skin. It reeked of motor oil, coffee, metal, and
man
. He clenched his fist into the blanket, forcing the thoughts away.

Ringo flitted into view over the mound of blankets. His mouth quirked a mixture of disapproval and sarcasm Taylor didn’t understand. “Mmm.
Hmm
,” Ringo murmured.

Taylor arched a brow. “Wha—” He froze when Corentin’s hand pressed at the small of his back and pulled Taylor closer to him.

Reality came into sharp, pinpoint focus when Taylor found himself using Corentin’s broad, tattooed chest as a pillow. Taylor’s own hand had settled upon the crook of Corentin’s neck and shoulder. And Corentin cradled him close with all the loving care of holding intricate origami.

Taylor swallowed hard. His body flushed with nerves and heat. How did they get like this? Was it another dream? Was he sleepwalking? Sleep
cuddling
? He had to get out of the bed. And he had to do it without waking Corentin.

Taylor shot Ringo a panicked glance. He mouthed the words, “
I didn’t do it
.” But even he wasn’t sure. He pulled back from Corentin, but Corentin wouldn’t budge. He seemed adamant on maintaining his loving embrace with Taylor. Taylor glanced at Ringo again and urgently mouthed, “
Help
?”

Ringo raised his palm and slowly wiggled his tiny fingers. Taylor nodded and pulled away from Corentin easier this time. Taylor slipped from the bed and crept into the bathroom. He pushed the bathroom door shut inch by inch, keeping the hinges silent. He twisted and held the doorknob, silently shutting the door with not so much as a click of bolts and tumblers.

He turned on the bathroom light and stared directly into it. His eyes watered, his nose itched, and with one sniff, he sneezed a puff of gold glitter.

From the glittering cloud, Ringo emerged. He didn’t seem pleased. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Ringo asked and crossed his arms.

“Me?” Taylor asked in a harsh whisper. “Nothing is wrong with me. Just… just….” He looked at himself in the mirror and frowned at his state. Flushed face, disheveled hair, bags under the eyes, gaunt from hunger and dehydration, he sighed. “Fuck. I’m a mess.”

“You got that right,” Ringo said. “We gotta focus here. Stick to the mission.”

“Right,” Taylor said, nodding once. He smoothed his bedhead, and it didn’t do any good. “Right. Atticus. Right,” he said to his reflection. He nabbed his clothes off the towel rod and quickly shuffled into them. “I think we should leave him,” Taylor said. “Corentin, I mean.”

“You’re not going to like what I have to say,” Ringo said with a stern expression.

“Shoot,” Taylor said. “Can’t get much worse.”

“I think we need him,” Ringo said, and his words hit Taylor in the gut.

“What? W-why?” Taylor asked, and his stomach clenched. His cheeks heated, and he knew Ringo could see his embarrassment.

“Quests are always in pairs,” Ringo said. “Jack and Jill, Hansel and Gretel, the baker and his wife, you get it.”

Taylor slumped as Ringo dealt him a crushing blow. After a moment, Taylor brightened. “But there’s
you
. We’re a trio.”

“Pixies don’t count,” Ringo said in a flat tone.

Taylor frowned. “You are
so
making this shit up.”

“I am not,” Ringo said and tossed his hand out in a wide arc. “It’s Enchant legalese. I have to know this stuff. And it wouldn’t hurt you to study up on it once in a while.”

Taylor pressed his palms to the vanity edge and loomed over Ringo. “We need to stop fighting. And we need to get out of here. Now.”

“We can’t go without Corentin,” Ringo said with irritation.

Taylor had had enough nonsense and placed his hand on the doorknob. “Watch me.”

He swung open the door and came nose to nose with Corentin. Taylor froze. Corentin had nothing but murder in his gaze. Corentin tilted his head in a slow, smooth pivot, clearly inspecting Taylor. Taylor’s skin broke into gooseflesh.

“Coren—” Taylor managed to choke out before Corentin lashed out and grabbed him by the throat. Taylor wheezed on the strangling grip, and Corentin pulled Taylor close to him.

Corentin’s mouth hovered an inch from Taylor’s. Taylor gasped. It was like Corentin could suck out his soul if he got too close. Corentin panted through gritted teeth. But it was Corentin’s two questions that frightened Taylor….

“
Who are you? Where am I
?”

“W-what?” Taylor choked out. When Corentin wouldn’t release him, Taylor had to do something. He realized Ringo had been no help in keeping him safe on this whole crazy journey. “What the fuck are you doing?” Taylor screeched and drove his knee into Corentin’s crotch.

Corentin gasped, dropping Taylor into a heap on the floor.

Taylor scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door. In a panic, he tried to rip it open, but it merely rattled in the frame. He glanced from Corentin to the door and found the deadbolts and chain still in place. Of course, he’d forgotten the door was locked. Taylor would chide himself about this later, provided he survived this moment. “Ringo!” Taylor yelled. “Little help here?”

“On it,” Ringo called from the bathroom.

Taylor watched Corentin and noticed him hesitating from the sound of the second voice. Something was so wrong about the situation, and he had to be out of it
now
. Not only out, but in Corentin’s truck and far, far away. Taylor’s hands trembled as he fought the deadbolt. His hands slipped over the stubborn stuck metal. “Come on…,” Taylor whined, trying the lock again.