Bayou Fairy Tale (22 page)

Taylor stepped back to gain distance. The weapon became clear, and Taylor was dumbstruck. “A clock hand?”

Corentin flicked out his right hand, and his huntsman bow appeared in his palm. He pulled the string, and the silver arrow drew into existence. “Now would be a helpful time, Taylor,” he called.

“Right, right,” Taylor said and mirrored Corentin’s hand-flick gesture. Bolts of pink magic twisted vertically in his hand, leading from the ground to over his head as his multibladed lance materialized.

The owner of the gigantic clock hand darted forward from the cover of Ray’s hair magic. Built as big as a Buick and just as wide, the guy came out swinging.

Corentin hopped back and let an arrow fly, only for it to harmlessly bounce off the guy’s leather coat and ricochet into the snow.

The guy ran toward Taylor, his unusual weapon reared back, aiming to cleave Taylor right down the middle. He took a swing, and Taylor flipped back out of the way. But the guy kept coming. Taylor ducked in low, intending to use his lance to sweep him off his feet.

Instead, the guy saw through Taylor’s strategy and dodged with a surprisingly agile jump. Taylor darted back, then ducked out of the way as Corentin let a burst of arrows fly.

None of them hit the mark.

The guy turned back to them, grinning brightly at their weakness.

Ray tried his luck. He flicked behind his ear, and a thick ropy lock of hair exploded by the big man’s feet and ensnared his ankles. Surprised, the man jerked against the hair, and Ray stumbled forward, presumably a secondary effect from Rapunzel’s hair. The hair weaved up the man’s legs, over his crotch, and then his waist.

He fought a desperate, angry struggle, jerking and twisting at the waist, as well as tearing at the hair with his free hand. The clock hand fell from his grasp and sank into the snow.

Corentin moved in and kicked the clock hand out of grabbing range. As the guy lifted his head in challenge, Corentin raised his bow and took aim right between his eyes.

The man grinned. His amusement sent a chill across Taylor’s cold skin. “Go for it,” the man challenged Corentin with his unflinching smile.

Corentin pressed his lips together, as if contemplating his decision. He pulled back tighter on the bow, and the arrow stretched to accommodate. But the hesitation cost him.

“Idiot.” The big guy took a swipe at Corentin’s feet with a hidden blade in his palm.

Corentin jerked back, and the blade caught the fabric of his jeans. It missed the layered flannel underneath. He let the arrow go, and it hit its mark through the guy’s hand.

His snarling, beastly roar made Zee answer in kind. Her power tore from Taylor, the force of her shockwave decimating the snow, like blowing away harmless grains of sand. The man covered his eyes on instinct, ripping his impaled hand—arrow still buried in his flesh—from the ground to his face. He scraped himself across the cheek in doing so.

Taylor shuddered as Zee breathed fire for him, flowing in all directions from his body. All anyone else could do was get out of the way of Zee’s path of destruction, with Taylor at the epicenter.

The snow evaporated in a blink from the shocking heat. The man buried his face against the ground, hoping to save it from the rising flames.

Taylor trembled violently, unable to control the feelings racing through his body. The high from Zee’s fury numbed his limbs and stole his breath with the drain. Taylor doubled over, then wrapped his arms around his stomach as Zee’s light pulsed around him, fading with each forced gulp of air. After four final pulses, night fell over them again. Taylor blinked away the green and purple stars in his eyes and waited for them to adjust.

“Fuck,” Corentin grumbled, and Taylor tried to find him in the haze. “He’s gone.”

Fog gathered around Taylor’s mouth as he drew in long gulps of air. Zee’s power had once again shocked his synapses into alertness, yet danced the cottony, foggy edges of exhaustion. Even when he had passed out since his arrival to New Orleans, Taylor was never truly rested. He lurched with the cold, and his skin tingled as his nerves jittered. The temperature plummeted, and his body failed at staying warm.

“C-C-Corentin…,” Taylor croaked through chattering teeth. His heart hammered in a slow, labored ache.

Corentin was at his side in moments. Taylor leaned into the comforting warmth as Corentin braced him with his arm around Taylor’s back. “You okay?”

Taylor nodded and pressed his lips together, trying to make his teeth stop chattering. “Just cold,” Taylor said and then coughed.

“Gotcha covered,” Ringo said and conjured fistfuls of gold glitter. He twirled, showering the magic dust over them like a sprinkler on a summer day.

Taylor sucked in a breath from the sudden shift of his external temperature to his core temperature.

Corentin rubbed his back. “Just relax, okay?”

Waving him off, Taylor tried to stand straighter. “There will be time later.”

Ringo snorted. “Good one. A pun on time when we fought a weirdo with a clock hand.”

Taylor arched a brow. “And a time bomb.”

“You’re ruining my pun, boyo,” Ringo said.

“There was no pun to begin with,” Corentin interjected.

“A clock hand. A time bomb. Gotta be related.” Taylor shook his head.

“Yeah. But who had the chance to put the bomb on the snowmobile?” Ringo asked.

“Ray said someone had brought them in from elsewhere.” Corentin glanced up to Ray as he paced through the snow. “And I’m sure we’d see a big ugly guy with crocodile skin boots.”

Taylor startled. “Crocodile skin boots?”

Corentin nodded. “You didn’t see ’em? In this weather, they stood out like a whore in church.”

“Wasn’t there a thing about a crocodile that swallowed a clock?” Ringo asked as he glanced between the two of them.

Taylor scowled. “If you’re trying to smack me in the face with a hint when you obviously have it figured out….”

Ringo shrugged. “I mean, Lacey’s been babbling on about this Hook guy, and then Corentin notices the guy’s crocodile boots. And then he’s got a damned clock hand and sets time bombs. I’d say Hook has a buddy.”

Ray retraced the tracks of the skirmish and then nodded in approval. He pointed to the footprints. “And he’ll have to show his face sooner or later. See?” He gestured to the disturbed snow all around him. “There’s blood splatters everywhere.” He smiled at Taylor. “You took a good bite out of him.”

“But it’s getting too cold to be out here,” Corentin said as he held Taylor close. “I hate to say it, but we need to get to Ray’s place and out of this weather.”

Taylor pushed weakly at Corentin’s chest in protest. “We need to get what we can and get out of here.” He glared at Corentin, trying to get his point across. “I can do this.”

Corentin hesitated and then relented. “All right.”

Ringo arched a bushy brow at Corentin. “It’s useless to get in Taylor’s way, y’know. Storyteller have mercy on the poor bastard who gets in the way of a princess with a dragon soul and his goal.”

Corentin joined Ray, and Ray guided him to follow his steps. “Hey,” Corentin said and crouched. He brushed away a dusting of dirty snow and ice from the concrete and picked up a broken watch. “I got something.”

Taylor and Ringo joined them, and Corentin wiped away the snow and grit from the ripped band and broken clock face. He smirked and held out his prize.

Taylor chuckled under his breath. “A Goofy watch? Are you kidding me?”

“This guy is like us,” Corentin said as he stood.

“If fighting with a giant crazy clock hand wasn’t a good tipoff,” Ringo said, then pulled his tiny scarf over his nose and mouth. “I’m telling you. Hook has a buddy, or that was him.”

“You guys need to get off that damned Hook thing. Hook isn’t real,” Ray said, remaining stoic.

“Lacey knew about Hook. It’s worth investigating,” Taylor said.

“She doesn’t even know what day it is, she’s so high,” Ray snapped.

“She knows more than she lets on,” Corentin said.

“You can’t blame me for not trusting your opinion,” Ray said, narrowing his eyes.

“If I can get through this evening without you pointing out how much you don’t trust Corentin, that would be awesome,” Taylor warned him.

That was just it. Taylor didn’t know what to believe anymore. One minute, everyone was united for a common goal; the next, it was every man for himself. He was on this road, and it was quickly becoming only his to walk, but he had hoped it would work out for the best. Whatever the best was.

Ray gestured for them to follow him into the dilapidated artillery tunnels. Corentin insisted Taylor go before him, keeping him safe from behind.

They wandered through the darkened tunnels, seeing only as far as their flashlights touched. Taylor’s skin prickled with the chill and anxiety of walking straight into the dragon’s maw. He was uncertain he could slay this one.

He wanted to trust Corentin. He did. Corentin had had his trust in the years they’d been together, but it wavered as bits of the truth came out. Taylor had let go of his preconceived notions about Corentin’s lineage as a huntsman. But since their arrival, he wondered if that was the wisest choice.

He should have trusted himself all along.

Taylor startled at the disturbing crackling underfoot as his feet sank into the cold muck.

Corentin aimed the flashlight at Taylor’s feet, revealing hundreds of frozen rat corpses lying spread out before them like a macabre welcoming carpet. Their icy skeletons shattered with each step. Taylor didn’t look and pretended they were broken glass.

“They must have gathered here to escape the cold,” Corentin said as he shined his flashlight down the long tunnel. “And met their fate down here anyway.”

They walked on. Corentin reached out and pressed a hand to Taylor’s shoulder. Taylor understood he wanted to scout ahead and obediently fell back.

Rows of cells lined up before them down the dank hall. They seemed to stretch into forever and vanish into the fog.

“How many witches were imprisoned here?” Taylor whispered.

“Some say hundreds,” Ray said.

“Thousands,” Corentin interjected. “It’s on the entry doors.”

“How did you know that?” Ray asked, his tone suspicious.

Corentin gave him a frustrated look. “Because I read it.”

He didn’t explain, and Taylor understood why immediately. His flashlight drifted over long lines of runic markings. Some of them were recognizable symbols—crosses, stars, moons—while others were abstract but seemed to have their own logic. Taylor decided to keep track of how often three of the abstract symbols appeared as they walked. Fifty paces later, Taylor pieced together that it was the witches’ language. Curse Word, Corentin had called it. That’s how Corentin knew how many prisoners had been held here. Ray was suspicious enough of Corentin, and Taylor didn’t want to add to the conflict.

“How long do you think they’ve been down here?” Ringo asked, staying close to Taylor.

“Some for years, others for lifetimes, a few before the Enchanted Forest was clear-cut for mundane civilization,” Corentin said.

Whistling, icy drafts leaked through every crack and crevice in the ancient limestone. The humidity had slicked over the stone, then froze again in layers of growing icicles. Moans and groans echoed through the halls.

Taylor’s knees quaked from the chill, but he knew it was also from the growing fear tensing his system.

When Corentin and Taylor had faced Idi, Corentin imparted to Taylor the most valuable advice in their relationship.

Make decisions. Just one decision after the next. Don’t get caught up if the decision was right or wrong. Just keep moving until there’re no decisions left to make.

As his world had fallen apart back then, Taylor made the one decision that changed everything. And he swore by it now:
Stop being afraid.

Ringo, on the other hand, was not as helpful in being the stalwart Samwise to Taylor’s determined Frodo. His wings shivered with a nervous off-key trill as he fluttered along.

“Scared?” Taylor whispered low.

“C-C-Course not.” Ringo’s voice wobbled.

A gnarled hand shot through nearby cell bars, and Ringo zipped away with a girlish screech, narrowly avoiding becoming a witch’s snack. Taylor didn’t make a sound as his warrior instinct took hold and he sidestepped the surprise attack.

Ray flicked behind his ear, and a thick golden curl snagged the witch’s wrist, lashing her to the bars.

She snarled and fought for freedom, determined to take off her own arm if need be.

Taylor kept a stoic face, freaked out on the inside.

Corentin slipped in front of him, his knife ready to drive into any target in the name of his princess.

Ray didn’t even miss a step. His unruffled nature was as admirable as it was absolutely aggravating. There had to be a secret to it.

The witch shrieked with inhuman, bloodcurdling cries. She jerked her arm, truly determined to yank her shoulder from the socket.

Ray howled back, and his voice tore through the dark halls.

“What the fuck is your problem!” Taylor slapped a hand on Ray’s shoulder.

The witch and Ray continued their intimidation game, screaming at each other, each louder than the last. She slowly quieted and fell into soft, submissive mewls.

“She’s not an animal,” Corentin warned.

“Really, now?” Ray snorted. “This thing eats children, and you say it’s not an animal.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.” The sarcasm bled from his voice.

Corentin gave him a withering look that would melt the Wicked Witch of the West into a puddle. He slipped his knife back into his pocket and then held up his hand to the witch to indicate he wasn’t armed.

Taylor held his breath as Corentin stepped closer to the cell. He held out his hand, and the witch tilted her head with curiosity. She snorted under her breath.

“Corentin?” Taylor asked, then tried to swallow against the itchy dryness in his throat.

Corentin held up a finger for Taylor to wait.

The witch sniffed the air as Corentin slipped his hand through the bars.