Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  “That’s not a drought,” Corentin said softly.

  Taylor squinted into the distance. “Does ‘Welcome to Arizona, the Grand Canyon State’ answer your question?”

  Ringo pasted his face to the windshield. “How do you even see—” Ringo squeaked when the state sign of Arizona blurred by. “Oh my Storyteller!”

  Corentin remained tense, trying to get his thoughts together.

  Taylor, however, seemed to not be able to resist blurting out his opinion. “It seems this Eddie guy is doing more than just fucking with us.”

  “Idi,” Corentin said and realized how terse he sounded. “I think he wants to do more than just delay us.”

  Ringo peeled himself from the windshield. He slapped his hands to his cheeks in horror. “He wants us to die out here?” he croaked.

  “Panicking is not going to help,” Corentin said firmly.

  “Easy for you to say,” Taylor snapped. “We just need to stop somewhere and ask for directions. We’ll get back on the right road in no time.”

  Corentin sighed. Taylor’s hope was admirable, but Ringo was only half right. They would die out here, but only one of them. This was Corentin’s first trial. Now he was here, in the middle of nowhere, with Taylor to do with what he would. As soon as that was over, Idi would release him and he’d be on his way, but only until the next time Idi summoned him to do his bidding.

  They drove on, again in a long-hanging silence. The interstate lay barren, not a single car or scrap of civilization to be seen. The pavement bore veins of black tar from years of shoddy repair. Corentin caught Taylor’s pink gaze in the rearview, and his feral eyes seemed to gleam in the dark.

  The princess shifted from one side of the backseat to the other. He seemed to look for anything that would help. He cupped his hands around the glass and peeked out into the night. “I can’t see anything out there. It’s just desert,” Taylor muttered.

  Ringo turned to Corentin. “How are we on ga—”

  “Don’t say it!” Corentin and Taylor shouted in unison.

  Ringo held up his hands and pursed his lips. “Got it…. Uh… why?”

  “I assume Eddie is listening in to everything,” Taylor said.

  “Idi,” Corentin corrected Taylor again. “I think Sir Princess is right. It seems the second we’ve said anything, something’s gone wrong.”

  Ringo fluttered over to the dash and rested his chin in his palm. “You know… it could be all a coincidence….”

  Corentin and Taylor glared angrily at Ringo in silence while the hum of the pavement whooshed as Corentin drove.

  Ringo waved his hands. “By Titania’s tatas, guys, I was just kidding!”

  Corentin blinked when something caught his eye out in the distance—there was a flash of red taillights and an outline of a big box shape, then a couple of sparks of blue light. Corentin wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Hey… I think we have company.”

  Taylor straightened and squinted at the shape. “Is that a tour bus?”

  The blue sparks popped into the night again. Corentin scratched at the corner of his eye. “That would explain the sparks. I think they’re camera flashes.”

  “What the hell would tourists be doing out here in the middle of the night?” Ringo asked and fluttered over to Taylor’s shoulder. “Unless it’s a ghost tour.”

  Taylor gritted his teeth. “You are the biggest help,” he said with a sigh. “Should we stop? You think they’re friendly?”

  Corentin killed the headlights and slowed the truck to a crawl. “I have tools in the chest in the back,” he said. He pressed his lips into a grim line.

  “Okay…,” Taylor said. It was clear he wasn’t following. “What does that have to do wi—”

  “Huntsman tools,” Corentin said firmly. “We should be ready to defend ourselves.”

  Taylor jerked back and flattened himself to the backseat. “You are telling me you have death tools in this truck?”

  “And here I thought it was just Starbucks cups,” Ringo said.

  “Don’t make me kill you,” Taylor muttered to Ringo.

  Corentin eased the truck onto the shoulder and put it in park. He twisted, looking back at his two traveling companions. “Best we go by foot here. Who knows what we’ll find.”

  Taylor made an annoyingly doubtful face and pointed toward the bus. “I’m pretty sure they’re just tourists.”

  Corentin narrowed his eyes. “And I’m pretty sure the truck didn’t nearly flip, the GPS didn’t explode, we took an exit for Talladega, and now we’re in Arkansas.”

  “Arizona,” Ringo muttered.

  Corentin growled. “Don’t think for one second I won’t skin you.”

  “Okay!” Taylor snapped and held up his hands. “Okay! Everyone. Just chill the hell out. I’ll take the lead. People are more inclined to trust princesses, right? I got this.”

  Corentin ran a hand over his face. He considered his options. If Taylor went out unattended and met his end, then he’d be off the hook for killing him. But the bigger prize was killing Idi. Provided they could get to Idi in Atlanta.

  “Okay. I’m out,” Taylor said and popped open the door.

  “Fuck, wait!” Corentin called to Taylor, but he was already stalking a good pace toward the tour bus.

  Ringo fluttered just behind Corentin’s shoulder. “I didn’t think he’d do that,” he muttered.

  “Come on,” Corentin growled and hurried from the truck to the tool chest in the pickup bed. He fumbled with the keys, testing each one in the lock. Of all of the things not to remember in the most inopportune moment. He scanned the horizon for Taylor and spotted him getting smaller and smaller as he got farther down the road. The lock popped on the tool chest, and Corentin flipped open the lid. He blindly reached in, flailing for anything that looked close enough to a decent weapon. His fingers plucked at a taut string and then fumbled over the contours of various blades, which he took care not to cut himself on. His hand settled on what seemed like a mean dagger, and Corentin decided it would do. He yanked it out and hastily closed the lid.

  “Let’s go,” he urged Ringo, and the two hustled down the street.

  As Corentin got closer, his eyes adjusted more to the scene before him. It wasn’t just the bus, but also a condemned building out in the middle of nowhere with nothing around for miles in any direction. Two gigantic concrete arrows jutted up from the ground in front of the building, and Corentin scanned the rotting paint on the exterior. Underneath all the obscene graffiti, it seemed to be some type of diner from another decade. A faded sign declared it Twin Arrows Trading Post. He nodded to himself. At least it explained the weird arrow sculptures.

  He crept through the parking lot, shifting over a concrete barrier. Ringo stayed close, his wings buzzing in Corentin’s ear. Taylor was nowhere to be seen, and there were distant mutterings of the supposed tourists just out of sight. The crunch of glass underfoot signaled someone was close and getting closer. Corentin clasped Ringo out of the air and pulled him to his chest. He spun with the pixie into the alcove of where the front door used to be. Ringo heaved in obvious fright, and Corentin lifted a finger from his grip around Ringo’s middle and pressed it over the pixie’s mouth.

  “Shh-shh-shh,” Corentin whispered. Ringo nodded against his finger, and Corentin let him go to hover next to him. “Stay. Here,” Corentin mouthed to Ringo. Ringo gave a thumbs-up.

  The footsteps crunched over glass again, closer and more hurried. Someone knew they were there. Corentin’s grip around his dagger tightened. Ringo clamped his hands over his mouth to keep himself quiet.

  There was a shift in the shadow, and Corentin knew they had been found. He lashed out, gripping the slim wrist of the interloper and spinning him into a choke hold against his body. He adjusted his grip in a split second to slap his hand over the guy’s mouth and pressed the dagger tip to his neck. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” Corentin warned the small man.

  And then he caught the scent of primr
ose in the guy’s hair, and his whole body stiffened. “Shit!” Corentin gasped and shoved Taylor away from him.

  Taylor spun on his heel and landed the perfect slap across Corentin’s jaw. “What the fuck is the matter with you!” Taylor snapped in a harsh whisper. “Threatening me with a screwdriver? Really? Some big ass-kicker you are!”

  Fury and confusion shot through Corentin. “It’s not a—” He held out the dagger, and the dim light revealed it was indeed a screwdriver. “Dammit.” He sighed.

  Ringo fluttered between them. “What’s the situation? Should we be ready to run for our lives?”

  Taylor snorted. “No way. It’s like….” He turned and gestured around the corner. “Like some tour group for a school for the disabled. One kid is blind, one kid is all bandaged up, another in a wheelchair. And their guide is some weird-looking tatted-up dude. He seems to be having a good time showing the kids around.”

  “Weird tatted-up dude?” Corentin asked. “Were you able to make out his tattoos?”

  Taylor blinked. “The tattoos?” he asked, leaning back on his heel.

  “Yeah,” Ringo said. “You’re the one who can apparently read signs a mile down the road.”

  Corentin narrowed his eyes. Ringo seemed to be onto something, but he shared Taylor’s doubt.

  Taylor rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He nodded to Corentin. “And to answer your question, full sleeves of rodents. Hamsters, I think.”

  Corentin tilted his head. “Hamsters? Like… lemmings? Who on earth would get tattoos of lemmings?” He leaned into the dilapidated wall and considered the screwdriver in his hand. He had been so sure it was a dagger. It had felt like a dagger. But… it was dark, and he did rush.

  “Aren’t hamsters and lemmings the same thing?” Taylor asked, and Corentin met his gaze.

  “He’s one of us,” Ringo said. “It’s safe.” And with that, Ringo took off in a corkscrewing flight over the roof of the condemned diner.

  Taylor flailed and tried to catch Ringo, but it was too late. “Shit!” He sighed, and Corentin watched him. Taylor offered a smile. “Well, I trust him at least.”

  Corentin narrowed his eyes. “Well, excuse me, Princess. As you can see, we’re both having a really bad day.”

  Taylor wrinkled his nose and didn’t pop off some bitchy comment, which was a relief. Instead, he turned an about-face and stepped right in a rotting armadillo corpse. His shriek pierced the night, and Corentin vindictively burst into laughter. Ringo appeared in a puff of glitter. He frantically flew around Taylor as the princess flailed with the yuck on his foot.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Who’s there?” the man with the lemming tattoos yelled as he came around the corner.

  Corentin shoved the screwdriver in his back pocket and then held out his hands in surrender.

  The man stopped, his wallet chain jangled against his shorts, and his eyebrow piercings glinted in the light. “Enchants?”

  Taylor shivered and appeared to be trying to figure out how to get the goo off his foot without cutting himself open on the refuse on the ground.

  Ringo took the lead of the situation. He hooked a thumb to Corentin. “The guy that looks a bit like a homicidal maniac is Corentin Devereaux. Haven’t quite ruled out if he’s not a homicidal maniac.” Corentin bristled and snorted. Ringo gestured to Taylor. “And the young man here who looks like he’s about to bust down crying because he’s got rotten possum on a half shell on him is my princess, Taylor Hatfield. I’m Ringo, his fairy godfather and chaperone to this train wreck.” He smiled at the punky man. “Nice to see you in these parts, Piper.”

  Corentin blinked. “Piper? You know him?”

  The man nodded. “Who else would be obsessed with lemmings?” He bowed his head. “It’s Ryan. No one’s called me the Pied Piper since the time of Idi.”

  Corentin pointed a finger as the idea came to him. “Speaking of Idi….”

  Ryan watched Corentin and squinted in the dim light. “Come around to the bus. I’m freaking blind back here.”

  Corentin nodded to Taylor, and Taylor made a horrified face that seemed to indicate the concept of any movement was out of the question. Corentin shifted toward him and whispered softly, “Come on, it’s going to be okay.” Without warning, Corentin scooped up Taylor in his arms and cradled him close.

  “I have dead animal guts on my foot,” Taylor croaked, and his lip wiggled as he seemed on the verge of tears.

  “Some ass-kicker you are,” Corentin purred under his breath.

  With Taylor in hand, Corentin followed Ryan into the light of the bus. Ringo fluttered along easily in the bobbing path of a butterfly. Corentin blinked when he finally saw the children. And Taylor was correct. One was blind, with a black blindfold and a cane, but there were deep welted scars on her cheeks. The child who was wrapped in bandages, the bandages were dingy and bled through in some places. The child in the wheelchair was simply a husk in a dress; she rolled toward them. Corentin’s stomach clenched that the child who appeared to be a corpse could still move.

  “They’re mine,” Ryan said and seemed to notice Corentin’s unease. “Don’t let them scare you. They’re on vacation.”

  “Oh,” Corentin said, and he tried to unclench his stomach.

  Taylor finally spoke up. “We need help.”

  Ryan glanced at Taylor’s foot. “I have some Wet Wipes.”

  “Not that,” Corentin interrupted. Taylor thumped Corentin’s chest, and he winced. “Okay. In a minute.” He nodded to Ryan. “Taylor’s brother is in trouble.”

  “Brother?” Ryan asked. He thumbed his chin, muttering to himself. “Hatfield…. Hatfield…. Where have I heard that name…?” He snapped his fingers. “Holy shit! You’re Atticus Hatfield’s brother!”

  Corentin caught Taylor wilting at the comment.

  “Yeah…,” Taylor said softly.

  “Idi has Taylor’s brother in Atlanta,” Corentin said. “We were on our way to rescue him.”

  “Oh?” Ryan asked. “You figured driving from Arizona was the quickest?”

  “We weren’t in Arizona to start with,” Ringo said, a bit tersely. “We took an exit for Talladega, three hours outside of Atlanta, and somehow we’re….” He held out his hands, gesturing to the expansive desert.

  Ryan nodded. “In Arizona. On Old Route 66. At the Twin Arrows Trading Post,” he said, then pointed to the two concrete arrows across the parking lot. “They’re pretty cool, aren’t they? I think they’re symbolic. You know, like how Indiana Jones would say X never marked the spot? But I think it’s different with these. I think they say ‘You are here. Your journey starts here.’”

  Corentin, Taylor, and Ringo all exchanged nervous glances and then all looked back to Ryan. “Please tell me you’re just waxing philosophical because it sounds cool,” Corentin said as he adjusted Taylor in his grip.

  Ryan crossed his arms. “I think it means what you think it means,” he said in a tone that rubbed Corentin the wrong way. “It’s a quest. Idi has you on a quest. You know, do the whole trials to save the princess and all that bullshit. Because you know what an old romantic he is.” He checked his watch and nodded to the corpse children. “Come on, guys. Gotta get you to the final destination.”

  The corpse children laughed healthily like young living children would laugh. Corentin felt Taylor’s grip tighten on him. Ringo swooped in closer to Corentin as the children shifted to board the bus. Ryan stepped toward the back to lower the wheelchair ramp. He held the switch as the platform growled.

  “Can’t you help us?” Taylor asked. “Who knows what he’ll do to my brother.”

  “I can’t,” Ryan called over the platform motor. “This is your quest. No one can interfere, and I’m not interfering with Idi’s will.”

  “Can you just give us a hint?” Ringo snapped. “Where do we go from here?”

  Ryan whistled as he loaded the little girl’s wheelchair onto the platform. “Dude. Chill. No need to be so hostile.”

  “It’s been a bad
day,” Taylor said, and Corentin felt better that it seemed Taylor’s bravery was returning.

  “He ran out on his wedding,” Corentin said, smirking at Taylor.

  Ryan straightened. “Yikes,” he said and waved his hands in a halfhearted mocking gesture.

  “Can you help at all?” Taylor asked firmly.

  Ryan didn’t answer as he raised the platform onto the bus and tucked his charge inside. Over the agonizing minutes of growling machinery, Corentin muttered into Taylor’s ear, “This is a bust. We need to go.”

  Taylor pushed against Corentin’s chest. “I said,” Taylor yelled, “can you help at all?”

  Ryan rounded the corner of the back of the bus and slapped a box of Wet Wipes into Taylor’s hand. “I helped,” he deadpanned and stepped toward the bus entry, then called behind him, “Look! How can I make this any more plain? It’s fucking Mario Brothers. Get out there, go stomp on some koopas, eat some shrooms, throw some fireballs, go down a bunch of pipes, and don’t forget your princess will always, always be in another castle!”

  The bus engine revved to life, and Corentin and Taylor watched each other with indignation.

  “He is fucking serious,” Corentin said with a frown.

  “This is bullshit,” Taylor spat.

  “Should have stabbed him with the screwdriver,” Ringo said and crossed his arms.

  They watched in irritation as the bus pulled onto the road, crept ten feet forward, and then vanished into thin air.

  Taylor stiffened in Corentin’s grasp. A chill ran up Corentin’s spine to the crown of his head. And Ringo immediately attached himself to Taylor’s non-gut-covered leg.

  After three seconds of silence and bewildered staring, Taylor was the first to say it.

  “Get back in the truck,” he whispered urgently. “Getbackinthetruck!”

  CHAPTER 10:

  DREAM ON

  Somewhere on the Open Road….

  June 6

  TAYLOR BUSIED himself with scrubbing the armadillo goop off his foot as Corentin drove into the Arizona night. Ringo lay across the back dash, and his eyes drooped. He then bolted upright and slapped his cheeks. Fighting to stay awake, he fluttered past Taylor and to the passenger seat headrest.