“Listen to me, you idiot! We’ve seen it. I’m a fairy prince, and we want Earth to survive just as much as you do. I went to our seers, and they said that if you eat the apple, you can save the world.”
Bruce cracked an eye. He had to admit the picture Salad Guy painted was appealing. Except for the details. How do I save the world?
“That’s for you to figure out.”
In other words, the fairy was lying. What Bruce had to figure out was how to become human again. And useful.
“Here’s a hint. Eat the apple.”
Eating the cherry fucked me over. At least before I had a purpose. Now all I can do is sit on the porch and stink like limburger cheese. Why would I go for the apple?
“Because we’ve—”
Seen it. So you’ve said. But until you can give me details, I’m not interested. Unless…. He lifted his head and stared straight at the fairy’s bright carrot tufts of hair. Unless you can tell me where the demon is hiding. That was what everybody wanted to know. That was how he’d be the hero.
Bitterroot shook his head and held up the apple. It still pulsed with that bright red temptation, the shine so bright it was hard to look at it and even harder to look away. But Bruce was a paramedic—he’d seen plenty of burned-out junkies and the disasters they left behind. Bitterroot was the same as every pusher on Earth, hoping to hook Bruce into something he didn’t understand and couldn’t control. So even though Bruce had taken the cherry, he was not going for more. No.
Then he closed his eyes, and this time, there was no fairy tempting him in the darkness. No fairy, but the apple still hovered there, looking bright and beautiful. Even better, the smell of hot apple cider masked the cheese scent, but only barely. And though he lay on the porch doing nothing, he knew that all he had to do was think the word yes and it would be in his hand, in his mouth, and in his body.
It was right there. And as long as he stared at it, he couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t rest. And he sure as hell couldn’t figure out how to shift back to human.
Get it out of my sight, you fucking fairy!
“It’ll disappear the moment you truly want it gone.”
And that was the worst possible truth. Because really, what did he have to lose? His life was already fucked-up. What would it hurt to try for more?
No! No! No!
Except the more he denied it, the larger the apple got in his mind. This entire magical world was fucked-up madness. And all he could do about it was lie on the porch and endure.
Chapter 11
MOON MADNESS ISN’T THE ONLY THING THAT MAKES LADDIN CRAZY
IT WAS dark by the time Laddin made it outside to the porch. Bruce was still there, stinking to high heaven, and though he lay down in a relaxed pose, the wolf was licking his lips while his tail twitched in irritation.
“Oh shit, you’re probably starving. You should have howled or something.”
Bruce gave him a dark, angry scowl, which, on a wolf face, was a bit intimidating.
“You know, pride never fed anyone. You’re hungry, you should have said something.” He opened the door to the house. “I’ll just be a second. Wait here.”
Laddin grabbed a couple of the new plant-based burgers from the refrigerator. Bruce’s stomach probably wasn’t up to meat yet, so he quickly microwaved them, grabbed some condiments, and slopped them on a plate. His hand hovered over the slices of American cheese before he backed off with a shudder. The memory of being suffocated by cheese wasn’t fading, and he couldn’t bring himself to touch the slices—even if they weren’t pixies… as far as he was aware.
Then he turned back to the door, only to find Bruce standing half in and half out of the house. Obviously the guy was really hungry, which made Laddin feel all the more guilty. He was Bruce’s trainer. And sure, he’d been busy coordinating casualties and bed space for the Wulf, Inc. crews, but Bruce should have been his first priority, and he’d completely neglected the man’s needs.
He held up the plate of burgers. “You want ketchup? Mustard?” Nods each time. Then he gestured weakly toward the cheese. He didn’t even have to ask. Bruce was wildly shaking his head. “We’re in agreement there,” Laddin said as he set the plate down.
Bruce had no problem figuring out how to eat as a wolf. He gobbled down the burgers in the time it took for Laddin to get a bowl of water out. “I know it’s not how you’re used to drinking, but you’re a wolf now too. You need to learn….” His voice trailed away as Bruce lapped up the water without so much as a pause.
Okay, so Bruce was practical and not into the niceties of food consumption. In that, he did better than Laddin, who’d refused at first to put his face into food instead of eating with a fork and knife. “Captain M wouldn’t let me eat for a week unless I did it as a wolf. But my mama drilled polite table manners into me. She said proper table manners were a sign of civilization, and if I complained because of this”—he held up his deformed hand—“she ate one-handed, too.”
Bruce looked at Laddin’s hand and face, then gave the wolf equivalent of a shrug.
Laddin grinned. It had been a long time since he’d felt like he had a handicap, but it was sure nice to be around someone who didn’t seem to notice it at all.
He supposed it was only natural for people to see his hand and get awkward. They didn’t know whether to ask about it or ignore it. But Bruce didn’t seem to care one way or another.
He abruptly wrapped his arm around Bruce’s furry neck and gave
