Americana Fairy Tale (16 page)

From behind him, Corentin roared. He had gotten to his feet, and Taylor darted away from the door. The tiny interior of the room had no place to run. There was the bathroom, but the door was like papier-mâché. Corentin could easily kick it in.

“Ringo!” Taylor yelped. Corentin lunged for him again, and Taylor instinctively reached for the nearest weapon. The weapon in question happened to be the wooden desk chair. The chair splintered on the impact of meeting Corentin’s shoulder. Corentin crashed to the floor, howling as he caught himself awkwardly on his palms.

Taylor was rapidly running out of ideas on self-preservation. Corentin was going to be on his feet in seconds, and Taylor probably couldn’t hold him off for much longer in a fifteen-foot motel room arena.

“Banzaaaaaai!” Ringo screeched his war cry in a voice-cracking pitch. He zipped out of the bathroom, pulling the plastic shower curtain behind him like a net.

Corentin halted, and he seemed shocked by the appearance of Ringo. The pixie made his move and dive-bombed Corentin with the shower curtain. He worked quickly, trussing up Corentin like a honey-baked ham. Corentin struggled against his plastic trap, to no avail.

Taylor relaxed for a moment. He smiled at his fairy godfather.

Ringo flashed him a thumbs-up. “Where would you be without me?” Ringo asked, crossing his arms in a snooty fashion. He lunged at Corentin in the way blue jays kept predators from their nests. “And
stay
down! Yeah. That’s right,” Ringo taunted Corentin.

“Ringo…,” Taylor said softly. “Maybe… that’s not a good idea.”

Ringo flew in little circles around Corentin’s struggling body. “He doesn’t look so tough now.”

Corentin’s struggles grew weaker. Taylor’s pulse quickened. “Ringo…,” Taylor said in warning.

“What? I got him,” Ringo said.

Corentin lay still.

“
Holy shit
!” Taylor cried out and immediately ripped the plastic curtain away from Corentin’s face. “Don’t be dead. Come on. Don’t be dead. I’m sorry about what I said. I’m sorry about a lot of stuff. Oh Storyteller, don’t be dead!”

Corentin smiled at Taylor from his spot on the floor. He said nothing.

Ringo hovered over Taylor’s shoulder. “His… face… doesn’t say we did the right thing,” Ringo said. He fluttered back a foot.

“C-Corentin?” Taylor asked. But Ringo knew.

Corentin only had the desire to kill in his malicious smile.

“I will take you apart,” Corentin said, slowly getting to his feet.

Taylor stood still, too scared to run, too fascinated by the true horror of Corentin’s huntsman persona, which was likely always under the surface.

“I will dismantle you,” Corentin said, straightening to his full height. “Finger by finger and tooth by tooth.”

“Why are you being like this?” Taylor asked and pressed his back to the desk. His hand landed on Corentin’s monstrous book. Sharp pain shot through Taylor’s palm.

“Because… you’re in my way,” Corentin said with a jackal grin.

Taylor gasped and turned, looking for the potential weapon. The book seemed like it would give Corentin a nasty enough concussion.

“Answer the question!” Corentin bellowed. “Who the
fuck
are you? What am I
doing here
?”

Corentin lunged forward, and Taylor reached for the book. The second he gripped it, a black burst of shadow pierced into Taylor’s chest.

“Taylor!” Ringo howled, zooming to Taylor’s side as he fell.

He screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor, shuddering but conscious and aware. The book fell open next to him and exposed the first chapter, written in Corentin’s own hand.

Corentin halted, clearly confused, and Ringo glared up at him.

“Aren’t you a big fucking man?” Ringo asked. “Going to kill a princess when he has no way of defending himself.”

“No…,” Corentin said softly and somehow seemed concerned that Taylor was hurt. But there was something in his gaze as he studied the book. Even if he didn’t recognize Taylor, he recognized the strange journal.

With a trembling, numb hand, Taylor reached out and pointed at the open page. “R-read…,” he stammered.

Corentin nodded. It seemed his urge to kill Taylor had abated. He stooped and scooped up the journal. Taylor rolled to his back, panting and watching Corentin curiously study his own handwriting.

Ringo hovered inches from Taylor’s chest. “You okay?” Ringo asked.

Taylor nodded slowly in a trembling gesture. They both watched Corentin intensely study his journal. Corentin squinted. He touched the writing, and tendrils of black shadow curled around his fingertips. His eyes shimmered into an acidic green as he read.

“W-what’s… happening?” Taylor asked, still trying to breathe.

“I’m remembering,” Corentin said, not looking up from his journal.

Ringo’s wings drooped slightly with confusion before he righted himself with three sure flutters. “Remembering what?”

“
Me
,” Corentin said, seeming to fall into a deeper trance as he read.

Taylor sat up and pressed his palm to his forehead. Ringo was at his side in an instant. Taylor met Ringo’s concerned gaze. “You don’t look so good,” Ringo said and patted Taylor’s cheek.

Taylor jerked forward, slapping a hand over his mouth. “Excuse me,” he quickly spit out. He leaped to his feet, wobbled, and staggered into the bathroom. His knees buckled, and he collapsed in front of the toilet. He caught himself on the toilet seat and promptly vomited the poison of dark magic.

When the nausea passed, Taylor spit into the toilet and then stood. He shakily staggered to the sink to wash his mouth out. After a few swigs of Arizona water delivered via old plumbing, Taylor coughed again on the bitter taste.

“I am
so
out of here,” Taylor said and stormed out of the bathroom. He would take the keys and get the hell out of Dodge, or wherever the hell he was. Corentin could stay and rot in his pit. Taylor stopped when he saw Corentin staring at him from the bed with his journal in his hands. His expression seemed to return to normal.

“Taylor,” Corentin said and then offered a small smile.

Taylor leaned back on his heel, ready to turn and run. He’d shove himself through the minuscule bathroom window if he had to.

“I’m Corentin Devereaux.”

Taylor swallowed. “Yeeeees. We covered that part.”

“I’m Cronespawn.”

Ringo zipped out of the bathroom and landed on Taylor’s shoulder. “You’re
what
?” Ringo asked, and his jaw dropped. “You mean to tell me you’ve been half-witch all this time?”

Taylor raised his hands to halt Ringo’s antics. “Whoa, whoa, what? I thought Cronespawn had been exterminated centuries ago.”

“Apparently not,” Corentin said calmly. “It’s my curse. I’m not a Storyteller.” He rested the journal in his lap and pointed to the open page.

Taylor tilted his chin upward to get a peek at the pasted-in drawing. He blinked when he recognized the intricate line drawings of Gustave Doré. The same style as Corentin’s oak tree tattoo.

“Hansel and Gretel…,” Taylor whispered.

“My ancestors were Hansel and the child-eating hag,” Corentin said, then tapped the pages of his journal. “It says here Hansel sacrificed Gretel and had a child with the hag. The hag cursed him every seven days to forget what he had done. All he knew was his devotion to her.”

“And so it continues,” Taylor said. He tried to take it in and not let his expression betray his hair standing up on the back of his neck. What was he thinking? Having fantasies about a half-witch? A
Cronespawn
? Was he insane?

Taylor blinked once as his thoughts rampaged. He turned away from the topless and tattooed Corentin. He looked out the tiny window, trying to ignore the dryness in his mouth over the deliciously elegant oak tree tattoo scrawled over Corentin’s arm and creeping over his collarbone with the full, leafy boughs. Taylor frowned.
Leafy boughs
? That wasn’t right. What wasn’t right about it? Taylor tried to remember.

Corentin nodded. “It says you’re
Curseless
in my notes.”

Taylor startled when Corentin addressed him. He blushed at the reminder of his status. “Yeah, kinda sucks,” Taylor muttered. “Hey.” He turned to face Corentin. “About your tattoo….”

Corentin nodded and held out his wrist. “Pretty crazy, isn’t it?” He looked his tan arm over. “It’s the spirit of an oak from the gingerbread house.”

Ringo’s wings drooped, and he slowly sank to the desk. “It’s a spirit. Of a tree. From your ancestor’s house?” Ringo asked, slowly trying to put it together.

“And only one branch had leaves last night,” Taylor said.

By Taylor’s subconscious suggestion, Corentin quirked his head to better observe all the foliage.

“Now all seven branches have leaves…,” Taylor said and tried to explain something he wasn’t sure made sense.

“It’s a mark,” Corentin said. He flipped a page and pointed at his notes. “There was an oak tree outside the kitchen window of the hag’s gingerbread house. Gretel took seven days to…
properly
prepare.” Corentin cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced at Taylor. Taylor got his point. “As the hag prepped and cooked the various ingredients, each day a tree bough lost its leaves. On the seventh day, the tree had lost all of the leaves due to the poisonous fumes. It was on the seventh day… Hansel remembered.”

Ringo tilted his head. He pointed a finger. “But why do you forget?”

Corentin squinted at his handwriting. “Fairy tales never make much sense, do they…? This one is not that clear in my notes.”

Taylor clenched his fist. “It’s your
history
. You should know!”

Corentin furrowed his brow. “And what about yours? Taylor Andrew Hatfield, the
Curseless
princess?” The way Corentin said it shot ice into Taylor’s chest. “Your history is as murky as ever.”

“This is not about me,” Taylor snapped and stamped his foot. “This is about you. And if I can trust you to help me save my brother!”

“Snow White,” Corentin said as if he was considering the name. “I suppose I’m the best option you have right now.”

Taylor’s frown pulled into a grimace of anger. “This is not helping.”

Ringo hopped to his feet on the edge of the desk. “Corentin’s right, though. He is the best option we have right now. You need him to complete this quest.”

Taylor watched Corentin for a long moment. Their eyes met, and Taylor refused to break contact. It was less of a challenge and more like he couldn’t stop. He looked into those coal black eyes and couldn’t find trust or truth, but he couldn’t find a promise of betrayal either. He shivered with the memory of their morning embrace. Was it a trick? Or was it real? Why did it matter? Atticus was the only thing that mattered. Saving Atticus as soon as possible was an imperative.

“What do we do about next time?” Taylor asked. Both Corentin and Ringo watched him. “The next time you forget and turn into a psycho again.”

Corentin smirked. “Just tie me down next time.”

Taylor choked and blushed furiously. “Um… uh….”

“I’m serious,” Corentin said and slowly stood from the bed. “That way you can be protected from me.”

Taylor shivered at the thought. He banished it quickly from his mind. “We need to get going. Now.”

“To save Atticus, your brother,” Corentin said. He shuffled around the room and gathered his T-shirt and jacket.

Corentin pulled on the thin cotton tee, and Taylor could still make out the outlines of his tattoo. Taylor averted his gaze and muttered, “Your flannel is in the bathroom. I wore it to bed.” Instantly, he regretted saying it.

“Did you?” Corentin said, cracking a slow grin.

Taylor’s ears burned with embarrassment. “I’ll be outside waiting in the truck. The keys are on the nightstand.” He pointed, then tucked a dark lock behind his ear. “Come on, Ringo.”

Ringo took flight from the desktop and drifted after Taylor in lazy corkscrews. Taylor didn’t look back at Corentin as he stepped out into the blistering Arizona sun. He shuffled to the truck and tried the handle. The handle snapped out of his grasp. He sighed. Of course, for a total junker, the automatic locks still worked. He lightly bonked his head into the window and sighed.

“Dude,” Ringo said and perched on the roof of the truck. “You are just one big frazzled ball of hormones.”

Taylor narrowed his eyes. “Can we drop that part for now?”

The motel room door slammed, and Taylor startled. Corentin circled the truck with a refreshed grin. Taylor’s stomach wouldn’t stop knotting up. Corentin clicked the lock on the truck, and Taylor immediately tried the door again. Again the handle snapped out of his fingers. Corentin pulled the driver side door open and clicked the interior lock. Taylor ripped the passenger side door open and slipped into the seat. In silence, he and Corentin buckled their seat belts, and Taylor refused to make eye contact. As he reached for the door, Ringo slipped in, assuming his place on the dashboard.

Corentin shifted the truck into drive and smiled at Taylor in a way that made his toes curl.

“You can keep wearing my flannel to bed,” Corentin said with a broad grin.

C
ORKSCREW
T
URN

Somewhere on the Open Road….

June 7

C
ORENTIN
AND
Taylor sat in the silence of the truck as Ringo napped in the backseat. Corentin listened to the whisper and muted growl of the changing pavement under the tires. Cautiously, he glanced at the gas gauge. He pressed his lips together in confusion when the needle read they were topped off. After all the driving they had done, the truck seemed good to go. At least Idi threw them a bone on that point. Corentin wasn’t going to mention or challenge it. He was certain Idi could change his mind any second.

Corentin discreetly stole a glance at Taylor and then considered his hand. He had awoken first at the Wigwam Motel with Taylor cozied up to him, and he had been too confused to move. He couldn’t remember Taylor’s face or if they had done anything the night before. The other peculiar part, he thought as he rubbed his fingers, was how uncomfortably warm Taylor had felt against him. Not quite a burning sensation, but like holding his hand over an open flame for almost too long. Taylor had thankfully left for the bathroom at the time, and the cooling sensation of Taylor’s absence had washed over Corentin instantly, like being doused in aloe from head to toe. That’s when things had gotten confusing, scary, and very real, very fast. It was that moment Corentin saw Taylor as a threat rather than a casual fuck for the night he didn’t remember.