The house wasn't any less imposing up close, three stories tall and every window lit up, pale blue paint peeling from the worn siding. The screen door creaked as Kurt swung it open, the inner door making even more noise as he led Derrek inside. It was the smell that hit him first, sickly sweet, some kind of burning herbs, familiar somehow. He coughed, feeling slightly woozy, and dread prickled at his scalp. He covered his mouth with the hem of his shirt.

“Are you burning sage in here?” He wheezed, blinking away tears in his watering eyes.

Kurt smirked, oblivious to Derrek's discomfort. “A little, Adam makes this herbal mix we burn to keep the energies clean. It's got sage, mugwort, cedar, sweetgrass, and a little bit of this Mexican tree sap called copal, binds it all together and helps it burn longer.” He finally took notice of Derrek's heavy breathing. “Oh shit, you alright Shawn?”

Derrek waved at the air, trying in vain to disperse the thin smoke that hung in the air. “I'm alright, allergic is all. Sage plays hell with my sinuses.” He coughed, feeling a glob of phlegm hack up from his lungs. Not wanting to spit on the floor, he swallowed it, shuddering in disgust. Kurt grabbed his soiled jacket from his hand, setting it on the floor.

“Allergies fucking suck, don't they? I used to have a birthday lobster instead of a cake, until I went into anaphylactic shock on my seventeenth. Hell of a thing, ain't it?” He patted Derrek on the shoulder, smirking. “Get your shoes off and head upstairs, smoke's thinner up there.”

Derrek smiled with a warmth that surprised him. It had been a long time since he met someone who also had a shellfish allergy, albeit much more severe than his own. He nodded and crouched down, grateful his laces had been spared from the cow pie as he undid them, sliding out of his shoes, stretching out his socked toes. Kurt scooped up the shoes and jacket, striding through a doorway while nodding to a staircase. “Head on up and wait for me in the hallway, I’ll be up in a second.”

Derrek nodded, that smile still on his face, only slipping off when he reached the top of the stairs and reality came crashing back. Discord, or Donkey rather, was slumped in a short couch at the end of the hall in front of a door, looking ahead at nothing, sipping something likely alcoholic from a battered tin cup. Derrek took a deep breath and started down the hall, passing doors and hand woven tapestries that decorated the walls. There were wooden tribal masks and dried plants affixed to the tapestries, adding an unsettling depth to the tableau. Thankfully, the smoke was thinner upstairs, but the way the masks’ eyes seemed to follow him made his breathing shallow even still.

Discord looked up at Derrek as he approached, grinning through his scraggly beard. “Hey hey, punk!” He was still sporting that indeterminable gravel-filled accent, “Heard you went on your first rodeo! I always thought cow-shit-brown was your color!” He barked out a wheezing laugh and Derrek rolled his eyes.

“Very funny.” He dropped into the couch next to Discord, coughing into his fist. “Damn sage.”

Discord slugged back the rest of his drink and tucked the cup into his jacket, rummaging around, producing a tube of some kind of cream and what looked like a bag of candies which he dropped into Derrek's lap. “Eucalyptus, extract and lozenges. Not a perfect solution, but pop one of these so-and-sos in your mouth and dab a little of this under your nostrils and it aught to keep you level.”

Derrek grunted and did as suggested, the sweet minty taste and scent opening his sinuses wide, his breath coming much easier. He rolled up the bag of lozenges and stuffed it along with the tube into his pocket, nodding at Discord. “Always prepared. Got any hand sanitizer?”

Discord winced. “Fresh out, I'm afraid, drank the last of it on Tuesday.”

Derrek snorted. “Do you even have a liver anymore?”

That grin grew wider. “Probably. Those so-and-sos brought you here, they having you meet the head honcho?”

“Yeah, what's he like? Anything I need to know?”

Discord closed his eyes and nodded, lowering his voice and dropping the accent. “He’s got a major hate-boner for Frostbyte, total disdain for all the world-saving behavior.”

Derrek was taken aback, then realized he shouldn't be. “Because they want the world to end. Right.”

Discord patted him on the shoulder. “There you go, nothing personal, they just hate everything in their way. I've got to say though, these guys aren't like any blood cult I've seen before.”

Derrek's eyebrow shot up. “How so?”

Discord was quiet for a moment, looking straight ahead with his brow furrowed. “All the folk you've worked with today, did any of them try to preach to you? Give you any subtle tests to see if you're bloodthirsty as them? Anyone look like they were in some kind of trance?”

Derrek thought for a moment. “No preaching or tests, there's one girl who seemed pretty out of it, but I think she's just a burnout. They're just people, like you said on the hill.”

Discord hummed in a vaguely disapproving manner. “People still spread their ideas. I haven't seen any of the usual sigils or carvings, didn't even see the spark in that Adam fella.”

“Spark?”

Discord shook his head. “It's hard to explain. I've got senses you can't even conceive of. That's not an insult, just a fact, and I’ve had a long time to sharpen them, to separate and overlay them to figure shit out with just a look, like with Jeffys’-” he cut himself off, his mouth closing with an audible click.

Derrek glared at him. “Like with Jeffreys’ what?”

Discord waved his hand around wildly. “Nope, no spoilers. You know I hate those.”

Derrek narrowed his eyes, glaring even harder. “You're the one who brought it up.”

More rapid hand-waving. “Freudian slip. Hey, did I ever tell you I was Freuds’ main plug? I sold that guy more booger-sugar than Escobar could've dreamed of.”

Derrek groaned and crossed his arms, shifting the lozenge from one cheek to the other. “Fine, change the subject then. I'm sure it will come out naturally with time. Asshole.”

Discord grinned even wider, punching him on the shoulder, putting that accent back on. “Now you're getting it, punk!” He looked over Derrek's shoulder, and Derrek realized he heard heavy footsteps behind him, and he turned around to see Kurt, still smiling as he approached the couch. He looked at Discord, that smile slipping away to reveal that frown again, though less intense than when it was pointed at his sons.

“You're Donkey, ain't you? Fella that fixed the Ford?”

Discord grinned wide and offered his hand. “The one and the same. Let me know if you need anything fixed. Let me guess, you're a Chevy so-and-so, ain't you?”

Kurts’ eyebrows shot up in surprise and that smile shone through again as he grabbed the hand and shook it. “That's right! You've got a good eye!” He looked back at Derrek. “I see why you hang around with this one, you've got good taste in friends.” He released Discords hand and faced the door in front of the couch. “Sit tight, I’ve got to make your introductions before you meet Adam, he’ll want to talk to you one-on-one.”

Derrek nodded and watched Kurt knock on the door, wait three seconds, then open it, only opening it wide enough for his thick frame to slip through, latching it quietly behind him. He arched an eyebrow at Discord. “That was weird, right? That felt weird.”

Discord nodded. “Real culty behavior right there, no doubt about it.” He produced a flask and took a slug. “I don't know what's going on here, but it's something.”

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An alarm went off in Derrek's mind. That was a lie. He narrowed his eyes at the red trickster. “What aren't you telling me?”

Discord smirked, offering Derrek his flask. “Sharp as can be. Of course I know what's going on, I just don't know what's going on. I haven't narrowed it enough to be sure.”

Derrek accepted the flask and took a sip, the bourbon-corn-liquor concoction burning his throat. “You make an art of telling the truth without saying anything. Admit it, you could just override my lie detector, couldn't you?” He shoved the flask back at Discord. “I hate Bad Thanksgivings.”

Discord barked out a single laugh and upturned the flask, chugging the remainder. “More for me, then. And yeah, I could, but it's more fun this way.” He tucked the empty flask back into his jacket right as the door opened. Kurt stood in the doorway with a sheepish smile on his face, unlike any other expression he’d shown thus far.

“Adam will see you now, Shawn. He’s very interested in meeting you.” He stood aside, gesturing for Derrek to proceed inside.

He stood up, Discord giving him a parting punch on the shoulder. He strode through the door into a dark narrow hallway, hearing Discord pat Kurt on the back as he closed the door, his Donkey accent in full force. “So, tell me about this Chevy of yours. Does it got a tailpipe?” Any answer was silenced when the door latched, even with Derrek's keen hearing. Soundproofing? What goes on here? There was an opening at the end of the hallway to the right, light spilling through. He took a deep breath and marched into the belly of the beast.

It was a rather ordinary kind of room all things considered, closer to a study than an office. There were comfortable-looking couches perfectly centered on the walls to his left and right, mirrored paintings of the same river scene with red leaved trees hung above them. The floor was covered with a plush blood-red carpet, the exact same shade as Discords coat he realized with a jolt. The desk before him was almost as imposing as his own back in New York, made of hand-carved dark wood with a matching pair of chairs facing toward the least imposing thing in the room, the man who sat behind it.

For all everyone had talked him up, Adam was a rather small man with sharp features, his clothes simple and worn. Even sitting, he couldn't be more than five foot three, his friendly smile framed with a well-coiffed beard, draped by thick dark hair. He looked at Derrek levelly with eyes as dark and piercing as the rest of him was, his smile growing a touch wider as he stood and reached out his hand. “Ah, you must be our rising rodeo star!” His deep voice flowed like honey, tinged with a midwestern drawl and something Derrek couldn't quite put his finger on. “Shawn, right? Shawn Bates?”

Derrek didn't have time to dwell on it. He put on a smile and shook the hand. “That's me, you must be Adam.” For a small man, Adams’ grip was like steel, almost crushing Derrek's hand with his scarred knobbly knuckles.

Adam released his hand and chuckled. “If I must, no one else on offer, I'm afraid.” He lowered himself back into his chair, gesturing to the seats in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat, rest those weary bones.” Derrek shifted the lozenge from one cheek to the other and sat in one of the offered chairs. “You must be exhausted after that exertion. You're downright lucky Brutus chose peace today, that gate wouldn't have stopped him.”

Derrek laughed, unconsciously mirroring Adams’ chuckle. “I’ve always had luck, plenty of good and bad.” He looked down at his socks and wiggled his toes, curling them self-conscientiously, as if trying to make his lack of footwear less apparent. “I can't complain, all things considered. I just hope those laundry girls Kurt kept mentioning don't mind the mess.”

Adams' smile twitched wider for a split second, flashing a golden tooth for just as long. “It isn't their first rodeo, even if it might be yours. There's no stain my girls can't get out.” He pinched the fabric of his light blue shirt and rolled it between finger and thumb. “I thought this wool shirt was a goner, but Squeaky and Glinda really know their business. Got every drop of blood out, a little cow shit won't phase them.”

Derrek kept the smile on his face, but he couldn't help the slight arch of his eyebrow. “Blood, huh? Did you get hurt?”

That twitch again, that tooth again. His eyes hadn't left Derrek yet, but they had a deeper intensity now. “Time and time again, my friend, but not on that occasion. Farm work can be bloody, and man was meant to eat meat.” He rapped the desk with his knuckles and sat straighter. “Tell me something, Shawn Bates. Do you think the world can be saved?”

A chill ran through Derrek's very being, but he didn't dare let it show. He shed the smile for a puzzled look he didn't have to fake. “Saved? Does the world need saving?”

The smile didn't twitch this time, it grew wider, showing off that gold tooth in full. “Some men say it does, and some men are arrogant fools. They see the rising temperature, the changing climate, the more extreme disasters, and they think there's something they can do about it.” He stood and clasped his arms behind his back, slowly coming around the desk. “They amass their wealth and throw it around, recording the genome of bugs and leaves like they can cure the Earth if they can only understand it enough. They play and toy with the human body, forcing it past its expiration date with ‘implants,’ and ‘prosthetics,’” He spat the words with venom, sat on the desk and leaned forward, almost uncomfortably close. “Men like William Shale, like Derrek Snowe.” He leaned even closer, uncomfortable for sure now. “What do you think of men like that?”

A thousand impulses raced through Derrek's mind, all the uncontrollable tics the Reapers’ touch kept in check, his want to defend himself and Will, but he couldn't give a Derrek Snowe answer, he had to say what Adam wanted to hear. He hasn't blinked once. He took a deep breath, he couldn't afford to show hesitation. All he could do was lie. “They've never done anything for me. It's all a waste of money and time, as far as I care.” Best to keep it short, don't want to say too much.

Adams’ smile didn't shift, but it did soften somehow. He tapped Derrek gently on the shoulder, the touch like a jolt he only just resisted. “A man after my own heart. There are so many more worthwhile endeavors; the homeless, the hungry, the present, the now. Tomorrow has no guarantee, let alone years from now. No man can plan that far ahead, for the world you find is never the world you plan for. Tell me, Shawn Bates, if the world ended tomorrow, what would Frostbyte be worth?”

Panic crawled across Derrek's spine. For a terrifying instant, he thought the illusion might have broken and Adam was addressing him directly, but he could still see a brown tuft of his own hair in the corner of his eye. This was a test for Shawn, not a shot at Derrek. He pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. “Not a damn thing.” He didn't even have to lie.

Adam tapped his shoulder harder. “Not a damn thing! That's right! And there's nothing they could do about it if it came to that! The stock shot down to zero, their sanctuaries burned to ash in disasters’ fiery embrace, all returned to their rightful place.” He finally leaned back a touch, staring off at the burned hellscape of his imagination. “But not us. No, no, not us. I'll see my people through anything.” His eyes rolled back down to Derrek. “You're alright, Shawn Bates, you might just see the light yet.” He jumped to his feet and planted his hand firmly on Derrek's shoulder, smiling down at him warmly. “You must be hungry, let’s grab some lunch.”

Derrek blinked and swallowed the remnants of his lozenge. The conversational whiplash hit him like a truck . That was one of the first things Discord had taught him; the moment you blink is the moment you lose. Those words rang in his head as he forced a smile onto his face, hardly knowing what he was saying. “I could eat.” Adam kept smiling, but hid his teeth, and for the first time Derrek had seen, he blinked. Adam went for the door and waved Derrek along. He couldn't let Adam get into his head. He pushed himself out of his chair and followed him out of the office.

There was a young woman with long blue hair waiting outside the door holding Derrek's shoes with upturned palms, grinning ear to ear. Adam held out his arms and grabbed her by the cheeks, pulling her close and kissing her on each cheek. “Squeaky, my precious sapphire, your timing is as perfect as you are.” He held her face for a moment longer, just looking at her, to her apparent delight.

“I-” she piped, then cleared her voice, “I have Shawns’ shoes, the jacket will still take a little bit to dry.” Squeaky was an apt name; every word a sharp falsetto. No, falsetto is a high pitched male voice, it's a soprano for women. He hated correcting himself. No matter her voice, her cleaning skills were on clear display with his spotless shoes, almost all the illusionary stains Discord had transposed onto them wiped away with the real filth. He tried to reach for them, but Adam got to them first.

“Please, allow me.” He was showing his teeth again, holding Derrek's shoes in one hand, gesturing to the small couch with the other.

“Uh…” Derrek had no idea what to do, but he did not want Adam to touch his feet. He looked at Squeaky, whose beaming face was bobbing up and down like a chicken, holding out two thumbs up. He was trapped. He looked down at his socks and steeled his nerves as he looked Adam in the eye. “Okay.” He slowly sank into the couch, Adam crouching before him, gingerly grabbing Derrek's tense ankle and guiding his left shoe on. That moment, the space between that shoe and the second dragged on for an eternity. He was trapped in this moment. It had always been, and always will be, an eternal piece of his soul lost in the space between two shoes. A thousand years later, Adam slipped on the right shoe. He tied both shoes in a flash, patting Derrek on the calf before standing up.

“All done, rodeo star, those ain't going anywhere.”

Derrek took what felt like the first breath of his life and stood on his wobbly legs, forcing them to steady before he looked at Adam again, that gold tooth glaring at him. He forced a smile onto his face and made a mental note to burn both the shoes and socks later. “So, what's for lunch?”