Page 28 of My Orc Package Deal

Kesha wasn’t my Mate. But she’d brought me something I hadn’t known I was missing—not a replacement or a consolation.

A family.

I looked down at the boys—Jay cramming chips into his sandwich like a brick mason, the way I’d taught him years ago, and Milo methodically eating his own chips one at a time, his breathing finally calm—and felt something blooming in my chest.

Pride.

This was my family. Mine.

Chapter Six

Kesha

The library’s meeting room smelled like old paper, lemon-scented wood polish, and the faint, lingering ghost of Patti LaRue’s bergamot tea.

I hunched over my notepad, my pen flying. Zoe, the librarian with the serene smile and the steely gaze of someone who’d seen it all—from what Korrad had told me about her Mate, Luxor, she probably needed that steel to handle his goofiness—was wrapping up the treasurer’s report. My shorthand was a mess of abbreviations and doodles—a tiny, angry-looking lighthouse in the margin next to the line item for “custom relocation cradle.”

This was my first assignment for the Eastshore Gazette: cover the Historic Preservation Society’s progress on moving the island’s ancient lighthouse. Not editing someone else’s flowery prose about it, but producing the flowery prose myself. Yikes.

The pressure was a low, familiar hum in my temples, a relic of a thousand deadlines. But this one felt different. It wasn’t “get this right or lose the client.” It was “get this right because these people are counting on you.”

These people.

I snuck a glance around the massive oak table. Korrad sat to my left, his huge frame making the antique chair look like kindergarten furniture. He was taking his own notes in a small, surprisingly neat script, his brow furrowed in concentration. Safety inspections, load-bearing calculations—his domain.

To my right, Jocelyn was a live wire of controlled excitement. She had a sleek tablet propped in front of her, her presentation queued and ready. She caught my eye and winked as if saying Can you believe we’re here?

Across from me, Mr. Augustus—sorry, Agoooostus was how he pronounced it—Frapp adjusted the ruffles of his canary-yellow cravat. He was maybe seventy, with a shock of white hair and ridiculously well-moisturized hands. Joceyln was real buddy-buddy with him, and had told me about his property near the lighthouse; the original Jackson Pollocks he owned, the groovy “conversation pit” in the middle of the living room, and his pet tiger.

He’d already pledged an eye-watering sum to the project and seemed to view the whole endeavor as the most delightful theatrical production.

“So,” Zoe said, closing a folder. “The foundation permits are finalized. The new site in the historic district is prepped. Which brings us to the main event. Jocelyn, the floor is yours.”

Joss stood up, smooth and professional. “Thank you, Zoe. And thank you all for being here.” She tapped her tablet, and a detailed 3D rendering of the lighthouse—a proud white tower with wide burgundy stripes and a cute little burgundy-roofed structure attached—appeared on the wall-mounted screen.

“As of yesterday, the full survey of the immediate cliffside is complete. We’re ready to move on to the next stage, which is to coordinate with the specialized moving company to begin discussions about moving the structure. I will continue to catalogue artifacts as I find them”—she nodded to Mr. Frapp—”and Aggie and I will determine if they should be displayed in his home or in the museum, depending on if they have significance to his family or to the town. Is that acceptable?”

Patti was already nodding. She wore a tweed suit that probably cost more than my car, and her silver hair was in a perfect chignon. “Fine by me. Once we see what goodies come out of the ground in the next few years, I’m hoping to convince the town to pay for a little remodel of my place, so I can still offer tea in the big room, and have a dedicated artifact space.”

“I think that’s reasonable,” Joceyln agreed. “It’ll go well with the lighthouse once it’s moved beside your building.”

A ripple of pleased murmurs went around the table. A cheerful older woman named Marjorie, who owned the knitting shop, clapped her hands softly. “Oh, it’s really happening.”

“The timeline hinges on the construction of the new foundation and the support cradle at the new location,” Joss continued, gesturing to Korrad.

He cleared his throat, a low rumble that drew every eye. He didn’t stand, just leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the table. “My crew starts pouring the new foundation this month. The cradle specs are approved. It’s a tight schedule, but it’s doable. We’ve built in contingencies for weather—I’ve heard about your hurricane season on this coast. Safety is the priority, for the structure and for everyone working on it.”

His voice was calm, certain. It was the same tone he used when explaining to the boys why you measure twice, cut once. A warm, solid feeling spread through my chest. I scribbled Korrad: safety, contingencies, on schedule.

My pen lingered on the final word. Nouns, all three. I had a weakness for nouns; they were the load-bearing walls of a sentence.

“What about the lantern room glass?” Patti LaRue asked, her voice as refined as the porcelain cup in front of her. “It’s original nineteenth-century French crystal. It can’t be jostled.”

“It’ll be removed prior to transport,” Joss assured her. “Individually crated and padded. We’re treating it like the crown jewels.”

“As one should,” Augustus boomed, tapping a jeweled cane against the floor for emphasis. “Drama, my dear! We must document the drama of the move! I’ve hired a cinematographer. Think of the fundraising potential!”

The meeting dissolved into friendly chaos of logistics and enthusiasm. Thebes and Ashlyn Anderson arrived fashionably late, slipping into two empty chairs near the door. Thebes was… well. He was an orc. They were all big and handsome in a rugged, “I could bench-press a Volkswagen” kind of way. But Thebes had the kind of symmetrical face and effortless smile that clearly photographed well, which explained his popularity on social media and his unofficial position as “orc ambassador”. He was wearing a perfectly fitted charcoal henley that showed off his build. I might have stared for a half-second longer than was strictly necessary.