Chapter Text
There was a new, feral little thief creature on the island.
Palmetto was not a place that typically received visitors. And by that, read never. It’s not a place one stumbles upon accidentally, gets stranded in after a shipwreck, or fortuitously finds on a map.
Palmetto Island wasn’t on any maps known to the continent. Those who knew of the island’s existence didn’t dare repeat its name outside of its sunny coastline.
Palmetto Island avoided visitors whenever possible. Because, after all, it was alive; it protected its own, and nothing screamed ‘counterproductive’ more than allowing potentially dangerous strangers. No, Palmetto was very strict about who set foot on its sandy beaches and cobbled streets; usually disguising its presence with thick fog and illusions from magic of unknown origins. Point being, Palmetto would never admit someone with ill intent towards its inhabitants, meaning that whoever had been stealing—borrowing, they would say—from people’s homes meant them no harm and was probably nothing to worry about.
Not that it was easy to ignore such a thing.
It was uncommon to encounter outsiders in the deliberately contained community. It was even rarer to find themselves subjected to such outsider’s—well… Most would say they felt like pranks, those little thefts around town. Some were warier, though no less curious. Some were downright aggravated and suspicious.
Not one of them felt any fear.
Watery footprints were the first sign that things were vanishing from Allison’s shop and home. They were small things, inconsequential almost, clips, one of her numerous hairbrushes; things she wouldn’t have needed nor noticed had they not been replaced with the oddest… Knickknacks. She liked to think that whoever took them was paying back for the stolen items in their own—unconventional—way. The first thing she got as repayment was a small, purplish seashell, still damp and smelling of the sea. The second was a small bundle of wet, disgusting filamentous algae. And what a surprise: it was exactly the ingredient she needed to finish the potion Ms. Poppy had commissioned last week. The algae went into her work, the seashell on her wall, and Allison would be happy to welcome the little thief again anytime, if they’d keep helping solve her clients’ problems and bringing her pretty things.
At the clinic, Aaron and Abby, the island’s resident healers, first noticed the scar balms going missing, then some stomach potions and, surprisingly, a very unpopular potion for reducing hair growth. In return, they got the perfect herbs for the new burning salve Abby had been developing, which resulted in finally perfecting her well-thought out formula. They had thought that was it—and would be fine with it—but then Katelyn showed up thanking Aaron for the flower crown he had apparently gifted her. It was filled with little buds that glowed in the dark, which neither of them had ever seen before. With the gift, Katelyn happily (and finally) accepted dating him. Aaron had no idea where the flower crown had come from, but he was not about to complain when the results had been so pleasant.
Renee, the town’s smith, got a gorgeous black pearl that reflected all the colors in the rainbow in exchange for an old, beeswaxed satchel she had lying around in her workshop, a trail of water left in the wake of the theft. Considering the pearl was the perfect fit to the handle of a commissioned dagger she had been having trouble finishing, it was more than a fair trade in her books.
All throughout the island, people got small gifts in return for their missing items—Seth had gotten a new compass (not that he needed it, he would say, but he used it nonetheless) in exchange for some oddly shaped oysters he had found in his last fishing trip; Dan got the ugliest fish she had ever seen (and loved it) and Matt a small toy that seemed to have spent generations underwater for a jug of coffee they had just prepared in their small cafe and some books they had used for decoration; Nicky and Erik lost thick blankets in exchange for some mysterious seeds they were excited to plant in their farm; Wymack and Bee never received anything (and they were fine with that) and Kevin got an ugly boot he’d been disgruntled about for days (not only because it was just one foot, but also because it was old, moldy and filled with sand and sea critters). Kevin got nothing stolen in exchange—though some would argue Kevin has nothing interesting to offer, anyway.
Most of Palmetto’s inhabitants were completely fine with the trades—they were small, harmless and thoughtful events that brought no risk to any of them. They knew the island (and its magic) would protect them against external threats, and if it allowed whatever this was to continue, it couldn’t pose any real harm.
Andrew couldn’t agree less. Andrew—who lost some homemade buns cooling on the window and got nice-smelling fish (that he reluctantly fed the cat that showed up sometimes) in return—didn’t like it one bit.
Palmetto didn’t get any visitors, and if it did, Andrew always knew about it. Andrew was the island’s and its inhabitants’ protector, after all, aiding Wymack and Kevin in their leadership however he could (notably, when he was feeling like it).
Andrew usually spent his time helping people with their daily needs—building, fixing, finding lost cats up trees, keeping an eye out for trouble and another on the island’s magic, making sure it was always active and that its protective barriers were working as they should. His bugs were usually the greatest helpers in watching over his bunch—despite people’s reluctance to deal with insects of all varieties following them around.
Though Andrew usually favored dragonflies (a very gossipy lot, they were), he was not above using beetles or mosquitoes to watch over especially annoying folk (usually Kevin) and roaches if anyone really got on his nerves, rare as it was—people had learned after the incident three years ago involving Seth, a knife and ill-advised words. The thing was, Andrew was only one person and if he couldn’t be everywhere, he would use any available means, ignoring comments about his disgusting magic and insects. It wasn’t everyday you found witches capable of controlling other creatures, but dominating insects was especially unheard of.
But Andrew didn’t care what they thought, anyway, and the fact that there always was at least one large insect on his heels made them keep their distance. Those bugs kept Palmetto’s community safe at all times, so Andrew was quick to disregard their comments and complaints. If he sometimes asked a fly to keep buzzing by some asshole’s ears for a full day (usually Kevin’s or Seth’s), nobody needed to know.
So, when things started disappearing around the island, the first thing Andrew did was his usual course of action; sent some of his dragonflies around to find what was going on.
But—
The feedback came back empty.
See, it wouldn’t be that odd that they didn’t find anything regarding the thefts. It would merely mean Andrew should look somewhere else. The odd thing was that they came back completely blank, as if they had seen nothing at all anywhere. That was uncommon. That meant something had messed with his insects.
Still, Andrew, whose magic was deeply connected to the island’s, felt no sign of threat in the ancient magical barriers shielding them. No new threat, no new magic or magic user. Which could only mean one thing; it had to be the island itself disrupting his efforts. The island was, somehow, deliberately preventing him from finding their new critter. It had to know Andrew wasn’t going to like what he found—Andrew rarely liked anything, so he couldn’t really fault it.
But, Andrew was its protector. The island kept them safe, and in turn he kept the island safe. Their agreement didn’t work if Palmetto didn’t trust him to… What? He didn’t even know where—or how—to begin. It had never happened before. Ever since he and Kevin found Palmetto, his magic had become so deeply intertwined with the land’s that sometimes he could almost feel its pulsing. They had a silent deal, which he couldn’t keep if it interfered like this.
It made the incidents all the more infuriating. Palmetto hiding something didn’t sit right with Andrew and it only made his determination to find out what it was grow.
He may not know what, where or how the thing got around Andrew’s own safeguards, but he knew he was one of its biggest victims. For some reason, the imp had decided that the town’s cafe and main restaurant’s food was not good enough for it, and it kept visiting Andrew’s kitchen for snacks.
The buns cooling in the window had been only the first in a series of small thefts that followed Andrew for weeks on end, while he tried unsuccessfully to catch a sniff of the creature. It was a small mercy that it seemed to never target his sweets and desserts. After the buns, it had taken a bowl of fruit salad Bee had forced on him (and he would likely not eat anyway), kept fresh by some spells, then some leftover soup he had brought from Nicky’s and, on one ridiculous occasion, it had the audacity to pilfer his lunch in the second it took Andrew to turn around to grab a cup of water. It was then that Andrew realized the thing was doing it on purpose, it had to be. Why it wouldn’t attack the cafe and only took food from Andrew’s was a great mystery, but Andrew did ended up cooking some odd-looking oysters (enough for two) the thing had gifted him for his last stolen lunch, and he couldn’t say he was all that annoyed as it took half when Andrew purposefully looked the other way.
There was still the possibility that the island’s magical barriers were getting frail in their old age, though the faint pulse of magic he got in return when Andrew voiced this theory showed how dissatisfied Palmetto was with this idea.
It was the principle of the thing, really. Andrew knew each and every one of the people on the island, he had to, in order to keep them safe and that critter was an unknown variable in his eyes.
So, if Palmetto wouldn’t cooperate with him, he had to take action himself.
Andrew built a trap.
He told no one—everyone in Palmetto was already too besotted with the imp to think straight and see the risk it posed. And though the island’s magic constantly sent him an overwhelming wave of disgruntled energy every now and again, it didn’t try to stop him. It trusted Andrew—well, now it did, anyway—and allowed him to do what he needed for peace of mind (or to prove the creature was bad news, in his opinion).
Getting the thing’s attention was easy, considering it already visited Andrew’s cottage by the sea almost every day to get food (his food). So, it was only a matter of being in the right place at the right time. And since using his insects were not working, he did the next best thing: one of Allison’s enchantments (not that anyone would ever catch him saying that out loud).
Still, Andrew always kept at least one insect by his side. Right now, it was King (or King XXI, but who was counting; the things died far too fast, even with the boost from his magic) flying around his head buzzing in excitement; a small dragonfly, still young and impressionable. The vibration of translucent wings by his ears was a comforting sound as he waited, counting the seconds for the moment his mysterious critter would attack, fingers firmly gripped around a small thimble he had gotten from Allison years ago, when he and Kevin had first arrived.
Despite saying he wanted nothing, she still gave it to him, being in the business of fulfilling wishes and all, and Andrew was glad to finally find a use for the object. Now, the object’s magic wafted around him, his presence disguised as he and King watched the small plate of buns cooling on the windows—a small parallel to the first time they had been stolen. It was hilarious in his head. Not that he showed it on the outside of course.
Minutes passed, with Andrew tucked just outside of view from the window (unnecessarily, considering the enchantment he was using), before he caught movement on his peripheral, and his eyes zeroed in on the… He blinked, focusing on the small hand groping around the windowsill blindly for the plate. It had long, delicate fingers and it would look human enough, if not for the sharp-looking little claws, the webbing between its fingers and a smattering of tiny, blue scales on the tanned skin.
Andrew got so distracted, that by the time he finally moved, the creature had got one bun and had moved its other hand to grab another. That’s when Andrew struck, moving quickly enough to grab its wrist.
Many things happened simultaneously. The thing’s arm froze between his fingers as it dropped the bun. Andrew pulled, the action tipping the plate over as the creature’s slim body came to view in front of him, knocking the breath out of his lungs, because—
Well, their critter was actually a tiny, bony boy, with the most striking eyes Andrew had ever seen. They were blue, not like the ocean, or the sky; but like ice, cracking under the surface with darker blue veins, and open so wide in shock that they looked like pools of infinite depth. Like on his hand, his face and neck had more scattered scales intersected with white scars—one on his left cheek, right under his eye, one crossing the corner of his red, full lips and another peeking from under the collar of his shirt. Contrasting against the vibrant blue of his eyes, the boy had long, curly red-hair that almost gleamed in the sunlight, glued to his humid skin and hiding its full length behind his body. Andrew looked down, and contained a frown as he noticed what the boy wore—a long-sleeved shirt and boxers; and nothing else. Curiously, his feet had the same webbed fingers and little claws as his hands.
“Caught you,” Andrew said, finally, shaking away the stupor with a good pull on the boy’s wrist.
It seemed to also get the boy’s attention, because he snapped. His plump lips curled back, showing tiny (but sharp, Andrew had no doubt) fangs as he hissed like a feral kitten and Andrew could almost swear the long, auburn hair puffed up in indignation.
The sight was something to behold.
But then the boy leaned forward, and in a move almost too quick to notice, he sunk his teeth into Andrew’s hand.
It hurt like a bitch—not that he let it show, beyond a small twitch of his eyebrow. Everything came to a halt at that moment. They stared at each other impassively, the boy’s teeth deep in Andrew’s skin.
The boy blinked at him, but did not release his bite until Andrew raised one eyebrow, staring him down unimpressed. He slowly opened his mouth, letting his fangs release the skin in their hold. And then, he lapped on the pooling blood from the small punctures, as if attempting to soothe the wound.
That caught Andrew off guard.
Which seemed to be just what the boy had been waiting for, because he seized Andrew’s millisecond distraction to pull his arm free and dart to the ocean by Andrew’s balcony—where he didn’t emerge from, no matter how long, and how intently Andrew watched the surface.
The boy vanished after that.
Andrew didn’t believe in regret. But if he did, he thought maybe it would feel like he did now—having the whole of Palmetto turn against him (including the island itself), for being the cause (their words, not his) for their little critter to run away.
Kevin had been the first to turn his back on Andrew—not without shooting him his signature disappointed look (that was too much like Wymack’s for his taste). Andrew had been unimpressed, but Kevin’s cold shoulder had propelled the others to keep a wide (wider than usual) berth from Andrew without fear of the consequences. Not that he minded. In fact, he might even like it better this way, if not for the stinky eyes he got wherever he went after the episode, along with the resentful whispers that followed him around town and the refusal to accept his aid when he offered. That made for an annoying couple of weeks. The island’s magic refusing to work with him and clashing against his own at every turn didn’t help matters, and Andrew’s mood descended with the low tides into a grouchy, grumbling mess that barely anyone could weather. Even his insects were disappointed and they didn’t understand human idiosyncrasies.
“He fucking bit me,” Andrew had argued with Renee, when visiting the half-dwarf in her smith. Dealing with the rest of town was on its way to become too bothersome, and Nicky’s pitying glances when he thought Andrew wasn’t looking was just the icing on the cake. His teeth are fucking sharp, he had thought about adding, but at risk of sounding like a petulant child, contained himself. Truth was, with one of Aaron’s lower grade potions the puncture wounds had healed in a couple of minutes and not even a scar was left to show for them.
Renee had hummed, nodding her head without looking away from the blade of steel she was hammering. Andrew patiently waited, until she gave it a final pound looking satisfied with her work before sinking the blade in a bucket of water and pulling it out again. Only then, she looked at him. “How would you react to being attacked like that?”
Andrew scowled at her. “I did not attack him.”
“Hmm.” She nodded again, using the back of her hand to dry the sweat concentrating on her forehead. “Would you not feel attacked if a stranger suddenly grabbed you?”
Andrew’s scowl intensified, which only made the corners of her lips twitch upwards. For a dwarf (even if just half), Renee was nothing like one. They were known to be argumentative little shits, temperamental and controlled by their own emotions, often leaving a trail of battles and quarrels behind them. Renee was nothing like that, with her calm demeanor and soothing personality. She claimed herself to be a pacifist. But, well, maybe the argumentative part she had down to a T.
Andrew had turned away then, refusing to voice what he was sure to be an agreement. She knew very well what Andrew would do to anyone who grabbed him like that, but that was not the point here and she fucking knew it. The boy was stealing his food! Alright, the buns had been laid there for this exact purpose, but it did not change the facts.
“Maybe you could apologize?” he heard, but continued to ignore her and left.
Andrew didn’t believe in regret. But if he did, he thought maybe he could be trying to get the boy’s forgiveness. Or, at least, get him to come back—only so Palmetto’s citizens would get off his back, of course. Or maybe that was just Renee’s pacifistic ideas finally infiltrating his subconscious.
It didn’t help that Bee, the traitor, seemed to agree with the half-dwarf’s assessment and with a single raised eyebrow and knowing grin had Andrew fleeing from her dwelling, when he had come to visit after trying to rescue a kitten from a tree minutes before—not that that had worked out any better. The kitten refused the steps he built with some of his flying bugs (disgusting as some may think it was, the living staircase usually worked wonders with animals and prevented Andrew from having to climb stuff) and jumped down by itself, not without before hissing a warning at Andrew for daring to help. And then, he had felt a spark in the island magic, effectively scattering his bugs and even causing a few of them to bite him (him!). The audacity.
Andrew had fumed for two days straight, walking around Palmetto’s beautiful cobbled streets with a (figuratively) dark cloud raining on his head, creating a shadow that repelled anyone from getting too close. Then, on the third day (and still no sign from the strange, scaled boy), when Andrew’s dark mood had calmed considerably, he started truly reflecting on Renee’s words.
It was not like he agreed with the people—he would never. But he could admit that the boy’s presence posed no risk. Not that he’d ever say that out loud, it was all in the safety of his own mind, despite how the island’s magic seemed to be preening smugly in the last few days. Andrew dared not try to understand it.
So, he started plotting.
If they wanted the boy back so bad (and no one even knew it was a boy except for him!), then Andrew would comply, if only so they’d shut up about it.
There was not much he knew about the creature (for though it took the shape of a humanoid boy, it was surely not entirely human). He knew that he enjoyed lurking and enjoyed Andrew’s food.
So, Andrew cooked. He used all of the fish he had gotten from the boy as gifts before and hadn’t used in a meal worthy of a feast. He left the dishes in random places at his home at different times over a few days.
Andrew would leave the food on his table, or on his window, or on any flat surface on the house, even on the small pier by his balcony, and leave. And then wait in another room, as he silently ate the dessert instead. When the boy gave no sign of coming back, he decided it was time to bring out the big guns—which he didn’t really know. He couldn’t be sure what the boy liked, with how random the items he got from the critter were, but Andrew figured he could try anything (he was desperate enough to, at least, not that anyone would hear him confirming this).
Despite the fact that he didn’t own many things, Andrew unearthed his meager belongings to leave them scattered around the house, hoping any one of them might catch the boy’s attention.
First he left a knife lying on the living room center table. It was one of his old knives that he didn’t use anymore but still kept because it had been the first knife he had ever wielded, a stolen knife. When it vanished, Andrew felt a spark of hope for the boy’s return that was rapidly flushed away, almost literally. A day later, he found the knife in his toilet, stuck after what seemed to be a few attempts at flushing it out.
So, no knives, then—it made sense considering some of the scars he had seen on the boy’s skin in that brief glance. He should have realized sooner.
Andrew wasn’t easily discouraged, though.
If knives didn’t work with him, he had other things; specifically, the myriad of gifts Nicky insisted on giving him every birthday and Christmas, that he knew Andrew would never use (except for the first one he gave, a Mr. Grumpy mug Andrew drank coffee in every day). Around the house, aside from the food he didn’t stop making, he left a small, red alarm clock, a pair of pink sunglasses, a very bright, orange scarf, a small rabbit plushie (how accurate, he thought) and any other shit he found in his small closet.
And, after a week, it finally bore fruit.
First, the rabbit plushie was suddenly gone one morning. Andrew had immediately checked his toilet but there was no sign of it, so he counted that as a victory. As the days passed, each of the things he had laid down for the boy were gone one by one (and even some he hadn’t, like one of his pillows, though he couldn’t get too mad). Then the food that he had laid out and had been left alone for days started being eaten again. First a bite on a fried chicken leg, then half of a soup bowl, and so on and so forth.
The boy still didn’t approach the rest of the town, but he didn’t stop showing up at Andrew’s for his share of food—though never showing himself.
They started building a schedule. Andrew would go to work in the morning, leaving a small breakfast plate for his visitor that he would find empty upon his return at night. He would then cook them both dinner and leave one by the pier as he ate his own in his kitchen. It felt… Not nice, but fulfilling, knowing he was doing something that had a purpose, that was doing good by someone (he hoped). It felt like being needed, in a different way than protecting reluctant citizens out of obligation.
After one more week, Palmetto’s community gleefully saw a return of their stealing raccoon. Andrew was almost disappointed to see the boy go back to them, but fact was… the creature didn’t stop visiting, didn’t stop leaving Andrew beautiful stones and strange fishes in return for his food, didn’t stop showing up for their scheduled, but isolated meals.
Something warm spread in Andrew’s chest, though he didn’t dare name it.
Instead, he enjoyed the peace they built for themselves and how calm Palmetto’s magic felt once again; comforting, at ease.
Trusting.
Like the boy seemed to be feeling now, too. Like he, himself, kind of felt now.
So, Andrew, moved by his own curiosity (and absolutely not the wish to see those clear, icy eyes again), tried something new. He didn’t leave the room, after depositing the boy’s allotted food, and waited with his back turned, hoping it didn’t spook the rabbit.
It took a day. But little noises caught his attention as he ate on his couch, his back turned to the window—faint chomping and the clinking of what he could swear was claws on porcelain. He didn’t stop eating, pretended there was nothing out of the ordinary.
After this, the boy didn’t seem to mind Andrew’s presence anymore, and their routine was back without a hitch, getting to the point that the boy shamelessly stole his food in front of visitors, like the heathen he looked to be.
It had happened the one time Aaron was around trying to convince Andrew to meet his new girlfriend or something. His twin had reacted with a mix of confusion, disgust and fear at what Andrew was sure were little stealing hands in the window behind him. From the noises Andrew had come to recognize as little claws against porcelain, he could imagine what his twin was seeing. It almost made him laugh at Aaron’s conflicted expression. Almost.
“There’s some… There’s a—” Aaron had started.
“Ignore it,” he had said. Aaron’s mouth snapped shut, though his now wide eyes didn’t leave the window before the noises had faded.
A week later, Andrew was feeling particularly bold and sat by the pier, his feet on the water. He had a sandwich on his hand and another on a plate by his side.
He ate slowly, eyes impassively watching the horizon as the sun sunk lower and lower. And just when he was losing hope, and the sky had turned a pinkish orange, he saw something poke from under the water, disturbing the quiet surface and creating undulating waves.
It was a head. A head of dark red hair glued to its scalp, pointed ears Andrew hadn’t noticed before, and blue, blue eyes.
The moment Andrew zeroed in on those eyes, they widened, full lips gaping, and the boy sank below the surface again. A few seconds later, just the tip of his head reemerged, those icy blues staring straight at him without blinking.
Andrew snorted, rolled his eyes. Then, he got up and left the boy to his sandwich, small chewing noises following in his wake.