Chapter One
Maddie
Myfeethurtliketwin bitches playing volleyball on a bed of hot coals.
It's no surprise, since I've been standing for the past twenty-two hours. Something has taken up residence behind my righteye and started redecorating the insides of my skull in bright red.
It has views. It has opinions.
I've been running that number in my head since sometime around hour eleven. I wasn't supposed to pick up a double shift at the Shop-N-Save today, but Mrs. Halloran's niece called out sick again and she had no one else to cover for her.
Well, that's not exactly true. She could have called Maggie or Billy, but I jumped on the chance for some extra buck as soon as she hung up the phone and looked in my direction.
It's my third double shift this week. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll land another night shift at the nursing home, too. With Nelly Hansen on maternity leave, I'll be sure to get more calls.
And I need more. Desperately.
My stomach grumbles and I rest my forehead on the steering wheel of my ancient Toyota Corolla. I just need another few minutes to collect myself before going into the house.
I don't want Mom to see me like this. She always worries when I come back from a double and she doesn't need to worry right now.
Ugh. Another breath, another few precious seconds to collect myself and I straighten, get up on my aching legs, my aching back and my aching feet and walk out of my car and to the front door of my parents' house.
It's not locked. It's never locked. No one in Saltford Bay locks their door, even at night. Perks of a small town, I guess.
Or maybe it's because we know full well that we have nothing to steal, so why bother?
The front door sticks on the warped floorboard. I put a shoulder to it, get it open, and step inside.
"Maddie?"
Mom's voice comes from the kitchen. I toe off my shoes, set my bag down, and manage a "Yes Mom, it's me" that comes out less dead than I feel. Progress.
The smell that greets me in the kitchen sends my stomach into overdrive and another pang shoots through my midsection. It nearly sends me into a feral state.
Nearly.
Who knew that the cure for aching feet was onion and butter smell? Because it is. All my body aches are forgotten and as I step into the small and immaculate kitchen, my sole preoccupation is to fill my belly with as much food as I possibly can.
Grace Berwick is at the stove, her back to me, stirring something in the big skillet. Her jet-black hair is done in a long braid that reaches her waist and her green skin appears soft and weathered under the incandescent light.
"I made your favorite, lemon chicken with orzo. I hope you're hungry."
I open my mouth to answer, but I don't get a chance since a loud grumble fills the air with all the answer she needs. Mom turns, her eyebrows raised high, her amber eyes going straight to my stomach. Her lips twitch upward in that heartwarming smile she always has, then up to my face. Her tusks protrude on each side of her mouth, long and white, a testament to her orc nature.
"Duly noted. Hungry as an orc."
I can't not laugh at this.
"You're the best," I say as I step in closer to give her a hug.
She hugs me back and I lean into feeling small in her towering six-foot-three embrace. She's tall, even for an orc woman, and she always struck me as an invincible force of nature. But even a force of nature like her can be struck down.
Which is why I never skip a hug from her. Not even after a twenty-two-hour workday.
As my arms wrap around her broad back, I can't help but notice how thin she still is. Her shoulder blades are sharp under my palms and I can feel her ribs as she holds me close.
"How was your day?" she asks as she pulls back, then rearranges the oversized cardigan over her chest.
