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.
Bennett wiggled out of Taylor’s grasp with peals of laughter.
Miss Miriam, standing in the center of the activity area, cleared her throat. “Come along, Bennett,” she said sternly.
Bennett frowned, and Taylor wanted to share his deepest sympathies. “I think your story is way better, Mr. Taylor.”
Zee turned in circles like an excited puppy inside Taylor’s soul. The vindication from a five-year-old made Taylor’s week.
“Bennett.” Miss Miriam said it like it was his final warning.
Taylor scooted him off, and grudgingly Bennett toddled away to join the rest of his class. The calm washed over Taylor, soothing his inner savage beast, and above all, his flash fire of a temper. As long as he kept Zee from blowing up microwaves or turning washing machines into time bombs once they hit the spin cycle, he’d call that a win.
As much as he protested, it was pretty thrilling when Zee shattered the windows behind the dairy joy while he and Corentin got down and dirty. Taylor flushed at the memory; he hadn’t been able to watch Corentin eat a mint-chocolate-chip cone without getting a raging hard-on ever since. What if he had blown Corentin in the parking lot this morning? He shook his head, trying not to think about it. Once he traded in his V-Card that night on Mackinac Island, one of Taylor’s ever-present thoughts was seeing how many different ways he could get off. Making up for lost time. And boy howdy, was he.
Taylor slapped his hands to his face as he blushed hotly. “Stop thinking about it,” he ordered himself out loud.
“Hey,” Devon said over his shoulder, and Taylor jumped, making an embarrassing squeal. She smiled apologetically. “Um. We have a situation over in Romance. Cindy Lou made a bit of a mess.”
Taylor nodded. “Tore books down again? I got it.”
“Uh. No.” Devon rubbed the back of her arm, turning sheepish. “Didn’t make it in time….”
She didn’t need to say anything else. Taylor rubbed his itchy eyes. “Some days I wish you paid me.”
Devon patted his shoulder. “I’ll just shove more bills into Corentin’s thong.”
That joke never got old.
DON’T TOUCH
your face. Don’t touch your face. Don’t touch your face.
Taylor reminded himself again and again as he scrubbed the urine stains off the floor. It was sheer luck that Puddles, aka Cindy Lou, didn’t splash the books on the bottom shelves. He’d never hear the end of it if Phyllis found her precious Anita Shreve books smelling like dirty children. The books always came back smelling like cheap beer and tobacco anyhow.
His hands sweated inside the blue rubber dish gloves, and Taylor tried to keep his mind off the odd moist texture of what lingered inside from the previous users.
At least it kept him from close proximity to Miss Miriam. There was only so much of her face he could take before he wanted to scream
What the fuck is your problem
. He’d never even done anything to piss her off. Not that he knew of, anyway. When he and Corentin came to town, they definitely raised a few eyebrows. Nothing like two unmarried Southern boys settling in the frozen North and sharing a home. Taylor got picked on for his Piedmont accent a time or two. Corentin needed a translator most days. Taylor had grown accustomed, and Corentin’s enchanted arrowhead gave him a head start on picking up the lingo. In these parts, Creole dialect and Yankee colloquialisms gave way to a lot of repeating, pointing, and gesturing.
Taylor sat back on his knees and reached to wipe his forehead. “Don’t,” he told himself once he realized his impending error. He took the white cleaning cloth and ran it over the wooden floor, meticulously scrubbing through the plank seams. Anything to stall being in Miss Miriam’s personal space.
As the children laughed and giggled, Taylor chuckled under his breath along with them as he blotted the last bits of moisture that had long dried. “There,” he whispered. “Until the next time Puddles needs to mark her territory.”
“Excuse me, I’m looking for the folklore section,” a husky, womanly voice said not even a foot away from him.
Taylor jerked in surprise and hopped to his feet. Inside, Zee perked and listened for danger. Taylor clutched his chest, trying to get his heart to stop racing and quiet Zee. He plastered on his professional smile and looked up. “Yes, ma’am, anything I can help you find?”
The woman didn’t respond and seemed to study him over the tip of her sharp nose. Taylor arched a brow. Her red silk kimono jacket paired with her brown leather waist cincher and black pencil skirt screamed she wasn’t the type to be from anywhere near these parts of Maine. And she was dressed far too high-class to be a tourist.
She came from “away,” as the locals called it. The city. Somewhere. And Taylor knew it was far from anywhere he had known.
Her wine-red eyes gave her away.
Taylor danced back. “Fucking hell,” he hissed. “I don’t want any trouble.”
She pursed her lips and seemed to consider either his words or Taylor himself. “You’re one of us,” she said, her eyes widening in fascination.
Taylor stubbornly set his jaw. He glanced over his shoulder at the children working on their drawings and laughing among one another. Miss Miriam strolled between the gaggle of kindergarteners, oblivious to Taylor and this new Enchant.
“Please,” Taylor whispered as he followed the woman deeper into the stacks. “Whatever you’re planning to do, don’t do it in front of the kids. I can’t do this here. I retired from all of this.”
Her pale lips curled into a haughty smirk. “Storyteller forfend, Dragon. I don’t plan to expose them.” She raised her fingertip in a slow, purposeful gesture, pointing past Taylor at the children. “Although, that one….”
Taylor clenched his fists and snapped his attention back to the children. She indicated a blonde girl holding up a drawing of a glittering tiara.
“That one….” She pointed at a boy with a toy horse, trotting it around like a gallant steed.
“And them.” She made a circle with her french-manicured nail, gesturing to Bennett and his two tablemates. “We’re more common than you think.”
Taylor went on the defensive and slowly stepped into position between her and the children. “What do you want? I don’t have anything of use for you.” Zee seemed to sense his anxiety, and he shivered with the sensation. His fingers twitched, feeling through the air and preparing to summon his lance. The lack of trust made his cheeks burn. Flecks of pink magic swirled over his fingertips, and Zee growled, warming his chest with a sense of defensive urgency.
If she wasn’t a witch, Taylor had two other guesses. The least likely was probably correct. She was Little Red Riding Hood and a wolf-hunter. Or the wolf was not so much a furry quadruped canine and more like a high-powered man-eater.
Taylor’s mental grip on Zee’s reins slipped, and Zee rumbled defensively. The bookshelves trembled in warning. Overhead, the lights flickered.
“Neither.” Her voice, like a scalpel, cut into his thoughts.
Zee went silent, stealing his breath. “Stop it, Zee,” he whispered. Taylor coughed and then stumbled against the nearby bookshelf.
“Is that her name?” she asked with a tilt of the chin. “Zee?” She tested the name with a childish chirp.
Sweat dripped down Taylor’s forehead. He couldn’t breathe. He gagged for air in a panic.
“It’s not Zee. It’s your heart.” She tapped her chin. “I can hear your thoughts on your heart.”
He coughed as his lungs relaxed. Taylor leaned into the bookshelf and concentrated on his breathing. “Okay. That’s a new one,” he croaked.
She swept a peculiarly gentlemanly bow, and Taylor stiffened.
Fuck. Not another damned female prince.
Her red eyes flashed, and Zee stirred in warning.
“Aliss Magnus,” she said, then stood. “Queen of Hearts. I’ve been looking for you, Princess Hatfield, and the huntsman.”
Of course, she would have to be an Enchant queen. Taylor huffed in exasperation as he yanked off his rubber gloves. “His name is Corentin. Not huntsman. He’s not even a huntsman anymore. I’m not really a princess either.” He tossed the gloves into the cleaning bucket and pointed at his face. “Read my lips: We. Quit. We. Want. To. Be. Left. Alone.” He scooped up the bucket and swept a princess-like curtsey. “Your Majesty, I believe you know the way out.”
Taylor turned an about-face and took one step before she called out.
“I know how to break the huntsman’s curse.”
His heart thumped. Taylor pressed his lips together and screamed in his head to fight the impulse to trust her. Enchants trusted at face value—it was hardwired into their identities. Corentin had told him it was what helped the most in luring his victims. Corentin’s Cronespawn gift was manipulating that trust. Taylor’s acclimation to mundane society had protected him with a thick layer of skepticism.
“If you give me a moment of your time, I’ll tell you how,” Aliss said. Her voice had a regal tone, compelling him to listen.
Taylor’s grip on the bucket tightened as he screwed his eyes shut.
Don’t trust her. Don’t trust her.
He turned on his heel to face her. “You have a moment.” Curiosity got the best of him. He hoped beyond hope that she was going to simply try to convert him to some Enchant religion and then be on her way.
“I want you to join us in defeating Snow White.”
The words fell so easily from her lips, but to Taylor, he had been assaulted with a freight train. That definitely wasn’t a religious sales pitch.
“At-Atticus?” he stammered. The bucket clunked to the floor. The bottle of Mr. Clean bounced against the stacks and settled against Taylor’s left foot. “Atticus is still in a mental hospital. He’s getting the help he needs.” Taylor’s voice grew in determination as he rose to defend his brother. “He’s not a threat anymore.”
“How can you be so sure of that?” Aliss shifted her weight, jutting out a hip. “Idi will find Snow again. You can only delay the inevitable.”
“Idi’s dead,” Taylor spat. His gut churned with slow-brewing anxiety and anger.
“For now.” Her tone came out like a taunt. “Idi only needs a new vessel. If he hasn’t gotten one already.”
Taylor tossed out his hand in frustration. “Who the fuck are you to wander in here and tell me this shit?”
Aliss smiled in a way that didn’t indicate kindness. “I represent a group of likeminded Enchants dedicated to monitoring and defending against threats to our kind. Thanks to you and the huntsman, maintaining our vigilance on the Snow White and Idi situation is our top priority.”
Taylor’s palms sweated as she stared him down. Zee whimpered under Aliss’s intimidating presence. The more Taylor fought her unconscious influence, the more his knees trembled in fear.
“Your assistance in our efforts would ensure Princess Snow White will never rise to power. We need a man of a particular set of skills to put an end to Atticus Hatfield once and for all.”
“We? Who the fuck is we?” He forced himself to stand straighter, even if she dwarfed his smaller stature. Damned petite princess genes making female princesses attractive and doll-like but making male princesses look like gangly limbed teens who haven’t grown into their bodies yet.
“We are the Library, a vast network of Enchants dedicated to preserving peace and our way of life,” she said without arrogance, but with a peculiar hint of regret. “We don’t have the resources or knowledge to stop Snow White on our own. We need the skillset that could.”
“The Library?” Taylor asked. He rolled the name over in his head. Why hadn’t he heard the name before? Was this yet another thing Ringo was conveniently glossing over until the right moment? It seemed like he would. Taylor frowned in an attempt for intimidation. “Tell me how to break Corentin’s curse.”
Aliss brushed away her stick-straight blonde hair. “You agree to help us?” she asked as she paced a slow circle around Taylor.
He twitched his fingers, craving the safety of his lance. He couldn’t afford to expose the children to magic, and mistrust gathered like sweat on his forehead. “I don’t agree or disagree.” He grunted. “Out with it. How do I help Corentin?”
“With this,” Aliss said and flicked her wrist toward Taylor.
A soft whistling passed his ear, and his hair fluttered, followed by a heavy
thump
into the bookcase next to his head. Taylor startled when he saw a knife nested between two books next to his ear. He scowled. “You expect me to kill him? You’re out of luck.”