Bayou Fairy Tale (24 page)

Corentin blinked at Ringo and then at the ball in his hand. “You mean….”

“Yeeeeeaaaah,” Ringo said and nudged Ray in the shoulder. “We may need to step out for a minute. How about some cocoa? How long does it take to boil water? How about we do it by rubbing sticks together? Wanna play Parcheesi? I love Parcheesi. You love Parcheesi? Man. I can’t get enough of Parcheesi.”

“What the fuck are you going on about?” Ray refused to budge.

“Where are your towels?” Ringo asked, and Corentin shook his head slightly.

“In the linen closet down the hall… why?” Ray still wouldn’t budge.

“No reason,” Ringo said in a singsong voice. “How about we give Corentin some alone time. He is about to seal his doom and all. Might as well go with a smile, I’d say.”

“Ringo.” Corentin glowered at him.

Ray frowned at Corentin. Was he really that fucking dense?

Corentin danced around the topic still. “Ringo’s spell is going to have some side effects that you shouldn’t be present for.” That sounded like a good enough clinical expression.

Ray paused, and silence hung over them all.

Corentin squirmed as he held the tiny orb. Why wouldn’t he just leave? He sighed in exasperation. “I promise I’m not pulling a fast one. I know my promises mean shit to you, but just go with it, okay?”

After a long, painful silence, Corentin choked down the building embarrassment and nausea.

“How about that cocoa?” Ringo asked, smiling brightly at Ray.

His hesitation was excruciating. At last Ray stood and slowly followed Ringo, all the while his gaze remaining on Corentin.

“Enjoy the cocoa,” Corentin chirped and gave a little wave.

“Enjoy… uh… yourself…,” Ringo muttered.

Dammit.

Ray clicked the door shut behind him, and Corentin listened for their footsteps to fade. He sighed, rolling the glowing ball through his fingers.

He stepped toward Taylor and ran his fingers over his cold cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” Corentin whispered. “You’re just sleeping. It’ll be okay.” If he kept saying it, he would eventually convince himself.

Corentin eyed the ball in his palm. He didn’t have to take it. No one would have to know. But he had promised. Years ago, promises were vulgar words to huntsmen, but now, promises had weight, meaning. Corentin had once lived by the motto of honor among thieves. Now it was in the honor of his princess. And serving Taylor was something he wouldn’t change.

“Down the hatch…,” he muttered and tossed the ball into his mouth. He swallowed, contemplating the sweetness of Ringo’s magic, like swallowing a citrus throat lozenge.

Wait.

Corentin stood from the bed, then headed to the door. The damned pixie had slipped him candy!

“Rin—”

Corentin gasped as his knees gave out from under him. He crashed onto the carpeted floor, his knees crunching under him. He took one breath, and his world fell away into nothingness.

THE DAMP
washcloth slid from Taylor’s face, falling next to his cheek. He blinked into the darkness and waited for his eyes to focus on the glow-in-the-dark constellation stickers on the ceiling.

“Atticus had the same stickers on his ceiling,” Taylor murmured.

He sat up, and the mound of blankets sloughed off like old skin. Squinting against the candlelight, he pressed against the soft mattress under him. A bed? When did he get to a bed?

Taylor searched the child’s bedroom. Happy blue walls, rows of little league trophies, and pictures of Ray with teams of small boys ready to play ball. Taylor smiled. Ray had a soft side after all.

“You’re awake.”

Taylor found Corentin sitting by the window with his journal in his lap. He jotted a quick note as the row of candles flickered on the nightstand. Taylor knew to give him a minute and kept his silence.

Corentin tucked his pen behind his ear. “You fell asleep, yeah?” he asked. His smile was slight and patient.

“Yeah.” Taylor yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “It was….” He searched for the words. “Terrifying. All of my senses stopped all at once. I could still feel, though. There was so much pain. Incredible pain.” He hugged himself over his shoulders and frowned. “I could feel my throat moving. Was I screaming?”

“Yes.” Corentin glanced out the window. He scratched at his chin as if contemplating the street below. “So, that’s how you sleep.”

“Funny how we finally figure this out.” Taylor chuckled awkwardly, trying to point out the irony. “Maybe it’s something that just happens? Maybe I can’t make myself do it?”

“Have you ever slept at the house?” Corentin pulled his pen from his ear and prepared to take more notes.

“Catnaps, I guess?” Taylor shrugged. “I’ve never truly slept since I became Sleeping Dragon. Ringo teaching me how to meditate, and working in the library put me in a semicalm state.”

“But not asleep?” Corentin scribbled down notes, transcribing their current conversation.

“Not that I can recall.” Taylor glanced around the room again. “I have a couple questions, if I could interject?”

“Shoot.” Corentin continued to scrawl in his journal.

“Um. Where are we? And are you okay? This isn’t a dream, right?” Taylor pulled the blankets around his shoulders.

Corentin chuckled. “That’s three questions.”

Taylor tilted his head, trying to understand Corentin’s calmness. “You noticed.”

“You’re not dreaming. Ray brought us to his place after you got hit with your sleeping curse. We were in Fort St. Philip, interrogating the witch, and then you were out.” He looked out the window again and squinted into the darkness. Taylor caught the contemplative quirk of his lip.

“I asked if you were okay,” Taylor repeated. When Corentin didn’t answer, he asked again. “Are you okay?”

Corentin puffed his cheeks in a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. Taylor crossed his arms. Once he had learned how to decipher Corentin’s gestures, noticing which one gave away his anxiety was sadly the easiest.

“I’m fine.” Corentin smiled like a lazy tabby.

“Liar.” Taylor scowled.

“I’m a fantastic liar, you know that,” Corentin said as he tapped his pen to the open page.

“You’re my true love, dammit. I know when you’re hiding something,” Taylor said as he slipped out of the bed.

The truth of the matter was Corentin never lied, and it was only in their time together that he was able to honor promises. It’s how his huntsman nature worked. Taylor had his unending list of princess things, but Corentin had equally long ironclad huntsman laws. Cleverness won the day with circumventing quite a few princess things, but getting around huntsman laws required far more than creativity.

What Corentin called lying was simply omitting key facts of information. Taylor always got it out of him eventually.

“Something’s not quite right,” Taylor said as he squinted at the row of little league team photos.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Corentin said as he jotted notes in his journal. “Um.
Really
fine.”

Taylor perked at Corentin’s tone and his attempt to hide a grin, only failing miserably at it. “Are you blushing?”

“No.”

“
Corentin.
”

“Maybe.”

Taylor smirked. “You better not have been spanking off over me while I slept or something.”

“I didn’t.” Corentin didn’t look up from making more notes.

Taylor’s skin tingled with hot blush. “You did, didn’t you!”

Corentin snapped to attention. “Believe that if you must.”

They watched each other in silence, and Corentin’s blush intensified, which in turn triggered Taylor’s hot flush to his face.

“Um.” Taylor managed to get out before inspecting the little league pictures again.

Corentin forced a cough and resumed making notes. He hissed his displeasure. “Fuck Storyteller….” He sat back and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. “Pen’s out.” He wagged the pen between his fingertips.

“I’m sure I have another. I packed a ton of them,” Taylor said and retrieved his coat from the foot of the bed. He watched Corentin stare out the window again in quiet contemplation. He narrowed his eyes into the darkness beyond. After rifling through every pocket, Taylor found his pen stash. He pulled out one and click-clicked the retraction mechanism to make sure the pen was in working order.

“Here.” Taylor slapped the pen into Corentin’s waiting palm. He huffed as Corentin didn’t look up. “Thank you, honey. Oh, don’t mention it, darling,” Taylor muttered. “Where’s Ringo gotten off to now?”

Corentin chewed on his bottom lip as he scribbled away. “He says he had gotten a message from Honeysuckle. She’s coming in to help. Should be here by morning.”

“Honeysuckle?” Taylor asked, disbelieving. “She’s not at all built for this mess.”

“She was Atticus’s fairy godmother, right?” Corentin gave Taylor an upward glance. “I’d say she’s more than capable.”

There was no use arguing. She’d be just as much without a clue in this mess, but her added repertoire of magic would be a welcome addition. Taylor didn’t provide any reaction. Instead, he stared at the little league photos again and smiled.

Throughout the years, Ray had coached a number of children. Perhaps he wasn’t such an obstinate old man after all. He had a soul under the gruff exterior. Little boys and girls looked up to him, and they all smiled brightly in their team pictures. The designated team mother had a dainty smile and hid her eyes from the glaring sun behind giant fashionably expensive sunglasses. Every year, a new gaggle of kids, every year, new team uniforms, and Ray and the team mom.

Taylor stepped over to the rows of trophies and took the cheap plastic award in his hands. He ran his thumb over the stuck-on nameplate. “Tommy.”

“What?” Corentin looked over at him with an arched brow.

Taylor waved the trophy. “Tommy. It’s his son.” He picked up another and sighed at Corentin. “What are we doing? Why isn’t Ray making a big deal about the Skinners? They’re out there, and it’s like no one cares. Why aren’t we doing anything? And what about that girl we saw at the IHOP? Was she a Skinner?”

“Skinners are like rabid dogs. They don’t have enough thoughts in their mind to form coherent sentences. They just want to eat,” Corentin said, then made more notes. “Thanks for the pen, by the way.”

“Welcome,” Taylor said absently. “How did you get your journal here?” He arched his brows and grinned. “Pretty Fucking Magic, right?”

“It has its ways,” Corentin murmured. “I don’t think it would leave me alone for long anyhow.”

Taylor ran his hands through his hair and grunted. “Why isn’t anyone out looking for these guys? Why are we just sitting here, having this pleasant little chat?” Taylor shoved the trophy at Corentin. “The Skinners could have Tommy for all we know!”

Corentin glanced at the trophy and then at Taylor. “That says Joleene.”

Taylor jerked the trophy back. “No, it doesn’t. It says—” He gritted his teeth. “—Joleene?” He looked back at the trophy shelf. “The other one said Tommy.”

“So, Ray has two kids,” Corentin said.

Taylor pointed. “You said he had a son.”

“He told me he had
a son
. He could very well have more than one child and just not tell me.” Corentin furrowed his brows. “What are you doing?”

Taylor dropped the Joleene trophy onto the bed, and then the Tommy trophy next to it. He plucked another off the shelf and read the name. “Patrick.” He picked up the next. “Cynthia.” And then the next. “Samuel.” He snatched three others off the shelf and read the names off. “Markus. Tyrell. Leo.” He let them fall to the bed. “Ray’s got to be around seventy, right? He’s pretty spry because of his magic.” He waited for recognition. Instead, Corentin only stared. “His son has to be an adult, forty at the minimum, with family of his own.”

“You’re going somewhere with this?” Corentin bounced his heel as he glanced out the window.

“Why would you say a guest room belongs to your son? Your adult son. Who is clearly not living here anymore? Why would you have trophies with the names of other children?” Taylor slapped a hand over his mouth as it dawned on him. He snatched one of the little league photos from the wall and shoved it at Corentin.

Taking the photo in one hand, Corentin’s eyes widened, and then he frowned.

Taylor nodded. “You see it, don’t you?”

Corentin tapped the glass. “I know that face. That woman.”

“The team mom?” Taylor asked. “Who is she?”

“Not a
who
. A
what
. That’s a Stepmother.” Corentin’s brow slammed low as he glared at the picture.

“What do they do?” Taylor asked despite not wanting to know.

“They whisk children away and prepare them for—” Corentin shot to his feet and his journal slammed to the floor. Taylor scrambled back to safety to keep the dark magic from touching him. Corentin stared out the window and held out a protective arm to Taylor. “Something is definitely out there.”

Taylor sniffed. “You smell that?” He sniffed again. “Smells like—”

Corentin stopped and sniffed as well. “That is some rank crawfish.”

“Ray’s cooking crawfish at a time like this?” Bewildered, Taylor watched Corentin and waited for recognition.

A swath of stark blue lantern light spilled out into the street below their second story window. Ray called in a merry tone as he stepped outside the house into the street. “Ladies! Suppertime!”

The shadows shifted, slithering like serpents on a feeding frenzy.

Corentin flicked out his right hand and his bow sparked into existence. He turned to Taylor. “Can you do this?”

Taylor held out his right hand and squinted. The shaft of pink swirls shot through his hand to the floor and over his head. He made a fist around the light, and his dragoon lance came into being. “Now that I’ve had a nap, I think I’m good to go.”

Corentin took the lead. “Let’s have some words with the chef.”

May 8

The Valentine Home on the Westbank

OUTSIDE, THE
shadows twisted and pulsed, spewing forth in a tidal wave of blackened hunger. Ray tossed ladlefuls of Storyteller knows what out onto his driveway. The stew splattered like coffee-colored vomit, and the tendrils of shadows shot forth to slurp up the foul meal.