Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  THE WARMTH of the rising sun stirred Taylor into slow, easy, waking dreams. Lying on a beach, he let the cool Caribbean waves lick his toes. The gulls cawed overhead, and the trees swayed in the lazy breeze. He sighed, squinted against the light, and opened his eyes to the reality of the Wigwam Motel. Corentin’s astringent motor-oil scent, mingled with the moldy carpet, crept up his nose. It was that curious scent of something sweet with something rotten, and he couldn’t tell one from the other. His eyes itched with the airborne allergens. The white concrete walls gleamed like an institutional prison in the yellow light.

  It was dirty. Taylor knew this. He loathed himself for his lustful urges. He hated himself as he lay there, savoring Corentin’s flannel on his naked skin. It reeked of motor oil, coffee, metal, and man. He clenched his fist into the blanket, forcing the thoughts away.

  Ringo flitted into view over the mound of blankets. His mouth quirked a mixture of disapproval and sarcasm Taylor didn’t understand. “Mmm. Hmm,” Ringo murmured.

  Taylor arched a brow. “Wha—” He froze when Corentin’s hand pressed at the small of his back and pulled Taylor closer to him.

  Reality came into sharp, pinpoint focus when Taylor found himself using Corentin’s broad, tattooed chest as a pillow. Taylor’s own hand had settled upon the crook of Corentin’s neck and shoulder. And Corentin cradled him close with all the loving care of holding intricate origami.

  Taylor swallowed hard. His body flushed with nerves and heat. How did they get like this? Was it another dream? Was he sleepwalking? Sleep cuddling? He had to get out of the bed. And he had to do it without waking Corentin.

  Taylor shot Ringo a panicked glance. He mouthed the words, “I didn’t do it.” But even he wasn’t sure. He pulled back from Corentin, but Corentin wouldn’t budge. He seemed adamant on maintaining his loving embrace with Taylor. Taylor glanced at Ringo again and urgently mouthed, “Help?”

  Ringo raised his palm and slowly wiggled his tiny fingers. Taylor nodded and pulled away from Corentin easier this time. Taylor slipped from the bed and crept into the bathroom. He pushed the bathroom door shut inch by inch, keeping the hinges silent. He twisted and held the doorknob, silently shutting the door with not so much as a click of bolts and tumblers.

  He turned on the bathroom light and stared directly into it. His eyes watered, his nose itched, and with one sniff, he sneezed a puff of gold glitter.

  From the glittering cloud, Ringo emerged. He didn’t seem pleased. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Ringo asked and crossed his arms.

  “Me?” Taylor asked in a harsh whisper. “Nothing is wrong with me. Just… just….” He looked at himself in the mirror and frowned at his state. Flushed face, disheveled hair, bags under the eyes, gaunt from hunger and dehydration, he sighed. “Fuck. I’m a mess.”

  “You got that right,” Ringo said. “We gotta focus here. Stick to the mission.”

  “Right,” Taylor said, nodding once. He smoothed his bedhead, and it didn’t do any good. “Right. Atticus. Right,” he said to his reflection. He nabbed his clothes off the towel rod and quickly shuffled into them. “I think we should leave him,” Taylor said. “Corentin, I mean.”

  “You’re not going to like what I have to say,” Ringo said with a stern expression.

  “Shoot,” Taylor said. “Can’t get much worse.”

  “I think we need him,” Ringo said, and his words hit Taylor in the gut.

  “What? W-why?” Taylor asked, and his stomach clenched. His cheeks heated, and he knew Ringo could see his embarrassment.

  “Quests are always in pairs,” Ringo said. “Jack and Jill, Hansel and Gretel, the baker and his wife, you get it.”

  Taylor slumped as Ringo dealt him a crushing blow. After a moment, Taylor brightened. “But there’s you. We’re a trio.”

  “Pixies don’t count,” Ringo said in a flat tone.

  Taylor frowned. “You are so making this shit up.”

  “I am not,” Ringo said and tossed his hand out in a wide arc. “It’s Enchant legalese. I have to know this stuff. And it wouldn’t hurt you to study up on it once in a while.”

  Taylor pressed his palms to the vanity edge and loomed over Ringo. “We need to stop fighting. And we need to get out of here. Now.”

  “We can’t go without Corentin,” Ringo said with irritation.

  Taylor had had enough nonsense and placed his hand on the doorknob. “Watch me.”

  He swung open the door and came nose to nose with Corentin. Taylor froze. Corentin had nothing but murder in his gaze. Corentin tilted his head in a slow, smooth pivot, clearly inspecting Taylor. Taylor’s skin broke into gooseflesh.

  “Coren—” Taylor managed to choke out before Corentin lashed out and grabbed him by the throat. Taylor wheezed on the strangling grip, and Corentin pulled Taylor close to him.

  Corentin’s mouth hovered an inch from Taylor’s. Taylor gasped. It was like Corentin could suck out his soul if he got too close. Corentin panted through gritted teeth. But it was Corentin’s two questions that frightened Taylor….

  “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “W-what?” Taylor choked out. When Corentin wouldn’t release him, Taylor had to do something. He realized Ringo had been no help in keeping him safe on this whole crazy journey. “What the fuck are you doing?” Taylor screeched and drove his knee into Corentin’s crotch.

  Corentin gasped, dropping Taylor into a heap on the floor.

  Taylor scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door. In a panic, he tried to rip it open, but it merely rattled in the frame. He glanced from Corentin to the door and found the deadbolts and chain still in place. Of course, he’d forgotten the door was locked. Taylor would chide himself about this later, provided he survived this moment. “Ringo!” Taylor yelled. “Little help here?”

  “On it,” Ringo called from the bathroom.

  Taylor watched Corentin and noticed him hesitating from the sound of the second voice. Something was so wrong about the situation, and he had to be out of it now. Not only out, but in Corentin’s truck and far, far away. Taylor’s hands trembled as he fought the deadbolt. His hands slipped over the stubborn stuck metal. “Come on…,” Taylor whined, trying the lock again.

  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.”