Casual Hex

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She could even smell the dank scent of the raccoons, whose coats were damp from the snow that blew in under the tarp. The breeze felt icy on her cheeks and nose. Yessiree, this was one detailed dream, and she wanted to wake up now.

  “The dragon always loses.” Leo’s voice came a split second before he grabbed her from behind, his arm going around her waist and pulling her tight against him.

  Gwen wiggled in his grasp and tried to punch backward with her two weapons, but he was very strong. She should have realized that after seeing his muscles up close and personal.

  Holding her viselike against his hard body, Leo pried the keys out of one fist and tossed them into the bushes.

  “Hey! I need those!” Even knowing this was a dream, she hated the thought of losing her keys.

  The chattering stopped and the raccoons all looked in her direction like a collection of little bandits. The dragon looked, too, his red eyes more curious than menacing. He was a greenish-brown color, although the tips of his scales were gold.

  This dream got wilder and wilder, because she could swear the dragon had a white iPod around his neck. The earbuds were dangling there, too, because he needed to hear while he played poker. Of course he did.

  She wanted to remember this dream to tell Marc. He’d laugh his head off, especially at the part about the dragon. She couldn’t bring herself to be afraid of the creature, probably because he was playing poker and wearing an iPod.

  The dragon got up from his seat, three tree trunks roped together, and peered at the spot where Gwen was being held captive. “Leo, is that you hiding in the bushes, dude?”

  “It’s me, George.” Leo wrestled Gwen out into the clearing, and the commotion they made scared the raccoons, who scattered and melted into the shadows.

  Gwen tried to use the opportunity of being walked into the clearing as a way to punch Leo with the fist holding the diamond bracelet. Instead she dropped the blasted thing. Fortunately this was only a dream, because it wasn’t her bracelet and she’d promised to return it to Dorcas.

  The dragon, who seemed to be named George, had to be at least twelve feet tall standing on his hind legs. Logically, Gwen should have been terrified, but she wasn’t. She didn’t even flinch as George lowered his head to study her.

  “Who’s this dudette, Leo?”

  “Gwendolyn, the future Queen of Atwood.”

  “My name’s Gwen, nimrod!” With a growl of frustration, she tried to kick Leo in the shins.

  George scratched the top of his head with one long claw. “I hate to break it to you, but she doesn’t act all that excited about the program.”

  “She just doesn’t know what she’s missing. Ouch! Stop that!”

  Gwen had managed to connect with one kick and she was working up to another. “Let me go, and I’ll be happy to stop kicking your royal prince-ness!” She swung her booted foot back and felt it connect with Leo’s leg again.

  George tilted his massive head this way and that, as if surveying the situation from all angles. “Up to you, dude, but she doesn’t seem to want this queen thing. I’m thinking you need a new approach. Candy, maybe a few flowers, a little jewelry.”

  Gwen decided the dragon was an improvement over dealing with Leo, and because this was only a dream, she had nothing to lose. She glanced up at the creature. “Hello, George.”

  “Hidey-ho, dudette. How’s it hanging?”

  “Not so well, I’m afraid. Prince Fathead here thinks I’m going to be his queen.”

  “Hey!” Leo said. “Don’t call me names. I’m a royal.”

  “A royal pain in the ass,” Gwen said. “George, do you think it’s right to force someone to be your life partner?”

  George frowned. “No. ’Cause then they could creep up on you while you’re sleeping and brain you with a frying pan.”

  “Well said.” Gwen tried to pry Leo’s arm from around her waist. “Leo, let me go.”

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Yeah, why not?” George echoed. “Grab a clue. Find a chick who actually likes you, dog.”

  “Gwendolyn used to like me, and she’ll like me again once we’re alone.” Leo put his mouth close to Gwen’s ear. “Think oral sex.”

  “Eeeuuuwww.”

  George leaned closer. “I didn’t catch that.”

  “Trust me, George, you’re better off not knowing.” Gwen made a face. “It was gross.”

  “You know what?” Leo said. “This conversation is boring me. Gwendolyn and I need to get back to my cave for a little one-on-one.”

  Gwen tried to fight him, but she was no match for all those muscles. Before she realized what had happened, he’d turned her around and flung her over his shoulder. She kicked with her feet and beat with her fists, but he acted as if he didn’t feel it.

  When struggling didn’t help, she started yelling as loud as she could. She didn’t know if anyone could hear her besides George and the raccoons. If this was a dream, she’d wake up soon and none of it would matter.

  But she wasn’t having sex, even dream sex, with Prince Leo of Atwood. Not this girl. Marc was her main man, and she would be true to him no matter what.

  “I’m not sure this is right, dude,” George said. “I mean, you’re my poker buddy and that’s been awesome, but she’s all ‘Help, he’s kidnapping me!’ That makes her, like, a damsel in distress. And seeing as how she’s in my forest, then—”

  “Your forest? Hey, lighten up, George. You don’t have to take responsibility for this piece of woods. Don’t let them lay that on you.”

  “George!” Gwen continued to scream at the top of her lungs. “Be a man! I mean, a dragon! Don’t let him haul me off to his icky cave!” She wished she could see what was going on, but from the sounds of heavy footsteps she thought that George might be moving into position so he could block Leo’s escape.

  “Don’t be an idiot, George,” Leo said. “Get out of my way.”

  Yes. George is going to help me. “George, George, he’s our dragon! If he can’t do it, no use naggin’!”

  “Awesome cheer, dudette. Nobody’s ever given me a cheer before.”

  Leo gripped her tighter. “Cheer, schmeer. Look, dragon breath. I’m a fairy prince. I have connections. If you don’t want trouble with the Fairy Council, you’ll mind your own business on this deal.”

  “I’m not letting you take her, dude.”

  “Neither am I,” said an incredibly welcome male voice. “Put her down, Atwood.”

  Hallelujah! Her knight in shining armor had arrived. “Marc! You came!”

  “And he didn’t come alone. Ambrose and I are here with him.”

  Gwen recognized Dorcas’s voice. “I dropped your bracelet over there in the bushes,” she said. “I know this is just a dream, but I still feel bad about it.”

  There were at least three seconds of silence in the clearing. Finally Marc spoke up. “Cherie, it is not a dream.”

  “Yeah, right. Raccoons playing poker, an iPod-wearing dragon, a fairy prince who claims to have wings. I’m supposed to buy all that?” More silence. She could imagine them all exchanging glances. “Marc?”

  “We will talk about it later,” Marc said. “Atwood, put her down. This has gone far enough.”

  “Indeed it has,” Ambrose said. “You can’t fight all of us, Leo. Release Gwen and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

  “I will never forget,” Marc said.

  That’s my man.

  “Let’s put it this way.” Leo stooped down, and for one glorious moment, Gwen thought he planned to let her go. Instead he grabbed her by the arm as he pulled something out of his boot. “This is a fairy dagger. Does everyone know what that means?”

  “No,” said Marc, “but if you so much as nick her skin, I will have your head on a platter.”

  “You’d better listen to him,” Gwen said. “He’s French. They invented the guillotine.” Now that she was back on her feet, she was able to see the man she loved stan
ding a few feet away, poised to jump Leo.

  His face was unshaven and his eyes bloodshot. His shirttail hung out below the hem of his black jacket, and his jeans were filthy with mud and snow. He was the most gorgeous sight she’d ever laid eyes on.

  Dorcas and Ambrose stood behind him, and they didn’t look any better. The normally elegant couple appeared as if they’d thrown on whatever clothes were handy with no regard to color, style or even gender. Dorcas was wearing a red jacket that was too big for her and probably belonged to Ambrose. Ambrose had on a ratty old wool coat with oil stains on it and a knit cap that was too small for him and probably belonged to Dorcas.

  They all looked like that because they’d rushed to her aid and she loved them for it. Even though none of this was real, she appreciated the effort.

  Marc stepped toward her. “Atwood, I told you to let her go.”

  “Be careful, Marc,” Ambrose said. “If that’s really a fairy dagger, and it looks genuine to me, one cut with the thing is deadly.”

  “Bummer, dude! Those daggers are bad news.”

  Gwen glanced over her shoulder and saw George backing away.

  Marc, however, held his ground. “Dorcas and Ambrose, talk to me.” He kept his attention on Leo. “Can you two counteract the effects of this fairy dagger?”

  “I’d have a slight chance if I had both parts of my staff,” Ambrose said. “Which I don’t.”

  “It would take me hours to brew a potion,” Dorcas said. “Even then I’m not sure it would work. I’m scandalized that Queen Beryl turned him loose with one of those. No fairy should own one unless they know the proper spells to neutralize the poison, and I can’t believe Leo has that kind of knowledge.” She hesitated. “Of course, it could be a fake.”

  Leo waved the knife around. “Anybody willing to take that chance?”

  “Certainement.” Without warning, Marc threw himself at Leo.

  “I’m with you, dude!” George charged from the rear.

  “Fools!” Leo lashed out with the knife, but he loosened his grip on Gwen.

  Quickly she twisted away from him. She was free! But as she turned, she saw Marc stagger back, a gash across his neck.

  It’s only a dream. But Gwen couldn’t stop the cry of agony that rose in her throat as she ran to Marc, who had already dropped to his knees. Only a dream! It wasn’t a deep cut, but blood dripped from it, and when she pressed her fingers there, it felt like real blood.

  “Mon Dieu,” Marc murmured. “Je suis fatigue.”

  “He got me on the belly,” George said. “But I’m a dragon! I’m cool. I’m . . . feeling sick. Woozy city.”

  “Leo, you reckless imbecile!” Dorcas sounded desperate. “Reverse the effects of the poison! Reverse it right now, or so help me, your life will not be worth living!”

  Holding on to Marc, Gwen turned and gazed up at Leo. She no longer could separate dreams from reality, and this felt way too real to suit her. Against all logic, she believed if she didn’t find a way to save Marc, he would die.

  According to Dorcas and Ambrose, Leo was the only one who could save him. “Please,” she whispered through cold lips. “Please help him. Help both of them.”

  Leo stood holding the bloody knife. “If you’ll be my queen, I will.”

  There was no other choice. Marc was slipping away, and the poor dragon was down, too. “All right, you slimy bastard. I’ll be your queen.”

  George’s voice came faintly across the clearing. “Don’t forget about the frying pan.”

  She didn’t intend to. Someday, somehow, Leo would pay for this.

  Chapter 23

  Leo had the leverage he needed. He hadn’t meant to actually cut either Chevalier or George, but accidents happened. This accident would work out well if he could figure out the reversal spell, because then Gwendolyn would be his queen.

  If he couldn’t figure out the reversal spell, then Gwendolyn would probably kill him, so the spell would be a good thing to have right now. It had been in the list of instructions that came with the knife, but he wasn’t sure what he’d done with those instructions.

  Think, Atwood. Okay, hold on. It was coming to him. He’d shoved that little piece of paper in the sheath, in case of emergencies, like actually using the blasted thing. If it hadn’t fallen out somewhere, he was in business.

  Plunging the knife into a nearby snowdrift, he pulled the sheath out of his boot and stuck his finger down into it, hoping to touch the folded instructions.

  “What in Hades’s name are you waiting for?” Ambrose walked over to him. “You said you’d do the spell, so do it!”

  “Cool your jets. I’ll do the spell.” If he didn’t have the instructions in the sheath, he wouldn’t be doing shit, but he wasn’t about to admit that if he didn’t have to.

  “We need that spell, and we need it now, Atwood.” Ambrose gestured toward Dorcas, who’d packed snow around the Frenchman’s wound and was now doing the same with the dragon. “She can slow the progress, but that’s only a temporary measure.”

  “Be right with you.” Leo turned his back on Ambrose as his finger touched the edge of what could be the paper containing the instructions. He hoped they were in English. If they were in English, he hoped they’d been written by a native speaker.

  But first he had to get the instructions out of the sheath, and they appeared to be wedged in there. Leo began to sweat. His fingers weren’t quite long enough. . . . The blade! He could use that to pry them out.

  Turning, he pulled the silver knife out of the snowdrift.

  “Put that down.” Ambrose seemed to appear magically in front of him. “You can’t be trusted with that.” He looked prepared to try to wrestle the knife away from Leo.

  Ambrose wasn’t strong enough to do that, but one of them could get hurt in the process. Lethally hurt. Leo was forced to explain himself.

  “The instructions for reversing the effects of the poison are inside this sheath. I’m trying to get them out and I thought I’d use the knife.”

  Ambrose groaned. “I don’t know whether to be horrified that you need written instructions or thrilled that instructions exist so we can all look at them.”

  “They’re stuck.” Leo began to probe inside the sheath with the point of the knife. “But I have to be careful or I might cut myself.”

  “No joke. Didn’t you have to pass an exam to be allowed to carry that thing?”

  “Yeah. I found my dad’s old cheat sheet. Hades, I can’t get this stupid piece of paper out!”

  “Dorcas,” Ambrose called. “Can you take a break and bring your wand over here?”

  Dorcas stood and hurried over. “A wand isn’t going to reverse the effects of that poison.”

  “No, but I’ll bet you could get the instructions out of the sheath. They’re wedged in there.”

  Dorcas stared at the two men. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? Move that knife. Stick it back in the snow.”

  Leo was only too glad to get rid of it.

  Dorcas pointed her wand at the sheath. “Erupit!” The sheath split in half, revealing a crumpled piece of yellowed paper.

  They all reached for it at once, ripping the paper so they each ended up with a piece of it.

  “Hold out your pieces,” Dorcas commanded. As they did so, she pointed her wand again. “E pluribus unum.” The three pieces united in Dorcas’s hand.

  Leo blinked. “Aren’t those the words on a dollar bill?”

  “Yes, which makes them easy to remember. And they work just fine. Let me look at this.” Pulling a pair of jeweled glasses out of her jacket pocket, Dorcas slipped them on and consulted the instructions.

  Leo and Ambrose crowded around and read over her shoulder.

  “Any day now!” Gwendolyn’s voice cracked. “Both of them are fading!”

  Dorcas handed Leo the paper. “You have to do this because you’re the official fairy. But I’ll coach you.”

  “Right.” Leo took a deep breath.

  “Step
one,” Dorcas said. “Face the victim. Or in this case, victims.”

  “Doing it.” Leo turned so he could see both George and Chevalier. George’s scales had turned a muddy brown, and Chevalier’s face was pasty. Neither of them looked good.

  “Step two, ask the victims for forgiveness for your unintentional and rash act. Say their full names and titles.”

  Gwendolyn was crying and could barely talk. “Marc’s full name is . . . is Jean-Marc Chevalier, Proffessor of Botany, Sorb-bonne University, P-Paris.”

  Leo managed to say all that, but then he glanced at Dorcas. “What’s George’s full name? I only know him by George.”

  Dorcas didn’t look all that steady, either. “His full name is George, the True Guardian of the Whispering Forest.”

  Ambrose touched her arm. “I didn’t get the paperwork approved. He hasn’t officially earned—”

  “The hell he hasn’t!” Dorcas’s eyes shimmered with tears as she glared at her husband. “Did he not just risk his life to save someone who was in danger within the confines of this forest?”

  “Yes, he did.” Ambrose cleared his throat. “Most certainly. Proceed.”

  “And George, the True Guardian of the Whispering Forest,” Leo said. “I ask forgiveness for my rash and unintentional act.”

  “It was supposed to be unintentional and rash,” Ambrose said. “He got it backward.”

  “I doubt that matters,” Dorcas said. “This isn’t like one of your computer codes, Ambrose. It’s the intent that matters, not the exact order of the words.” She consulted the paper again. “Step three, bestow a kiss on the cheek of the victim and wish the victim a long and prosperous life. Use the full name and title again.”

  Leo made a face. “A kiss? How about a handshake? Wouldn’t that be the same intent?”

  “It says a kiss.” Dorcas fixed her gaze on him. “In this case, no waffling. There’s no substitute for a kiss.”

  Leo hesitated. Then he saw the tears streaming down Gwendolyn’s face and knew he had to do it, icky though it would be. He chose the dragon first as the lesser of two evils.