Americana Fairy Tale (24 page)

He hadn’t warned Taylor about the other tourists, and he gasped when Taylor tripped over a child and landed on his back. Corentin was still too far away, and Phillipa was nearly upon him.

A puff of glitter, followed by a flash of pink, and Ringo put himself between Taylor and Phillipa.

Phillipa refused to relent, and Ringo unleashed a burst of magic over the pavement. Phillipa slid over the now-slippery surface of the sidewalk, fumbling to stay upright. Her momentum carried her forward as Taylor found his footing again. She collided with him and gripped Taylor for balance. Instead, he tumbled forward into her, and together they slid across the magical ice. Taylor flailed to get free of Phillipa as they twisted and turned. He landed a good kick to her stomach, and she fell flat on her back. She let out a snarl from the pain. As Taylor tried to skate away, Phillipa latched on to his ankle, and he fell face-first. Phillipa used him for leverage to get to her feet and summoned her saber once again.

Corentin reached the edge of the magical ice and tried to lean in and reach for Taylor’s toe, but he was too far out of reach. “Taylor, Taylor, get up!” Corentin yelled.

Phillipa glanced at Corentin, offering a smirk as she punted Taylor in the stomach and set him skidding across the surface. “I’m going to enjoy this,” Phillipa said and licked her lips. She had figured out the surface and skated easily across.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Ringo said and let loose another burst of magic that made the pavement even slicker.

Phillipa slipped forward, losing her balance. She flopped to the surface again, and her saber bounced out of her hand.

Ringo hovered over Taylor, urging him to get up. The saber sailed toward them, and Ringo noticed it at the last second. Corentin, thankfully, had circled around Taylor and Ringo and snatched the saber before it could cleave Ringo in two.

Phillipa struggled to stand but couldn’t get a grip on the surface. Ringo let loose another burst of magic, this time affixing Phillipa’s hands and feet to the pavement. She screamed her rage.

Corentin smirked to Ringo. “Good work, little man.” He stooped over the motionless Taylor. Corentin frowned as he brushed his scruffy hair from his eyes and noticed the knot on his forehead. “He’s out.”

“Crap,” Ringo said glumly. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I thought you were supposed to protect him from everything from paper cuts to bee stings,” Corentin said and placed the point of the saber against the pavement. He tilted the blade and placed his foot along the broad side. He gave a slow pressure so as to not slice his boot open. The blade bent and then snapped. He kicked aside the pieces. “She won’t be needing that anymore.”

“I can only protect him from immediate dangers to his life,” Ringo said, and Corentin scooped Taylor up in his arms.

Corentin braced for the sensation of Taylor burning like white-hot iron in his arms. There was the heat, and it was growing. He had to hurry to the truck before the power of the curse took him and he finished what Phillipa had set out to do.

“So he can take a hell of a beating until you step in,” Corentin said and nodded to the passenger door of the truck. “Get that for me.” He kept his expression even as Taylor smoldered in his arms.

“Regrettably,” Ringo said, popping open the door.

Corentin carefully set Taylor into the passenger seat and bit his lip as the contact of his bare hands on Taylor’s arms and legs sizzled. Ringo seemed not to notice any of it. Perhaps it was something only Corentin could see, hear, and feel.

Once Taylor was settled, Corentin brushed Taylor’s scruffy hair away from his forehead again. He took a look at the ugly bump on his forehead. “That’s not going to be pretty.” He glanced at Ringo. “Did you guys get the Red Bulls? We need something cold for his head.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ringo said and pulled two human-sized cans from his pockets.

Corentin’s jaw hung open.

Ringo held out a can expectantly.

“How…?” Corentin started to ask but couldn’t think of what to say. He shook his head. “Come on. I’ll drive. Hold the can to his head.” He grabbed the other can from Ringo’s hand. “I’ll take this.” Slipping into the driver’s seat, Corentin popped the tab on the can. He took a long chug and broke out into strangling coughs.

Ringo wrinkled his nose as Corentin started the truck. “Go down the wrong pipe?”

“Naw,” Corentin said, putting the truck into drive. “This shit tastes like metallic ass.”

H
ELP
M
E
B
REATHE

Hatfield Plantation, Atlanta, Georgia

June 8

W
HEN
A
TTICUS
agreed to remain Charles’s guest, he wasn’t aware of the immense relief at the time. He couldn’t help but smile that he had the run of the estate, and he didn’t have to fear any trickery or cages of the bones of children. The monstrous flock of crows had to have been a trick, because not a crow could be seen in the old oaks. Charles had been teaching him a lesson, Atticus surmised. A lesson that, under immense pressure, he still had what it took to succeed. Atticus no longer had to walk in fear with Charles looking out for him. The safety was comforting.

Honeysuckle, on the other hand, was not so convinced. She had been fearful and defiant, and without her magic, she was proving to serve no purpose. Atticus knew she had to be let go. He knew it was an act of respect, or perhaps an act of liberation from her constant mothering. He was grown now. He had the ability to make his own decisions. Charles helped him see that. Charles helped him take ownership of his body, his thoughts, and the permission to feel pleasure. The hesitancy was still there, but it was the temptation of him doing something bad that made his face flush.

Honeysuckle’s wings annoyingly buzzed over his shoulder, shaking him from his daydreams. Atticus strolled to the end of the plantation drive, and Honeysuckle flew next to him, wringing her hands.

“Where are we going, child?” Honeysuckle asked in a worried tone. She had bathed since the escape attempt in the kitchen, but the worry was starting to take a toll on her plump face.

Atticus didn’t dare tell Honeysuckle about the sensual sunflowers that helped him discover the pleasure he had long repressed. His skin tingled with the thought of exploring what else he had denied himself. And he couldn’t wait for Charles to teach him. “Just taking a walk,” Atticus responded with a kind smile. “It’s good to finally get some air.”

“How can you be so sure?” Honeysuckle asked. “Idi is waiting in the shadows to strike again.”

Idi
. Charles’s true name made Atticus’s heart thump.

“He is not,” Atticus said, hiding his annoyance. “He promised us.” Atticus’s flip-flops
clop-clopped
on the pavement as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He tossed his head, coaxing the layered sweep of bangs out of his eyes.

“How can you trust him?” Honeysuckle asked. Her voice held a nervous quality. Atticus gritted his teeth. “He’s the King of Lies,” she continued.

Atticus clenched his fist, hidden in his pocket. “Then trust in me.” Atticus tried not to say it too forcefully.

Charles was on his side and had always been. Atticus couldn’t tell Honeysuckle that. She’d scream at him that Charles had tricked him and say what Atticus was feeling now wasn’t real. Atticus must stay strong and not fall for the temptation of witches.

Atticus smirked with the knowledge that Honeysuckle had likely taken comfort in the thought that Atticus would remain pure until his true love came for him. He would never be able to consummate anything without a prince who could unlock the Princesshood spell. But Charles had found a way. Atticus recalled how his heart raced and his body throbbed with the bolts of pleasure and the sweet come spraying into his shorts. He had become addicted, and it was not an addiction he wanted to break.

As they neared the end of the plantation drive, his thoughts drifted to the guilt, the wrongness of what he felt, and how he had lost sight of what was happening. Taylor was still out there somewhere. Atticus shook his head, dismissing the creeping dread. He wasn’t sure he wanted Taylor to come back. Taylor would see the growing desire Atticus had for Charles and take it away from him.

Atticus knew he’d do anything to keep Charles and his pleasurable magic to himself.

Taylor didn’t deserve that chance. Taylor too needed to be taught a lesson for his rebellion and foolishness. He needed to be taught compliance. Atticus knew it was compliance, exemplary behavior, and years of repression that eventually earned immense reward. It was the act of staying strong that earned Atticus the push he needed to be even stronger. Be whole.

But Atticus knew Charles had been right about Taylor. Atticus’s own brother had left him with the weight of the Hatfield clan squarely on his shoulders and didn’t seem to care. He resented Taylor, and he had for years. It was a matter of opening his heart and accepting the sibling bond Atticus wanted with Taylor but which was never reciprocated.

Atticus kept Taylor’s phone in his pocket; the sentimental photos of snow and Taylor’s plea to be crowned Snow White were a clear threat to Atticus’s title. Taylor always wanted what Atticus had. And Taylor always got his way. And when Taylor didn’t at first, he figured out how to do it.

Taylor got to leave. He got to escape. He got to
live
.

Atticus didn’t. He never had those chances. He had to stand tall, hold his head up, smile and make small talk. No one saw how he died a little bit every day on the inside. No one saw how his brow twitched at the sight of an attractive man. No one saw when the closest to erotica he could come was a men’s fitness magazine. He didn’t even have pornography on his laptop. He didn’t even look it up.

Now, for Atticus, the fog had been lifted. Charles had kept the truth hidden all these years. Charles and Atticus grew up together in close company. As much as Atticus tried to ignore the
Curseless
Charles in social gatherings, he couldn’t help but notice how he had grown into such a handsome man. He had the golden hair of a Prince Charming and eyes that sparked when he smiled. Charles stirred something in Atticus at the time, but it was forbidden. Especially when Taylor had made such a showy display of his sexuality out of rebellion and spite. Atticus always wanted what Taylor wanted.

And Taylor always weaseled his way into getting it. Like dancing with Vlad. While Vlad and Taylor could never be intimate, it was the principle of the thing that Taylor had caught
Vlad’s attention and Atticus hadn’t.

Charles was right. Charles had always
been
right. And Charles waited for Atticus to see.

Atticus glanced over his shoulder as Honeysuckle scanned the trees for any danger. His brows furrowed with irritation. He could not convince her they weren’t in any danger. The more she resisted what Charles had to say, the worse it would get for her. Atticus had to convince her she needed to agree with Charles. If she wouldn’t, it would be a pity.

“Stop fretting,” Atticus said, his lips drawing into a disapproving pout. “We’re going to be okay.”

Honeysuckle continued to look over her shoulder, then into the oak trees, and then across the expanse of the Hatfield grounds. “How can you say that? How can you be so sure?”

“I’m sure,” Atticus said in a low tone. “Everything will work out as it should.”

Honeysuckle’s dragonfly wings buzzed in his ear. The sound grated on him.

Atticus would find a way to let Honeysuckle escape. She didn’t deserve what would become of her if she didn’t get away. He respected her too much. The unthinkable would befall her if she stayed. He didn’t want to think about it. It would be easily horrific. Honeysuckle had been there for him since birth. She needed to be free of him and Charles. He would make sure Honeysuckle could never find him.

Atticus lifted his head as they reached the edge of the plantation and the access road that led to the city. “Ah, here we are,” he said and smiled to Honeysuckle. “Easy escape from here.” He stepped forward and slammed chest-first into a clear barrier. It shimmered on impact. The frustration boiled in Atticus. He couldn’t get rid of Honeysuckle.

“We’ll get through this,” Honeysuckle said. Her tone was evidence that she wasn’t sure if they would.

Atticus snorted; Honeysuckle had no idea what he was thinking. He pulled back his fist and punched into the barrier. It thrummed like striking a metal sheet. “He can’t keep us here forever,” Atticus said and considered his sore fist. He wanted to be free to see the world he had denied himself. Free to explore all the vile things Taylor did and Atticus didn’t.

Atticus shook his head, but then he noticed something on the surface of the barrier. He stooped to get a better look at where his fist had hit and found a light dusting of ice crystals in the impression of his hand. Atticus stepped back, unsure of what to make of it. He looked at Honeysuckle, then back at the patch of ice, and then at her. “What is this? Did I do that?”

Honeysuckle flew closer to the surface of the barrier and squinted. She beamed brightly. “I didn’t think the day would be here…,” she said in reverence.

“What are you talking about?” Atticus asked and turned his hand over, searching for clues.

Honeysuckle smiled and looked up at him from her inspection of the barrier. “Your magic, lollipop. It’s awakening in you.”

“Magic?” Atticus asked. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Would it do something that would make him less desirable to Charles? “What kind of magic?” He tried to mask his concern.

Honeysuckle fluttered to Atticus’s hand and took it in both of her little ones. “As Snow White, you’re the bringer of the Tranquil Frost,” she said and patted his palm.

Atticus sighed. “A lot of good that does us. Gentle snowfall won’t seem to help anything.”
And it won’t be of use to Charles
, Atticus thought.

Honeysuckle flew to eye level with Atticus. He retreated back a half step. Honeysuckle gave a predatory grin. “Tranquil doesn’t mean
gentle
. It means freezing the enemy on the spot so we can
have
tranquility,” she said. “We can stop this. Now.”