by Apollo Surge
"This is my territory," he said. "You don't belong here. You aren't allowed here."
"Ah, that was once true," Goldenrod confirmed, mirth glittering in his eyes, which were not the human shade they'd been before, but flowing molten gold from white to pupil. When he moved there was a blur and a rustle as of insect wings. "But as one of the Court's favored humans was fond of saying, times they are a-changing."
"Not that much," Sawyer said firmly, and could almost feel his feet rooted into the earth of his territory, and the mountain like a sentinel behind him. "Never that much."
The blinding summer light began to fade, the trees to darken, the terrain to become more familiar. This was a place Sawyer knew now. Goldenrod didn't seem amused by the change.
"You welcomed us in as guests," Goldenrod pointed out. "We have all rights to be here."
"You broke in as trespassers first," Sawyer snapped. "And I was a polite host even though you had no right to be there. I did your favors. Now your visit is over and your welcome is rescinded. Get lost."
"We were not trespassers," Goldenrod said with a thin smile. "Silly mutt. Didn't you recognize an engagement party when you saw one?"
Sawyer cocked his head in confusion, confidence waning.
"The contract forbids the Fae, yes," Goldenrod confirmed. "But it is all open arms to members of the pack. Members of the family. Including, it appears, in-laws."
Sawyer still didn't understand, but he really didn't like where this was going. He took a step back, ready to flee.
Instead, there was a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The sky became a black, boiling summer storm, and in that instant of light, Sawyer was human and vulnerable again, and Goldenrod was close enough to kiss, his hand burning over Sawyer's chest.
"One kiss was all it took," the fae whispered, the words like fire on Sawyer's skin. "You're bound to us, and no contract will protect you."
***
Sawyer woke gasping and cold with sweat.
It was morning, the light clear and soft through his window, and he was alone in the bed.
He dragged himself to the bathroom for a quick shower and managed to avoid throwing up as he forced down Alicia's supplements.
He didn't think about the dream, its details already fading in the daylight. It was only a dream, one of many such dreams he'd had lately. Who wouldn't have nightmares about the fae in this situation?
Downstairs, he accepted whatever Jacob would ladle into a bowl for him, the other man already busy with the breakfast rush. It turned out to be grits, which was at least better than rice.
Mateo was also at the table, trying to force down breakfast.
"Have you seen Elliot this morning?" Sawyer asked as he sat down. "He doesn't usually leave without waking me up."
"He left early," Mateo said with a yawn. "Told Jacob he was going to the bank, try and do something about the money problems."
Sawyer hummed nervously. "He should have talked to Alicia before he did that..."
"I'm not sure she would have spoken to him," Mateo replied, yawning again and only looking more tired after. "She's been in the craft room knitting like crazy since before I got up. She is not doing well, I think."
"She's stressed," Sawyer said. "Beyond stressed. She hasn't slowed down since Antonia died."
"Well, either she'll work through it," Mateo said with a shrug. "Or she'll burn herself out, collapse, get self-destructive and angry and depressed and push everyone away and then work through it. Dealer's choice."
Sawyer groaned. "We really can't deal with another Duncan situation. We couldn't deal with the first one, that's why we let him get that bad. We've got to like, make her take a week off. See a therapist or a grief counselor or something."
"I don't think any of us will be getting a week off any time soon," Mateo said, and Sawyer hated that he was right.
He inhaled his grits and tried to pull himself together.
"I'm going into town," he said. "Can I borrow your car?"
"Of course," Mateo said at once, and dug out his keys. "Get gas if you can."
"I'll try," Sawyer promised, "If Elliot gets back before I do let him know for me?"
"I'll pass the message on," Mateo said. "But I have my first day of work soon."
"You sure you don't need your car?" Sawyer asked, hesitating. But Mateo waved him off.
"It's not even a fifteen minute walk," he said. "And I need the exercise. All this starch is going to make me soft."
Sawyer laughed under his breath, grateful to have so many people he could rely on. "Thank you, and good luck with your work."
"I'm going to need it," Mateo admitted. "The new boss seemed a bit intense. But whatever this errand is, if you wanted to run it later this afternoon when my shift is done, I could keep you company."
"Thanks," Sawyer said, smiling at the other man. "But it's probably better if I do this alone."
"Dare I ask what you are doing?" Mateo raised an eyebrow.
Sawyer shook his head and made for the door.
"Something I really hoped I'd never have to do again."
***
There was an Asian market about two towns over, in the nearest city. Sawyer was glad for the distance. He didn't want to run into anyone he knew.
He didn't head straight there, but to a nicer part of town, all high end restaurants and fancy boutiques, and he stayed out of sight until he spotted a likely target.
A man, well dressed but not ostentatiously so. Older but, judging by the lack of ring, unmarried. Nice car, but not a luxury vehicle. Solidly upper middle class. Wealthy enough to provide what Sawyer needed, but not enough to cause him trouble later.
Sawyer caught him as he left a restaurant, whistling to catch his attention from the shadows at the side of the building. The man glanced at Sawyer and almost dismissed him off hand and kept going. Then he stopped and looked again. The Influence had hooked him. Sawyer waited, tense, to see which reaction he got. If it was negative the guy might just get in his car, maybe call the police to report a "suspicious individual loitering." A quick glance from this distance shouldn't be enough to make him want to attack. Hopefully.
Sawyer's heart didn't start beating again until the man smiled and walked closer. A positive reaction on the first try, lucky. He was late forties, maybe early sixties at the outside, Sawyer guessed, but still attractive in that dignified way of older men, with his silver shot brown hair and the fine web of laugh lines around his eyes.
"Yes?" the man said, already looking at Sawyer like he was something slightly miraculous. "Do you need something?"
"I need your help," Sawyer said, squashing down the guilt that twisted in his stomach as he leaned into his Influence, voice taking on a dual tone quality.
The man's expression became aghast with concern, and Sawyer knew he would do anything.
Sawyer told him everything as they browsed the Asian market, loading up a cart. He edited the story a bit- the crocodilians were normal human refugees from a community hit by a hurricane. One of them was related to Alicia and her family had offered the property to house some of the displaced residents until their homes could be rebuilt. The man, whose name was Rodger, wouldn't lose his memory of this once Sawyer was gone, though it might be a little fuzzy. He'd be less likely to go to the cops if he had a believable reason for why he'd just dropped a few hundred dollars on food for a stranger. Which was also why Sawyer had Rodger shop with him, rather than just demanding a credit card or cash. At the same time, that made things slightly more risky. If Rodger did decide to go to the cops later, witnesses and video would have seen Sawyer with him. And more worryingly, the longer Rodger stayed near Sawyer, the stronger the Influence would grow, the more obsessed with Sawyer he would become, and the longer it would take for that obsession to wear off. Sawyer had seen that obsession kill people before. It wasn't an experience he was keen to repeat. So he didn't dawdle, hurrying to buy as much as he could, leaning toward anything shelf stable. At the register, Rodger put
it all on a debit card without thinking twice. Sawyer felt slightly less guilty. At least this guy probably wouldn't suffer too much from the loss.
Rodger helped him load the groceries into the trunk and back seat of Mateo's car, until the little convertible was packed to the gills.
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather I drive you home?" Rodger offered, again. "I would be happy to. Really. I would love to."
"Thank you," Sawyer said. "But I'm good. You've done enough."
"Not really," Rodger replied. "I could do so much more. I've got too much money and no one to spend it on and a big empty house. You could come stay with me if you wanted. You could bring some of the displaced people, if you liked. I wouldn't mind, if it meant I could see you again."
Sawyer shivered. He'd let it go too long. Rodger was getting too deep.
"Thank you," he said, meeting the man's eyes. "Really. You don't know how much you've done. But I can't take any more from you. It wouldn't be right."
"I almost had a son once," Rodger blurted out, a keen desperation on his face as the Influence pushed him to desperate lengths to try and keep Sawyer close. "I was young and stupid and- and I didn't-" He paused, jaw clenched like he could hold the bitter memories in his teeth. But then he looked at Sawyer again, his eyes full of raw, vulnerable emotion. "He would have been almost your age now. I just want to help. I just want to help you."
Sawyer swallowed hard, feeling like there was a lance through his chest.
"Thank you," he said again, voice hoarse, and climbed into the car, shutting the door behind him and locking it.
"Please," Rodger begged, voice muffled through the window. "Please, at least give me a number! Some way to reach you!"
Sawyer didn't answer and did his best not to look at the man. Eye contact would only make the Influence worse. He pulled out quickly and drove away. Rodger stood in the parking space, growing smaller in Sawyer's rear view mirror. He looked more alone than Sawyer had ever seen a human being look. Sawyer scrubbed at his eyes to keep his vision clear and remembered, with a heart-rending sharpness, why he had stopped doing this.
Chapter Twelve
It was almost worth it for the look on Jacob's face as he began unloading the groceries.
"I hope you know how to cook Bok Choy," Sawyer said, bringing in a huge armload of bags. "There was a sale."
"How did you do this?" Jacob asked, stunned.
"Don't ask," Sawyer said. "It's all paid for and nobody got hurt, that's all that matters."
"I suppose beggars can't be choosers," Jacob said with a breathless laugh, looking into the bags of fresh vegetables and staples Sawyer had just brought in. He called for help from the two crocodilians who'd been helping him with the cooking and they followed Sawyer out to the car to continue unloading. Word spread quickly and the kitchen was soon crowded with people trying to confirm or get a look at the new food before it was all put away. Sawyer grabbed an apron and a pan and started digging through the bags for the right ingredients.
"What are you doing?" Jacob asked, looking a little worried. Everyone knew Sawyer couldn't even cook eggs.
"I'm going to show you the one thing I do know how to cook," Sawyer said with a lopsided grin, holding up a can of teriyaki flavored spam.
He got sticky rice going on the stove and started mixing the soy sauce and sugar.
"There was this guy I knew," he explained as he worked. "Sam. Met him in, uh, in one of the shelters I stayed at for a while."
He glanced at the people still gathered in the kitchen, watching him or helping put things away or just talking excitedly about the new food. They didn't know how long he'd been homeless and he wasn't sure if he wanted them too.
"My Influence never worked on Sam," Sawyer said, slicing the spam into thick patties while the pan heated up. "Maybe he was a shifter or a near fae or something, or maybe it's just because he was autistic as hell. I didn't know enough then to tell one way or the other. But he was my best friend. Probably my only real friend, honestly. I wish I hadn't lost track of him, but it's like that when you're- Anyway, his favorite damn thing in the world was Spam Musubi. He was Pacific Islander, and it's a really popular street food in the islands apparently. He hated that he couldn't find it around here, and like, personally offended that most stores only carry one kind of spam. He talked about it all the time. Spam Musubi this, Spam Musubi that. Made it sound like the best thing to ever happen to the world."
He poured the soy sauce mixture into the pan once it was hot enough and started laying down slices of spam. Jacob watched intently, though Sawyer couldn't be sure if he was trying to memorize the steps or if he was just judging Sawyer's technique.
"So one day I find teriyaki spam in this little convenience store," Sawyer went on. "And I decide, why not? I get the rest of the stuff for Spam Musubi and when Sam sees it he damn near cries. He showed me how to make it. Turns out it actually was really fucking good. And if you can find an Asian market it's cheap as hell and really filling. And if you've got a fridge you can freeze it and microwave it. So we ended up making it all the time."
He lifted the pan and flipped the spam with an expert little toss. Jacob's eyes widened. Sawyer grinned sheepishly.
"That works about five out of every ten times I try it," he confided under his breath, then continued his story. "Anyway, we made it so much I eventually figured out how to do it on my own. And, uh, and on Sam's birthday, I made a ton of it to surprise him. Wrecked the shelter kitchen and they threw us both out. Shelters are always looking for an excuse to throw you out, it was bound to happen."
Sawyer shrugged, trying to downplay it when he saw Jacob's concerned face. He set the fried spam aside and took a can opener to the spam tin instead, butchering it into a quick musubi mold. He oiled the inside, then laid out the dried nori and put the mold on top.
"Sam said it was worth it," Sawyer went on as he checked the rice and, finding it close enough, began packing the bottom of the mold with it. "And at least they let us take the food with us. We ate it in the park and I told him it was the only thing I knew how to cook. And he told me his mom taught him the recipe when he was a kid, before she died and he moved to the states to try and find his dad. We'd never really talked about our parents before that, you know? It was important. Anyway."
He laid the slice of spam on top of the rice and put another layer of rice on top, pressing it all down tightly before he gently removed the mold and folded the nori around it to hold it all together.
"There you go," He said, offering it to Jacob. "From Sam's mom to Sam to me. Spam Musubi. I want to make enough for the kids to have for lunch tomorrow, if that's all right."
Jacob looked a little skeptical of the musubi, but he smiled at Sawyer. "I would be honored to help."
"So would I."
Sawyer looked up, noticing Elliot standing in the door to the back yard. He smiled at the other man, just happy to see him, before remembering he was about to have to explain where he'd got all this.
Jacob broke out a bigger pot for the rice and Sawyer set to assembling the rest of what he'd made. Elliot stepped up beside him, watching him curiously. Sawyer showed him how to assemble the musubi quickly, breaking open another can of spam to make a second mold.
"So how'd it go at the bank?" he asked a little nervously.
"Applied for a loan," Elliot said. "Mortgage would have made us more, but I didn't want to risk the house. At least this way if something goes wrong it's only on me. And I have pretty good credit so I think I'll get approved. Looks like you've got us covered in the meantime."
"I know a thing or two about surviving," Sawyer said with a shrug.
Elliot gave him a long, heavy look. Sawyer tried not to see the disappointment there.
"There were other ways," Elliot said quietly. "You didn't need to."
"I needed to do something," Sawyer said, his heart beating too fast. He was already ashamed. Elliot didn't need to rub it in.
"It wasn't down to you," Elliot said. "Remember
? We're in this together. That's the whole point of living in groups."
"I really don't need you to use my own words against me right now," Sawyer said, mood souring fast.
"I'm sorry," Elliot said quickly. "I'm not trying to… This is good. What you did is good. Everyone is really going to appreciate some fresh food. But you put yourself in danger. You might have put all of us in danger if the card you took gets reported or-"
"I didn't take anyone's card," Sawyer said. "Cash either. I got him to go to the store with me. He bought it all himself. Spun him a good story too. He might feel like an idiot in the morning, but he won't think he was robbed."
Elliot looked baffled and his confusion confused Sawyer in turn.
"How?" Elliot asked. "How did you convince him?"
"Influence, obviously," Sawyer said, not understanding what Elliot was missing.
"You can hold it that long?" Elliot asked. "This much stuff, you must have been in the store at least an hour!"
"I don't understand," Sawyer said, beginning to get really confused.
"I knew your Influence affected people fast," Elliot said, "But no one can sustain it like that. How did you keep looking in his eyes for that long?"
"I just re-established every ten minutes or so."
"Jesus, without sustained eye contact I couldn't keep a stranger hooked for five minutes, let alone ten," Elliot said. "And even then it'd be a struggle to get them to drop that kind of cash willingly."
"There are things people won't do under Influence for you?" Sawyer asked, feeling weirdly dizzy. "The only thing people won't do for me if I've had them under long enough is murder. You're telling me it doesn't work that way for you? How am I only now figuring this out?"
"I guess we just assumed all Influence worked pretty much the same," Elliot said, leaning back against the island with a long exhale, eyes wide. "Seriously? For more than an hour?"
"I've kept people hooked for weeks," Sawyer admitted, speaking quietly, not wanting anyone else in the kitchen to overhear. "When I needed a place to stay, I'd just… ask. But it gets stronger the longer I'm around someone. This guy paid the bill without a question after an hour, hour and a half. After a week or so they stop wanting to let me leave the house."
