Page 7 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Six

Emma

Sweetwater Point

The Tavern

Emma touched the shell of her ear. It tingled from the orc’s—Hal’s—whisper. His proximity. What had that touch been? His tusks?

Any wonder and bemused bafflement was quickly replaced by indignation when the sheriff slapped cuffs on her wrists.

“Miscreants. Plural,” Nina said.

Hal

Sweetwater Point

Hal would never blend into a crowd. Even with the hat pulled down and the scarf covering the lower half of his face, he was too tall, too broad, and, well, too green.

Up it was.

He slipped behind the building, randomly weaving his way through the back alley until he found a sturdy drain pipe. The metal groaned under his weight, but it held.

Snow fell in chunks as he hauled himself over the edge. The roof offered some protection as long as he stayed away from the edge and moved carefully.

Holding himself still, he listened for shouts, cries of alarm, or anything that indicated his escape had been spotted.

Nothing.

On his stomach, he crept toward the edge. People moved on the street. Uniformed figures burst out of the tavern. A woman in a pale blue coat followed, her pace leisurely. She scanned the street, pointing and giving orders.

Then his heart stopped.

Led by a guard, Emma shuffled out, her hands bound in cuffs.

Arrested.

The woman in the blue coat grabbed Emma by the elbow and marched her down the center of the street.

He might have been from another time and another planet, but he recognized a perp walk.

People paused to watch. Traffic stopped. Emma lifted her chin and walked tall with her back straight, refusing to be shamed. They disappeared into a wooden building with signage for the sheriff’s office over the door.

As he watched, his fingers brushed the scarlet scarf he’d taken from Emma. It smelled of her soap, herbal and clean. Rosemary and lavender. Under that was a musk, something earthy and primal. He pressed the wool to his nose, breathing it in.

He wanted to jump down and intervene, but had to watch and do nothing, as much as it pained him. Even with his stature and large build, there were too many; he’d be overwhelmed.

Emma was not panicking. She walked calmly and with dignity, not with the terror of someone being dragged to their doom. Hal had to trust that whatever local authority had arrested her was also a fair and just authority. As much as he loathed doing nothing, he had to wait for Emma’s release.

He had not wanted to leave her in the tavern, either. It took everything in him not to toss her over his shoulder and run off with her like some cartoon caveman. That was the only sensible thing he’d done all day.

He shouldn’t have followed her.

He shouldn’t have gone into the tavern.

He definitely shouldn’t have started that fight.

But the admiration on her face and, he noted with satisfaction, the attraction had been worth it. Broken glass cut a dozen thin lines into his arms, but he did not feel the sting. All those witnesses, though…that would be a problem.

Hal’s experience with his world was extremely limited but he knew people generally did not look like him. He made a spectacle of himself. His brother would discover his location and capture him again. Or someone else would want the novelty of possessing a green monster. He’d seen that movie and didn’t need to live it. He refused to spend any more time in a cage.

Remaining on the roof would leave him exposed; anyone in a taller building could easily spot him. He needed to hide until dark, when he could slip out of town unnoticed, but that was hours away.

He headed toward the tallest building, carefully easing down the pitched roof. Slate shingles were not the most traction-friendly material. The red scarf unwound, sliding off his neck as he jumped onto the next roof. The woolen material fluttered in the air, threatening to fall to the ground.

Hal grabbed the scarf, causing him to land awkwardly. Fortunately, the gap between buildings had not been large. Unfortunately, the snow hid the metal roof underneath.

The sheet metal reverberated as his weight landed on it, knocking snow to the ground. His boots slipped, sending even more snow downward.

If this was his attempt at being inconspicuous, he failed.

Hal threw himself flat against the roof, waiting to hear a shout from below when the law spotted him. He would not be caged again. He would not.

None came. A lucky break, for once.

Careful to step quietly, Hal made his way toward the tallest building. Tall being relative. It was three stories tall, hardly the skyscraping towers he remembered.

This place, though, felt familiar. He couldn’t say why exactly. In all this time in captivity, his brother had sketched out the basics of what happened. The colony ship went off course. The new planet had complications.

Mutations, to be exact. That he knew. Ethan had been transformed into a vampire. Hal into… this.

That was as far as the conversation went. Draven never mentioned the world outside his mountain fortress. Hal never asked.

The buildings crowded together haphazardly with little concern for safety codes or regulations. The town was like something out of a historical drama. Quaint. People in costumes. The entire situation felt unreal, like a glass barrier separated him from reality.

The tall building was a music hall or theater. He entered through an attic window. Footsteps of a dozen people in a hurry sounded below, along with chatter and shouted orders. There was the rhythmic stomping of feet, which meant dancing and the noise of a band.

No one bothered with the attic. It appeared to be used for storage. Judging from the dust, no one had been in the attic in some time.

It was dry and out of the wind. Despite the cold seeping in through the uninsulated walls, it was the ideal spot to wait until dark.

Then what? Return to the abandoned cabin? Return to Emma’s barn? Hal had no real plan. Living moment to moment as he had, imagining any kind of future seemed presumptuous.

Hal waited. He failed. Patience was never a strength.

Moving as quietly as possible, he searched through the old trunks and boxes. Frilly sequined costumes filled trunk after trunk. They were amusing but not useful. He found a dusty makeup box. The pans of paint had dried up, but a tube of white grease paint remained usable. He smeared the white paint on the back of his hand, testing the coverage. It hid the green completely.

Very useful. The grease paint wouldn’t fool anyone up close, but with the scarf covering his lower face, it might be enough to escape notice if he kept a low profile.

He tucked the tube into the coat’s inner pocket and patted the lump, pleased that he had a plan. Wait until dark. Return to Emma’s barn.

Presumptuous, he knew, to rely on her hospitality. She had been kind to him once before, but no further obligation existed.

On her side, at least. Hal felt an obligation to repay her kindness. How remained a mystery, which summed up his existence nicely.

More waiting. Music drifted up through the floorboards. For the first time since he fled Lord Draven’s mountain fortress, he had time to sit with his thoughts.

He didn’t enjoy the experience.

That persistent glass barrier he sensed earlier kept him detached from much of his memories. He could see them but not reach them, touch them to confirm that they were real and not wishful thinking. He came from a world with advanced technology, but those luxuries were for the wealthy. For the working, for those barely scraping by, the flying cars, household automatons, and spaceships might as well have been fairy tales. For far too many people, clean air and water were unreal. He knew all that, but it felt like another person’s lived experience.

Not him. Someone else called Hal Radcliffe.

He adjusted the scarf, inhaling the scent of rosemary and lavender.

Emma was real. More real than phantom memories. There was a pull that connected them. He didn’t understand only that it was more than the kindness she showed him. It was real.

She made him real.