Lyle's Story Read online

  Table of Contents

  Lyle’s Story

  Book Details

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the Author

  Landlocked Heart Book Two:

  Lyle’s Story

  Kay Berrisford

  Lyle, a merman, and Ben, his human, work together in a seaside ice-cream parlour and their life together is bliss. Or would be, if not for Ben’s constant worries about career and money, and Lyle’s dark past—a myriad of secrets, lies, wild magic, and foul deeds, which now threaten to catch up with him.

  When Lyle’s merfolk family accuse him of murder, Ben and Lyle’s bond is stretched to the limit. Not only does Lyle seem unsuited to Ben’s dreams of domestic happiness, his magical powers are spinning dangerously out of control. Even Lyle isn’t entirely sure he’s innocent.

  With Ben dragged deep into the enchanted processes of merfolk justice, escaping with his life—and getting home to an important job interview—is just the start of the challenge. Uncovering Lyle’s inner truths without destroying their love could be a step too far…

  Lyle’s Story

  Landlocked Heart 2

  By Kay Berrisford

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Constance Blye

  Cover designed by Jasmine Ang

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition September 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Kay Berrisford

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684310401

  Print ISBN 9781684310753

  Chapter One

  Lyle concentrated hard, frowning, as he piled a second scoop of salted caramel ice-cream onto the cone. He arranged it at a picturesque angle, slightly misaligned from the original globule, yet not so far off-kilter it would slide off the moment it began melting.

  He blinked at the cone, admired his handiwork, and nodded. He’d arranged it almost perfectly, though there was always room for improv…

  “Will you hurry up, young man? I’d like my ice-cream this side of Christmas, thank you very much.”

  The customer’s complaint cut through Lyle’s reverie. “I apologize,” said Lyle, handing the ice-cream across the glass counter to the puffy-cheeked little human. “However, you’ve barely been detained thirty seconds, which is nothing compared to the queues we had in the summer holidays. If you’re starving hungry, I suggest you go find something more nutritious to fill your belly. My boyfriend swears by a full bowl of Weetabix first thing each day.”

  Then Ben would drown the cereal in milk until it resembled soggy sand. Ugh!

  Still, the recollection of those sleepy morning routines at the flat, now a daily occurrence, helped Lyle muster his best “customer service” smile. Thinking about Ben always cheered Lyle up, even in the most trying of circumstances—and he’d been in a lot worse messes than the present.

  Lyle wasn’t so naïve to the ways of the human world not to know why the customer—whose face had turned the colour of the beetroot-and-bubble-gum sorbet—glared up at him. Indeed, Lyle had been ever-so-slightly rude, but he couldn’t help winding these folk up sometimes. Just because he served iced and sugary snacks didn’t mean people should treat him like the scum of the seabed.

  Besides, he could be so polite when he chose. “That’ll be one pound and fifty English pence please, sir,” he said smoothly.

  “You’ll be lucky, mate,” said the customer, backing toward the exit. “I’ll be emailing your ruddy manager about your cheek.”

  The old-fashioned shop bell chimed out as the door of Alberto Bertrand’s Traditional Ice-Cream Parlour swung open then shut. Lyle gaped as the man scooted passed the windows with the unpaid for ice-cream in hand. If he chased the thieving bastard down the street and demanded payment, it would doubtless get him into deeper trouble and guarantee fresh headaches for Ben.

  Good job Lyle had a better plan.

  He closed his eyes, drew a swift, fortifying breath, and connected with the fizzing ball of magic at his innermost core. From this secret place, deep inside, he reached out to the ocean, which heaved and swelled just fifty yards away, at the end of the road. Energy sparked in his chest like electricity. He wiggled his fingers and urged a seismic shift into a tub of white-choc-chip galore.

  Lyle dashed out from behind the counter, plastered himself to the windowpane, and let silent laughter quake through him. Just a few strides up the street, the little customer hopped from leg to leg, mouthing a variety of curses, as he groped down the back of his anorak. The magical arrival of an icy blob of white-choc-chip on the nape of his neck had given him a hell of a shock, for he’d dropped his cone on the pavement. A tragic waste, although the circling seagulls would clear that up soon enough—possibly before the melting ice-cream had finished its torturous trickle down the stricken man’s spine.

  “Lyle, are you okay? Why are you standing at the window shaking?”

  Lyle turned around, swallowing back his mirth, to see Ben, his boyfriend, lover, and hero, his everything, had emerged from the back office. Benjamin—who Lyle had begun calling Ben because one syllable was enough when they’d a line of punters trailing outside the parlour door—was gorgeous. Even now Lyle got to spend most of every day with him, his handsome features and soulful brown eyes still snatched Lyle’s breath. Though too often, as at present, Ben’s demeanour bent toward seriousness and worry.

  “I’m perfectly fine.” Lyle turned to offer his most beguiling grin in an effort to allay Ben’s concerns, which weren’t entirely unfounded. The aftereffects of the magic proved more draining than Lyle had hoped. No longer rocked by mirth, he found himself trembling uncontrollably. “I’m afraid I might have had another little problem with a customer, but… oh… oh bugger!”

  Lyle’s knees buckled and he slid down the window, landing heavily on his arse. Simultaneously, he lost control of the simple shapeshifting spell he’d been using on himself since he’d last bathed in the sea and drank deeply of its power, at seven o’clock that morning. The purple shirt fabric on both his outer arms ripped beneath the shoulders and his trousers tore open at his thighs. His four long tentacle-like fins reappeared, slapping wildly against the glass pane.

  “Not again,” sighed Ben, who’d rushed to Lyle’s side. Ben looped his arms about Lyle, who rested his throbbing forehead on Ben’s shoulder. “Please stop using so much magic, Lyle. Even this close to the sea, we know you can’t cast a spell and keep yourself looking entirely human, and that’s the third shirt you’ve ruined this fortnight. Not to mention that tragedy with your trousers when you went totally fish-boy on me. Come on, you.”

  Still with an arm around him, Ben hauled Lyle to his feet, pausing to turn the “open” sign on the door over to “back in five minutes.” He bundled Lyle into the poky back office and eased him down into a tattered velour armchair.

  “What did you do?” Ben raked his fingers back through his lush chestnut hair as he loomed over the seated Lyle.

  Having regained his strength, aided by Ben’s lovely arms around him, Lyle bit back a snigger. He wanted to share what’d just happened with Ben, he really did. But he’d a notion the truth would only shift Ben�
��s mood from mild worry toward major stress, and that would spoil the rest of their day.

  “I realized I’d given too much change so I magicked it back out of the customer’s pocket.” He peeped up at Ben from beneath the blur of his flickering lashes. “I know how you hate it when your till doesn’t add up at the end of the day.”

  Ben’s pursed lips and narrowed eyes suggested he mightn’t quite buy this explanation. Nevertheless, it was well within Lyle’s capabilities, with the ocean, the best fuel for his magic, so near. To some small extent, he had control over all the elements, over space and even time. But when it came to shifting or reshaping objects, Lyle proved most effective with small things, like coins or ice-cream, or with living bodies, while with creating matter from thin air, he could only really cope with food. Even all of this had its limitations, not least the toll on his ability to stand upright when he overdid it.

  “Okay, I get it. But please be careful,” said Ben. “I can’t explain away many more complaints to Mr Bertrand about you. Let alone how much uniform you’re destroying.”

  “I do apologise. Most of the customers like me, though. The girls love me, and most of the lads.”

  “That’s because you’re the south coast’s most natural born flirt.”

  “So you tell me, but I’m not just that. I’m superb with children, too.”

  Lyle had once spent a whole day magically sculpting ice pops into the shapes of animals, to the delight of multitudes of kids. It’d been the reason he got so tired out he’d had a magical malfunction and turned “totally fish-boy”, as Ben had described it.

  “Yeah, I know, love,” signed Ben. “I understand how hard this is for you, going from spending the best part of two centuries landlocked alone in Shanty Wood to working daily in a busy seaside town. Seeing as it’s only been eight weeks, you’re doing great, but…”

  Lyle squirmed. He rarely enjoyed Ben’s “buts.”

  “… but you can’t be seen in public with your fins flailing everywhere. I’ll serve out front for the rest of the afternoon. You best stay back here till we can get you back down to the sea.”

  “And can I study the shiny wedding books?” Lyle glanced hopefully at the pile of dog-eared wedding brochures, which Ben had swiped out of a recycling dumpster at the back of a posh hotel.

  “Maybe later. For now, I’d really appreciate it if you counted the safe then finished checking the weekly orders for me.”

  Lyle slumped farther into the chair, groaning like he’d a belly ache. “Do I have to? I much prefer chatting with humans, even the annoying ones. If I can’t serve, can’t we both just hide back here and… Well, you know.”

  Lyle made good use of his currently unwanted fins, knotting them behind Ben’s back and yanking Ben into his lap. Ben crashed onto him, though he gathered himself fast. As Ben lifted his head from where it’d landed on Lyle’s chest, Lyle cupped Ben’s not-that-surprised-looking face and leaned down to claim a kiss.

  He ran his tongue along the seam of Ben’s mouth, dabbing lovingly and then, prying Ben’s lips apart, he ploughed deep. With his free hand and all four fins, he fondled Ben’s upturned arse, thrilled to feel Ben’s tongue sliding slickly and sweetly against his. Ben twisted a fist in Lyle’s long hair, tugging Lyle closer, intensifying the kiss. The proximity of their bodies set Lyle’s every fibre tautening. Each part of him smouldered with desire for Ben—despite the layers of ice-cream spattered aprons and uniform that formed an agonizing barrier between them.

  With a groan thrice as heartfelt as Lyle’s reaction regarding the safe count, Ben broke the kiss. “Lyle, stop it. We can’t. No, please, don’t look at me like that.”

  Lyle knew he was pouting at Ben, who appeared more delicious than ever with his kiss-reddened lips, pink cheeks, and ruffled hair. He didn’t care. “Why can’t we? Mr Bertrand will never find out, and besides, I need you.” He whispered in Ben’s ear. “My fins are itching to get inside you, and I need you inside me. Now.”

  “Later,” said Ben, strained. As Ben disentangled himself from Lyle and got up, Lyle gleaned a modicum of comfort from the hardness evident at Ben’s crotch. “I’m sorry you have to work here, Lyle. If I get that job at the district environmental office I’ve applied for, I might be able to support us both. But for now, you’re going to have to stick with it.” Ben peeped into the cracked mirror above the sink then flattened down his hair and straightened his uniform and apron. “Weddings don’t come cheap, you know? So… safe count, please. I’ll bring the float out to you later.”

  Ben slipped out into the parlour and started bustling about tidying the counter. Lyle coiled a lock of his auburn hair about one of his fingers and brooded on it.

  Over these past two months with Ben in this bizarre human world, he’d learned well that nothing came cheap, let alone the wedding they both desired.

  Not that Lyle needed anything too fancy. For most of his long life, the notion of a wedding had been a vague and impossible fantasy. But since Ben had introduced him to the seductive world of wedding mags, not to mention the boutiques in town stocked with sharp suits and sexy lace, he’d hankered after something a little special. Maybe a romantic ceremony overlooking the seashore. He didn’t mind earning the money to pay for his dreams, especially as the work was with Ben. In fact, despite his occasional whines, he enjoyed it. How could he not, after passing one-hundred-and-seventy-five years unoccupied and alone?

  What really concerned him, however, was the near future. Ben had set his heart on getting a “professional” job like he used to have back in the midlands before Lyle came crashing into his life, changing everything. If Ben got one? Ben claimed they’d both be happier as well as richer, while Lyle loathed the idea of being left alone all day.

  Even worse, Ben talked about saving up and buying a house here in town. That was another worry, which set Lyle’s toes and fins curling with trepidation. If Lyle stayed in the same place too long, his fellow merfolk might catch up with him. And if Benjamin heard the charge they’d levied against him—the accusation of murder?

  “If my love turned against me, I’d die,” murmured Lyle, yanking the lock of hair straight so it formed a noose around the tip of his finger. He glowered as the blood rushed to his reddening fingertip, then released it. He had to tell Ben what had happened before it was too late. Yet he couldn’t recall the key events himself. How could he explain what he didn’t know?

  He curled his long legs up onto the saggy old chair and rolled sideways into a foetal position, pondering the best way to come clean. When a hard lump dug into his thigh, he jumped up quicker than intended.

  From his pocket, he drew out some smoothly-rounded pebbles, which he’d collected from beneath the picturesque cliff that overlooked the western end of the resort.

  Lyle stroked them, collecting a thin layer of white chalk dust onto his nearly-as-pale skin, and let them cheer him. He’d always enjoyed creating art from nature, although while trapped for so long in the same patch of woodland, inspiration often ran dry. Now, let loose in the whirlwind of the human world and near his beloved ocean, his creativity returned with a fierce vengeance.

  And these pebbles were so, so pretty.

  He retrieved the half-finished collage of the seabed that he’d left propped in a corner and laid it flat. He’d just finished gluing the pebbles into a representation of two mating seahorses when Ben stuck his head into the back office.

  “Have you started the safe count yet?” he asked, knowing full well Lyle was toying with his latest artwork on the cheap lino floor.

  “No, but I have just finished the centrepiece of my new… um, let’s call it A Seahorse Extravaganza. Do you like it? Yesterday, I used gratings of dried cuttlefish to stir things up and create a sense of movement in the water.”

  “Lyle, it’s fabulous, but—”

  Lyle tossed both hands up, silencing Ben. “Yes, I know you say my art won’t make money, but it is vastly superior to that inky-splat rubbish they flog at Daphne Slade’s stud
io across the street. You humans enjoy my work—the other day, some photographer guy took snaps of the stone-stack sculptures I did on the beach. Now this one is completed, we could at least try selling it on your interweb thingy. Your car made a ton of money on there.”

  “Yeah, well, my car was worth a good few grand,” said Ben, sounding tired. “Unless you somehow become famous overnight, I doubt your art will fund our wedding, let alone pay this month’s rent. So, uh… safe count please?”

  “Very well. But only because I love you.” Lyle shuffled across to the steel box then returned the kiss Ben deigned to blow him. As soon as Ben withdrew, Lyle keyed in the code with the tip of a fin and vowed to devote his whole attention to totting the cash up and getting the totals right this time.

  He wanted to do his best to please Ben while the chance remained. Their life together was bliss, despite the rude customers, the straying tentacles, the money woes, and even the occasional lie that wormed its way between them.

  He feared it mightn’t last long.

  Chapter Two

  The early autumn moon rippled across the cool waters, which lapped calmly on the beach. Lyle waded deep then plunged beneath the surface, letting the flow of the current sweep his silken hair from his face.

  Bolstered by the powerful ocean and the lunar rays, magic exploded from his core and fizzed through his veins. His legs fused into his fishtail, an awesome appendage of beauty and muscle, a single thrash of which sent him shooting forward many yards. His fins, which he’d not found the strength to shapeshift away or conceal since the incident with the ice-cream that afternoon, carved and sliced with grace, steering him through the seaweed-riddled mists of the English Channel.

  He burst up through the surface and shook himself, combing his fingers through his hair. Spotting Ben, paddling awkwardly in the shallows with his arms wrapped tight about his torso, Lyle waved. “Come a bit deeper, darling,” he yelled. “It’s glorious!”