Page 12 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Eleven

Hal

Mistletoe Farm

“I’m not interested in a job,” Hal said.

“Shame. I’ve got more work than I can do alone. You’ve met my pa. Even if he wasn’t blind, the man’s not inclined to manual labor. Ma spends most of her time cooking or helping Pa, which means it’s just me to tend to the animals and keep the place running,” Emma said. “I really need another set of hands, preferably someone who can lift heavy things.”

She climbed the porch steps until she stood eye-to-eye with Hal. “I can pay you a fair wage with room and board. You can stay in the bunkhouse. It’s not much, but it’s got a stove and a shower. No hot water, though.”

“I have a place.”

“Where?”

He pointed to the west.

“The old Clerval place? That’s a shack,” Emma said. “Winter’s only going to get worse. You’ll freeze to death.”

Hal doubted that.

“Just until the spring. Eat our food. Sit by our fire. Have your philosophical history discussion with Pa. When the snow melts, you can hightail it out of here if you really want,” she said, stuffing the gloves into a coat pocket. “What else have you got going on?”

A fair question. When he imagined life on this new planet, he hadn’t pictured much for himself. Ethan had been the one with ambition. Hal thought he’d stay close to his brother, do what needed doing, and look how that turned out.

“I don’t want charity.”

“Charity? Nothing charitable about what I’m offering. I got more work than I can handle,” she said.

She said that now, but Draven called him unstable. Hal knew the vampire lied as easily as he breathed—if that monster even breathed. What had been a rare moment when he told the truth? Hal might be unstable. Accepting her offer would put her and her family in harm’s way.

Emma sensed his uncertainty. “Look, Pa is getting up there. His bones don’t like the cold, he can’t see his hand in front of his face, and he likes talking to you. One morning, he’s going to want to give you a book and slip on the ice. Then we’ll have an old blind man with a broken hip. Think of Oscar. Save his hip. Work for me.”

Her tone was playful, like it had been in the alley. The sun slipped behind the mountain, turning the sky vivid reds and purples. The last of the light glowed over her features. Golden strands of hair caught the light. She had never looked lovelier. There wasn’t any place he’d rather be.

Of course he would stay. He’d be hard-pressed to ever leave.

“You’re not above manipulating me with guilt.”

“Is it working?”

Yeah, it was working.

“You don’t care about this?” He gestured to his face.

“Not really.”

“I’m a monster. I’m dangerous.”

“It’s a dangerous world.”

“That’s a very naive answer,” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Will your family feel the same?” he asked.

“Pa is blind. He likes talking to you and that’s all that will matter to him. Ma won’t care. She probably won’t even notice,” she answered with confidence.

“Doubtful. I am exceptionally noticeable.”

“Well, then I’ll just have to convince her that having a monster in our employ is progressive. She’s very political in that regard.”

“I find it hard to tell you no,” he said.

Delight flashed in her eyes. “Well, that’s dangerous information to have. Come on. I’ll show you the bunkhouse. It’s a ways past the barn.”

Emma

When she said the bunkhouse wasn’t much, that wasn’t false humility. It was one room with a wood-burning stove in the center. The walls were solid and free of drafts. The roof kept the rain out. Furnishings were modest and currently under dust covers. It did offer privacy, situated far from the house.

Hal ducked his head as he went through the door. If he was disappointed in the simple lodgings, his face didn’t betray him. At least the ceiling was tall enough for him to stand without hunching over.

“Shouldn’t take long to get this up to snuff,” Emma said. She removed the cloth covering the bed. A plume of dust went into the air. Without prompting, Hal removed the other covers, folding them neatly without adding to the dust in the air.

She turned over the mattress, inspecting it for holes or evidence that mice got into the batting. The bunkhouse had only sat empty for a few months, but field mice always found a way in when the weather turned bitterly cold.

They worked well together. Hal didn’t say much, which was fine. Emma filled the silence with idle chatter or humming tunes. She explained how her father and brother built the bunkhouse years ago, intending it as a little cottage for Felix and whoever he married one day. That was why it was so far away from the main house, to give the theoretical newlyweds privacy.

Hal brought in firewood while she got the fire going. He moved furniture out of the way, lifting the entire bed off the ground and holding it aloft while she swept. He easily reached the lanterns hung high on the wall and brought them down to be cleaned and lit. When he rolled up his shirt sleeves, she exercised great restraint on her part and did not stare at his forearms, as admirable as they were. Before long, the one-room bunkhouse was comfortably warm and reasonably clean.

“Blankets and such are in the trunk,” she said, pointing to the wooden box at the foot of the bed. “The shower and facilities are through that door. There should be soap, but if not, we got plenty in the house. Grab anything you need from the storeroom off the kitchen. Breakfast is after chores. Ma will fix you a lunch pail to take with you for the day. Dinner is at sunset. I think that’s everything pertinent.”

Hal peeked into the bathroom, again ducking his head through the door, which made her feel embarrassed. She and her brother were tall. The bunkhouse had been built with taller people in mind and yet Hal made the cabin feel like it had been designed for children.

His large figure disappeared into the room. Emma heard the squeak of a faucet that did not want to turn and then the flush of the toilet.

“You have indoor plumbing,” he said, sounding amazed.

“Cost a pretty penny, too, out here on the fringes of civilization, but we’re not getting dysentery or cholera. Now, I’d like to clean up.” While they worked, the hour had grown late. The lights from the main house glowed in the dark. “Come on up to the house and have a meal.”

She sensed his hesitation. He glanced down at his hands; dirt caked his fingernails. Frankly, it looked as if he hadn’t made his acquaintance with soap in ages, nor had he used a brush. Before she got too judgmental, she reminded herself that the man had been living in a shack and who knows where before. He had escaped from the vampire’s mountain fortress, if Sheriff Navarre were to be believed. Whatever the case, Emma doubted she’d fare half as well.

He then glanced toward the bathroom. She understood. She didn’t particularly want to take a freezing cold shower.

“You can wash up in the house if you want hot water,” she offered.

“I don’t mind the cold. I’ll be there soon.” He took a towel from the trunk, tossing the fabric over his shoulder.

“Come to the kitchen door on the side of the house.”

As promised, plenty of leftover rabbit and roast potatoes awaited him in the kitchen. Emma washed up with cold water at the sink, then hurried to her room to change into a clean house dress. Once presentable, she hurried back to the kitchen, fixed two plates, and put them on the warmer on top of the stove. With that done, she started heating water for a bath. The stove had a water compartment for a constant supply of hot water, but it wasn’t enough for anything more than a sponge bath. A proper soak took some coordination.

If Hal didn’t want to bathe, she wouldn’t let all the hot water go to waste. As quick and easy as the work had been with Hal’s assistance, she was dusty and sweaty. A bath would be much appreciated.

Her parents had retired to the parlor. She could hear their conversation. Often in the evenings, her mother sat by the hearth and read aloud the newspaper by firelight. Most evenings, Emma read, giving her mother a chance to sew, knit, or do whatever she pleased. Oscar demanded so much of Agatha’s time during the day that Emma was happy to help.

Her mother’s nightly routine ended with a mug of herbal tea. Tonight, though, Emma needed to keep them out of the kitchen and deliver her tea to the parlor.

“Waiting on me hand and foot,” Agatha said with delight. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’m fixing a bath in the kitchen,” Emma answered truthfully, neatly avoiding mentioning Hal.

“Then I won’t disturb you. Good night, sweetheart.” Agatha took a sip of the tea and nodded in approval.

One task done.

Now, how to get a very large orc into a distressingly small tub.

A blast of cold air signaled Hal’s arrival. Emma currently struggled to position the hip tub in front of the hearth, which was typically a two-person job. Her father insisted that copper kept the heat better, but it was far heavier than a tub made of tin.

With a hand massaging her back, she turned to face the door.

Hal stood in the doorway, the red scarf clutched in his hands.

Clover dashed in through the open door and headed straight for her favorite spot, the hearth.

Hal stared at Clover. “Is that a cat?”

“Yes.”

“A cat cat? Not a hybrid or an alien animal that looks like a cat?”

“Clover is a regular cat. Now, don’t stand there letting the heat out. Come in,” Emma said, waving him inside.

He stooped down to avoid hitting his head in the doorway. “Let me,” he said, picking up the tub.

“Thank you. It’s heavier than it looks.”

In the light, it was hard to avoid how lean he looked. His face was gaunt. The scars seemed pale and more prominent against his green complexion. She wondered if the scars hurt from the cold. His clothes were stained with mud and comically too short. The deputy’s coat was the only garment that fit him correctly, and it was also too short, ending abruptly at the knees.

His gaze bounced from the tub to Emma and back. “I will go if I’m disturbing you.”

“Hang your coat up on the wall,” she said, ignoring him and taking the plates off the warmer. “I worked up an appetite. Let’s eat.”

Hal shoveled the food into his mouth with his hands, barely pausing to chew. It was a sight, that was for sure. The tusks seemed to get in his way, forcing him to open his mouth wider when biting. The silverware lay forgotten on the table.

Emma didn’t say a word. She had no idea when his last proper meal was. Certainly, the last time he may have eaten was the scraps she gave him days ago, but he ate like it was. He consumed the meal with the hunger of a starving man—well, several. While a man that size needed a lot of fuel, he could hunt. He shouldn’t be starving. He brought them rabbits, after all. Surely, he must have kept some of his hunting spoils for himself.

No, she decided after some consideration. Hal ate like a man who had been hungry for a long time. She had so many questions but sensed that he would bolt rather than answer.

Hal paused, looking up from his plate. His lips twisted around his tusks in an expression that suggested chagrin as he reached for the silverware.

The instruments were small in his hands as he clutched them in his fists. Emma busied herself with spreading butter and honey on two slices of bread while he worked through how to hold the cutlery.

Clover came to investigate.

“You don’t like butter,” Emma told the cat, which was a lie. The cat loved butter, but Emma would not feed her table scraps. She then explained to Hal, “My mother feeds her bits of food from her plate. It’s a terrible habit, and now she tries to bully everyone for their food.”

Clover switched her efforts from Emma to Hal, jumping straight into his lap. He stiffened, unsure what to do. He was a soft touch and tore a piece of buttered bread for her. As Clover licked the butter from the bread, he cautiously stroked her fur.

“You’ll never be free of her now,” Emma said.

“Go ahead and ask your questions,” he said, eyes down as he concentrated on petting the cat.

“You have a right to your secrets. I’m not one to pry.”

He huffed, as if amused.

Clover finished her snack and leaped away.

“It’s not so far-fetched,” she said. “Have I asked you a single question so far?”

He chewed thoughtfully. “No. You bossed me around a lot.”

“There you go—I am respectful to a fault.” She pushed one slice of the buttered bread toward him, hoping the morsel would distract him. She then took an enthusiastic bite of her own slice. “I swear, I will never get tired of buttered bread and honey.”

Her little attempt at a distraction failed. He said, “I won’t tell you where I’m from. I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember a single thing? That seems peculiar.”

“I remember some things, but there are holes,” he said. “I know my name. I’m like this. I don’t know why or when or how. You’re going to say that you have a right to know who I am, to keep your family safe.”

“Yes,” she said. “It has crossed my mind. You’ve been lurking for days.”

“And have you ever felt in danger? Even once?”

“No,” she admitted. Even on the first morning when she discovered the rabbit, she hadn’t been worried or frightened. Confused, yes, but never worried about the identity of the hunter.

“There you are. I’m your friendly neighborhood orc. As simple as that. Why make it complicated?”

Nothing about the situation felt simple to her.

“Well, you’re particularly savvy for a man who was naked in my barn not but a week ago,” Emma said.

He laughed. It was a horrid sound, creaking like a door protesting at being opened. Rasping, edging into unhinged. That was unfair. The man clearly had been through something.

Whether he was truthful about his absent memories or not, it didn’t matter. Hal wanted to be taken at his word. Emma could respect that. He was simply a friendly orc. Nothing more complicated than that.

Hal finished his plate with the fork and knife. When the last morsel was gone, she pushed her plate toward him.

“I cannot. This is your food,” he said.

“It’s the rabbit you gave us, so it’s your food.”

“That was a gift. You should eat.”

“I had bread and honey,” she said, motioning to the used butter knife.

“That is not a proper meal.” Even though he protested, his eyes were fixed on the plate as if the rabbit and roast potatoes were a decadent meal and not, in fact, humble fare.

“Trust me, I ate earlier. I’m not inclined to skip meals.” Emma patted her hips for emphasis. She wasn’t a delicate flower, and she was far too tall and stout to be fashionable.

“Don’t do that,” Hal grumbled around a mouthful of rabbit.

“Do what?”

“Disparage yourself.”

“Oh. I… I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, blushing. She was keenly aware that her hair had worked itself free of her plait. While she wasn’t anyone’s definition of delicate or tidy, she liked her body’s strength. Generally. “I work hard. I have a big appetite.”

More grumbling as he ate. The rate of inhalation was considerably more sedate than his previous plate.

Between the lanterns and the fireplace, she had enough light and time to get a proper look at him. Her original assessment stood about him being too thin. He was big and broad, which might distract from the gaunt hollows of his face, but Emma noticed. She didn’t like that he was clearly having a difficult winter. Sheriff Navarre believed he escaped from the vampire’s fortress, and Emma could believe it. He had an air of suffering about him.

“Would you like a bath? The water should be nice and hot now,” she said.

He mumbled an agreement.

“I’m sorry, is this too much? Am I overwhelming you?”

He shook his head.

“I focus on a task, and I just get swept away. I won’t stop until it’s done, and I have a bad habit of sweeping over people to do it. It gives my brother apoplexy.”

He huffed, sounding amused. “Are you saying I smell?”

“I’m saying that if you want to scrub the mud off you, I’ll find you clean clothes to wear. If you’re not interested, I’ll take the bath myself.”

His face darkened and he dipped his head, as if unable to look her in the eye. Was that a blush? How precious.

“Well, I have noticed how you enjoy bossing me around,” he said.

Now, it was her turn to laugh. “Oh, not just you. I’m world-class at bossing people around.”

The chair squealed as he pushed back from the table. Emma filled the hip tub. Hal immediately lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.

His chest was a patchwork. Green she expected, not the varying shades. Some parts were a deep green, others an olive, but it lacked gradation. He looked as if he had been sewn together from scraps. She hadn’t noticed before in the barn, due to surprise and poor lighting.

“Oh, we’re just taking our clothes off now,” she said in surprise, turning her back to avoid seeing him undressed.

Again.

“You cannot expect me to take a bath in that.”

Emma turned back. Hal—nude at this point—scowled down at the hip tub. If the tub had been sentient, it would have been cowering in terror.

“Well, I see your point. You’ll be a tight fit. Sit here,” she said, patting the tub’s back, “lean back here, and?—”

“Where do my legs go?”

“If you prefer a cold shower, be my guest,” she snapped. “It’s just not practical to have a tub that large. This is practical.”

He grumbled. She caught the words tiny and impossible .

“Hot water,” she said, pointing to the stove. “I trust you to figure it out.”

She left, failing to avert her gaze, and caught a glimpse of a green behind climbing into the tub.

Emma did a quick rummage through Felix’s clothes for anything that might fit Hal. When she returned, she found him sitting awkwardly in the tub, his knees folded up to his chest. Suds spilled onto the floor as he struggled to work a comb through his hair.

Emma snatched the comb from his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, water sloshing as he twisted in the tub.

“You’re missing the back of your head. Just lean back and let me take care of it.” Gently, she rested her hands on his shoulders and guided him into position.

She started at the ends, working the comb through the tangles. His hair was varying in length. She found a recently shaved patch and a fresh scar. Carefully, she parted the hair, not wanting to pull or tug too hard.

“I think I forgot to mention that when you’re in the house, please don’t move anything. Pa’s blind, which you probably noticed by now. He gets himself around without a problem, but only if we don’t move the furniture.”

“Understood.” Hal scrubbed his arms and legs. Water rippled and sloshed over the sides onto the stone floor. “What about the kitchen? We moved the table.”

“Pa’s not allowed in the kitchen. Too many hot and sharp things.”

“That’s very practical.”

She kept her eyes focused on the comb and the dark hair in her hand, not on the scars on his arms, or the way the tub just couldn’t quite contain all of him. She definitely did not peer over his shoulder to look down at his… well, him . What she saw was even more scandalous.

The hollow above his too-sharp collarbone made her gasp. The man was gaunt.

“What?”

She snapped her eyes back to the comb working through his tangled hair.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“It’s the scars. I’ve scared you.”

Emma nearly dropped the comb. “You think my sensibilities are so delicate that I’ll get the vapors from looking at your scars?”

“They’re not nice.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“You don’t have to lie,” he said.

“What lie? Sweetwater is a military post. It’s filled with soldiers, injured soldiers, and injured ex-soldiers,” she replied. “Wounds get infected and limbs have to be amputated. When we first moved here, I was sheltered. I had never been out of Founding. We got off the train and the first person I saw, the very first person on that train platform, was a gentleman who took a blast to the face and lost his lower jaw.”

She recalled that way the steam from the train curled across the platform. Her eyes were gritty and heavy with exhaustion. Her parents hadn’t explained their sudden flight out of the city. Their nervousness tainted the entire journey, winding Emma up tighter and tighter with more anxiety than a child should know.

On that platform, exhausted beyond the point of sleeping, the steam parted, and she saw a nightmare made flesh, missing half his face.

She screamed. It wasn’t her proudest moment. The man flinched and wrapped a scarf around his face as if he were used to that reaction. She wished she could encounter him again and apologize.

“So no, a few old healed scars are not going to frighten me,” she said.

The comb encountered a particularly thick snag. Hal’s head snapped back. She apologized and pulled gently, working the tangle free.

“It’d be quicker to shave it all off,” he grumbled.

She hummed in agreement. “We could do that if you wish, but I think it’s worth saving all this lovely hair. I’ll be mindful to be gentle.”

Hal went still. The splashing stopped. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never lovely.”

“If you get tired of me yanking out your hair, I can get the sheep shears,” Emma said, trying to bring the mood back to something with less tension.

She failed.

“Shaving it off would be easier,” Hal said.

“How about a braid? It’ll keep the hair out of your way.”

He agreed.

Emma worked a lather of shampoo into his hair, putting all her strength into her fingers as she massaged his scalp. He melted against the back of the tub. Satisfied that the shampoo had done all it could, she rinsed carefully with lukewarm water. Once clean, she ran the comb through again to separate into sections.

His hair was thick but not as coarse or rough as she expected. Braiding was a pleasure. Hal scrubbed himself as she worked. Much like before, they worked together in silence, anticipating the other’s moves.

She had seen this orc naked twice now. Had him pressed against her with nothing but a blanket separating them. Kissed him. All that paled in comparison to the intimacy of this moment as Emma braided his hair.

“You really do have lovely hair. It’s very silky,” she said. “There. All done.”

Hal ran a hand over his hair and the length of the braid. “Do you have a mirror?”

Hal

“Yes. Give me a moment,” Emma said.

Hal heard the scrape of the chair against the floor and felt the loss of her presence as she left the room.

He climbed out of the tub, dried off with the towel, and pulled on the too-short provided trousers. Not to sound ungrateful. They were clean, and society generally discouraged one from going about without pants.

The kitchen was warm and smelled of fresh bread, apples, and the bar soap from the bath. It was cozy and comfortable. For the first time in ages—years, decades, a literal century—he relaxed.

He sat down in front of the fireplace, content to soak up the heat. His belly was full. His skin did not itch or pull. His mind felt mostly like himself.

Emma sat down on the floor next to him and laid a handheld mirror on his chest.

The silver handle tingled in his grip as he angled the glass to catch the firelight.

A thick scar crossed his face from ear to ear and over the bridge of his nose, but that was not what seized his attention. His face was not his own.

He was green. He knew that. It should not have shocked him, but it hadn’t been real. Abstract. This stranger’s face was very real.

His features were heavier, like someone smooshed the clay of his being, trying to sculpt his face from a poor description. His hair was too dark and too coarse, but he already knew that. His brows were thick, adding menace to his face without trying.

His hands trembled, dropping the mirror into his lap. Emma snatched it back before it could fall to the floor.

She sat patiently, not judging his reaction or offering empty flattery.

He didn’t know how to explain. His memory belonged to a version of himself that no longer existed. Now, his face was gone, too. He was gone. There was only a monster left.

“I don’t understand how you can look at me,” he managed to say. She should sob in fear and turn away in disgust, not sit patiently at his side. “I’m hideous.”

Emma held the mirror up, angling it to catch his eyes. Dark and sunken, they were the worst part. They were sharp, remote, and cold.

They were his brother’s eyes.

“You’re not so bad,” she said.

He brushed his fingers over the glass. “I’ve never seen my reflection before.”