Page 14 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)
Chapter Thirteen
Hal
Mistletoe Farm
The Workshop
The door creaked open.
“Sitting in the cold isn’t helpful,” Agatha said.
“The house is too loud.”
Agatha entered the workshop, taking a cautious step into the clutter. She ran a finger across the nearest surface, frowning at the dust. “I suppose we can get rambunctious.”
The De Laceys got loud . They all had strong opinions and possessed the innate belief that speaking louder made one’s opinion more correct.
“My ears are more sensitive than yours,” Hal said.
“How very diplomatic of you.” Agatha chuckled. “I haven’t been in my workshop in ages. What a strange place for you to seek refuge.”
The workshop was an odd place to spend time. It was a cluttered, hazardous menace incapable of allowing anyone to work within its walls.
“The goats chew on my shoelaces.” His shoes were a basic, primitive design with cord woven through holes punched in the leather. He waxed the leather every day to keep his feet dry.
She worked her way deeper into the room, heading toward the tarp covering a large object. “Can you help me?” she asked, lifting a corner of the tarp.
Hal removed it, sending a plume of dust into the air. The machine underneath was unlike anything he had ever seen. Primitive in that it was constructed of wood. There was a platform, string pulled taut between frames, foot pedals, and an arm that looked like it moved.
“Is the loom operational?” He’d seen drawings in history books, but fabric technology had moved far past the looms powered by manual labor. He had no idea how the machine functioned.
“It’s a bit dusty, but it works.” Agatha brushed the dust off a stool. “I’ll tell you a secret, Hal. I agree with you that my family is loud. I used to come out here to have a moment to myself.”
“Emma said it is your workshop.”
“In theory, though I haven’t had time for dabbling in my projects since Oscar lost his sight. Speaking of projects, hold out your arms.” She demonstrated, holding her arms straight out from her sides. Hal copied. She then lifted her arms above her head.
“What is the point of this?” he asked, even as he lifted his arms above his head.
“Just checking the fit of the sweater I knitted. It seems a little short.” She tugged on the end of the sweater, standing uncomfortably close.
“It is adequate.”
“Adequate? Please, say no more or I might faint from embarrassment.” She patted his shoulder affectionately and stepped back.
He huffed with amusement. “I see where Emma gets her sense of humor.”
“Do you know how to weave, Hal?”
“Pardon?”
“Let me show you how to work the loom.” Agatha retrieved a basket. “Warp thread, yarn, and a shuttle. The warp is strung vertically on the teeth.” She moved the stool closer and demonstrated how to string the thread, how to use the bar to create a gap in the warp, and how to guide the yarn through the warp. “Your turn.”
“I could not.”
“Why not?”
“It’s—” He struggled to think of a single good reason. “I am too clumsy.”
“Hal, while it is true that our acquaintance is recent, I have never noticed you be anything but graceful. Frankly, it’s alarming how a man your size can move so quietly.”
“I apologize if I make you nervous.”
She smiled as she stood up from the stool and patted his arm. “I never said that. Now you try.”
He tried to guide the shuttle through the warp as she had demonstrated, but his fingers were too large and the threads too fine. The shuttle slipped from his grip and fell to the floor.
“It’s not a race. Take your time,” she said in an encouraging tone. “This is a pre-industrialization technology. It’s meant to be slow.”
His second attempt came with less fumbling, but the yarn was not taut. It looked sloppy. Agatha demonstrated how to use the comb to push the yarn tight. She then told him the mysteries of adding another shuttle with a different color. After several passes back and forth, he had nearly an inch of fabric.
He brushed a finger over the fabric, amazed that he had created something new.
“I find working with my hands helps me think,” Agatha said, inspecting his work. “Is that true to you?”
“I prefer to keep busy,” Hal said.
“Busy is good. My grandmother used to say that mindless tasks help us process our complicated emotions when our bandwidth is stressed. No idea what bandwidth is; it’s one of those vestigial words. Hopefully, you understand from context.”
Hal knew exactly what bandwidth was. He was surprised that such a term lingered. “I understand.”
“Good.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Feel free to come here whenever the house is too loud. Also, there’s more yarn somewhere in here. Use as much as you need for your project.”
She left him in front of the loom. He experimented with switching between the different colored yarn and making stripes. Before long, he was determined to make a blanket for Emma, a gift so she would always be warm.
Emma
Mistletoe Farm
North Pasture
“You are pensive today,” Hal said.
They sat shoulder to shoulder on a stone wall under a cottonwood tree, eating lunch. The goats frolicked and grazed in the pasture.
Emma sat on her coat, enjoying the warm sun. Hal’s clothing—still the too-small hand-me-downs—made him look as if he had an unexpected growth spurt overnight. He had ditched the ill-fitting boots days ago and wrapped his feet in leather, secured in place with a cord. It wasn’t an elegant solution, but it was better than being barefoot.
She really needed to do something about his footwear situation. It was disgraceful.
“Hmm? Sorry, just thinking,” Emma managed between mouthfuls.
“I am also concerned about the sheriff’s visit.”
Yes, that was part of it. Nina had Hal’s scent and she wouldn’t relent. She’d keep coming back, claiming the neighbor saw an orc, or investigating an animal attack. One day, she’d convince a judge to sign a warrant.
“Worrying about things I can’t control,” she said.
There was plenty in the here and now to keep her busy. She didn’t need to add to it.
A week had passed since she impulsively offered Hal a job. She showed him around the farm and taught him what he needed to know. He had surprising gaps in his knowledge. Not just farm specific information, but basic everydayliving skills. Emma could understand how someone never learned how to milk goats. Fair enough. Or how to identify wolver tracks. Or to steer clear of the ratite. The large birdlike animals looked calm, but they panicked easily, and a massive, panicky herd could trample a person in seconds. He wasn’t from here. He didn’t have a local’s knowledge. Fair enough.
But how could a person never learn how to build a fire? Or how to draw water from the pump? It was odd.
Agatha had agreed that Emma could delay breaking the news to her father.
Unfortunately, the longer she waited, the harder it got. Every day that passed, Agatha’s disapproving frown grew more pronounced. Emma needed to speak to her father before her mother’s patience expired. She hoped that if Oscar had time to get to know Hal, to enjoy discussing books together, then perhaps he’d be more accepting.
Yes, she was aware of the hypocrisy of the rebel poet who preached about questioning authority failing to question if what he knew about beasts was true or influenced by fear and prejudice. It was an imperfect world filled with flawed people.
Herself included.
Her plan to simply never mention Hal’s being an orc to her father was a coward’s plan that exploited his blindness.
No one should be a secret.
Her mother’s words weighed on her.
“A burden shared is a burden halved,” Hal said, pulling her out of her downward-spiraling thoughts.
“I think it’ll snow soon. You can smell it in the air.”
Hal took a deep breath to test her statement. He shook his head, then leaned in and sniffed her hair. “I smell lemon and rosemary.”
Her soap.
His shameless display of flirting had her all topsy-turvy. She didn’t know what to do with it.
To be fair, she knew exactly what actions she wished to take: reciprocation. She liked Hal and certainly felt an attraction, but she held herself back. There were too many unknowns, starting with Hal’s mysterious origins.
“Did you know that the terraforming machine broke before they could reach this far west? Everything of Earth origin was hand-planted, including this tree.” Emma pointed up. The bare branches were a dark slash against an aggressively blue sky.
There. The fastest way to deter any flirting was to drop historical tidbits.
“While that is fascinating, I do not think it is the cause of this,” Hal said. He pressed his index finger to the space between her eyebrows.
There was no point in changing the subject. The orc would not be deterred.
“I don’t like secrets,” she said bluntly, which was the second-fastest way to halt flirting in its tracks. A woman holding strong opinions was social poison and a guaranteed spinster in the making, from her experience.
His posture stiffened. “There are things I have not shared, but I am not being secretive. I’m sure you have not shared everything about yourself.”
“No, not that. I mean, maybe a little.” She rubbed the same spot between her eyebrows. “I feel like I’m keeping you a secret from my pa and from the world, and that’s not fair to anyone. You need proper shoes. You can’t go to the cobbler, and I can’t order a pair for you without raising suspicion. Word will get back to the sheriff, but hiding isn’t right.”
Hal stretched out his feet. “These are adequate. They keep my feet dry.”
“They can’t be warm.” Not to mention that gravel or a particularly industrious thorn would slice the leather soles to pieces.
“I do not feel the cold the way you do.”
“It’s undignified. People should have their dignity.”
“Emma, you are not upset about shoes.”
She shifted on the wall to face him, tucking one leg under herself. “You told me that you don’t know where you came from.”
“Yes.”
“Is that true? I’m just—” She rubbed that spot between her eyes again. That place he couldn’t remember hadn’t given him clothes to wear. It seemed so unbearably cruel. “I’m not concerned, not really, but I need to know if anyone’s looking for you.”
Hal stood. He loomed over Emma. For a moment, a single heartbeat, she feared that she had insulted him beyond repair. All week long, she’d written off his odd behavior and the lack of basic skills. There was so much she didn’t know—about him, how he found his way to her barn, why he was naked, and why those soldiers chased him in town.
He was trouble, and she ignored all the warnings.
“There.” He pointed to the west, to the purple mountains in the distance. “I’m from the Aerie.”
Fear quickly drained away, replaced by confusion.
“You’re a spy for the vampire,” Emma said. The sheriff was right.
Hal laughed. Loudly. It bellowed across the pasture. The goats looked up in alarm before deciding that grazing on the winter grass was more interesting.
“A spy? No, I was Draven’s captive,” Hal said.
A captive. That explained the scars and general neglect about his person.
“How long?” she asked.
“A long time.”
“Years?”
He tossed her a look sharp enough to cut.
She held up a hand in silent apology. “I want to understand.”
“I didn’t know the specifics. Draven kept me sedated and drugged. My memories are… confusing. Some are missing altogether.”
He returned to the wall, now leaning back on his elbows. They watched the goats in the pasture.
“It’s peaceful here,” he said.
Emma nodded in agreement. “The weather swings from too hot to too cold, and I swear every native animal can kill you, but it’s home.”
“The day you were released from prison?—”
“Jail. It wasn’t as dramatic as prison.”
“Do you want to hear my story, or do you wish to make clever remarks?”
She drew her fingers over her lips in a buttoning motion, then struggled to keep herself from grinning. This orc had a fair bit of sassiness. She liked it.
“That day, after I visited you in the jail, I learned that Draven was being held at the fort. I paid him a visit.”
“Draven was executed after he surrendered. That’s what the papers reported. Sorry.” She once again gestured as if buttoning her lips.
“Those reports are wrong. He escaped. Sadly, shoddy journalism is as much a problem now as it was in my time.”
She was dying to ask what he meant by that.
Hal sighed. “Go ahead.”
“What does that mean? Your time? I’m probably older than you.” She based his estimated age on nothing substantial whatsoever, just a gut feeling.
“I’ve been his captive for two hundred years.”
Emma wobbled, tilting backward off the ledge. Hal grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“Two centuries? How is that possible?” Surprise made her voice squeak.
“Apparently, my kind age slowly.”
“Then…” She did the arithmetic. “Were you on the original ship? Are you from Earth?”
He nodded.
This was amazing. This was… trouble.
More than trouble.
“How did the vampire escape?” she asked, already certain she knew the answer.
“The lock on the cage was very impressive. Unfortunately, the iron bars left much to be desired.”
“You busted out the vampire who held you captive for two hundred years ?”
“I needed answers more than I needed revenge,” he said simply. “When you found me, I had only just fled the Aerie. The gaps in my memory were substantial. I needed him to fill in those gaps.”
“Did he tell you what you needed?”
“Enough.”
“How could he justify holding you captive? For what he’s done to you?”
“He claimed I was unstable.”
She didn’t believe that for a minute. “And those soldiers looking for you?—”
“A distraction to allow his escape.”
Emma chewed over this information. On one hand, he had been held captive and clearly hurt—possibly repeatedly—for two centuries. “I still don’t understand why you’d let him go. Couldn’t you have lied and promised to free him if he talked and then, you know—” She drew a finger across her throat in a gesture she hoped was timeless.
Apparently, it was.
“You are bloodthirsty. I shall do my best not to cross you.”
“I’m serious, Hal.”
He sighed, his shoulders heaving up and down. “Someone showed me kindness. Killing Draven would upset that person. Draven lives because of the kindness of another.”
“Not to keep repeating the same question, but the soldiers…do they know about you?”
“They are aware of my existence. I believe that is the extent of it.”
If Ma’s cockamamie story about the military having a secret brigade of monsters was true, then they’d want to recruit a monster as unique as Hal. And the sheriff was already sniffing around. Monster hunting was in her blood. She’d never let a prize like Hal go without a fight.
Emma would fight for Hal. There were many unknowns but that wasn’t one.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked. “If you don’t want revenge, what do you want?”
“I don’t know. I remember who I used to be, but that man is a stranger. Frankly, I don’t like him. He was selfish. Angry. I don’t know who I am now, other than an escaped monster.” He turned to hold her gaze. “What do you want, Emma De Lacey?”
Excellent question. She had no idea.
“I’m unsure,” she confessed. “I’ve poured all my time and my energy into this farm. Into taking care of my family. So much so that I wonder who I am if I’m not taking care of them. It’s exhausting. There’s just no piece of me left at the end of the day for daydreams or whimsy. I know it vexes my parents. They’re creative, always working on some project. I suspect they can’t fathom how two artistic souls produced someone as unimaginative as me.”
“You’re good at problem-solving. That’s its own type of creativity.”
“Well, I can’t hang that time I kissed an orc to distract the authorities in a museum.”
“We’ll hire a painter and do just that.”
Emma laughed at the ridiculous notion.
“I’m happy to be here.” He tilted his head back, as if enjoying the sun on his face. “I’m free now and sharing a meal with a woman who is as kind as she is beautiful.”
“Oh. Well…” Unsure how to accept the compliment, she bumped her shoulder into his, like they were teasing one another and completely ignored the fact that he called her beautiful. “I’m happy to have you here.”
“A beautiful woman who will protect me.”
Now she was blushing.
“No one has ever sworn a vow of protection on my behalf.” He grinned. His was not a face made for mirth. His smile was all tooth and tusk. His face was rough, and the features were unfinished, bisected with a vicious scar. Somehow, over the last few days, that face had grown dear to her.
Familiar. Esteemed.
A friend.
“Hal—” Her tongue suddenly did not want to cooperate, and the words tangled in her mouth. “Surely I’m the first woman you’ve met. The competition is slim.”
“You’re not the first woman I’ve met, Emma.”
Suddenly, he was no longer beside her but in front of her. With hands planted on either side of her, he caged her between his arms. They were eye to eye. Instinct urged her to lean forward, to kiss him again, but doubt held her back. Since that kiss in the alley, Hal kept a respectful distance. She was his employer. Kissing him now would be bad form.
Enjoyable, but bad form.
“Such flattering words, you rogue,” she said in a teasing tone, then gently pushed him away. He eased back, grinning, but remained close.
“You’re easily the—” He lifted his eyes to the sky as if mentally doing calculations. “Easily the third woman I’ve met. While they both made an impression, you are my favorite.”
“Your favorite out of three? That’s quite the compliment.”
“You are always my favorite.”
She returned his grin without embarrassment, without doubt. She believed every word.
Hal pointed up.
Mistletoe clung to the branches directly above.
Hal
“Mistletoe,” Emma said.
“It’s tradition.”
“You can’t argue with tradition.”
He dipped his head down. She tilted her face, her lips meeting his.
Emma lurched forward, pressing herself closer. Her feet tripped over his while his arms caught her at the waist. They tipped over into the snow. Hal landed on his back, clutching Emma to his chest.
“You make me topsy-turvy,” she said and laughed, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. The happy, joyful sound filled him with a sensation he barely recognized: home.
This.
This was what he wanted. This was what he sought when he left Earth two centuries ago. This was the burning need that sustained him through the darkness. This was what breathed life back into him.
There was no future without Emma.
She was an immovable force, tethering him to the world.
To himself.
He understood what his brother tried to tell him.