Americana Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  And there the Witchking was.

  Charles stood behind the quaking Atticus as if he had always been there. Charles reached out, placing his hand over Atticus’s own against the shower stall. The frost from Atticus’s newborn power dissolved into motes of blue sparks. “I see it’s come,” Charles said, gently turning Atticus to face him in the shower.

  Atticus shuddered. He wanted to be so close to Charles. Being skin to skin in the shower was like a soothing salve. Atticus drew his arms into himself and kept his gaze down. The icy water cascaded over the both of them, but neither seemed to notice. “W-what’s happening to m-me…?” Atticus asked as Charles looped his arms around Atticus’s narrow waist.

  “The Tranquil Frost,” Charles said and rubbed a palm to Atticus’s back. “It makes you burn.”

  Atticus shivered under Charles’s touch. He moaned with the relief of his fingers. Atticus tilted his head back and pressed his pale frame to Charles’s bronzed body. “You feel so good….” Atticus’s head fell back as his breath returned to him like he had never taken one before.

  “I had to be sure,” Charles said. “I had to be sure you could feel pleasure first.”

  Atticus blinked, and clarity slowly crept into his senses. “The sunflowers? How does that make sense?”

  Charles stroked a broad palm over Atticus’s cheek. Atticus nuzzled into the hand.

  “I wouldn’t have done any of this if you couldn’t,” Charles said as Atticus writhed in his grip. “The Tranquil Frost is a powerful gift and an impossible burden. Only the Highest Princess can hold the power. The frost will make you burn. Ignite from the inside. It will drive you to passionate madness as you die.”

  Realization crashed into Atticus’s mind. “I was dying?” he asked, and his voice cracked. “Just now? I was dying?”

  “Yes,” Charles said with an even expression, and he ran his hands over Atticus’s shoulders, then down his arms. “You need someone to protect you, be your healing light, and keep you safe when it happens.”

  Atticus frowned. “Why are you telling me this? Are you tricking me again? Is this a spell?” This time he would be sure if Charles lied.

  Charles laughed and looked out at the bathroom over Atticus’s head. “Don’t you see?” he asked, then leaned in to Atticus, his mouth barely an inch from Atticus’s own. “I’m that healing light,” he purred.

  Atticus studied Charles’s face, looking for the truth. He smiled when he finally saw the iridescent sheen dancing across the onyx black skin of the Witchking under Charles’s visage. Atticus cupped Charles’s cheek. “I believe you now.”

  Atticus watched Charles expectantly. He pressed his lips together once in anticipation. Droplets of water froze in the air, hanging like tiny stars in an enchanted galaxy. Their mouths met.

  For the first time in his life, Atticus got something Taylor never had.

  Love.

  CHAPTER 20:

  THE LINE BEGINS TO BLUR

  Somewhere on the Open Road….

  June 9

  CORENTIN FELT the change stir in his gut as he guided the truck down the dark, abandoned interstate. He tightened his grip on the wheel. He glanced at Taylor. The princess slept peacefully in the passenger seat. Of course, the knot on his head had something to do with it. Ringo kept his post on the dashboard. His head and wings drooped on occasion and then stiffened back into wakefulness.

  Corentin spoke to Ringo in a calm tone. “Hey, little man, you need to check Taylor’s seat belt. Now.”

  Ringo shot Corentin a sour look over his shoulder. “You better not be driving us off any bridges again.”

  Corentin flicked his hand in a shooing gesture. “Just check on the seat belt. In twenty seconds the day’s going to change,” he said sternly.

  “Your magic-impaired driving is really getting to be my favorite thing,” Ringo said, then sighed. He hopped off the dashboard and into Taylor’s lap. After tugging at the belt, he gave a thumbs-up. “Just keep the fucking truck straight.”

  “Will d—” Corentin cut off with a strangling gasp. He forced himself to release the wheel and let off the gas. The truck coasted, then slowed, then finally came to a stop.

  Ringo remained in Taylor’s lap and watched Corentin. “Good job on not nearly killing us today, boyo.”

  Corentin coughed twice and then took a breath. “Thanks,” he croaked, then coughed again. “I’m trying.”

  Ringo beat his wings and rose from Taylor’s lap. He gasped and zipped to Corentin. Corentin frowned. Apparently the blood from Phillipa’s nick had soaked into his jeans.

  “You’re hurt,” Ringo said, staring in wide-eyed shock.

  Corentin waved him off. “It looks worse that it is. It’s just a scrape. Bleeds like crazy, though.” He gestured to the backseat. “See if you can dig up some napkins back there. Look in the McDonald’s bags in particular.”

  “Finally, the trash is useful….” Ringo made a dive to the back. The sound of him tossing trash around made Corentin hold back a laugh. “Man, this is nasty.”

  “You’ll live.”

  Ringo returned with a stack of napkins. “I need a bath in bleach now….”

  Corentin took the napkins and pressed them to his hip. He blotted up as much of the blood as he could and then shoved the remaining napkins into the waistband of his jeans over the wound. He pressed the gas, and they carried on down the road.

  Ringo resumed his place on the dashboard, and his shoulders drooped in what seemed like defeat.

  Corentin caught the expression of exasperation. “Problem?”

  Ringo gestured to the ever-changing scenery. “You know, you’d think this would be pretty awesome with being in completely different parts of the country every few miles. But it gets pretty monotonous. Pretty”—Ringo shrugged—“depressing, I guess. You see a sign for Akron, and then you see one for Santa Monica, and then Augusta, and then St. Paul. You get all turned around. You don’t know where you’ll end up.”

  “You don’t get your hopes up…,” Corentin said sadly. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he regretted the moment he admitted his assumption of Idi’s plan.

  Ringo hung his head. “Which I guess is the point.” A moment of silence hung between them. The road clicked underneath with the segments of paving. Then the tires sang as they hit a patch of rough gravel. The hum echoed through the truck cabin. “We’re really going to die out here, aren’t we? Or are we already dead?” Ringo asked as he wrung his hands.

  Corentin spit a laugh. Now that was a funny assumption. “There is no way we could be dead. No way! We’d know it.”

  Ringo cracked a grin, and Corentin was thankful his good humor was returning. “M. Night Shyamalan says you’re wrong.”

  Corentin narrowed his eyes and shook his head in a slight twist. “Who?”

  Ringo snapped his fingers and then waved his hand as it seemed an idea came to him. “Oh, right. Only know the last four years of your life. Got it.” He hesitated and then watched Corentin. Their gazes met, and Ringo frowned.

  Corentin arched a brow, curious at what Ringo had to say.

  “But…. How the hell do you remember how to drive?” Ringo asked.

  “Like riding a bike,” Corentin said and nodded once. He turned back to the road and studied the constellations on the horizon for a star to guide them by. “You never forget.”

  “Yeah,” Ringo said, crossing his arms. “Suspending my disbelief now.”

  Corentin chuckled as they drove on in the darkness. The truck headlights only reached so far, and the road shifted from smooth and freshly paved, to pale with veins of tar, to potholed red clay, then lined with orange construction barrels that bottlenecked into one lane. Occasional Men at Work signs dotted the road, but there were no men working. The lights mounted on the barrels flashed in a steady rhythm down the row, but they saw no other signs of humans. The road changed again, into tight curves overlooking a bluff. Corentin caught the moon shimmering on the churning tides of the ocean
. He smiled as the pale silver rippled on the waves. It was beautiful. He stole a glance at Taylor, who slept soundly. If only Taylor was awake. He’d love it.

  Corentin frowned as his mind drifted to pleasant thoughts about Taylor. He had to control it. He had to keep it in. It was getting harder to fight the impulses to dispose of him. He didn’t understand at first why Charles was so hell-bent on having Taylor killed. Corentin rubbed at his chin, and the scruffy stubble scraped his palm. “I don’t get it,” Corentin said aloud.

  The road changed in front of them: flat, broad grasslands lay before them. In the distance, buffalo lumbered through the night.

  Ringo turned to face Corentin. He tucked his knees to his chest. “Don’t get what?”

  “Taylor’s Curseless, right?”

  “That’s the theory,” Ringo said with a nod.

  Corentin drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Why the wedding? I get the princess thing, as Taylor calls it, that the eldest must be married off before the younger princess can be acted upon. It’s some kind of magical bond. With Taylor alive and unmarried, Atticus will be immune to danger. Right?”

  Ringo thumbed his chin and grinned. “I underestimated you, boyo. You catch on pretty fast.”

  Corentin smirked as he watched the road. It changed again into a hairpin turn. “Hold on,” he said in warning as he hit the brakes suddenly to slow down enough. He still took the turn too quickly. Ringo tumbled off the dashboard and took flight to steady himself. The road straightened, and the truck rolled on.

  “Anyway,” Corentin said and pointed a finger. “Here’s where things get tricky. With Taylor as a Curseless princess, there isn’t a bond protecting Atticus….”

  Ringo hummed thoughtfully and settled at Corentin’s headrest. “So, you’re saying the wedding was a sham in the first place?”

  Corentin pumped the brakes, and they crept through a covered wooden bridge. He clicked on the brights just in case. Nothing seemed to be waiting for them in the darkness. And no trolls under the bridge. “That’s what I’m thinking,” Corentin said as they cleared the bridge.

  “Soooo…,” Ringo said. “That’s why we’re trapped out here. We wander the roads forever? Get us to give up?”

  “With no food, no water, the clothes on our backs, and running us until exhaustion… it’s going to eventually work,” Corentin said. “He throws us bones on occasion, like the Wigwam Motel or the rest stop so we could get a little something to eat. It’s a tease.”

  Ringo nodded. “Did you eat yet? By all accounts we’ve been out here… for almost three days? It’s a miracle you’re not insane.”

  “Huntsmen are resilient bastards,” Corentin said with a smirk. “It’s the dark magic that sustains us if we don’t use it.”

  “But you’ve used it,” Ringo said. “And I assume you’ve used it more than the two times I’ve seen you do it.”

  Corentin fell silent for a long moment. Finally he answered, “You could say that.”

  “How much?” Ringo asked.

  Corentin’s heart thumped with the question. “Promise not to say a word to Taylor? You have to swear you won’t say anything to Taylor. You swear?”

  “On my ancient blood as a wood sprite,” Ringo said.

  Corentin sighed. No time like the present to spit it out. “I’m dying.”

  Together, they sat in silence.

  “The dark magic is giving me cancer,” Corentin said quietly. “If the magic in an Enchant dies, you become riddled with human ailments. From common colds to….” He trailed off and let the silence fill in his explanation. “It was in my journal.”

  Ringo still didn’t say anything.

  “Please say something.” Corentin gave a broken smile.

  Ringo’s voice was quiet as he asked his question. “Is it rude to ask how much time you have left?”

  Corentin sighed and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. “Not much.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ringo whispered, his voice barely carrying over the air conditioner.

  Corentin sniffed, holding in the emotions welling within him. He scratched at his nose, trying to conceal his sadness. “Hey, it’s okay. I just want to get Taylor back to Atlanta, and I’ll be on my way, off to the next thing.”

  Ringo wiped his face on his sleeve and then wiped at his eyes again.

  “Hey…,” Corentin said softly. “None of that, okay?”

  Ringo nodded quickly. “I don’t want you to go away.” He choked and struggled to swallow with stuffed sinuses.

  “I know, little man. I know,” Corentin said and watched the stars again. “Hey, you can see the Milky Way from here.” He pointed to the sky. “Look.”

  Ringo fluttered back to the dash and pressed his little hands to the windshield. The purple, red, and yellow clouds ripped a slash in the dark sky, and the stars spilled out like pixie dust. Ringo’s jaw dropped into a wondrous smile. “This is amazing. You can’t see the stars in Atlanta.”

  Corentin reached out and ruffled Ringo’s gray-blond hair. “Enjoy it, then.”

  Occasionally Corentin scanned the sides of the road, trying to peer through the shrubbery. He hunted for anything that looked like wildlife on the edges of the rapidly changing foliage. He didn’t tell Ringo he was looking for Phillipa. She would find them again. She had done it twice now, and Corentin had to be prepared for her to do it again.

  “Hey…,” Ringo said, sitting back on the dash, startling Corentin out of his thoughts. “Thanks. About Taylor.”

  Corentin shook his head. “What about Taylor?”

  Ringo lay on his side on the dashboard, and his wings jostled with each bump in the road. “For opening up to Taylor. That you like guys too.”

  Corentin was thankful Ringo watched the landscape, because he would have had a hard time hiding the flush on his face. “I guess I’m not as obvious as others.”

  Ringo smirked at Corentin. “I could tell. Underneath all the blue-collar, tough-guy camouflage, I clued in.”

  “With your fairy godfather voodoo.” Corentin watched the stars on the horizon. They winked like fireflies. The nostalgic comfort warmed his exhausted body.

  Ringo waved a dismissive hand. “Psssh! I’m just perceptive. Being with Taylor since the moment of birth, you learn how to read people. Oh…. Yeah. And maybe a bit of fairy godfather voodoo.”

  Corentin chuckled. “Just so you know, my intentions with Taylor are strictly honorable,” Corentin lied. If he said it enough, maybe Ringo would believe it, even if Corentin didn’t.

  Ringo yawned as the truck hit a smooth patch of pavement. “That’s well and good. The point I’m getting at is Taylor needed someone to tell him it was okay. That’s what I was talking about with his meltdown. The one at the rest stop. He never gets peace from it. He never comes to the conclusion it’s okay to like guys. Until you came along.”

  Corentin frowned and tried not to let Ringo’s choice of words hit him in an emotional place. “And I guess the truth about his brother didn’t help things?”

  Ringo sighed. “Whether or not Atticus is gay remains to be seen. But I kinda suspected. He always wanted what Taylor did. But here’s the kicker. Atticus is the one who had everything. Taylor had nothing. Taylor’s been a social pariah among all Enchants because he’s Curseless.” Ringo pushed himself into sitting up. “Atticus was the golden boy. Taylor was cast aside.” Ringo slid around to hang his feet off the edge of the dash and face Taylor. “He’s been angry. He’s been angry for a very long time,” Ringo said and tilted his head. “He was so angry he came out in a fight with his father for the sheer spite of it.”

  “Damn,” Corentin said. “That’s one way to do it, I suppose. I suspect it never blew over.” Corentin stole a glance at the sleeping Taylor. His heart sank at how someone like Taylor could harbor such rage.

  “It’s true what he said, though,” Ringo said and kept his attention on Taylor. “His father offered him a fraction of his trust fund and told him to get as far away as he could on that. His f
ather didn’t want him around Atticus. Or any of their socialite circles. They just threw him away like trash.” Ringo put a fist to his chest. “That’s the part that hurts the worst. They just… cast him out because he wasn’t what they expected.” He grunted with disgust. “And then they needed to marry him off. Because it was expected of him. While Taylor and I were up in Syracuse, we had no idea Lord and Lady Hatfield were combing the countryside for a female prince. And… Phillipa Montclair, of all of them.” Ringo tugged at his hair, frustrated. “A disgraced prince and a Curseless princess, because of course both of them needed to be insulted and made into a fucked-up example.”

  Corentin’s expression turned grim, and his grip on the wheel tightened. “How could a parent throw away their child? That’s their child.”

  “Well, when your family line is completely embarrassing already with being all princesses, you take steps to make it… less embarrassing. Or I guess, soothe the savage beasts of Enchants with far more status than them,” Ringo said. He rested his elbows on his knees. “A Curseless, gay princess. His parents deemed there was no possible way he could bring honor to the Hatfield line.”

  Corentin tossed out a hand in frustration. “There’s gotta be a way. Just because he’s gay isn’t a reason he can’t have children.”

  Ringo sighed. “Get it? They have to be biological. Have to be.” Ringo met Corentin’s gaze, and Corentin found himself not disturbed by Ringo’s disproportionate eyes. “It’s all politics. The need for appearances. The need to be straight. The need to finally get princely blood in the Hatfield line.” He ran a hand over his face in frustration. “And the Hatfields play all the angles to their benefit. Taylor and Atticus are just in the middle of it. Thanks to Darlene back there at the donut shop, Taylor was the first to know his whole heritage is made of princesses. I don’t think Atticus knows. And I’m assuming efforts will be made to ensure he never knows. It’s sad, even their parents were drawn to each other and fell in love despite both being princesses. And they… hid it from their children. They refused to let their children learn it was okay to be different from all other Enchants.”