Zach's experience with gardening was more or less limited to mowing the grass, but this wasn't hard to figure out, and it was a straightforward physical task that kept him moving and more or less distracted.
The island was constructed, as near as he could tell, with a generously-large central area defined by six-foot-high walls of red brick, separated by a number of wide gaps. Through the gaps he could see different seasons, depending on where he was at the time: one had actual snow on the ground, while the one opposite was lush and green. He had no idea how that worked and didn't much care.
It was relevant only because they had jobs to do outside the walls in the directions that corresponded to summer and autumn: harvesting food. Lots of it. Berries grew on prickly hedges and beans and peas on vines, trained to grow up trellises, and the trees were heavy with apples and other fruits. Near the walls, a few scattered widely within the central space but the overwhelming majority nearby outside, the mostly-flat ground held a considerable number of large garden beds. They were all constructed in odd circular shapes with a narrow stone path spiralling in towards the centre, allowing access. A few water channels, around three feet across and fairly deep and fast in the centre, plunged into the ground before reaching the walls, coming here from who-knew-where farther out; maybe the water was headed for that insanely large fountain. Bridges of varied styles spanned them here and there, and in other places there were stepping stones. Some of the garden beds hugged the edges of the channels. There were no roads, only a single hard-packed dirt track that ran from near the house to a point near one wall arc; the collars provided a series of painful shocks to reward curiosity about what lay within the partially-cliff, partly-wall, tree-masked enclosure at the other end.
So far, yesterday and today, he'd gone through multiple garden beds for vegetables, climbed trees for peaches, and now was filling a white plastic bucket with raspberries. Allison wasn't far away, on her knees pulling up onions in a spiral bed. Even if they couldn't talk, it was still comforting, not feeling alone.
There wasn't even much by the way of animal life for company or background sound. A large enclosure prevented straying by a flock of bantam chickens, with an open-sided shelter in the centre that had tiers of nests where they laid eggs. There were pigeons, for some reason; he thought vaguely that at some point pigeons had been used for meat, so maybe that had something to do with it. He'd seen big easygoing bumblebees, and smaller quicker ones that might be honeybees, and earthworms... and that was about it. It was positively surreal that there wasn't so much as a scolding squirrel or a singing bird or a chirping grasshopper, just the humming of bees and a faint whisper of the light breeze in the midst of eerie and unnatural silence.
The ground grew less flat the farther out one went, he noticed, and with all this food, probably one could stay hidden and more-or-less fed indefinitely... but what on earth was there to do then? There was no way home, and going home like this was a nightmare in itself.
Maybe he was actually dead, and this was some weird kind of hell? That would actually be a backhanded sort of relief. He'd rather Heather and his mom had a chance to simply grieve and move on. He desperately hated the thought of there being even the slightest question about whether he could act like his father and abandon his family. To be unequivocally dead, and for them to know it, would do far less damage to their lives.
The raspberry bushes might be trained into a row along a bamboo lattice and loosely attached to it, but the stems had unpleasant prickly things that left thin scratches. Only an occasional deep one showed a small droplet or two of blood; that it was still the familiar deep red, against this smooth soft toffee-coloured skin, was little comfort.
Everything about this was unnerving. Getting older, being aware of the gradual decline that came with it... well, he doubted anyone particularly liked that, although he had to admit, there were positive aspects to maturity. He had Heather, a job that made a difference, co-workers with whom he had an excellent relationship, a nice house and limited concerns about finances even if Heather paid most of the bills. They were both fairly healthy and so was his mother. It wasn't any future he'd ever planned on, but he was grateful for it. If his once-broken ankle twinged more every winter, if small close-up things looked gradually more fuzzy, if the energy of the kids could leave him laughing and out of breath, he could accept that. It was natural.
But this? All this strength and stamina, coordination and flexibility, it outstripped anything he remembered. His ankle didn't care whether he was on his feet all day or how active he was. He hadn't realized how bad his near vision was until everything came into spectacularly clear focus. He was less tired at the end of the day than he'd have preferred, since sleep didn't come easily.
At the same time, it violated everything he knew was true. And the price... the price was much too high.
Voices nearby distracted him from the task at hand. One voice he recognized instantly and hated: Barry, the big burly groundskeeper, taller than any of the seven except Alison even though they'd all gained extra inches, the one human he and Alison had to deal with the most often. That was mostly fine with Zach, since it meant that the rest of his friends were safer. Under any other circumstances, Zach would have intervened without hesitation to protect any woman from the groundskeeper, especially a woman who was a friend. Alison was good at looking after herself, but he'd have kept her out of range too if there were any possible way.
The other voice was Gord, the general handyman who appeared to take care of pretty much anything that wasn't part of Felix's kitchen empire, Barry's dominion over the grounds, and presumably whatever it was that the scrawny Lloyd actually did.
“Hey. All going well out here? Too bad I don't have any jobs that justify having some eye candy around while I do them.”
Zach ground his teeth together, refusing to look, refusing to allow the retort to escape. The pain inflicted by the collar would only amuse them, and he wouldn't be able to get out more than a couple of syllables no matter how angry he was. He'd learned that already.
“Hm, yeah,” Barry said reflectively. “Suppose so. But eye candy aside, they aren't that much help.”
Oh yeah? So what have you been doing the past couple of days, asshole? A bit of weeding and trimming, babying those broken fingers, while we've been gathering food like crazy. Not much help, huh? Bite me. And who gave you those broken fingers anyway, do we remember that? One-on-one I could've given you more than that to remember me by.
“Being any practical use would be a nice bonus,” Gord said. “But hey, with the total lack of available women around here, you take what you can get. The one's got crazy-big tits and a nice ass, even if the other one's skinny as a boy. Now a couple of the others, they've got bodies like wow. Just made for sex. Too bad they aren't human. What a waste.”
“They might literally be made for sex,” Barry pointed out. “Could be a siren or succubus-type in the bunch of them. Wouldn't that be a blast? Hey, you two! Any of your friends known for being a bit of a slut? Sleeping around, not very choosy about who or how, just lots of sex?”
No. Even Theo's been monogamous since Max, as far as I know. But there was no real expectation of an answer anyway, even had Zach or Alison been inclined to offer one. And stop talking about us like our only value is whether you think we're sexy! I've got a messed-up fourteen-year-old who showed up doing that but he learned better in no time, so what's your excuse?
Fuck. I need to get back to him and the others. He's just starting to actually talk to me for real... don't do this to him!
Don't talk don't talk don't talk, they'll just laugh while I'm in pain...
Gord laughed. “We can hope. You know of any house fae that has succubus traits? Now that would rock. A pet fae who gets off on doing laundry and dishes and will bend over at any hint of an invitation.”
“Oh yeah. We can wish. You never know what the hell you're going to end up with. Ten water fae, you get ten totally different fae. Headed out on rounds?”
“Yep. Thankless friggin' job that it is. I didn't sign up for this. This was supposed to be Marcy's job. She just had to go and tangle with a cranky water fae.”
“Hang in there. Isabel's looking for someone to replace her. It's not like she can advertise in the paper, y'know?”
“Yeah, I know. And she's claiming they know which one it was and they removed the threat, and she got sloppy.” Gord didn't sound entirely reassured. “I'm not so sure. She was impossible to get along with, and probably a dyke too, but she wasn't stupid.”
“She fucked up,” Barry said bluntly. “Just keep in mind that they aren't human and you can't treat them like they are. Maybe she got sweet on one, chicks do that kind of thing. God knows. Don't get killed, 'cause I'm not doing her job and your job and my own for however long it takes Isabel to replace you and Marcy.”
“I don't plan to. Especially with all the fucking exercise I'm getting right now, walking half the day. I need a bloody draught animal to at least pull the big wagon and save me some mileage and effort. Maybe I can talk Isabel into letting me harness-train a fae. They're strong, I probably would only need one.”
“And just maybe it'd be a sexy-looking one?”
Another laugh. “Would be a bonus, but I'd settle for that skinny thing you've got over there, if it'd mean less work. Better get to it. Later.”
“Like I'm going anywhere?”
Jaw clenched so hard it ached, Zach forced himself to keep his attention on the raspberries. He saw Gord, out of the corner of his eye, as he strolled away, pulling a small sturdy metal cart.
All of that strongly suggested that there were other fae here on the island still. That explained where Gord was for a large part of the day, and for that matter why they were constantly harvesting so much food, but raised a whole new set of questions about earlier victims and their fates. He wished fervently that he could discuss it with the others.
Barry's proximity, the sour scent of old sweat and the fresher green scent of the plants he'd been clipping back, the warmth of his body much too close for comfort, made Zach's hand curl more tightly around the handle of the bucket, and his other hand shook with the effort of not reacting. He was not going to give Barry the satisfaction.
“Hey there, buttercup, not a bad job for a little fairy bitch. I think we could probably find you something different do.”
Zach ignored him.
Until he felt a large hand cup his bottom. “Talking to you, buttercup, don't be rude.”
Without a thought, Zach dropped the bucket of berries and reached behind him to seize the overly familiar hand. Barry bellowed something incoherent but probably profane, as Zach twisted in place without letting go. When Barry swung at him with his free hand balled into a fist, Zach caught it in one palm and squeezed with both hands. Hard.
Another bellow, this time more of pain than rage, as the pressure came down on the splinted fingers.
“You fucking little whore, I'm going to kill you!”
Porcelain-white arms reached around Zach from behind, pale hands sliding down his arms to his wrists and urging him to let go.
You don't manhandle girls like that! I've been protecting women from assholes like you for as long as I can remember! Who gives a crap if I look like a girl right now? I'm still more than strong enough to kick your ass!
He resisted briefly, then let Alison draw him back, holding him close against her. She was half a head taller than him and outmassed him considerably, but there was little force behind it.
She was right, thumping Barry would have bad consequences. But it would just be so satisfying.
Barry, released, drew back his good hand in a fist, his intentions clear. Alison held out her own hand, palm-out, a warning as much as a request for peace, her other arm still holding Zach protectively.
I don't need to be protected! It's my job to protect girls!
Fuck, I'm a girl.
I still don't need to be protected!
Alison could look Barry in the eye, might even have a couple of inches on him, and those very feminine curves didn't entirely hide the impressive muscle beneath. The big groundskeeper hesitated, self-preservation warring with fury. If he persisted, he'd be up against both of them, and while they'd be punished for it, he'd be in for a world of pain—if he even survived.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Alison broke it. She dropped her gaze and went to one knee to pick up the dropped bucket of berries, scooping the spilled ones back into it. Zach, one wary eye on Barry, crouched to help.
“Get the fuck back to work,” Barry spat. “Quit wasting time. If you don't get everything gathered that Felix wanted, you can tell him why personally, collars or not.” He spun around and stalked away.
Alison handed Zach the bucket and stood up. Once he straightened, she wrapped both arms around him in a hug, gave him a quick kiss, and met his gaze. She took a breath, like she wanted to say something, then let it out in a sigh of frustration and only said silently, Be careful. Please.
Zach echoed the sigh, nodded, and answered, I'll try. Thanks.
She gave him a fleeting smile and strode back to the onion patch, hips swaying.
This can't go on forever. There has to be a way to end it. A way to make sure Heather and Mom don't wait and wonder, a way to make sure the kids know I didn't abandon them, a way to keep my friends safe. Somehow.
Oh please let there be a way to do that...
