Page 13 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Twelve

Emma

Mistletoe Farm

The Kitchen

“You hired that fellow?”

“Good morning to you,” Emma said, hanging her coat by the kitchen door with a yawn. Clover followed her through the door and immediately sat by the table, waiting for her bit of scrambled eggs.

Surprising no one, she had a difficult time falling asleep last night. Early morning chores pulled her out of bed just as she finally drifted off, and now, well after dawn, she still had a hard time shaking the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning, darling dutiful daughter who would never sass her mother,” Agatha said. She spooned a small portion of egg onto a plate and sat it on the floor in front of the cat. “Coffee?”

“Please, and yes, I offered him a job. His name is Hal.” She and Hal had mucked out the barn, fed the goats and chickens, gathered the eggs, and did all the necessary things to keep the animals healthy and warm for another day. Clover, of course, supervised the entire operation. “We got a lot of ground to cover, so I’ll take breakfast out to him.”

“Is that really necessary?” Agatha asked, filling a thermos with coffee.

“Metaphorical and literal ground to show him all that needs doing.”

Agatha rolled her eyes, which was not an expression one expected from their mother. “I meant hiring a farmhand. Isn’t work light this time of year with it being winter?”

“Exactly. It is winter,” Emma agreed. She grabbed a piece of buttered toast from the rack on the table.

“We only have the goats now.”

“You’re answering your own question.” Emma laid out a square of beeswax-coated cloth and assembled the components for fried egg sandwiches on toast. One for her and two for Hal. Maybe three. She grabbed another cloth.

“Perhaps you could answer me directly rather than be pleased with your own cleverness.”

Emma laid on thick slices of cheese assembly-line style. “Despite it being winter, I’ve too much work to do on my own.”

“The goats?—”

“Exactly. The goats need to go out to the pasture once a day or they’ll get up to mischief in the barn. They’ll pull the nails out of the rafters and eat the walls if I let them. But it is winter. The wolvers and other critters are hungry now and only going to get hungrier. A pasture of goats is mighty tempting, so I have to supervise. That’s hours I spend a day doing nothing but stand in the cold with the shotgun, watching the goats because we can’t afford to lose any in the herd. Once that’s done, there’s still milking and mucking. The goats need fresh hay. There’s always something that needs fixing, usually the chicken coop. It seems like every day there’s a new hole in the fence from some critter trying to enjoy a chicken dinner.” Emma said it all in a rush, barely pausing to breathe. Her hands shook. She hadn’t realized how frustrated she felt until the words spilled out.

“We should have a dog to help with the herd.”

Emma shook her head. They had a dog. Some animal, likely that wolver so determined to get to the hens, killed him. “We can get a dog, but one dog against a wolver isn’t a fair fight.”

“Felix will be home?—”

“We don’t know when Felix is coming back.” Emma placed the eggs on the sandwich and topped them with another piece of toasted bread.

“Where is this man from?”

“Didn’t seem relevant.”

“You don’t know anything about this man,” Agatha said.

“I know we’ve been more than happy to eat what he’s hunted. I know that the morning chores went twice as fast with his help.” Emma knew other things about Hal. That he had been hurt. That he was hiding from someone or something. That she liked the way he said her name. That he was trouble, but the kind of trouble she liked.

“He’s green, Emma. He’s not human. He’s dangerous.”

Emma wrapped the sandwiches too tightly, taking her disappointment with her mother out on her breakfast. “You saw him.”

“Of course I saw him. I heard him talking with your father. I had a look. That man is not right.”

All these dramatics. Agatha made twice the normal amount of food, so she had already accepted that Hal—green and with his tusks—would stay. She intended to debate Emma on the subject, to poke at the issue like a sore tooth, until Emma relented and did as she wanted.

Emma would not play this game today.

“I’m disappointed you would judge a man based on his complexion. That man has done nothing wrong. Yes, he’s green. He’s got… he’s got a face.” Emma waved a hand at her own face in the general area of where tusks would be. “He showed up a week ago, cold and hungry.”

“A week ago? The solstice? Did he hurt you?”

Emma knew what her mother was thinking. The Nexus monsters were most unstable and their most dangerous at the solstice and the equinox. “The night after. I gave him some of Felix’s old things and a meal.”

Agatha made an unimpressed noise. “He’s the one that started the fight in the bar. He got you arrested.”

“Ma, I started the fight in the bar.”

“Oh, that’s just what Nina Navarre says. She doesn’t like you.” Agatha waved a hand as if to dismiss the notion.

“No, Ma. I started it. There are plenty of witnesses who’ll tell you the same. Hal, he jumped in to help. He had my back.”

“He jumped through a window.”

“It was the quickest route.”

Agatha’s lips quirked. She covered her mouth with her hands, hiding an amused smile. “This is serious. I’m worried. While I’ll agree that he’s not immediately dangerous, we have to consider where he came from and who will be looking for him. He could bring trouble to our door.”

Hal and trouble seemed to go hand in hand, but Emma kept that to herself.

“You and Pa are hardly strangers to trouble.”

“Appealing to the nostalgia of our rebellious youth is a dirty tactic,” Agatha said, wagging a finger. “No points.”

Emma placed the wrapped sandwiches in a pail, along with the flask of coffee and two cups. “This is not a debate, Ma. Hal needs work. I got work.”

“He’s likely an army deserter.”

“The military does not have monsters,” Emma said.

“It most certainly does.”

This was a favored conspiracy theory in town. The military captured monsters and trained them for combat. Emma never believed the stories. If the army had a battalion of beasts, there’d be posters and parades. Penny novels. Serialized stories in the papers. It would be something—anything—more substantial than gossip.

“The sheriff thinks he’s Draven’s spy or an escaped experiment,” Emma said.

Agatha nodded. “That’s plausible. Of course, he may be a recent conversion and left his home for some unfathomable reason.”

“I think the way you’re acting right now is a perfectly fathomable reason.” Emma had not considered that Hal might be new to his current form and monstrous existence. That would explain his reaction to his reflection last night. “Who wouldn’t run away if this were their family’s reaction?”

Agatha sat at the table. “You’re right. I should be more welcoming. Wherever he’s from, he’s here now. Bring him—Hal, is it?—breakfast. Lunch is the last of the rabbit stew. It’s in a pot on the stove. You know how to help yourself.”

“That’s it?” Emma asked. “No more debating? No more trying to convince me to let him go?”

“Petal, my precious, we both know there’s no changing your mind when you’re set on something.”

“Then why say those things?”

“You’ve been sewing those trousers for days now,” Agatha said, as if that explained everything.

“Those are for me,” Emma lied.

“Those trousers are a foot too long for your legs. You’re making clothes, so it must be serious. I needed to know how serious.”

“Ma—” Emma didn’t know where to start with her mother.

“What I said is nothing compared to what others will say. You bring home a green monster?—”

“An orc. He’s an orc.”

“You bring home an orc,” Agatha amended, “I want to know if you’ll fight for your orc.”

“He’s not my orc.”

“Whatever you say, petal. Now, how broad are his shoulders?” Agatha held out her hands to demonstrate their width. Emma moved her hands until they reached a good approximation. “I’ll start knitting. Felix’s clothes can’t be comfortable, and everyone needs a sweater.”

“What about Pa? Are you going to tell him about Hal?” Emma knew her mother would be accepting, once she got over the shock. Her father, however, had a deep resentment toward beasts and monsters since being attacked.

“It’s a shame to keep someone a secret, petal,” Agatha said. “Hal deserves better.”

“So yes, you’re going to tell him.”

“No. You’re going to tell him.”

Hal

Mistletoe Farm

North Pasture

Hal had spent the last week observing the De Lacey family and their routines. He noted their day began before dawn, what tasks were completed first, their activities during the day, and how they filled the evening hours.

From the outside, the stone house radiated cozy warmth and the occupants good cheer. Perhaps he had idolized the family, imagining harmony because he did not witness discord, but nothing he saw dismissed his good opinion of the family.

How strange it felt to now walk at Emma’s side as she pointed out all the details his reconnaissance missed. A good strange. Their encounters before had been brief, a few words exchanged hurriedly. Now, he had the time and pleasure to speak with her at his leisure. Mostly, he listened. He enjoyed her narration, direct without being rude, and he delighted in the sound of her voice.

Especially when she said his name, like his name was made for her voice.

“This pasture is native tall grass,” Emma said, opening a gate to allow the goats passage into the north pasture. A cluster of trees grew along a creek that signaled the boundary of the farm’s property and a stone fence that surrounded the pasture.

The goats scattered across the pasture, kicking up their heels and digging in the snow for clumps of grass. As he and Emma walked, the herd followed in chaotic fashion.

“The terraformers never reached this far. Any Earth plant you find was planted by hand. Most of the local Nexus flora is harmless, but be careful. Those trees—” Emma pointed to a cluster of spindly-looking trees with bare branches. “They produce oil. They’re highly flammable. I’m not saying you can’t chop them up for firewood, but you don’t want them near our fireplace or stove. One stray spark, and they’re burning like no tomorrow.”

She pointed to a set of tracks in the snow. “Wolvers. Apparently, they’re like Earth wolverines.”

“Appearance-wise or attitude?” Hal asked.

“Are wolverines short lizards that dig in the ground and will bite your foot off if you step in a burrow?”

“The biting sounds right, but honestly, I have no idea.”

The herd of ostrich-looking birds were, in fact, ratites. “Dumb as a pile of bricks. Most of the time, they’re gentle, but they frighten easily. If that happens, the whole herd panics,” Emma explained. “You do not want to get trampled. They have razor-sharp talons on their feet.”

The birds were tall enough to stand at his mid-chest. He could easily imagine being overwhelmed by a fast-moving, panicking herd.

“Are they good eating?” he asked.

“They don’t have a lot of meat on their bones, but you can in a pinch.” Emma shielded her eyes with her hand, scanning the horizon. “The first winter we lived on the farm, we were in a pinch. I got real good with the bow.”

“An archer?” It was so primitive.

“The shotgun blast sends them running. If you use a shotgun or a rifle, your aim better be true, or else you’re going hungry.”

“I will have to learn,” he said, genuinely intrigued about using the ancient weapon.

“How’d you catch all those rabbits if you don’t know how to hunt with a bow?”

“Traps.” His derelict shack had a pair of rusty but serviceable traps. “Rabbits are from Earth. Where are the cows?”

“They can’t digest the tall grass. Goats and sheep do better,” she answered before crouching down and pointing to a cluster of thin green leaves. “Wild onion.”

She directed him where to dig, pulling up sunchokes and wild onions.

“We should forage what we can before the snow is too deep,” she said, balancing the basket on her hip.

Hal took the basket, ignoring her protest that she was perfectly capable of carrying it.

“My job description is carry heavy things ,” he said, refusing to relinquish the basket.

When they reached the top of a gentle hill, the farm and its outbuildings came into view. The main building was constructed of local field stone, a two-story building that was tall in the center and flanked by single-level additions. It reminded Hal very much of a chicken sitting on eggs. The barn, bunkhouse, workshop, and various storage sheds were constructed of wood. The timber had grayed in the sun. Fresh paint wouldn’t go amiss.

Animal traffic in and out of the barn and pens had turned the snow from pristine white to a dingy gray to mud.

Emma corralled the goats into the pen. How, he had no idea. It must have been witchcraft; she simply opened the gate and the goats trotted in without protest. The entire afternoon, they solidly ignored Hal. One had strayed too close to the edge of the creek and kept going back despite the very large orc blocking the way and frowning.

Hal leaned against a wooden fencepost, watching Emma have a very serious conversation with a goat as she inspected its hooves. It had developed a small limp during the journey back to the pasture.

“I don’t see a stone or a pebble. Are you being dramatic because Hal won’t let you play in the freezing cold water? Such melodrama. You should be on the stage,” Emma chattered.

Hal heard a rider approach. He stood upright, his body tense.

“What?” Emma asked.

“Someone’s coming.”

“The sheriff,” she said, springing into action and wasting no time by questioning his hearing. She grabbed the basket and pushed him in the direction of the workshop. “You need to hide.”

“The barn?—”

“Is the first place she’s gonna look. Hide in the workshop,” she said, pointing to one of the outbuildings. “Try not to disturb the dust on the floor.”

How he would accomplish that, he had no idea.

The workshop door required a solid nudge with his shoulder to open. Dust lay thick on the floor. Equipment and crates had been stacked inside, forming a narrow corridor to a workbench. A canvas tarp covered the largest item. He had only the vaguest idea of what purpose the equipment served. Some were lethal-looking farm implements and tools that could pound a nail or cave a head in, but also a weaving machine with an abandoned project still in the loom gathering dust.

Hal grabbed the top of the door frame and swung himself over the threshold, landing on a crate. It groaned under his weight. All the items were stacked haphazardly and threatened to topple with the smallest incentive.

Moving carefully, he crossed deeper into the room. Once far enough away that no one would notice disturbed dust on the floor, he returned to the floor and rearranged the largest crates. If anyone came into the workshop, he’d have a barrier to hide behind. Until then, he cracked the window and waited.

A horse approached.

Hal ducked out of sight.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” Emma said. “Is this a social call, or do I need to consult my lawyer?”

A woman’s voice answered. “We received a report of an orc sighting.”

“An orc? That green fella? Did Mrs. Fairfax say that? Her cataracts are horrible. You can’t trust her eyes.”

“I’ll need to take a look around to make sure you’re not harboring a monster.”

“Do you have a warrant?”

“I can come back with a warrant, or you could just let me search the property, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Hmm, no. I think I’m going to insist on that warrant. Signed by a judge, not some sheriff’s warrant you wrote yourself.”

“There’s no such thing as a sheriff’s warrant.”

“Then you’ll have no problem coming back with an official warrant. I know you’re not expecting a favor. It’s not like we’re friends.” Emma’s tone seemed particularly contrary, as if she were picking at an old wound between herself and the sheriff.

“What’s that noise?”

“Goats.”

“Making that noise?”

“You don’t have much experience with goats.”

“The goats are over there in the pen. I’ll ask you again, what’s in the barn?”

“Winnifred. She tore a tendon and won’t rest, so she’s confined to a stall.”

“Open the barn door, De Lacey.”

“Not without that warrant, sheriff.”

“I’ve got probable cause. Stand aside.”

Hal dared to peek through the window. A woman he did not recognize pushed her way past Emma into the barn.

No. His memory churned slowly. The sheriff. Emma said the sheriff was a witness to the bar fight. She saw Hal and rightly assumed Emma knew something. The sheriff was currently fishing for information, but soon, she’d be hunting monsters properly.

Let her try.

Hal could not go back into a cage. Never again.

“Whatever you do, please don’t look in the hay loft.” Emma’s voice carried out from the barn.

Whatever was said next, Hal did not catch.

“The bottom rung is rotted. I need to replace the whole ladder, honestly.”

More muttering, not loud enough for Hal to hear.

“That looks infected. Is it too soon to be infected?”

Hal bit on a knuckle to keep from laughing.

“What’s in that building?” the sheriff asked, clearly in the mood for malicious compliance.

“That’s the workshop. Nothing in there but old junk,” Emma answered, happy to deliver.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a printing press in there?”

“We don’t have a printing press. Pa’s all talk.”

“Then you don’t mind me having a peek,” the sheriff said.

“If you don’t mind spiders.”

The door creaked open.

“What’s under the tarp?”

The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer. A moment later, the tarp was yanked away, releasing a cloud of dust in the air.

“A loom. Satisfied?” Emma asked.

Footsteps retreated. Hal waited until Emma returned to the workshop.

“All clear,” she announced.

“I brought trouble to your door,” Hal said as he attempted to remove himself from his hiding location and succeeded in knocking over… something. A collection of sticks tied together with strips of canvas.

“Don’t worry about the sheriff. She’s just one of many trials and tribulations in life,” she said lightly. “I thought for sure you hid under the tarp. I thought we were toast.”

“It seemed too obvious.”

Emma peered into the depths of the workshop. “I haven’t been here in ages.”

“What is the purpose of this place besides setting traps?” Hal moved a box to one side to create a path.

“It was—is my mother’s studio. Her art is eclectic. Her favored medium is the new and novel. But she hasn’t painted or really done anything creative for a while. It turned into a place to store junk. Sorry about the traps.” She brushed the dust off the top of a small wooden box before opening it. “I wonder if this paint is still good or if it dried out.”

Now that he knew what he was looking at, Hal saw the disused art equipment. The paint boxes, easels, canvas leaning against a wall, as well as tools for fine metalworking. Handmade pots. Aprons. Paint long ago spilled on the floor with cat pawprints weaving a trail through the jumble of artifacts.

With careful maneuvering, he extracted himself from the workshop without causing an avalanche.

He must have had a particularly worried expression on his face. When he reached the door, Emma placed a hand on his arm. She said, “I’m serious. Don’t worry about the sheriff. I’ll protect you.”

No one had ever protected Hal from anything. The people he should have trusted, should have been relied on to care for him when he was helpless, betrayed him. Abused him. Emma’s vow was naive but kind. Too few people had been kind to him.

Something shifted inside him. He would tear the world apart and set it ablaze to protect this woman.

Emma

“Stand still or I’ll jab you,” Emma said.

“It is not my fault.”

Hal stood by the kitchen hearth, wearing the too-long trousers Emma sewed. Emma sat on the floor, pins at the ready to hem said trousers. Clover kept coming to investigate, determined to climb Hal.

Emma scooped up the black cat and dumped her in Hal’s arms. “Just hold her. That’s what she wants.”

What she wanted, too, but Emma kept that bit to herself.

The trousers were made of inexpensive, durable fabric. She estimated his size when cutting the fabric, judging the waist fairly accurately based on how Felix’s old things fit, but she got the legs completely wrong. Several inches of fabric puddled on the floor.

“There. All done.” On her knees, Emma patted her thighs. Looking up, Hal was very tall. Very, very tall. Imposing and strong. She totally understood Clover’s need to climb him.

You and me, kitty.

“Turn around. I want to check the fit,” Emma said.

Fabric stretched taut over a muscular backside. The urge to reach out and squeeze overcame her. She had seen him nude before—twice—but somehow, this was more enticing than a bare bottom.

“Nice. I mean, it looks good,” she said, blushing furiously. “Can you bend and move? Is it too tight?”

“No.” He squirmed, plucking at the waist as if it were too tight.

“How do they feel?”

“Adequate.”

“Damning me with faint praise. Is it uncomfortable? You keep—” She wiggled her hips and gave an overly dramatic sigh.

“The trousers are appreciated. The mockery is not.”

“Seriously, are they itchy? Is it the seam on the sides? There’s extra fabric there, in case I got the measurements wrong and needed to let them out. It’s sloppy,” she said, unable to stop the deluge of criticism over her work. She rose to her feet, still reeling off her errors. “I should have pressed down the seams. The stitches are too big. They’re uneven.”

“Emma,” Hal said, offering a hand to help her up. “It is very kind and generous of you to make these for me. I am thankful. I’m not used to wearing such garments, that is all. It is not a slight on your work.”

“Clothes that fit?”

“Clothes in general.”

“Oh, right,” she said, as if that explained everything clearly instead of adding to the confusion. What kind of place was he from where people didn’t wear clothes?