Kate Fox & The Three Kings

by Grace E. Pulliam

  The interior of TOYS ‘N’ THINGS was a repurposed video store—that still sold videos as well as other unmentionables. Each corner of the shop was targeted at a particular type of customer. To the front right, there were penis-shaped lollipops, penis-shaped pasta, penis-shaped piñatas, penis-shaped everything—obviously catering heavily to the bachelorette party host or a phallic-shaped-consumables collector. The back right corner was a bit more private, leaving more room to peruse and inspect. Collections of DVDs were haphazardly strewn in milk crates on a table, featuring titles like Edward Dick Hands, The Poonies, and Harry Potter and the Order of the Penis, for the fine connoisseur of visual media. The back left corner was more of a mystery to me: a blow up doll restrained by leather and chains hung from the ceiling and was gagged and blindfolded. Whips, tassels, and packages of risqué costumes lined the walls.

  The final corner was the most intriguing, merely due to the overwhelming amount of phallic-shaped objects, ranging from the length of a baseball bat to one described as “fun-sized.”

  “Holy dildo mountain,” Billie breathed, admiring the display, which reached the ceiling. She approached the behemoth penis that had to be at least three feet long and started poking at it.

  “Stop that!” I warned, stealing a glance at the female cashier who was too busy texting to notice us.

  “For pleasure or protection?” Billie asked me, shoving the giant dildo my way, which I dodged. “Imagine diffusing a bank robbery with this thing! It has to weigh at least thirty pounds,” she mused, then shook her head to gather her thoughts. “We’re here for you. To your right. Pick one out.”

  Billie motioned to the shelf labeled “Vibrators” and nudged me forward.

  “Why?” I felt a wave of anxiety wash over. I didn’t want to be in TOYS ‘N’ THINGS any longer. Billie officially embarrassed me to the point of minimal speaking, which was quite an accomplishment.

  “Masturbation,” Billie said simply. When she saw my face reach the shade of tomato red, she explained: “Oh, don’t look at me that way. It’s not unnatural or dirty or anything you’ve ever been told. How are you supposed to tell your future lover what you enjoy if you truly don’t know? Do you want to rely on a man to give you pleasure? That gives him a lot of power, you know. Time to woman-up. Or at least have the option to,” she reached for a box on the shelf, “We’re getting this one. It takes AA batteries, so you can steal them from the remote if you run out,” she took the box the cash register and paid for it.

  “Thanks?” I clicked through the vibrate settings as we drove away, then I shoved the contraption in my purse and out of sight.

  “Mom wanted us to stop by the farmer’s market to get her some stuff for dinner,” Billie yelled over the radio, changing the subject. We pulled up to a crowd of tents downtown, which were arranged around a white gazebo on the green. At one tent, they were selling fresh seafood on ice, everything from red grouper to party packs of oysters. Billie bought three flounder filets and bag of ice and continued to mosey past the tents. Bohemian women sold handcrafted jewelry in the next tent, with offerings of sparkly gems and intricate designs. On our way back to the car, we paused to sample some of the local honey, slurping from little straws.

  “Holy shit,” Billie’s mouth dropped mid-slurp.

  “Yeah, it’s good. What flavors do you want?” I finished off the last bit of sticky sweetness, handing a few quarters to the beekeeper and selecting several more straws in various flavors, like peach and raspberry. When Billie didn’t respond, I followed her sight line to a tall, dark-haired couple perusing fresh vegetables from across the circle.

  The fact that Hemming was with an attractive woman, chatting quietly and looking quite familiar with each other wasn’t what caused me drop all of my honey sticks. It was the fact that I knew the attractive woman he was picking out spaghetti squash with. Hemming spotted me the instant I spotted him. He hesitated for a moment, but then grabbed the woman’s attention and they made a beeline for us.

  “Miss Fox,” Hemming greeted me, bending over to pick up my honey sticks from the ground. “Miss Moon,” he nodded toward Billie, who was still scowling. The woman flicked her violet eyes between Hemming and me, with an unpleasant expression gracing her face and perfectly manicured hands on her hips. “You’ve met my sister before,” Hemming placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “But I’m not sure you’ve been properly introduced. This is Helen,” he nudged the woman forward, and she extended her hand with reluctance.

  “Pleasure,” Helen smiled through gritted teeth, waiting for a handshake.

  “Your sister?” Billie scoffed at Hemming before I could ask.

  “In the flesh, Raggedy Ann,” Helen replied, giving Billie a once over.

  Billie clenched her fists like she was debating on whether to scratch Helen’s eyes out or punch her in the throat. I studied the similarities between the siblings. They both had the same, almost-black hair, olive skin, angular jaw, and crooked nose. Where Hemming’s eye was brown, Helen’s were violet. I pegged them both around the same age.

  “You’re twins,” I shot a quick glance between Hemming and Helen, piecing together my arrival to Apalachicola. Helen said she had arranged my departure from Brushy Fork, whatever that meant, and I realized Hemming had dealt with me after she delivered. But why, and for what benefit of theirs?

  My fragmented thoughts pierced my core with shards of betrayal. Hemming studied my expression, and I met his gaze with all of the hatred I could muster.

  “Billie, I need to talk to Hemming about the ice cream shop, since I just got my spring schedule, I’ll, uh, need to work a different shift,” I was surprised at how easily I could lie to the one person I trusted. “Helen knows where I live, so she’ll take me home,” I wrapped my arms around Billie’s neck, “Thanks for today,” I whispered then gave her a smile, which she reluctantly returned after she studied my face, then stopped to survey Helen and Hemming before turning to go.

  “Call me if you need me,” Billie said, her tone apprehensive, grabbing jingling keys from her purse. I nodded and watched her leave.

  “What is going on here?” I demanded, leading Hemming and Helen away from the tents.

  “Oh, well, let’s see. I’m currently wishing we were better strangers,” Helen said through a coy grin. “But, on the other hand, also impressed at what a little deceiver you were with your cousin back there. If you had those cajones a few months ago, I could’ve gotten you away from the Jesus freaks a lot sooner.”

  I attempted to take Helen in stride, urging myself to take a deep breath. “Yeah, you never really elaborated on the escaping bit, particularly your hand in it,” I inched closer to her as we paced down the wooden walkway over the sand dunes to the bay. Helen pursed her lips as Hemming sat down under an empty pavilion, on top of one of the picnic tables. I stood in front of them as she took a seat next to her brother. Both siblings exchanged looks like they were trying to decide where to begin.

  “Hemming and I knew your father,” Helen started. “We struck a deal with him, that involved your protection should anyone jeopardize your safety,” she began.

  “At the expense of what? What was the other end of the deal?” I demanded.

  “Calm your tits,” Helen waved me off. “Like I was saying, a portion of the negotiation involved protection—keeping baby Fox safe, should mommy and daddy, grand mommy and grandpoppy fail at doing so,” her tone was unbelievably condescending. My lip quivered in response. “The day after your grandparents died in that fiery car crash, we went to procure you from their humble abode, but you’d already been snatched up by a Blood of Christ serpent. We had no idea where they could’ve taken you, especially since someone did a nice job of making sure everyone thought you were dead with the placement of the third body at the scene,” Helen arched a brow at Hemming and continued.

  “Of course, we weren’t fooled. Fire cannot kill a Fox. Someone had taken you, to channel your power for their benefit. The search began and didn’t end
until several months ago. We questioned all of the individuals on your father’s watch-list, individuals who have hunted your family from the beginning of time. But those people moved on from lineage and myth, discarded the old ways, and exchanged them for suburbia, minivans, and overpriced lattes.”

  “A resurgence of power had been reported near Lexington,” Hemming interrupted with his stern voice. “Not your normal—hmph— run-of-the-mill people whispering incantations into candlelight, casting a circle, and tossing around an Ouija board nonsense, but whispers of darkness. Children were missing from surrounding towns, their bodies found in sacrifice and ritual, with slit necks and bodies nailed to the ground, some with thorn crowns, others with their innards shoved down their throats. Many suspected cult activity, perhaps of the satanic variety. Maybe pagan. But the culprits were hiding in plain sight, being interviewed on the news at their protests. That’s when we saw you, standing in the background, picketing an abortion clinic opening.”

  “Those hicks figured out how to channel power—all they needed was to keep baby Fox close,” Helen picked up where Hemming left off. “But they got sloppy. They let that boy ruin it all for them. The one that attacked you in the woods,” Helen recalled, and I nodded, knowing she was talking about Gideon. “And when you fled from the funeral, I was able to lead all of the bible-thumping dingbats off course, then guide you home, despite your resistance,” Helen’s lips curled.

  “You orchestrated the weird dog thing being there?” I asked, feeling more ridiculous with each word, thinking of Beastie. “You couldn’t have arranged like, a four wheeler or trail guide to lead me through the woods?”

  Helen glared and muttered “ungrateful bitch” under her breath, and Hemming jerked her back to a seated position as she tried to get up and leave, to which she pouted in protest, like a misbehaved child. “And while we’re on the topic of you,” I stabbed her shoulder with my index finger. “How is it possible you could’ve known my father and been handy enough to execute bargaining tactics? Weren’t you both like, seven-years-old at the time of his last, dying breath? That’s barely old enough to count spare change.”

  “Helen and I were born in 1935. We are seventy-five years old,” Hemming replied. I opened my mouth to rattle off my disbelief, but he hushed me and continued, “We are afflicted, you see, with something I can only describe as a curse. We age only in our other form, unaffected by illness or injury. We cannot die.”

  I had a million questions buzzing against my lips, but the only one that escaped my mouth was, “Your other form?”

  “The Cù Sìth,” Hemming exchanged another look with Helen. “The beast that you followed in the woods.”

  “That…that thing was you?” my jaw dropped in disbelief, remembering Beastie snapping at my fingers and being generally unpleasant.

  “No, bitch, that thing was yours truly,” Helen piped up and popped a piece of bubblegum into her mouth, appearing bored.

  “What is your deal?” I was growing tired of her attitude.

  “What the fuck is YOUR deal?” she hollered back, rising to her feet. “You act like an entitled, sniveling, little brat,” she motioned between herself and Hemming, who was clenching his fists. “We saved you. And instead of thanking us, we’re sitting here, playing twenty questions.”

  “That’s enough, Helen,” Hemming warned.

  “No, I don’t think it is, brother. We’re not running a goddamn lost children charity,” Helen directed her attention at me. “You owe us.”

  “Helen,” Hemming growled.

  “Let me get this straight, you two unsuccessfully search for me for six years, after y’all struck a deal with my father, promising to protect me. You find me while I’m being attacked, and you aren’t able to eliminate the problem. So, I have to deal with Gideon weeks later, by myself, and he nearly strangles me. But, by some miracle, I’m able to escape by my own doing. Finally, Helen shows up at the very end to hold my hand for a couple of hours, and she wants all the glory,” I laughed, unable to control myself. “That’s rich…Go on, please tell what the other end of my father’s bargain was.”

  Helen’s expression conveyed that she might dagger me at any moment. Hemming was staring at the ground. “Daddy Fox said that if we kept baby Fox safe, and if she survived through the Three Kings Game, then she would do us the honor of ending our long and miserable lives,” Helen said slowly, venom lingering on every word.

  “W-what’s the Three Kings Game?” I stuttered, letting her statement sink in.

  “A game all Fox’s must play if they wish to harness their power,” Helen’s smile was without a trace of happiness. “Lose and die. Win and live. The rules are basic enough that even a simpleton like you can surely comprehend,” she let out a disinterested sigh. “Daddy Fox played. He played so baby Fox wouldn’t have to. Daddy Fox thought he could get out of our bargain—he tried to weasel his way out. He lost the game. Now, it’s baby Fox’s turn.”

  I turned to Hemming, “Take me home,” I ordered, my voice shaky. He nodded.

  “More demands!” Helen unraveled a little further each time she spoke. She grabbed my shirt as I tried to walk away. “You’re going to uphold your end of the bargain,” she warned, leaning close.

  “And if I don’t?” I inched closer.

  “Your auntie and snotty cousin will be collecting pieces of you, scattered in their yard, for well into the next decade,” she hissed. As the last word escaped her lips, my knee collided with her groin, and when she buckled forward, she let out a tiny yelp as I slapped her across the face.

  “Don’t worry, it’d be an absolute pleasure to kill you! I’ll certainly come through on my end of the bargain, even though your results were lackluster!” I yelled at her as Hemming hoisted me over his shoulder, kicking and screaming, away from his sister and to her Audi. Helen kneeled on the wooden footbridge, holding her cheek and watching us leave.

  “Forgive Helen,” Hemming breathed as he sped off.

  “Why? She’s been horrible to me from the very beginning,” I mumbled.

  “Helen’s not your enemy, Miss Fox,” Hemming took his eye off the road for a moment to lock his gaze with mine, and he sighed, “She’s not against you. She’s for herself.” His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top. His jaw had more scruff than usual, even on the scarred side. I realized I was ogling at his handsomeness, and I quickly peeled my eyes off of him. It was difficult to remember that I was angry with him, too.

  “Isn’t immortality a pretty hot commodity? Who in the world is able to say that they can live forever?”

  “Forever is a romanticized notion. The reality of an everlasting life is much different,” Hemming exhaled.

  “Elaborate,” I insisted.

  “Maintaining a real connection with people is an impossibility. I gave up on friendship a long time ago. People live and die. They grow, they age, they love, they settle, they repopulate, and finally, they meet their end. Others live a short life. Though abbreviated, a short life can still be a wonderful life. But life, nonetheless, ends the same way: in death.”

  “Helen and I—we—can’t plant roots. Our agelessness would rouse suspicion. Relationships are a waste of time. Who wants to be with someone with whom they can’t grow old? Someone who would have to bury their children, their children’s children, and so on. In Helen’s case, she’s not even offered the possibility of offspring,” Hemming frowned and tensed his jaw.

  “We—hmph— walk this earth, with the promise of an infinite life, but our hands are tied. We’re alive, sure, but not really living. What is the point?” he seemed like he was talking more to himself now, relaying a one-sided conversation he’d had a multitude of times. We pulled up to my Aunt’s house. Billie’s car was parked in the driveway. I saw her glance up from her phone, sitting on the porch swing.

  “Wait,” Hemming opened the glove box and retrieved a small, leather-bound book. “For you. It...mmm... explains the Three Kings Game better than Helen or I ever co
uld.” I nodded, shoving it in my purse. Long fingers laced around my hand before I could reach for the car door.

  Hemming cleared his throat one last time, “Sometimes, it seems like you’ll never escape a certain time in your life, but the older you get, the more you realize how temporary everything is. I know you’re scared. Helen and I have given you a horrible task. In the story of your life, you’ll have people who meant a lot to you at a certain point in time that really only last a paragraph or sentence. Your grandparents will take up your first few chapters. Brushy Fork might hog a chapter or two, only to be outshined by your time here with your family.” He locked his gaze with mine, “There might be a mention of me, your boss at the Soda Fountain, followed shortly by a sentence about Helen’s unpleasant demeanor, then you’ll move on to the next paragraph, forgetting us entirely,” he squeezed my hand, offering a sad, lop-sided grin.

  “And what if I don’t want to forget you at all?” I wriggled out of his grip and slammed the door behind me.

  9

  The Sentence

  A month passed before I opened up the old book Hemming gave me. The tourist season was dying down, with the only customers at the Soda Fountain being snowbirds. After a slow morning at the shop, I found myself alone for the early afternoon. I cracked the book’s spine after wiping down all of the tables and mopping the floor, utterly and completely dying of boredom. The pages were yellowing as a symptom of age. All of the text was handwritten, accompanied by some illustrations.

  “I’m surprised you know how to read anything besides the Bible,” a familiar voice chided, and Helen slinked forward to take a seat at the counter. I slammed the book shut. I hadn’t heard her enter.

  “What are you doing here?” I sighed, not feeling up to enduring verbal harassment and threats today.