Bayou Fairy Tale (3 page)

“He’s kind of a brat. That’s putting it mildly. More like a raging jackass,” his double said as he looked out over the swamp. “But I think that’s a part of the princess thing.”

“But… he’s a guy,” Corentin said, arching a brow.

“And he’s a princess,” his double said flatly.

“But he’s a
guy
,” Corentin insisted.

His double tugged at his hair and puffed a sigh. “Work with me here.”

Corentin held out his hand in a half shrug, encouraging his double to continue while pressing his lips into a terse smile.

“Princess Taylor Hatfield is your one true love. He’s an Enchant, like you, and for some weird reason, in the last handful of decades, guys have been born princesses and women have been born princes.” His double seemed to wait, gaging Corentin’s reaction again. And when he said nothing, his double continued. “You two have been through a lot together. You saved all of the Enchants and the mundanes from Taylor’s brother, Atticus. Taylor took it pretty rough, though.” His double tilted his chin toward the pathway. “Coming?”

“Do I have a choice?” Corentin crossed his arms and then scratched at his bare bicep.

“You’re too damned curious not to.” His double grinned.
What an asshole.
“Ah-ah,” his double said and flipped the knife between his fingers. “You’re forgetting who has the talky knife.” He turned and walked on.

Corentin gritted his teeth and followed. “You need to stop pulling thoughts out of my head.”

The double shrugged. “It’s not me. I don’t exist. You’re talking to yourself here. I guess….” He gave a smarmy smile. “I’m your conscience. Your very own Jiminy Cricket.” He went solemn and rubbed the back of his neck. “That sounds like a fucking awful job, if you ask me.”

“So, Taylor’s brother.” Corentin met his double’s gaze. He seemed troubled. “Did I kill him?”

“Oh no!” His double snorted a laugh. “Fuck, Storyteller, no!” He fell silent, letting it hang between them. They walked on, not saying a word to each other for several long minutes. Corentin didn’t raise any questions, and his double, despite being his self-professed conscience, seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“Atticus Hatfield isn’t just any princess,” his double said softly. “He’s
the
princess. The Fairest of Them All, Snow White. He’s the highest of all of the princesses. All Enchants kneel in his passing. The witches tremble in fear.”

As they walked, the path became wooden flooring. Corentin glanced up as the walls of the bedroom he had woken up in built up around him. He stopped as the nails and boards clicked together, and the framed pictures rose like bas-relief sculptures from the walls. He squinted at them to get a closer look. His heart fluttered with how happy he and Taylor looked together, but his double’s demeanor suggested something was off.

“Taylor had him committed,” his double said as Corentin stared into the photo of the World’s Largest Pancake Bake-Off. “He holds on desperately that Atticus will one day return to his senses.”

There was a notable pause as his double’s demeanor changed again. Corentin blinked. Was that remorse?

“It is,” his double said, once again pulling his thoughts straight from the source. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Atticus’s true love, the Witchking Idi, twisted his thoughts around so many lies and too much information too fast that Atticus just….” His snapped his fingers on both hands. The gesture explained what Corentin needed to know. “Atticus and Idi were going to kill us all. We stopped Idi, but Atticus wasn’t so lucky.”

Corentin turned away from the pictures and startled at the sight on the bed. He sat there, his monstrous journal in his lap, and Taylor curled around his side like a lost kitten. The Corentin on the bed stared into space, his eyes alight with sparks of green magic. His hand slipped over the letters and notes in a maddening skipping and tapping, as if his hand moved on jerking marionette strings.

Corentin’s heart sank as he watched Taylor bear witness to this process. Something on Taylor’s face suggested his own concern about whether Corentin reading his book would work.

“Taylor loves his brother,” his double spoke up, diverting Corentin’s attention. “He loves him so much that when he gets that look in his eye, you know. There’s no mistaking it. He tamps it down. But once in a while, something will kick the memories off. He just wants Atticus to come out of it. And nothing you say ever makes him feel better. It’s his road to walk. His journey. You are not the destination of that one.”

Corentin crossed his arms. He gave up on keeping his thoughts private and said the first thing that came to mind. “This is a lot to take in.”

“You always start thinking out loud at this point.” His double seemed to appreciate the honesty.

“So where am I? Where are Taylor and I?”

“Sullivan, Maine. As far from Taylor’s family as you could get. His father and he have a hard time communicating at normal volume. His mother just stays out of it. It’s better this way. You guys retired from it all. You’re here, in the frozen wilderness, living your own happily ever after.” His double glanced over his shoulder as if he was being watched and back to Corentin. “Just between you and me, the thermostat is far too temperamental for our liking.”

“We retired?” Corentin asked.

“From saving the world,” his double said, appearing agitated. “You really need to stick with me. Is it the smell of the bacon? Ringo’s bacon is deadly.”

“Ringo?” Corentin hooked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “The little winged man?”

“Taylor’s fairy godfather.”

Corentin’s shoulders slumped and he ducked his head. “Of course there’s a fairy godfather.” His tone reflected his doubt. How can it possibly be this absurd? He was in a magical enchanted forest after all. Couldn’t get any worse.

“Ringo is one of your best friends. You don’t have many. You’re kind of an introvert at heart. It’s the huntsman thing. You may be outwardly charming and a smooth talker to everyone, but you keep what’s going on in your head to yourself.”

Corentin looked to the bed and at Taylor’s longing expression. There was no mistaking him waiting for Corentin to come back.

“How often do we go through this?” Corentin asked.

His double sighed. “Every seven days.”

Corentin drew in a slow breath. “How lo—”

“You’ve been like this for years. Every seven days, you forget. It’s an Enchant thing. Because your ancestors Hansel and the Enchantress made a feast of Gretel, every seven days he remembered what happened, and the Enchantress cast a spell to make him forget.” The double tilted his head, and Corentin noted him keeping his attention locked on Taylor. “Every seven days you forget everything. Him, Ringo, this house, what you are, the fact that you are a huntsman who had a change of heart. That you actually fell in love. That you found a reason to have faith again.”

“That Taylor makes me good,” Corentin said.

“Yes.”

The affirmation of his double made him shiver.

“Will it always be this way?” Corentin glanced up at his double, only to find nothing. He blinked again, and found himself in the bed, journal in his lap, and Taylor curled next to him. He opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say.

Instead, Taylor smiled with warmth and a contentment that made Corentin’s dread vanish. Taylor blew into a noisemaker, and the unrolling paper of the party favor tickled at Corentin’s shoulder.

“Happy birthday,” Taylor whispered and shifted to lay his head in the crook of Corentin’s shoulder and chin.

“Yeah…,” Corentin whispered, puzzling through all of his new information. He swallowed. Taylor shouldn’t see him afraid, he decided. Instead, he chuckled and kissed the top of Taylor’s head. “It’s not my birthday, is it?”

May 3

The Devereaux-Hatfield Home, Sullivan, Maine

IT WAS
an unexpected but half-planned surprise when Corentin joined Taylor in the shower. Taylor didn’t think he’d take the bait. But a few carefully orchestrated hints on Taylor’s part let Corentin know a morning frolic would make anyone start the day with an extra spring in their step.

As Taylor toweled off his long hair, he considered his split ends for a moment. He sighed. It seemed only female princesses had perfect hair. He recalled Miss Miriam suggesting to Devon that he should do something to tidy up his appearance. He didn’t catch all of the conversation, but there was a bit where Miss Miriam described him as a gangly street rat. Taylor had kept it in, taking the high road. It wasn’t going to solve anything to tell Miss Miriam to go fuck herself—though he thought about it—especially when she was the only kindergarten teacher in the three counties who brought her class to the library.

It also wouldn’t help to let his words fly, not with the sleeping dragon that now inhabited his soul. She must stay asleep at all costs. He decided the dragon was a girl and named her Zee, after Princess Zellandine, his ancient ancestor. Contrary to the historical texts, Princess Zellandine wasn’t a passive Sleeping Beauty, but Sleeping Dragon, the Dragon Slayer. It was pretty cool once Taylor had time to digest it all—despite being depicted as the most worthless princess in pop culture, who excelled at power napping.

He stared at himself in the foggy mirror, lost in his contemplation, when a warm hand rested on his hip.

Corentin slipped behind him like a passing trail of smoke. They watched each other in the mirror, and Taylor sized them up as a pair.

Corentin wasn’t even close to his type back then. He was dirty, rugged, had a knack for being an insufferable shit, and was everything Taylor never wanted. The intricate tree tattoo that wound up Corentin’s left arm warned him and yet fascinated him. The seven branches scrawled across Corentin’s chest and over his back. Every branch had their leaves today. But one by one, the leaves would fall away, and Corentin would leave him again.

Taylor should have run. It had been so easy in the past to tell a would-be suitor to get lost. Taylor’s type had been the clean-cut, blond yuppie Adonises. Type-A Prince Charmings, so he could run about and be the wild princess arm candy.

But Corentin never approached Taylor as a suitor, or even a friend, and not even remotely an ally. But that fateful night they kissed…. Corentin was perfect. Even with his faults and horrid habits, as well as Taylor’s ever-expanding list of princess Enchant rules he had to live by and even more faults, Corentin was the Prince Charming who had been in front of Taylor’s face the day they met.

“You’re thinking harder than I do,” Corentin whispered in Taylor’s ear. The warmth of his Creole accent made Taylor’s stomach clench. Corentin explored the flat of Taylor’s lower belly and scraped his nails across the intricate dragon tattoo just over his groin. “Stop it,” he ordered before planting a kiss on Taylor’s shoulder.

“You stop it,” Taylor said and gave Corentin a playful swat. “You’re going to wake up Zee.”

“That’s not all that’s waking up.” Corentin chuckled conspiratorially, and Taylor watched himself get hard in the mirror.

“I hope it’s in your notes that Zee blew up the microwave last time.” Taylor tried his best stern warning expression, but it broke quickly when Corentin took him in hand and pumped.

“I suppose I blew your mind, hmm?” Corentin nipped Taylor’s earlobe.

Taylor glared but couldn’t resist riding Corentin’s hand. “I so fucking hate you.” He turned around to face Corentin, and Corentin’s expression held not a shred of remorse. He leaned back into the edge of the sink, and Corentin crouched before him. Taylor gawked wide-eyed and his face heated.

“Do you know how bright red you are right now?” Corentin smirked as he settled at his knees.

“Shut the fuck up,” Taylor managed to curse three seconds before his head fell back with a heady groan.

“Oh no! Storyteller, no, no, no, no! Oh hell! Honeysuckle! Get the fire extinguisher!” Ringo screeched from the downstairs kitchen.

“Fuck! Zee!” Taylor jerked forward and shoved Corentin off him. He scrambled for a towel and then dashed out of the bathroom, with Corentin close behind.

Taylor couldn’t get his footing on the steps but caught himself before he went ass over teakettle. He slid across the throw rug and collided into the doorjamb of the kitchen with a loud
thud
he’d definitely be feeling tomorrow.

“What is it?” Taylor panted through the throbbing ache in his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Corentin asked from behind Taylor. His firm tone suggested he was ready to defend his home.

Ringo’s pixie wife, Honeysuckle, manned the human-sized fire extinguisher as jets of foam exploded over the oven.

Taylor brought his arms up over his face to protect himself from the chemicals, and Corentin pulled Taylor against him in a protective grasp.

With a few final blasts of foam, Honeysuckle puffed a silver curl from her face. “And that’s how it’s done,” she said and then grunted in apparent satisfaction.

Taylor inched into the kitchen, careful not to slip in the foam coating the floors. “Do I dare ask what happened?”

Ringo sniffed, large tears welling in his humongous eyes. “My frittata…,” he croaked and gestured at the foam-filled pan.

Taylor glanced at Corentin, and he shook his head and smiled in return. But Taylor knew the truth. He had gotten too excited again, and Zee got excited as well. Only, Taylor’s sense of excitement and Zee’s sense of excitement were two entirely different things.

“S-S-Sorry,” Taylor stammered and grabbed the roll of paper towels as he stepped fully into the kitchen.

“Whatever for, sugar pea?” Honeysuckle asked as she returned the fire extinguisher under the sink. “You know him, always thinking that setting the oven at five hundred degrees means it’ll cook in three minutes.” She winked at Taylor, and Taylor swallowed. Honeysuckle knew what Zee had done, but Taylor understood she was trying to make him feel better.

Corentin joined the cleaning effort by grabbing the nearest dish sponge and then wiping the counters down. “You know what? Who’s up for donuts?”