Bayou Fairy Tale

by Lex Chase

  “Shh, shh, shh,” Corentin whispered again, and Taylor nodded under the command. “Quiet now. Quiet. You need to be quiet.”

  “Corentin…,” Taylor gasped and then struggled for breath. His stomach tightened, followed by his thighs tensing a moment later, his back jerked with a spasm, and he spilled into Corentin’s hand. Before he could screech again, Corentin whispered to quiet him.

  Taylor heard Corentin take a deep swallow as he too finished. Unlike his gentle touch on Taylor, Corentin was rough with himself, milking himself dry with several hard thrusts. He kept his concentration by gently petting Taylor’s hardness. Taylor took control of Corentin’s attentions and laid his hand on Corentin’s as Taylor guided his easy touch into finishing Taylor for a second time.

  They both sat still and silent, their pleasured sighs of their affection between them.

  Taylor danced the edge of momentary sleep, and Zee slumbered once again. Insignificant dreams fluttered across his vision. One moment he strolled through a lush forest; the next he blissfully wove yarn at a spinning wheel. He hummed a lullaby his mother had taught him to himself as the yarn gleamed in the sunlight. His fingers slipped, and he caught himself on the spindle. He gasped as the long needle impaled his palm.

  Taylor jerked awake with a panicked bark, and Corentin held him fast.

  “What? What?” Corentin asked, his voice tense.

  “Sorry…,” Taylor muttered and yawned wide. “Whutimeisit…,” he slurred.

  “It’s two minutes until ten,” Corentin whispered and kissed the top of Taylor’s head. “Were you sleeping?”

  “Mmmhmm….” Taylor yawned again and his lashes fluttered. He drifted and then dragged himself back to wakefulness. He was supposed to do something today. What was it? “What time is it again?” Taylor asked, this time more conscious.

  “Now one minute till ten,” Corentin whispered. “The library is about to open.”

  “Fuck!” Taylor jerked away and sat up ramrod straight. “I’m late!” He scooted away from Corentin and snatched a napkin off the dash. Despite being a slapdash job, he mopped himself clean as best he could, then readjusted himself into his boxers and zipped his jeans. He turned toward Corentin and swallowed at Corentin’s exposed state, his cock resting against his thigh and his cream still on his fingers. “Really?” Taylor asked, arching a brow.

  Corentin snorted a chuckle, and Taylor leaned forward for a kiss. They parted, and Corentin raised his sticky fingers. Taylor immediately took Corentin’s cum-slicked index finger into his mouth and suckled. His lashes fluttered at the sweet and salty.

  “Is it really that good?” Corentin asked with a lecherous grin.

  “Has to be a princess thing,” Taylor said, then licked his lips. He snatched his bag of Munchkins off the dash and shimmied out of the truck.

  Corentin nodded as he made himself decent. He wiped his hands with the remaining napkins, then rummaged in the center console for the mini hand sanitizer. “I suppose we’ll think of something for dinner,” he said as he rubbed the peach-scented goo over his hands. He then held out the bottle to Taylor.

  Taylor set his bag of Munchkins and his coffee on the roof of the truck, then reached in for Corentin to squeeze on a generous dollop of the pink liquid. He worked the sanitizer over his fingers. “I think it’s bean supper at the church, y’know.” He couldn’t help himself as he gave Corentin his most snarky smile. “Can’t keep your fans waiting.”

  Corentin smirked. “You just work your boyish charm to get us second helpings. You know how Phyllis keeps trying to fatten you up.”

  Taylor glanced up at the bank sign and checked the time. “She’s gotta be a witch.”

  “You think everyone’s a witch.” Corentin laughed.

  In a puff of gold glitter, Ringo reappeared outside the truck. He took his place on Taylor’s shoulder.

  “Excited about Ramona’s septic system?” Taylor asked with a grin.

  “Loads,” Corentin said as he readjusted his seat.

  “It’s always sad picking up kids from the pool,” Ringo said, shaking his head.

  “Have a good day rolling in shit.” Taylor smiled, milking every moment of their puns.

  “Hey.” Corentin stopped him, then reached into the backseat. He turned back to Taylor, holding out a stack of envelopes. “I picked up the mail from yesterday and forgot I left it in the truck.”

  Taylor took the stack of mail and tucked it under his elbow, then shuffled his breakfast and coffee in his grasp.

  Corentin started the engine. “Well, I’m off to see the Wizard.” He made a two-finger salute at Taylor. “Be good.”

  “Never,” Taylor said in a prissy princess tone. He wiggled and tried to keep a grip on the mail and his bag of Munchkins in one hand and his coffee in the other. He smiled as Corentin drove away, heading to Ellsworth. It was one of their nicer days, and Taylor planned to make a note of it. He liked it when he and Corentin were just like any other guys in love and not a part of some grander scheme in the world.

  It seemed Taylor had gotten his wish at long last. A life away from magic, witches, and stuffy traditions. A life where a princess and a huntsman could be the most ordinary of people, with ordinary jobs and ordinary friends. According to Phyllis, the local ol’ blue-haired busybody, Taylor and Corentin were “such nice boys.” Sure there was mumblings of them living together, but it never went further than that. Or if it did, Taylor never heard. Above all, they couldn’t let the housewives of Hancock County know the scintillating truth about the rough-and-rugged Southerner Corentin Devereaux.

  Taylor laughed. Corentin would never live it down.

  Trotting up the library’s front steps, he called to Ringo over his shoulder. “Swear to you on a stack of Brothers Grimms that Corentin’s totally slept with a woman once or twice.”

  Ringo shrugged. “Maybe he hasn’t. He doesn’t remember.”

  Taylor came to a sharp halt in the foyer and gritted his teeth.

  Ringo sank like a deflated balloon. “Shit…. Just came out.”

  The silence hung between them. Taylor growled under his breath, and luckily Zee remained drowsy and snoring. He assumed she snored; his chest would grow warm with each of her smoking breaths.

  Ringo watched Taylor from the floor like a starving kitten. “Hey… um… sorry….”

  Taylor didn’t answer as his world fell away. He ran his thumb over the plastic address window of the one envelope he dreaded getting, and at the same time, longed for. The weight of what the envelope meant crushed him with the one responsibility he could never escape, yet would proudly carry like a wounded soldier refusing to retreat.

  He didn’t retreat that day. But when the envelopes arrived, the voices whispered he should have. Maybe he should have married Phillipa Montclair, gay or not, maybe none of this would have ever happened.

  Losing Atticus was like losing a limb. Losing Atticus left behind a gnarled scar that itched and throbbed with the arrival of every new envelope, the sensation of longing for wholeness.

  Taylor had once thought he and Atticus had made a secret pact to endure the childhood of embarrassments that came with their princess titles and emerge as proud adults on the other side.

  He had lied to Atticus. Taylor emerged as an embittered, selfish adult. He wasn’t able to appreciate what he had until that day in Cawker City, Kansas.

  Sometimes he wished Atticus was dead. If he were, Taylor could make peace, knowing Atticus wasn’t suffering anymore. Atticus didn’t have the wherewithal to know he was suffering.

  He ran his thumb over the plastic window as if in meditation. Ringo was trying to apologize for his social gaffe about Corentin. Taylor heard him. But he held back the first thing that sat poised on his lips, and it wasn’t about Corentin.

  The envelopes were never good news. They were the news that ruined Taylor’s week with Corentin as he tried to enjoy having Corentin back again before he left every seventh day. As he stared at the seal of the Andersen Institute of
Mental Health, the scar opened itself again.

  Taylor ripped open the envelope and yanked out the letter. Like ripping out the stitches, best to get it over with quick. It would hurt like a motherfucker, but Corentin excelled at the care and feeding of raging dragons.

  Ringo remained silent as Taylor read.

  Please be dead, please let it be over, please….

  But it was not that letter. Instead, the words formed sentences that heated his face, and the paragraphs became infuriating. Zee growled, ready to defend her princess.

  Ringo took flight, hovering in front of Taylor, and wrung his hands. “Is it…,” he began and trailed off. “Is it over?”

  “They moved him to a different facility.”

  The words might as well have reopened the old mental wound and revealed a rampant infection.

  “Oh! Thank Storyteller.” Ringo sighed and wiped his brow.

  Taylor folded the paper under his arm with all of his other mail and headed into the librarian lounge. He tossed the Dunkin’ Donuts bag and thumped his coffee onto the table. Without a second glance, he dropped back onto a chair. Ringo took his place among the sock puppets on the shelf. It was easier to keep himself from exposing Devon to magic.

  Taylor ground the heels of his palms against his itchy, burning eyes. Corentin was right. Taylor hadn’t been sleeping much, or at all. And while the Curse Day all-nighters were a regular part of his week, rest was few and far between. Life with Corentin was worth it. Taylor knew what he signed up for, and he was in it even if Corentin’s curse was never broken.

  He snatched the letter off the table and read it again. If it were possible, the words made him even angrier.

  “They transported him to another facility. And they didn’t fucking talk to me about it first,” Taylor said, trying to clarify for Ringo.

  On the bookshelf, Ringo idly repaired the Raggedy Ann puppet’s braid. “You better call.”

  He didn’t need to say whom Taylor should call.

  Taylor yanked the phone from his hoodie pocket and punched in his father’s number.

  When Taylor had discovered the very man he despised with every fiber of his being was the former reigning Sleeping Dragon, he’d felt a sick sense of kinship with his father.

  His father had been just as embarrassed of being a princess as he was embarrassed of his own gay princess son. Even after all Taylor had been through, Lord Hatfield’s pride was too much of a wedge between them. Taylor was alone in learning about what it meant to be the latest Princess Zellandine the Dragon Slayer. The only times they communicated were when making joint decisions on Atticus’s care.

  It rang.

  Taylor drummed his fingers on the table.

  It rang.

  He noted the ridges on his thumbnail.

  It rang.

  He scratched at his chin. Was stubble growing in finally? He felt along his chin and found it as smooth as a supermodel.

  It rang.

  He tightened his grip on his phone. It was a given that his father would dodge his call.

  There was a click, and Taylor poised himself with curses hot on his tongue.

  Only to be met with the chirp of a lost signal.

  “Dammit!” He pounded his fist on the table. Being denied the opportunity to rip into his father made his skin tingle with the need for violence. A Munchkin would have to do. He snatched the Dunkin’ Donuts bag from the corner of the table and gobbled down three in rapid fire.

  “Taylor?” Devon said as she peeked in from the doorway.

  Taylor was well on his way to maiming his fourth Munchkin when he looked up like a cornered jackal over his fresh kill.

  Devon hesitated and gave a crooked smile. “Now. I’m not judging, but either that’s cocaine on your nose or powdered sugar.”

  Caught in the weird place of laughing or choking, Taylor forced himself to swallow. He wiped his nose and noted the sugar. “Hmmm. I’d say that’s Columbia’s finest right there.”

  Devon leaned on the doorjamb and shook her head. “You can’t afford to have Columbia’s finest. Now, Corentin, with a body like that? I’m sure he’s raking it in.”

  “Well, you know, he knows how to rock a thong,” Taylor said, not missing a beat.

  “He’s dancing the pole over at Humpy House, right?” The lack of sarcasm in Devon’s tone eased Taylor of his stress.

  “Vodka shooters off his stomach and everything,” Taylor said, considering his nails.

  “I’d figured your boyfriend for more of a whiskey shooters guy.”

  Taylor gave a light laugh. Devon always had a way of making him smile. Their first meeting involved crashing shopping carts at Shaw’s, and Devon had demanded Taylor take a breathalyzer test and accused him of operating a cart without a license. He knew then he had met one of his people. It was especially soothing that she had been shopping with her girlfriend, so there wasn’t any awkward twitterpated gawking at Corentin. Taylor had no idea what it was about Corentin. Sure, Taylor loved him, but there was something about his huntsman vibe that made him irresistible to the fairer sex. Taylor, on the other hand, was the stray kitten everyone wanted to tie up in ribbons and shove food at. He wasn’t that skinny.

  But with Devon, talking trash about Corentin served as the highlight to any day.

  He tracked her movements over the bookcase, and Ringo froze in place among the puppets. She thumbed her chin as she scanned the shelves. “Feel up to Eddie and Gardenia today?”

  “You want me to read Old Yeller, only with a goat, to kindergarteners?” Taylor gaped at her. “We don’t have that kind of insurance to cover therapy bills.”

  Devon pulled a bright pink book off the shelf and gave a facetious bright smile. “Sleeping Beauty, then. Nothing like a statement on the passivity of women and falling in love with men you’ve only known for five seconds.”

  Taylor crossed his arms and slumped in his seat. “You love pissing me off with that book, don’t you?” He pressed his lips together and glared.

  Devon grinned and flipped through the pages. “Oh, come on. Nothing wrong with enforcing gender stereotypes on impressionable minds.”

  He knew she was making a joke, and he rolled with it despite his small irritation. They shared many things—except his heritage as an Enchant. And his life’s goal of educating the world that Briar Rose was not some brainless princess, but a noble dragoon who slayed many dragons, including her own. Parents would have a shitfit if their little girls demanded lances for Christmas. If anyone knew the true story of Snow White, people would storm Disney World’s gates with torches and pitchforks. Their mundane minds would be blown to learn that the seven friendly dwarves were never part of the deal.

  Taylor glanced down at the table and tried not to make an obvious frown at the Andersen Institute letter. He quickly shuffled it into a stack of coloring pages. He stood, with the coloring pages in hand.

  “Sleeping Beauty,” he said in resignation. Taking the book from her hands, he scrutinized the glittering cover. Whoever decided Briar Rose was a blonde with lilac eyes needed a lesson in historical accuracy, Taylor decided, with something pointy as a teaching tool. “I hate this fucking book.”

  Devon patted Taylor on the shoulders. “Just smile, okay? Miss Miriam’s going to be here soon. I won’t tell anyone that you picture her head exploding.”

  Taylor sputtered. “I do not!”

  She sighed. “Oh, sweetie, I do it too. Every. Day.”

  Yup. Devon was definitely Taylor’s lesbian soul mate.

  Chapter 4: Through the Looking Glass

  May 3

  Jesup Memorial Library, Bar Harbor, Maine

  DESPITE MISS Miriam’s scrutiny, the children’s wide-eyed wonder and excited clapping made everything worthwhile. The smiles and giggles from her kindergarten class gave Taylor the much needed armor and ego boost to face adversity. He still wasn’t ruling out the possibility of Miss Miriam being a witch. Or at least a wicked stepmother going incognito.

  Devon
and Taylor agreed she was just bitter about a gay man and a lesbian woman teaching children in a small town library. Taylor shook his head as Devon led the children away to the circle of tables and their awaiting coloring pages. The glitter would take a week to get off the floor. When they had the last speck cleaned up, the sparkling explosion would start again.

  As Devon led them away, Bennett, the most skeptical five-year-old to grace the planet, remained. He glared up at Taylor, his hands balled into little fists.

  “What’s up, little man?” Taylor asked. Bennett reminded him so much of a crankier Ringo when his favorite shows got cancelled.

  “I don’t buy it.” Bennett grunted, his chubby cheeks reddened and puffed with righteous five-year-old indignation. “How can Sleeping Beauty marry the prince? My mom told me not to talk to strangers. Why did Sleeping Beauty fall in love with a man she just met? How did she know he was a prince? Anyone could pretend to be a prince. Just like Miss Miriam pretends to be nice.”

  Taylor choked, trying to hold in the urge to laugh. A boy after his own heart. Bennett would go far in the world.

  Over at the circle of tables, Miss Miriam narrowed her eyes. Taylor managed the kindest smile while he pictured her head exploding. Collecting his thoughts, he crouched down to Bennett’s level. Taylor had to be sure not to go too far off “The Script,” as Devon called it. They needed the donations to keep the library running, and they couldn’t afford to piss off Conners-Emerson Elementary.

  “Because Sleeping Beauty saw the magic within Phillip’s heart, that they were destined to be true loves,” Taylor said sweetly, while mentally gagging.

  “You don’t believe it, do you?” Bennett asked.

  Taylor blinked. Bennett’s sixth sense for bullshit was a gift; even Corentin would weep at the little boy’s magnificence. Taylor patted his head. “I’d say the author took some… adaptive liberties.” He raised his hands like claws and gave a comical growl. “I think Sleeping Beauty held a hidden power to slay all the dragons and save the Enchanted Forest from witches who would eat little boys up in one bite.” He gave a childish roar and tickled at Bennett’s cheeks.