Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  Readers love the CHECKMATE

  series by LEX CHASE

  Pawn Takes Rook

  “This is a wonderful light-hearted story with a way of making the characters come to life.”

  —MM Good Book Reviews

  Cashing the Reality Check

  “Lex Chase created an incredible world with these guys and takes it one step farther when they have to leave this reality to go to another one in order to save both.”

  —Mrs. Condit & Friends Read Books

  “I absolutely love this book… It’s not a graphic novel, but seriously, this author writes in a way that makes it easy for a reader to picture the settings, the characters, and the story itself.”

  —Joyfully Jay

  “This is a very well written story with a strong plot and great emotional development… I was happily along for the ride every step of the way and was sad when it ended.”

  —Gay List Book Reviews

  Conventional Love

  “This was the last installment of the Checkmate series. While it’s sad to see it go I was happy with how it was all tied up.”

  —Live Your Life, Buy the Book

  “With a glistening five stars, I strongly recommend you cancel your appointments, draw the curtains and join Ms. Chase on a journey into the fantastic, in a tale that is anything but conventional.”

  —The Novel Approach

  By LEX CHASE

  Americana Fairy Tale

  Chasing Sunrise

  CHECKMATE

  Pawn Takes Rook

  Cashing the Reality Check

  Conventional Love

  Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  COPYRIGHT

  Published by

  DREAMSPINNER PRESS

  5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA

  http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Americana Fairy Tale

  © 2014 Lex Chase.

  Cover Art

  © 2014 Paul Richmond.

  http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

  ISBN: 978-1-63216-206-9

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-63216-207-6

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014944165

  First Edition September 2014

  Printed in the United States of America

  This paper meets the requirements of

  ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

  “Is this a kissing book?”

  The Princess Bride

  CHAPTER 1:

  ONCE UPON—CRAP!

  Syracuse University, Syracuse, New York.

  May 5

  “AND ON this ever so lovely day commemorating Princess Taylor’s birth, the Storyteller That Be twenty-five years ago looked upon the male baby and said, ‘Well, shit, not again,’” Ringo said, standing on the seat of his doll-sized chair. Ringo was a proper eight inches high, a respectable height for pixies, but his shimmering pink butterfly wings made him a giant among his brethren. He smiled upon his chosen princess, whom he had been sworn to protect and guide since the day the boy was brought into the world. That boy, that princess, was none other than Taylor Andrew Hatfield. Taylor watched him in an apparently slightly buzzed state and slumped over the rickety card table.

  Taylor arched a brow and smirked. He then raised his fourth red Solo cup of hard lemonade. “Happy freaking birthday to me,” he said and clinked cups with Ringo’s Barbie teacup filled with his own droplet of liquor.

  Ringo downed the contents of his cup, his wings drooping with drunkenness. “Don’t tell your mother I let you drink in college.”

  Taylor chuckled, then chugged the hard lemonade. He wiped his mouth on his tattered hoodie sleeve. “Have I ever told my mother half the shit you let me get away with?”

  “Atta boy,” Ringo said, relaxing into his seat on the card table. “It’s not so bad,” he muttered. “It has a certain ambiance.” He pointed to three different piles of dirty clothes on the floor and then the unmade bed, but his gaze finally settled on his own home, the Barbie Dreamhouse in the corner surrounded by Red Bull cans. “When are you going to get your crap off my lawn, boyo?”

  Taylor scrubbed at his face and ran his fingers though his disheveled, long, dark hair. “Your lawn is a shelf. I need to use every space possible.”

  Ringo laughed. “If you say so.”

  Taylor jumped when his smartphone vibrated and slithered across the table. He glanced at the screen. “Ooh…,” he said, blinking owlishly. “Billy just texted… something very….” He tapped the screen, flipping the phone horizontal. “Well, goddamn.”

  Ringo flopped out of his chair and toddled across the table. “Let me see, let me see.” Ringo snapped his miniscule fingers. “As your fairy godfather, I must approve of this union.”

  Taylor held the phone for his pixie guardian, and Ringo’s hand slapped over his mouth.

  “Sweet Mother McCree,” Ringo gasped. “He’s Bunyan’s boy, isn’t he?” Taylor tilted his head for a better view of Billy’s considerable assets. He held his hands in a wide arc. “Holy shit. Both hands, son.”

  “That’s a Bunyan for you,” Taylor said, returning to his drink. “My mother would faint at the idea of me dating a lumberjack. Well, not really dating….” Taylor fell silent, pressing his lips together. “You know….”

  Ringo thumbed his chin and watched Taylor grow solemn. “Hey, hey, it’s not that bad, okay? There’s a ton of ways around for princesses to get their rocks off.”

  Taylor narrowed his eyes over his Solo cup. “Know of any?” His voice echoed into the cup.

  Tapping his fingers together, Ringo averted his eyes. “Well, no,” he said and then tried to turn a negative into a positive. “Consider it a life experience. Learning what you like once the time comes for true love’s kiss. And all that it implies.”

  “Are we seriously having this discussion? Right now?” Taylor said, lowering his cup to the wobbly card table.

  Ringo waved his hands in surrender as he paced around the table. He walked in a figure eight around the pile of Twinkies and then the value-size bag of Ruffles. “I’m just saying, one day it’s gonna happen,” Ringo said, his feet crunching over potato chip crumbs. “And you’re not going to expect it. Your prince may take a shape you’ve never dreamed before.” He pointed a finger. “I know about those David Beckham clippings you keep in the drawer with all your pens and charging cords.”

  “So….” Taylor tilted back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs. He watched the leafy boughs of the trees outside the window trembling in the windy night. “You’re talking like once-upon-a-dream shit.”

&nbs
p; Ringo shrugged. “Eh, I don’t think it has anything to do with dreams. Or none of that someday my prince will come. That’s what all the Enchants would like you to think. I’m just saying the Storyteller had a plan for you.”

  Taylor sputtered and then broke out into cackles as his chair slammed back onto the concrete floor. “A plan?” he barked through his laughter. “Tell me, Oh Wise One, did the Storyteller have a plan for you?”

  Ringo took flight and cupped Taylor’s cheeks with his small hands. He smiled, content with his lovely princess. “I got you, didn’t I?”

  Taylor smiled crookedly, his pink eyes glassed over with the start of tears. “Y-yeah,” he muttered.

  Ringo swatted at Taylor’s nose. “Now, now. Stop with the gushy moment. Dry it up, boyo.”

  “Hell,” Taylor said, wiping his eyes with his hoodie sleeve. “At least you’re not stuck with Atticus. Can you imagine that?”

  Ringo’s lips pulled into a small o, and he carefully held out his hands. “Now… Taylor. You need to stop right there.”

  With an expression of pure exasperation, Taylor stood from the rickety card table and paced across his tiny dorm room. He avoided the pile of dirty clothes on the floor and swayed around the desk stacked with empty Red Bull cans. “Oh, Taylor,” he said, mocking the arrogance of his father. “Why can’t you do something worthwhile like your little brother, Atticus? He’s excelling in the ROTC. Why can’t you serve your country like Atticus? Why can’t you be an A student like Atticus? Why can’t you be practically perfect in every way like our dear, darling, sweet baby boy Atticus?” Taylor clenched his fist and gritted his teeth. “Oh, that’s right.” He grunted in an imitation of his father. “You can never hope to be anything like Atticus.”

  Ringo hung his head and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Yup, only a matter of time until Atticus came up in the conversation. “If I knew you were going to angst at me, I wouldn’t have let you drink.” Ringo puffed up his chest, and he flew figure eights over Taylor’s head, his wings shimmering and beating a girlishly happy tune. “Screw Atticus, screw your dad.” He perched on Taylor’s shoulder. “There’s Billy Goddamn Bunyan across the quad!”

  Anything to take Taylor’s mind off his father’s disgust toward Taylor’s preference for men.

  Taylor’s brows knitted, and he smiled crookedly. “You fail in every aspect of a moral compass as a fairy godfather.”

  “Life experience, my boy. Life experience,” Ringo said and patted him on the shoulder. “Now get out there and live it!”

  Taylor nodded once. “I’m going to ring in my big two five in the best way I know how. Jell-O shots and friends with benefits,” he said. He crossed his dormitory room in three steps, arrived at the door, and then pulled it open in a wide, confident swing…

  …and collided chest to ample breasts with a buxom blonde sorority girl. Taylor stumbled back, and Ringo took the opportunity to duck behind the lamp. When the humans were confronted with the knowledge of Enchants living among them, it never went well.

  The girl merely arched a dubious brow. She tapped her foot, clearly agitated. “Taylor Andrew Hatfield?” she asked in an authoritative tone.

  Taylor smiled, and Ringo knew he was trying to not look as utterly inebriated as he was. “Look, if this is about a donation to your Kappa Delta What-The-Fuck-Ever so you can save the bunnies or some crap, I’m fresh out.”

  Ringo smacked his forehead and huddled behind the lampshade. “Aiyaiyai….”

  The girl tilted her chin for a glance over Taylor’s shoulder and into the room. Taylor bent at the waist to block her view. Her ruby red lips pulled into a smirk. “Ah, your fairy godfather. I have the right place,” she said in a detached tone.

  Taylor arched a brow. “You’re an Enchant? Like me?”

  The girl narrowed her eyes in contempt. “Way to go on stating the obvious.”

  Taylor crossed his arms and puffed a sigh. “Not to be rude, but who the hell are you?”

  The girl crouched to one knee and daintily took Taylor’s hand. She smiled up at him, stroking her thumb over his knuckles. “I’m Prince Phillipa Montclair. We are destined to be wed.”

  Ringo zipped across the room and perched on Taylor’s shoulder, glancing at him, Phillipa, and back to him again. Ringo patted Taylor on the cheek as he stood clearly shell-shocked. Ringo quirked a bushy brow with confusion. “Happy birthday?”

  CHAPTER 2:

  ONCE UPON A…. DAMMIT!

  SORRY, WASN’T READY

  Hatfield Plantation, Atlanta, Georgia.

  June 6

  THE HATFIELD Plantation was abuzz with the preparations for Taylor’s impending wedding. At long last, Taylor had heard them say, the eldest Hatfield son would be married, and by the grace of the Storyteller That Be, his life would finally get on the proper track. Despite Taylor being the newest generation in a long, proud line of fairy-tale princes and princesses, he loathed being born a princess.

  Because of the uniqueness of Taylor’s situation, the Enchants smiled to his face but discussed the scandal behind his back. Taylor was all too aware his family had their fair share of long-standing scandals, and they had fought for centuries to keep them buried. Having a gay son kept things pretty exciting for them, specifically Taylor’s frequent screaming matches with his father. And his father’s rampant homophobia. Even being back in the halls of his far-too-fancy home closed him in. While his parents took on the massive undertaking of scouring the countryside for an elusive prince, they wouldn’t even spare Taylor the honor of attending his wedding.

  Instead, his father would rather drown his sorrows at the Dwarves Hollow, and his mother was at a loss on how to get father and son to make amends. He rather liked his mother. He was closer to her, even with the wedge his father shoved between them. His father was such a closed-minded jackass. He refused to let his gay fairy tale princess son anywhere near, for fear of corrupting the perfect Hatfield image.

  Perfect, indeed. Taylor knew there was dirt by the fuckton. Secrets were buried so deep they had become fossil records.

  Taylor had heard the whispers from the servants and the pixies who fluttered about in excitement. They smiled kindly upon him, offering pats on the shoulder and firm handshakes. Despite this being his special day, Taylor was perfectly aware of what lay ahead. He would be expected to produce an heir. The idea rolled heavily in his stomach. He had a destiny to maintain with all other Enchants. Taylor stubbornly set his jaw.

  Destiny was a crock of shit.

  In the parlor, Taylor tried and promptly failed to put his best foot forward when the swarm of pixies came at him with bolts of various shades of pink fabric. Some were baby pink, glittering with gold flecks; others were a silky magenta with a smooth shine.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Taylor warned them and tried to back away. Three pixies pushed him onto the small podium, and Taylor uttered a high-pitched whine. “This is crap. This is such crap.”

  A knock at the door and then the door opened without warning, making Taylor cringe. His brother, Atticus, younger than him by two years, emerged. He did an awful job of hiding his grin behind his fingertips.

  The young pixies with wings in every color flitted about Taylor, seeming to try to decide how to take this sow’s ear and turn him into a silk purse.

  “Are you looking forward to it?” Atticus asked.

  “I don’t even know her,” Taylor protested as pixies circled him. Four took on the duty of taking his measurements, and they chittered their findings to one another. Three others sampled the texture of his long hair and grimaced, holding up the split ends to one another. Taylor squirmed and fussed under the scrutiny, being mindful not to accidentally swat a pixie in the face.

  “You know the rules, Taylor,” Atticus said from the corner of the parlor. “On their twenty-fifth birthday, all princesses are set to marry their chosen prince.”

  A pixie with green lunar moth wings fluttered toward Taylor with the bolt of glittery baby pink fabric. Ta
ylor’s hand shot up to stop her, and the pixie recoiled. “Nuh-uh. No way. If you put me in a dress, I will find your hives and stomp them into oblivion,” he rumbled.

  The fabric-laden pixie narrowed her eyes and mutely nodded to her sisters.

  “I didn’t choose her, At-At.” Taylor looked helplessly upon him and used the nickname from their childhood. The shimmering pink fabric flopped over Taylor’s head, and he spit, scrambling to pull it from his face. His hair sported an incredible cowlick. “And besides the point…,” he said, pointing a finger skyward.

  Atticus narrowed his eyes. “Besides the point you’re gay? So? You still have to sire a son.”

  The pixies babbled wordlessly among themselves, encircling Taylor in the long sheaves of pink fabric.

  Taylor flailed his arms in his pink cocoon. He huffed with the indignity of it all. “You can’t make me sire a son,” Taylor spat. “That’s your job!”

  Atticus’s dark brow furrowed. With a muffled grunt, he pounded the flat of his fist into a wall, and the pixies scattered nervously, watching him. “Stop being so selfish,” Atticus snapped and stepped forward.

  The pixies returned to their work and busied themselves with cutting lengths of ribbon from giant spools with tiny scissors. Atticus took another step, his footfalls like hammer strikes. He steadied himself, and Taylor knew what was coming next. With a breath, he launched into the one argument Taylor knew he couldn’t weasel his way out of. Taylor tried to keep his lip from trembling, already prepared to throw in the towel for the sake of keeping the peace.

  “We are part of a noble tapestry of Enchants that the Storyteller That Be, bless her, granted us the magic denied the prevalent mundane humans that overrun our home,” Atticus said. He tossed out a hand. “Humans clear-cut our Enchanted Forests for strip malls. Our artifacts and talismans are buried in pawn shops and storage sheds.” His anger grew at the tarnished pride of their people. “Our magic is rare and fading into the Void with every encroachment of the humans.” He folded his hands in a gesture of asking for salvation. “So, to ask you, to beg you, to preserve our ways is an incredibly small thing to ask.”