Jack
I like the music in this pub. It’s the reason I come here so often. For the band, the scotch, and to play pool with Phil and Sebastian.
My feet resting on the low bar of the stool, I bounce my right leg to the rhythm of the Town Musicians of Bremen, who perform their rock songs on a small stage at the back. The food’s mostly a turn-off here, but they make good fries. I love fries. Wish I’d had some to go with Granny Redcoat this morning. With a bucket of ketchup. The old bag tastes like castor oil and porridge. Always a battle to stuff her down my throat.
I pick a fry from the basket on the bar that Tweedledee—or was it Tweedledum?—placed in front of me. Heck, I can never tell those two apart. Between a breath of the cigarette smoke and the stale odor of beer in the dimly lit place, I bite off the end of my fry.
“Whiskey and fries for breakfast?” The throaty laughter that follows accompanies a royal hand swiping some of my food. “Looks like you had a tough night.”
I half turn my head to greet Phillip with a growl and then eat a little faster because I know he’ll keep reaching into the basket until it’s empty. Normally, I don’t mind sharing, but today, I’m starving. “Get your own food, you son of a king.”
“Can’t. I’m used to being fed,” he retorts insolently, grinning around the stick in his mouth as he grabs a few more fries.
I push the basket to the other side, out of his reach. “Then go back to Castle Grove and have your girl cook you something nice.”
My jacket draped over the bar stool next to me kept him a free seat. He tosses the leather on the counter then pulls the stool noisily closer and sits down. “My girl’s hanging out with your girl at Jason’s castle right now, and I don’t think she can even make scrambled eggs.”
An alarmed gasp makes us both turn around to a frozen Humpty with two glasses of Chardonnay in his pale hands. His eyes and mouth are three big Os.
It’s funny how color always rises in Phillip’s face when he accidentally treads on someone’s toes. Tough guy or not, one’s true fairy-tale traits are hard to shake off. “Sorry,” my pal mumbles an apology to the flamboyant egg, rubbing his neck as we watch Humpty Dumpty flitter away with the drinks. As he takes a seat in a booth by the door with Christopher the Tooth Fairy, I return my focus to my meal.
“The regular princess meeting again?” I pick up the subject of earlier when Phil said something about our girls. Sure, Riley isn’t really my girl. Not in the romantic sense. But officially, she is. Fairy tale law binds us closer together than a superficial ring on her finger ever could.
“Gossip girls, I’d rather call them.” Phil snorts a chuckle and runs a hand through his fair hair before he orders a beer and then turns back to me. “They’re undoubtedly trashing us from the first second ‘til the last.”
My teeth catching Riley’s behind this morning is certainly something that she will bring up in front of her friends. I normally don’t act out of my role. She was in such a cheeky mood today, though, permanently taunting me with her favorite name for me, that I couldn’t resist reminding her what a nice set of fangs her puppy dog actually has.
A secretive sneer tugs at my lips. She really has a fine ass. I would love to get my teeth on it without her cloak in the way for once. I bet I could make her yip like a wolf.
I finish my fries, leaving three in the basket and pushing them in front of Phillip. While he scarves them down, I dilute the salty taste on my tongue with a draught from the scotch and then wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my black T.M.o.B. band t-shirt. What can I say, I really dig these guys. Elbowing my friend, I point a thumb over to the pool table. “Care for a game?”
He nods, licking his fingers free of salt. We slide from our stools, head over, and I pull the release lever. A familiar rumble sounds from inside the table as the balls quickly roll down one after another into the removal window. Phillip sets them up in the black plastic triangle. In the meantime, I pick up a cue and rub the blue chalk over its tip. With a high toss, I throw the other cue at the prince.
He catches it one-handed and chalks it, too, when the sound of a well-known voice draws both of our gazes to the door. At long last, Sebastian comes into the pub with a half-dreamy, half-crazed look. The clock above the door says ten-thirty. Phillip steps in front of me with a mean smirk on his clean-shaven face as he rolls the sleeves of his red shirt up to the elbows. “Loser has to bring Sebastian home today.”
That triggers my laugh. If Prince Sebastian joins us this late on a Sunday morning, it means his own story of The Little Mermaid held him up. The curse the Sea Witch casts on him shortly before the end of his tale badgers him so much that he usually gets wasted afterward to flush every remaining ounce of it from his body.
I take my half-empty glass from the bar and place it on the edge of the pool table. Then I lean down with a grin and aim for my first shot. “Deal.”
The balls scatter, the red one disappearing into the left corner pocket. Red is always the first one I dunk.
“Nice shot,” Sebastian says in greeting and slumps onto the wooden chair by the small, round table close to us. He pours himself a glass of red wine from the bottle he picked up at the bar on his way over and knocks down the first half. Then he refills it, tips back with the chair, and stacks his booted feet on the table, swaying the glass in our direction. “Cheers.”
I sink two more balls but miss the fourth shot. Damnit. While Phil has a go at the game, I take my scotch and sit down opposite Sebastian. We clink glasses and both take a sip—me a small one, him virtually inhaling his drink.
“Easy there, your royal highness,” I mock him. “Don’t want you to puke on my shoes later.” And from the speed with which Phil sinks one ball after another, it’s quite likely that I’ll be the one taking the soon-to-be-drunk prince home today.
“I’ll take it easy in the afternoon when I sleep off my inebriation,” Sebastian replies with a snide grin and opens the top button of his white dress shirt. “As for now…” He lifts the wine bottle and calls to Maid Marianne, who waits tables here at the Shady Wonders during the week, “Darling, would you bring me another?”
The Highland beauty with the wild dark hair knows his habit as well as we do, so she doesn’t even bother pointing out that the one he’s holding is still half-full. Twenty seconds later, she places the new bottle in front of him, wipes her hands on her white apron, and then claps him softly on the shoulder, her face contorted in lines of sympathy. “Enjoy.”
I grab a fistful of Marianne’s green linen dress before she can scurry away and lift my pleading gaze to her freckled face. “Can you bring him a double cheeseburger, too?” I know that Sebastian never gets to eat any of the cake at his own wedding. And for a drinking bout such as the one currently on his mind, some solid underlay couldn’t hurt.
Sebastian throws me a look as if to say that I’m not his nanny, but drool practically seeps from the corner of his mouth at the prospect of some real food. From what we hear, Avalyn is on a mission lately to turn him into a vegetarian. Oh, she can try, but I doubt she’ll have any luck with it. Her only chance would be to blackmail him by refusing to… Yeah, well, let’s just say she won’t be lucky.
Phillip dunked five balls but missed his last shot, so we switch places. I empty the table of all colored balls except the black one, and when it’s his turn again, of course he runs them all into the pockets one by one. “Good game,” I compliment him and throw a glance at our pal, who’s getting sloshed quicker than is good for him. That’s going to be an interesting walk to his castle later.
Phil and I play a few more games, slowly drinking as we do. But when Sebastian dips forward, pillowing his head on one arm, the other one hanging listlessly at his side as he begins to snore, the fun is over. “Time to take his highness home and tuck him in,” Phillip jokes, putting his cue away. Thank Grimm, the black-haired prince doesn’t have to act his role all too often these days. The Sea Witch’s curse would be shit compared to the alcoholic cirrhosis he’d end up giving himself.
I place my cue back on the stand and toss the money for my drinks and the fries onto the bar, adding a tip for whichever of the Tweedles served me. Then I put on my jacket and join Phil by Sebastian. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” I say, hauling him up by slipping my bulk under his shoulder. Phillip takes his other arm, and together, we walk him outside. The moans coming from Sebastian prove that he’s still alive.
Phillip’s topless coach with the two gorgeous, white horses is parked in front of the pub. As we stop there, he hesitates a moment, patting Sebastian’s cheek rather roughly. “You okay, boy?”
“Uh-huh,” the raspy answer drifts from his hanging head.
Taking him home with the cabriolet would be way faster than dragging the semi-conscious prince down to his palace by the shore. But I can see why Phillip doesn’t want Sebastian to ride with him. Last time we did that, he threw up. No matter how often Phil’s servants cleaned the cushions, the stench remained, and it was pestilent. Ultimately, he had to get a new coach.
I’m preparing to support the boozehound’s whole weight so Phillip can get free, except a rather persistent pull toward the Wood of 1000 Dawns sets in right then and brings on a change of plans.
“Sorry, but Sebastian is your job today,” I apologize and wrap the drunken prince’s arm around Phillip’s shoulders.
Phil stares at me wide-eyed as he has a fully grown man hanging around his neck and holds him tight like a dead wife. “Why?”
“Date with Riley.” I smack him on the shoulder and grin halfheartedly.
“Again?”
Some stories are told more often than others. Phillip and Briar-Rose usually have to act theirs out once every few days. Avalyn and Sebastian often get a few weeks between their plays most of the time. Riley and I, on the other hand, front-run Fairyland’s most-wanted list. We hardly get a day off. But playing twice in twenty-four hours is rare, even for us.
Roguishly, I waggle my brows at Phil and his accessory. A rendezvous with Red Riding Hood is the better end of this deal—for so many reasons.
Sure, it means leaving my best friend to fight the battle with Sebastian alone when he actually won the game of pool, but he knows that none of us can resist the mystical call when someone in The Reality reads the words Once upon a time…
Phil rolls his eyes and then starts laughing. “Screw you, Jack. If you made this up to bail, I’m going to kick your ass down to Eldorado.”
Lifting my hands, I put a solemn expression on my face. “Not bailing, I swear.” He has seen me taking Sebastian home on many occasions. I’m not one to escape from a job when it’s about friends. But the story always comes first.
“I only believe you because I know you can’t fake that gleam in your eyes when it’s about Red Riding Hood. But you owe me, dude.”
That glimmer is not intentional. It comes from the wolf part of me. There’s this deep, annoying need inside me to just nibble Riley up. Heck, if she ever lets me.
“Next time, Sebastian is my duty again. Promise. You know”—I scratch my head—“you could make him throw up here and then bring him home in your runabout. By the way…” I point a finger at Sebastian’s face pillowed against Phillip’s chest. “He’s drooling on your shirt.”
Disgusted, Phil shifts him a little in his grip and considers my suggestion for a couple of seconds. In the end, he shakes his head. “Nah. A little walk and some fresh air will do him some good. See ya! And tell your girl I said hi.”
I nod. “Take care!”
We part in front of the pub and head in opposite directions. The pull is getting stronger, irresistible, and it carries with it the excitement of seeing Riley again. I know I’ll never get to have my way with her, not in our story setup, but the ties to our tale are sometimes seriously hard to cut out of my mind and system.
As I leave the village far behind and cross the borders of the Wood of 1000 Dawns, I sneer at a doe with her fawn in the underbrush and then give a deep, guttural growl to make them dart off in terror…just because I can.
It’s not far to the crossroads, our usual meeting place. As always, I’m the first to arrive. Hands in my jacket pockets, I lean against the signpost that points to Grimwich, Granny’s House, the Plush Toy Forest, and Glitter Hollow. The latter is the direction from which Riley will appear in a few minutes. Inhaling deeply and filtering the air through my nose, I can already smell her. Damn, I dig the mix of morning dew and wood strawberries.
With my hypersensitive hearing, thanks to the wolf part of me, I can hear her footsteps, too. Oddly, there’s no humming today.
A chuckle escapes me. Ooh, someone’s peeved. This is going to be interesting.
Angling one leg and planting the sole of my shoe against the post behind me, I lower my chin but keep an eye on the path in front of me. She’s close, I can sense her. A hot feeling enters my gut and makes the hair on my neck stand on end. It’s always the same at the beginning of our adventure.
Time to brace myself. The first sight usually triggers the impulse in me to change into the big, bad Wolf and just have a go at this girl. It’s immediately followed by a much deeper need to do other things with her. Sinful things. I’ve been trying to lure her off the righteous path and seduce her into a realm of no shame and regret for as long as I can remember.
But she never comes.
Pity. It would take a fool not to notice her innocent beauty; her tempting curves, which most of the time are hidden under her cloak. But I am no fool, and that shy look only she can master at every first smile I give her is my downfall.
Of course, this is all just part of the story.
Even if I have to admit that I thought about hooking up with Riley when we were first thrown into the same tale. She shot me down. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her out on a date right after eating her grandma for the first time.
She never gave me a second chance, and I never asked for one either. There are other girls in town to scratch a certain itch. Gretel has been good company for a while, and she never stayed over when we were done—which I appreciated. As for Riley, I don’t need to put a ring on her finger or take her to my bed. Because there’s one thing she can never change. She’s my girl, and she will be forever.
Bush-wood rustles in the distance and puts me on alert.
Five…four…three… She’s just around the bend. A smile begins to tug at the corners of my mouth. Two…one… Here she comes.