Americana Fairy Tale (35 page)

Corentin turned to Taylor and watched him. He had his arms crossed, and he shivered from the crisp breeze. Taylor glared, remaining defiant as he clearly sat defenseless and scared.

“Here’s the truth, Taylor,” Corentin said. “Here is the honest to Mother Storyteller truth. Warts and all. We are going to
die
out here. We are
not
going to win. We are not going to get out of this. There is
no way
to get out of this. Charles has Atticus. We lost.” Corentin leaned forward into Taylor’s personal space, close enough to smell the faint primrose of his princess ways. “We lost, Taylor. It’s
over
.”

Taylor hastily wiped away a tear but wouldn’t look away.

“So, you are mad at
me
?” Corentin asked sweetly, his mouth close enough to claim Taylor’s as his. “That’s really fucking cute.”

The single slight breath Taylor took was Corentin’s only warning. In an explosion of rage, Taylor roared. His fist came up swinging for Corentin’s jaw and connected in a wet crunch.

Corentin staggered back, holding his mouth. He tripped over a collection of flat rocks but finally steadied himself. He took a moment and dabbed at his lip. He rubbed the sticky blood between his fingers. He grinned at Taylor with blood-tinged teeth. “C’mon. Let’s do it,” he said and beckoned him closer.

Taylor didn’t hesitate and dashed over the rocks. Corentin readied for him, but there was a wink of light out of the corner of his eye. He tried to block it out, but it was too late as Taylor shoved at Corentin’s chest. He stumbled back, and Taylor came closer. Corentin slipped left, behind Taylor, and then hooked an arm around his neck. Taylor gagged for air and clawed at Corentin’s bare arm.

“Oh, like
hell
you’re going to kill him,” Ringo said as he appeared in a puff of gold glitter.

“I’m not,” Corentin, said, and Taylor struggled against him.

Ringo unleashed a burst of magic, and the force blew Corentin off Taylor. Taylor coughed, grasping at his throat. Corentin went airborne and flopped off the rocky ledge into the water below.

Corentin shot from the shallow water in a gasping bark. “
Ohfuckcold!
” he screeched as he hugged himself and flailed for shore.

Taylor emerged over the rocky ledge and held out his arm. “Come on. You’re more of a delicate Southern flower than I am.”

Corentin reached up to the offered hand. “Y-you’re not m-mad?” he asked through chattering teeth.

“Oh, I’m fucking furious,” Taylor said calmly. “But that’s how we work, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Corentin said and gave Taylor his best charming smile. He took Taylor’s hand in a sure grip.

“I’m sorry you’re sorry,” Taylor said with a snort.

Corentin grinned. “I’m not really sorry, you know,” he said and yanked Taylor’s hand hard, pulling him down into the frigid water.

Corentin braced for the splash, and then Taylor shot to the surface, unleashing screeches so high pitched his voice cracked. “I am going to
kill you
!” Taylor howled.

Ringo fluttered between the two of them and smirked. “Flipping Storyteller. You cuddleskulls. You fill my heart with both warmth and regret that you two made it to adulthood but fail at being adults.”

Corentin pointed toward a low ledge. “Come on. Back to shore. Maybe there’s somewhere we can warm up.”

“By the way,” Taylor said and followed. “Really great idea of getting doused in ice-cold water with the only clothes we have.”

“Well,” Corentin said and hefted himself up onto the rocky ledge. “I was too busy trying not to get my face rearranged. I misjudged your ability to punch.” He turned to Taylor and smiled.

Taylor smirked. “Is that what it is? You letting me win?” He pushed up onto the ledge, and they sat together.

“I’m onto you,” Corentin said and bumped shoulders with Taylor. “I suppose I can build a fire in the woods. And you need a cake pop.”

Taylor punched Corentin in the arm. “Trying to win me over with sugar again?”

“You don’t have to go,” a broad-faced man said from farther out in the lake. Corentin put his hand on Taylor’s arm in assurance. Only the man’s head and shoulders were visible as he treaded water. “Lake Huron is delightful this time of day.”

“And you are…?” Corentin said, and the man cut through the water toward them. He forced himself backward onto a nearby rock in an effort to take a seat. His tiger-shark tail rolled and flopped in a lazy arch. Corentin blinked. “A fish.”

The man with sandstone-colored skin pushed his short dirty-blond hair from his forehead. He then rested his elbows on the closest approximation of his knees. “Little girls in this day and age don’t picture the little mermaid being a linebacker,” he said with a shark-toothed grin. “I’m Andre. Andre Waterhouse.”

“Taylor Hatfield,” Taylor said as he shivered.

“Corentin Devereaux,” Corentin said but caught Andre concentrating on Taylor.

“You’re Atticus’s brother?” Andre asked cautiously. “The current Snow White?”

Corentin shot a glance between the two of them. “How do you—”

Andre narrowed his black eyes at Corentin. “Every Enchant the world over knows that. And you are?” he asked. Corentin didn’t appreciate the suspicion.

Taylor shuddered and spoke up. “He’s with me. We’re on a quest to save my brother from Idi the Witchking.”

Andre perked up and sat straighter with the news. “Atticus is in danger?” he asked, shaking his head slowly.

Taylor puffed a hot breath into his cupped hands to warm them. Corentin watched him and waited to see if Taylor was going to tell the truth of how dire the situation was or make something up to keep Andre calm.

“The Witchking has assumed another Enchant’s shape. He’s been stalking my brother since he was a child. We have reason to believe the Witchking plans to hurt him,” Taylor said.

Corentin pressed his lips together and watched Taylor keep Andre on the need-to-know basis, and Andre didn’t need to know the part about the undying love between Snow White and Idi.

“Damn, what are you doing here, then?” Andre asked and slipped into the water. He swam closer to them and then scooted onto the shore.

“Somehow Idi scrambled the interstate signs. So we don’t have any idea where we are,” Corentin finally said. “The road takes us where it wants, and we have no idea how to get back.”

“Road?” Andre asked. Corentin frowned as Andre appeared puzzled by such a concept.

Taylor and Corentin both nodded.

“The interstate,” Taylor said. “We nearly hit a deer and spun off the road over a cliff. My fairy godfather saved us, and the truck touched down in the woods up on the hill.” He pointed in the vague direction of the woods.

“You got a truck on the island?” Andre asked, and Corentin wasn’t following the dubious tone in his voice.

Corentin arched a brow. “Is that special somehow?”

Andre rumbled a low, thundering chuckle that could be felt in the ground underneath them. He burst into gales of laughter, all the while beaming a merry, shark-toothed grin that looked like he was ready to gnash on a baby seal.

Out of nerves, Corentin slid closer to Taylor and looped an arm over his shoulders.

Andre sighed the last laugh and finally answered. “Somehow you got an automobile on Mackinac Island. They’ve been banned here since
1898
. It’s all horse-drawn carriages and bicycles here.”

Corentin glanced at Taylor, and he arched a brow with incomprehension. “Then… where do people park their cars?” Corentin asked with his patience ebbing away.

“You two really need to brush up on your geography,” Andre said. Corentin didn’t appreciate the condescension. “You can only get here by ferry or plane. I suggest you better make sure no one finds your truck, or you’ll have to come up with some decent answers.”

“Yeah,” Taylor said softly.

“We don’t need anyone exposed to us,” Corentin said, and Taylor shot him a knowing glance. They seemed to follow the same train of thought. “Can you help us?”

“I can’t…,” Andre answered, and the two sagged in defeat. Andre brightened and waved his webbed hands. “Just because I can’t doesn’t mean I
won’t
,” he said. “There’s a gala tonight at the Grand Hotel. My husband is the chairman of the gala and might be able to lend his assistance.”

Taylor blinked widely and glanced at Corentin, smiling crookedly. Corentin understood it was because of finding others of their persuasion.

Andre smiled. “You’ll come to the gala?”

Corentin and Taylor didn’t say anything right away. Taylor glanced shyly to Corentin, and he bumped Taylor with a shoulder. Corentin smirked. “Go on.”

Taylor sadly turned his attention toward Andre. “We don’t have any clothes,” Taylor muttered. “This is all we have.”

Andre gave an amused grin—at least Corentin felt it was amused, despite the rows of shark teeth. “Well, I guess we have to do something about that,” Andre said. “Come, let’s get you warm and a hot meal.”

C
INDERELLA
S
TORY

The Grand Hotel, Mackinac Island, Michigan

June 12

C
ORENTIN
COULDN
’
T
stop putting his hands in his hair. The gesture wasn’t particularly new, and he always tugged at the sandy-brown scruff when he was trying to puzzle something out. It was just that there wasn’t any hair to tug anymore.

Andre had pulled some strings and summoned a stylist from somewhere deep in his network of affluent friends. Her name was Nadine, and when she had walked into the suite, she made a dour face when she saw what she had to work with—a week of stubble and a shaggy mop of hair that had likely been trimmed with kitchen scissors for four years. Corentin knew he was the epitome of sow’s ears to somehow make into a silk purse. He had tried to protest and insist they needed to help Taylor and not him.

Nadine wasn’t hearing any of it.

She had forced Corentin into one of the desk chairs and swaddled him in a cutting cape. The cutting razor had come out and then the first scraping
whack
at Corentin’s hair.

It had been the sound that unnerved Corentin more than the sensation. It sounded like she was pulling out his hair by the roots with the strands twanging with each snap, but he felt nothing. When it was over, he sat upon the balcony with a mountain of hair that could have made the huntsman a
hunting dog
.

Nadine had pinched his chin between her talon-like blue nails. She had scrutinized Corentin and flicked through his hair. It had been at that moment he’d wished more than anything he had his own fairy godfather to protect him.

She had shoved Corentin’s head back with a sharp snap, and then she climbed upon his lap. Corentin stiffened as she came at him with a straight razor and scraped off the stubble. He didn’t dare move for fear of her slashing his throat.

She had nodded her approval and crawled out of Corentin’s personal space. “Better,” she had said in a snooty tone upon completion.

Nadine had flicked the mirror at him like brandishing a weapon, and he flinched when he saw what lay under all the motor oil, sweat, and unruly mop of hair. Corentin had never known there was someone who could pass as a gentleman underneath the grime.

All the while, Andre remained off to the side as Nadine worked. Corentin’s mind wandered to how Andre was able to have a human form without sacrificing his voice or worse. He was certain that was how the little mermaid’s curse went. Corentin had quietly absorbed the information that Andre was married to Earnest, a man many years Andre’s senior. Perhaps Andre broke his curse and therefore could reclaim his tail at will? Corentin pretended that was possibly the most logical explanation.

But nothing had made sense for a long time.

Even as Corentin studied himself in the mirror, he couldn’t comprehend his own face. He had lost himself as he got sucked into the rabbit hole.

Nadine had shuffled off quickly, as Andre summoned her before Corentin could properly thank her or even pay her. Andre held up a hand and muttered something about Nadine suffering to bring beauty into the world. Corentin nodded.
Got it
. Enchanted starving artist.

Taylor had already gotten his supposed pampering, like princesses always did. And Corentin assumed Andre knew the princess
thing
too, that Taylor needed his own space instead of being seen in improper states by others. Or whatever. Corentin wondered if there was a way to see the list of princess rules in writing. The list, as Taylor seemed to have made up things up on the fly, must have been over fifteen miles long at least. He was probably down at the gala already, looking for Andre’s husband and asking for his help.

Save for Ringo making himself presentable in the bathroom, Corentin was alone in the hotel room, and he struggled with taking it all in. The suit Andre had shoved him into was something Nadine had conjured out of thin air. He tried not to pick at the rich black wool and to keep his hands off the silk vest. It was all too expensive on his Southern-boy skin. His feet were cramped in the dress shoes and he longed for the cushioning of his Goldtoe socks and the spaciousness of his Redwings.

But it was his hair that baffled him.

Corentin barely recognized himself. His hair was less sandy brown and instead was deep auburn. The sun had been stripping the color from it for years. Once Nadine hacked and wacked off all the dead stuff, dry stuff, damaged stuff, and the just plain ugly
stuff
, Corentin was left with a short, stylishly spiky whatever-it-was-supposed-to-be. He even had
product
in his hair. He had no idea what the hell
product
even meant.

He didn’t want to sit down and wrinkle the suit.

The hotel room, despite its luxurious status as one of the finest suites in the Grand Hotel, looked like Candy Land barfed in it.

Corentin didn’t want to get the irritatingly cheerful colors on his suit. Between the repeating patterns of the violet bunches on the wallpaper, the canopy bed stitched with dainty minuscule lilac bows, and the fresh bouquet of pink roses, the room was closing in on him with the overbearing femininity. Corentin had to do something. He had to distract himself or he was going to take a flying leap off the balcony.