Page 8 of Mistletoe

Emma satthrough dinner and the Christmas Carol reading, too distracted to enjoy the story of the miser and the ghosts. Her father performed the same story every year since she was a child, complete with voices and dramatics. This year, her mind sorted through a catalog of Felix’s garments that she thought might fit the orc, possibly even a pair of old boots.

“My apologies if you find the story dull,” her father said, snapping the book shut.

Oscar stood in front of the fire, setting the book on the mantle. It was purely a prop, as his degenerating vision made him unable to read the pages. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his features, currently fixed in a scowl. Her father had a pleasant disposition, if absent-minded at times, but he was also prideful. He did not like being ignored.

“No, it’s not that. I’m missing Felix.” Heat flushed her cheeks at the lie because she should be worried about her brother. Instead, she schemed on how to outfit a monster, of whom she should be terrified. Whose presence she should have reported immediately to a monster hunter or, at the very least, informed her parents.

She had been face-to-face with a monster and she felt… fluttery. It was most disagreeable.

“Yes,” Oscar said, his expression softening. “I suppose it’s ridiculous to carry on as if nothing has changed, but I’m at a loss for an alternative. It seems wrong to let circumstances steal our joy.”

The entire dinner, the family smiled and acted as if nothing were wrong, but so much was amiss. Felix was gone, conscripted for at least a year to fight monsters, Emma was at the end of her tether trying to hold the farm together, and there was a monster in the barn.

A very big, very naked monster.

Whose existence she kept secret from her parents. If she told them, what would they do? Her mother would fret and search her recipes for a tonic to poison the monster. The success of said tonic was low, but Agatha would certainly throw herself in harm’s way to deliver it. Oscar would make a dramatic speech about a man defending his family, march to the barn, armed with nothing more than his poetic sensibilities and maybe the fire poker, and promptly be mauled.

No. Keeping her mouth shut was the best way to keep her family safe. Right now, the monster was… well, unclothed and not doing any harm. She’d bring him a meal and clothes as promised. Hopefully, he’d move along to haunt another barn.

Having reached that decision, the tension inside her stomach eased. She couldn’t do anything about her brother, but she had a handle on the orc situation.

“No one is allowed to steal our joy,” Emma said, smiling. She handed the book back to her father. “Felix would want you to finish the story.”

The monster would either be in the barn waiting for her or not. Chewing her fingernails and fretting only made her miserable and wouldn’t affect the outcome either way.

“How about another mug of mother’s spiced wine?” Oscar asked, accepting the book.

“Sounds perfect.” She’d drink the spiced wine and enjoy the night.

Emma waiteduntil the household went to sleep before rifling through Felix’s old castoffs, searching for something large enough to fit the creature. With every creak in the house, she paused, listening for movement. She found a shapeless brown sweater, a well-patched pair of trousers, and an old pair of boots. The leather was soft, and Emma hoped it would stretch enough to accommodate the orc’s feet.

Next, she crept into the kitchen to gather food for the monster. The stubborn part of her protested that she, a thirty-year-old woman, should not have to sneak about in the dark in her own house, but she really didn’t want to explain the naked orc in the barn to her ma or why Emma felt the need to feed him.

Ma would summon a monster hunter and Emma didn’t want that. Not until she knew the orc meant them harm. The orc was cold and alone in the middle of the winter. He needed help, not an executioner.

She considered the basket. Inside was a meal large enough to feed two hungry adults, but was it enough? How much did an orc eat? She tossed in another apple, the skin at the early stages of withering. The simple fact that she didn’t make much food to spare overshadowed any embarrassment she might feel at the less-than-ideal apple.

It’ll taste just fine.

By the time Emma returned with the clothes and food, the orc was gone. She left the items in a neat little pile on a hay bale.

They were gone by morning.

Hal

West Lands

Hal devoured the food and dressed. The obviously hand-knit sweater stretched over his torso, but it fit. Barely. The trousers were too short and the boots pinched his feet. The blanket he kept and wore as a cloak.

He wouldn’t complain. The woman showed him kindness—an unfamiliar experience—but he couldn’t linger. He left the barn in the dark hours before dawn. The dark was familiar, his constant companion for an unknown time. Moon and starlight were more than enough to illuminate his path. He navigated the landscape easily and found an abandoned cabin not far away. The floor was dirt, and the walls were rotten canvas over sod, but it was a shelter.

Hal hesitated, unsure if he should stop. The desire to put as much distance between himself and the mountains made his skin itch, but he needed to rest. He needed time to think.

He was still green. Still had tusks. A low-level rage still simmered inside. His senses were still hyper-sharp. The cabin stank with damp and mildew. Desperate to breathe clean air, he stumbled outside for relief.

No such luck. The air outside was too crisp, stinging in his lungs. The cold bit harder, even with the ill-fitting clothes and shoes the woman provided.

Gaps existed in his memory. He knew who he was—Hal Radcliffe—and all that. Memories of Earth were distant, like a gauzy curtain hung between himself and the past. That was fine. Life on Earth had been a struggle. There was a reason he and his brother left.

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