I think about what Milo, Libby, Tess, and Charlotte told me about the krampus guy who’d bothered my wife. They all arrived in two cars, barely forty minutes after I’d dropped Imogene off. They’d texted and called me, of course, and then they arrived, Milo carrying in a barely coherent Imogene. They left us but said they’d be back with “reinforcements.”
I was too busy worrying about Imogene, Laurel, who wanted a bottle immediately, and the fact that I was supposed to work in a few hours, to press them on that.
“Immy, I want to hurt him, too. Isn’t he someone who hurts kids?”
She looks terrified. “He says all krampuses do. It’s in our natures. The only reason I haven’t hurt someone is because I... Because I didn’t have a chance. I was kept inside a house in the middle of nowhere.”
I look at Imogene and know she’s rattled, or this would have already occurred to her. “Honey. If you were going to hurt a human, keeping you isolated wouldn’t have mattered. You were literally with the bad people, the people who locked you away, who cut off your beautiful horns, your tail... Imogene, they deserve whatever you want to throw at them.”
“Not murder.”
“Okay. Not murder. Prison. A curse. Hey, isn’t Tessa a witch? You think she’d use a little magic to make Barton’s hair fall out? Or maybe he could grow a tail and horns?”
Immy cracks a tiny smile. “Maybe. But no! No, Arthur.”
Yipes. Full name.
“If I give in to some deep-seated evil urge and harm humans, then I’ll have to leave Pine Ridge. Dead or alive, I won’t be staying here. This town is for monsters who are gentle. Peaceful.”
“Um. That’s not entirely true, if you’ll pardon me for interrupting.”
I whirl. Mr. Wickstaff is standing in the doorway, his key dangling from his fingers and a giant picnic basket in his arms. “I heard there was a spot of bother in the market. Georgia sent me over with all of the day’s leftover pastries and breads. Some folks are traveling for Thanksgiving, but those of us who are still in town and aren’t on patrol are on the way over.”
Mr. Wickstaff is an Orc. I can see that now.
“Dinnae tell me ye had a wife and bairn,” he huffs.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know if he’s about to raise the rent or kick me out.
“Y’should’ve. We could have talked about you owning the place sooner than later, laddie. But that’s a conversation for later.”
“You might not want me to stay,” Imogene hugs herself and won’t look at our guest.
“I’m sorry, she’s upset.”
“Aye, and well she should be, some fool blathering at her, spreading lies. No, I know how some of us have lived, hiding in the shadows, never sure if we’d be spotted. But humans, no offense, Mr. Taylor, couldnae see a monster unless it bit ‘em. What do you know about Orcs, Mrs. Taylor?”
“They’re green?” she whispers.
“Aye, and they used to kill humans. Humans used to kill us, too. We fought for land. We’re bigger, but there have always been more humans. Now? My in-laws are Orc and human. My sister-in-law is human. My wife is half-human. So don’t you fret about some nonsense about you being bound to hurt others.”
“But if I do—”
“Do you want to?” he demands loudly.
Upstairs, Laurel lets out a sleepy wail. I risk a glare at the guy who could break me in half.
He winces, which is gratifying, and drops his voice. “I’m sorry. But answer.”
“No! I never want to hurt anyone. I love my husband. My baby. I want to stay here and keep them safe,” Imogene hugs herself again, and the sobs start over. I sit on the sofa and pull her into my lap, wrapping my arms tightly around her.
I swallow down the tears rising in my own throat. “This is the first place either of us has ever been safe. Ever had a happy home,” I explain, swallowing hard.
“Aye, and that’s good. That this is a happy home, that is. Mrs. Taylor, you said this is a place for gentle monsters. You’d be right. But what do you think gentle people do when they have to defend their homes and children? Let the evil monsters walk in and do their worst?”
Imogene lifts her head and shakes it slowly. “No?”
“You’re right.” Mr. Wickstaff puts the basket down and walks to the door. He opens it even before there’s a knock.
