Miles and the Magic Flute Read online

  When unemployed Miles Larson retreats to rural Minnesota to lick his wounds, his dissatisfaction turns him into prey for a powerful, ancient being. With an enchanted silver flute in his hand, Miles enters an erotic fairyland where the sorrows weighing on his heart don’t exist at all. The catch to his newfound paradise: three different magical beings have their eye on his soul.

  To escape the dreamworld, Miles must battle against the Lord of Dreams who wants a new slave, escape the mysterious beast who craves a bridegroom, and resist the sensual lures of the fairy Terris’s charms. First, though, Miles has to overcome the bitterness in his heart that led him here in the first place. He must acknowledge that sometimes to find happiness, we must face our pain and sorrows—and for Miles, that’s the most difficult challenge of all.

  This ebook is not transferrable. Any effort to sell, share, or give this title away constitutes an infringement of the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Heidi Cullinan, POB 425, Ames, Iowa 50010

  Copyright © 2019 by Heidi Cullinan

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-945116-34-6

  Cover by Kanaxa

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First publication June 2010, Dreamspinner Press

  Second Publication May 2014, Wilde City Press

  www.heidicullinan.com

  Miles and the Magic Flute

  HEIDI CULLINAN

  This one is for Libby Drew

  Because her enthusiasm for the initial rambling nonsense is the reason this really odd dream turned into a novel.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Copyright Page

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  About the Author

  Other books by Heidi Cullinan

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Hillari Hoerschelman, who is always there for the Spanish help, to Angela for Wiccan advice, to Dan, Cate, Signy, and Libby for beta reading, And thanks to my body, for teaching me the strange, twisted beauty and strength that can be found in pain.

  Thanks also to my patrons for supporting me and helping produce this edition, especially Sarah Plunkett.

  Like all dreamers, I confuse disenchantment with truth.

  —Jean-Paul Sartre

  Chapter One

  Come faerie fair, come take me away.

  Come take me to your hearth and stay

  beside me in your glittering bower.

  Take me faerie, and my heart devour.

  MILES LARSON HUDDLED at his work table behind Patty’s Pawn Plus, scraping black, horrid gunk off the tray of a toaster oven. He shoved the razor blade hard against the flimsy metal, swore, shoved again, and when the razor blade clattered from his frozen fingers, Miles gripped the appliance with all his humiliation, his rage, and his sorrow and thought, I deserve so much better than this.

  An unseasonably bitter October wind whipped leaves around him, kicking a few into his face. Miles sighed and put the toaster oven down again.

  The appliance was one Patty had salvaged from someone’s trash, and she’d brought it to Miles at noon while he still lay in his bed. One minute, he’d been tucked beneath three layers of clothes and four layers of covers cursing Minnesota, cursing winter, cursing Fellerman Financial for laying him off and every other business in Atlanta for not hiring him, hating Jeff and his floozy, hating his friends who forgot about him the second he left town and didn’t even bother to respond to any of his posts on Facebook—and then suddenly he had a lap full of toaster oven.

  “Get up,” Patty declared, “and fix this.”

  Patty’s not even slightly passive aggressiveness drove Miles crazy. She didn’t drop hints or even fight with you. She just told you what to do with enough butch power to make Diana Prince acquiesce. In contrast, Julie had knocked on his door, nudged him gently, suggesting maybe he could get up. She promised she’d have some breakfast for him, that she even had cow milk instead of soy milk, just like he liked. Julie had been in every half-hour since nine, cooing and coddling, trying to get Miles out of bed, into a shower, and back into his life.

  Patty didn’t roll that way. Patty hurled toaster ovens at you and shouted at you until you stopped moping and started working.

  Miles now stood behind the shop, dressed in his long underwear and sweat pants and Patty’s too-big parka, fumbling with frozen fingers as he tried to scrape the baked-on gunk away. He could go inside, and probably he should, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. For starters, there really wasn’t room, and more to the point, he went crazy in there. He didn’t know why exactly, but it probably had something to do with being surrounded by the detritus of other people’s lives: the HDTVs and stereos and computers and MP3 players that people had purchased when times were better, goods that had ultimately been hocked, one at a time, to buy groceries and gas the car so the previous owners could go cash another unemployment check. It all hit a bit too close to the bone. So Miles worked outside, where his ego had space to explode, and where, when the cold dictated he had to stop and stuff his hands into his pockets to get feeling back into his fingers, he could stare off into the forest.

  Miles loved this forest. If he were honest, it was the only part of Minnesota he’d missed while he’d been gone. When he’d grown up here, he’d lived on the other side of these woods on his parents’ farm, and he’d cut through the narrow lip of the trees to Patty’s dad’s trailer to watch satellite TV pretty much every chance he could. His parents had moved to Minneapolis, and Patty’s dad had gone to jail, but the woods had remained, and every now and again, Miles still snuck inside to reminisce. He wished he dared to do that now.

  He fiddled with his phone instead, checking his mail and his messages on Facebook. There were none in either place. He scanned through page after page of people who had welcomed him at the bar, who had bought him a round and accepted his, of men he’d slept with and women he’d shopped with. He scrolled through the lives of his coworkers and his acquaintances, saw them laughing and kissing and teasing each other about the previous night out. They’d give him a quick note if he nudged them, but not once in six months had any of them instigated contact with him—not even the ones who were unemployed like himself.

  Scrolling down a little farther in the feed, Miles saw a name highlighted at the beginning of a notification, and old habits made his heart flutter. Then he saw what the notification was, and his heart turned cold.

  Jeff English is in a relationship.

  Miles stared at the screen for a few seconds more. Then he tucked the phone back into his pocket, shoved his hands under his armpits, and walked up to the edge of the forest.

  All the leaves had turned, and over half had fallen, leaving the place barren and still. Occasionally the wind would whip through, making the branches quiver and leaves rustle around in little eddies, b
ut mostly the place was still and quiet and inviting. It was surely his fancy, but he felt as if the trees were beckoning to him, urging him to let go, to come inside. He couldn’t do that, but he did give voice to a few metaphorical scrapings of the black sludge caked against his own heart.

  “I hate this,” he whispered to the forest. “I hate my life. I hate what I’ve become. I hate what I lost.” He let the fury and the sorrow rise to the top of his throat. “I hate realizing that I never really had it.”

  The wind whipped up again as if in answer, and Miles shut his eyes, letting it embrace him. For a moment, it seemed warm instead of cold, and when it pulled at him, drawing him forward, he didn’t think—he simply stepped out, closing the distance between himself and the barrier of the trees.

  If I keep walking, if I go into the forest, things will be better, a voice whispered in his mind. A feeling of peace stole over him, and Miles embraced it. I can keep going and never come back. In that moment, that was exactly what Miles wanted.

  He took a step forward.

  The back door to the shop opened, and the spell was broken.

  “You about done?” Patty called. “I need you to watch the till until closing. Julie wants me to run into town for something for her soup.”

  Miles startled. He felt empty, as if something important had been taken away from him, and it made him angry.

  “No, I am not about done.” Miles stalked over to the toaster oven and picked up the razor blade, waving it angrily. “This shit won’t come off no matter what I do to it.” He gave the grime a particularly vicious swipe, but all it did was nearly cost him his thumb as the blade jumped the gunk and aimed itself at his other hand.

  “Careful, now!” Patty scolded. “Nobody’s going to buy that if you scrape the hell out of it.”

  It would have been so satisfying to throw the toaster oven against the wall, to watch the damn thing shatter into cheap metal and plastic bits. Instead, Miles settled for letting the tray clatter loudly onto the bench before tossing the blade after it, watching it skitter across the table.

  “Fine,” he said. “I’ll do this later.”

  There was absolutely no satisfaction in receiving the glare that Patty gave him before ducking back inside the shop, and as Miles followed her through the towering shelves full of junk, he grudgingly admitted he deserved that, at least in theory. Whatever had gone on in his head at the edge of the forest had rattled him, but he had to push that aside now. He should be more gracious to Patty. She and Julie had taken him in when he had nowhere else to go, when he was bankrupt and sullen and friendless. She had given him a job and a roof over his head and a modicum of his self-respect back.

  But Jesus H. Christ, did it have to be this job? This place?

  I hate my life, Miles thought again, his hands clenching at his sides. I hate my life, and I would do anything and give anything to change it.

  This time when the wind whipped up hard around him, it was so sharp that Miles paused, and on an impulse he couldn’t name, he turned around and looked out at the forest. The pull of it was so strong that he swayed on his feet, and when the wind picked up again, it seemed to turn him and aim him at it, and Miles went, not interested in fighting.

  “Miles!” Patty shouted. “What are you doing?”

  Blinking, Miles turned back around. “I—” He frowned, then shook his head to clear it. “I’m right behind you,” he said, and followed Patty inside.

  A HISPANIC FAMILY browsed as Miles came out to the counter, moving in quiet symphony, scanning the goods available with expert eyes, conversing occasionally with one another in Spanish. There were three men, four children, and one woman, but the woman was clearly in charge, because one of the men—had to be the husband—kept holding up items to her, asking, “¿Y ésta?” and she kept shaking her head. The other two men conferred quietly with one another over a selection of stereos.

  Patty lectured Miles just out of earshot of the customers, with one eye on him and the other on the sales area. “Watch the store for me while I’m out. If you hear the bell, you have to come to the counter and stay until people leave. We don’t normally have theft issues, but if you’re not paying attention, that might change, because times are hard for everyone right now. Whenever there aren’t customers, I need you fixing stuff. Toaster ovens, TVs, computers: whatever you can work your magic on. You’re a real gift to us right now.”

  She made it sound like he was settling in for good. “I told you, I want to get a job again. Something in a city. Something in finance, not hobby repair. If this is about me earning my keep, I will absolutely pay you back. I appreciate your help, but this is not where I intend to end up in my life. This is just a temporary derailment.”

  Patty turned to him and put her hands on her hips. “Miles, you don’t get it, do you? There are no jobs. You’ve been looking for months, and you’ve got nothing. Yes, this is about you earning your keep. It’s also about you helping me. I don’t want a guilt check six months from now. I want stuff I can use, and I want it now. I want your hands and your head. Nobody fixes stuff like you, Miles. You’ve got a real skill, and I want you to use it for me and for Julie. For yourself too. There’s nothing wrong with your life, Miles. Just your attitude.”

  This rankled Miles, and he wanted to argue back, to tell her he was so getting a job. He wanted to tell her the fuck if he was going to stay here and repair toasters in the backwoods—but he didn’t. He set his jaw and nodded curtly at her as he slid past her behind the counter.

  He probably deserved the thin press of her lips that she gave him before grabbing her ski jacket and ducking out the door, making the bell above it jangle.

  The family stayed in the shop for a solid twenty minutes, inspecting every item for sale at least twice, during which time Miles tried to watch them without looking like he was watching them. God, he hated this. He was supposed to be in a sleek office building in Atlanta, buzzing his assistant to order a latte as he went over a prospectus. He was not supposed to be tucking his fingers into his armpits to keep them warm while he gave a stony glare that wasn’t working to two jabbering children who were waving a hot pot around.

  This is not the life I was meant to have, Miles thought, gritting his teeth and digging his fingernails into his sweatshirt. I’m better than this. I deserve so much better than this. The longing swept over him once again, and just as it had outside, for a second it burned in his chest, hot and angry and desperate.

  A gust of wind blew up sharply against the pawn shop, rattling the cheap metal roof and sending a blast of draft through the single-paned window behind Miles. Outside the shop, the sheriff’s German shepherds began to bark. Inside, one of the children stopped running around and looked warily at the front door. Miles looked too, trying to figure out what the little girl had seen, but nothing happened, and no one came in. The little girl whimpered, though, and ran over to her mother’s pant leg.

  “This,” one of the men declared, setting a small CD player on the counter.

  He pulled out his wallet and began peeling off bills, which was a relief to Miles. He hated when people tried to dicker over price when Patty wasn’t around to demonstrate this was not an option. Miles rang him up and counted out his change, and as he handed it back, he happened to glance at the second man. The man buying the stereo was short and stout, but the man behind him was taller and leaner. He was also just a little bit handsome, and he smiled carefully at Miles. Miles smiled back, and he felt his blood kick up a bit too.

  Then the darkness in his heart consumed him again, and he turned away. There was no time for flirting. He had to put all his focus on getting out of this dump.

  Miles deliberately kept his gaze away from the man and forced a smile at the mother as she directed the purchase of a clock radio, a TV, and a popcorn popper. The children had calmed down, miraculously, though the young one kept repeating, “¡Vamos!” as she tried to urge her mother to the door. Miles watched them go.

  Once the bell had stoppe
d clanging and the shop was quiet again, Miles opened his eyes and looked around. There was no one in the place but him. Outside the dogs had quieted down, and the gravel crunched beneath the Mexican family’s tires as they pulled away. But Miles felt listless, and he was cold, so he paced back and forth behind the counter, letting his mind wander.

  Oddly enough, he found himself thinking of the forest most of the time. He remembered that strange warm wind and that feeling of peace. The quiet of the shop was heavy, pressing down on him like a weight. He wanted the close, sheltering feel of the trees, the expanse of space, the fairy-like feel of it. When he’d been young, he’d wished there were real fairies there, that they would come and play with him. In fact, sometimes he’d pretended they had. When he’d been in junior high and figured out his orientation, so incompatible with Summer Hill, he’d gone into the forest to do the crying he couldn’t let his parents hear, and he’d wished, once again, for someone to take him away.

  One day he’d thought the fairies had actually heard him, Miles remembered with a wry smile. He’d felt a breeze as if it were fingers touching his face, and he looked out into a nest of trees and swore he saw a shining castle in the clouds before a silver lake. That alone startled him, but when he heard what sounded like an animal moving through the woods, he’d gone back home. And actually, he hadn’t gone back into the forest after that, not until he was in high school, but then he was just cutting through to visit Patty.

  Miles wanted to go into the woods now. He felt restless and aching and full of longings no fling would fill. He wanted the ease of his old life back. He wanted that peace, the centering feeling reaching for his dream had given him. Patty might be right. That dream might be gone. But the forest was here. He could reach for the ease the forest had given him when he was young. Right now he wanted that peace so badly that he ached.