Chapter Fourteen
Rex
“ Y ou should really get a mold assessment done in here.” My nose tickles as I eye the age-yellowed tiles of the office ceiling and the faux wood paneling everywhere.
The formidable orc woman sitting across the desk from me doesn’t move a muscle, except for a slight snarl above one of her tusks. My probation officer, Miss Gertie Dale.
“Sorry.” I hold up my hands. “You should really get a mold assessment done in here, ma’am .”
She closes her eyes slowly and takes a fortifying breath. “Mr. Perchaz. Stop avoiding the issue at hand.”
“Yikes. That’s my dad’s name. Rex is fine.”
“Rex. Focus.” She steeples her fingers and leans forward on her elbows, fixing me with an ice-cold, zeroed-in stare. “You’re working too much.”
I make a funny sound with my lips. “Come on, now. I think this horn tracker doohickey is on the fritz. Half the time my compliance officer checks me in and out, it blinks red. Like, really fast. It’s kinda freaking her out. Can I get a newer model?”
“It’s not broken. It’s a valid error message when you log over forty hours a week. I’ve tried to explain this to you.” She sighs and shuffles through some paperwork on her desk. “You’re working too much.” With a manicured green finger, she slides a report with my name at the top over to me, pointing at a bulleted list. “Twenty-one hours per week is the average needed to complete your probation on time. In your first month, you averaged forty-five. Per week. That’s too much.”
I smile. Fuck yeah. Working my ass off for Birdie. I store the number away in the back of my mind. That should impress her. Get me a few more kisses of gratitude.
“Hey.” She snaps, drawing my gaze back up. “That’s a problem. Your only saving grace is that in November you got down in the single digits average per week, so the total is evening out, but this week, your hours are in the fifties.”
I rub my jaw, thumb scratching through the scruff. The lower hours were when I was helping trim and prep the trees for the farm to open for the holiday season. Lately, her family’s been helping run the Christmas tree business while I spent time fixing her fences. Too many of the goats have been getting loose and giving Birdie heart palpitations.
“I’m a model citizen, what can I say?” I hold my arms out, like I deserve an award. “She’s running a real important animal rescue and it’s my job to take care of the big guys in the barn. I do what I can to keep them safe. You really want to jeopardize animal safety?”
“Why did the hours lower last month?”
“Tree trimming. She pays me for that since it’s part of the for-profit side of the ranch. For the animal-welfare side, she just kinda forgot to use that bracelet thingy to log my hours most days, but I have to admit, I like reminding her. Sometimes it leads to—” I stop myself. Fuck, I was about to spill the beans about how often my clocking in and out leads to cornering her in a barn until we’re kissing like crazy. Bad demon! That’s private fucking business. Get your head on straight, asshole.
“I can have a chat with your CSC Officer to ensure she understands the importance of—”
“No,” I growl. Birdie still probably thinks us bumping uglies is inappropriate or what-the-fuck-ever. Talking to Officer Gertie Dale is gonna snuff out my fragile chance with her real quick. I lean forward. “This is between you and me.”
“You said she forgets.”
Smoke curls out of my nostrils. I fucked up, running my mouth as usual.
“I forget.” I put a hand over my heart. “The work is mostly independent, so that shit is my responsibility. I’ll do better.” My temples heat, the demon instinct to turn this situation back in my favor is close. “But think about it. If you convinced her to log more of my hours, wouldn’t that make the problem worse?”
“True.” She props her head on one hand and assesses me. “So stop working so much. Keep an eye on your total service hours balance on the website and adjust accordingly. If you’re over forty hours in a week, the tribunal has no procedures for how to compensate you.”
“That website is shit,” I grumble, then her last sentence flickers back through my awareness. “Wait. I’m trying to read between the lines here. You’re saying Judge Grimshaw has to cut me a check for any hours I work over?” I grin and lean my elbows on her desk. “Now that would be something. Really stick it to the man.”
“No.” She throws her hands up. A defensive posture. I’m onto something here. “What I’m saying is the tribunal has never been faced with a demon criminal who likes to work for free as much as you do. Our system is coded to accept up to forty hours per week, but because of your projected trajectory, leadership is looking into international labor laws and starting an internal audit of the time card system. They’ve been holding weekly meetings to discuss a remedy.”
I laugh. “That’s fucking ridiculous. I’m volunteering. Non-demons do it all the time. It’s, like, my free choice or whatever.”
“You know as well as I do a daemon tribunal doesn’t see it that way. Especially if you’re clocking in and out in their system of record. I told the judge I’d speak with you. Convince you to stop sending our technical team and executive leadership into a tailspin.”
I fold my arms in front of me, debating. While it would be a gag if the ancient court had to send me a magical bag of golden money or whatever, they could just as easily put Birdie on the hook to pay me for the hours, and fuck that.
“Work. Less,” she repeats. “You only have eighteen hours left before you reach your quota. We will find a remedy to stop you from logging too much.”
Ugh. Eighteen hours and I still have almost a month left. Working less means losing the twice-daily reminder I give Birdie to lift her delicate little wrist up to my horn. Most days, with the tree farm in full production mode, it’s the only time we’re physically in each other’s presence.
Some days, it leads to running my nose along her forearm which turns into little pecks and nips at her skin and then we’re making out in a haystack. I’m loath to give up a single opportunity to distract her, even if it’s just one more time. Every volunteer hour counts.
“How the fuck am I in trouble for working too much for a good cause?” I grouse. “This is some bullshit.”
She sighs. “You and your two friends are giving me more trouble than any of the hardened criminals I’ve ever dealt with!”
“Pfft!” I bulk up my shoulders. “I’m hardened. I’ve done time.”
“And I’ve seen your record, tough guy. You haven’t spent more than a long weekend incarcerated, and then only for petty crimes. Drag racing. Tagging. Public indecency at a water polo event.”
“That was a misunderstanding.”
She gives me a quelling look. “I’m not buying that you’re some hardened criminal, Mr. Perchaz.”
“Rex,” I grumble.
“And anyway, if you are a reformed model citizen as you say, you can learn to start following the rules and work less.”
Fucking relentless, this lady.
“Eighteen hours for the rest of my time barely covers morning chores. I’ve got way more to do than that.” In my mind, that’s only a couple workdays. One or two chances max to seduce Birdie in close quarters.
“Then do good on your own time. Take a few days off, for fate’s sake.”
I scratch my forehead then rub my temples. Fuck. Even if I did explain the limited hours to Birdie, that I can only formally log a few more hours for probation and can keep volunteering off the books, it'll just remind her of the truth—my end date, when there’s no more reason to stay on the ranch.
I refuse to leave early. I’ve gotta draw this out. Or go over. Or . . . something.
We’ve just made a breakthrough together, an unspoken truce that’s also become a hunger for more. My chance with her is now , and I refuse to fuck it up.
In the two weeks since I fell into the lake, we haven’t gone beyond kissing, but the slow burn is burning. Something between us is building, not a crazy fluke she can laugh off. It feels real this time.
“What’s really going on?” Officer Dale asks, her perceptive blue-green eyes narrowing at me.
Well, fuck, I’m not about to give her my whole life story. What’s between me and Birdie isn’t any of this orc’s damn business. I shrug and shake my head. Play dumb.
“When I get bored, I burn things.”
She blinks at me slowly with no expression, then heaves a weary sigh and mutters to herself while clicking at her mouse and staring at her screen. “I’ll be glad to see the backside of you.”
“That’s what she said.”
The look she cuts me is unamused. Over her head I see the clock tick to the top of the hour. It’s five-o’ clock somewhere. And that somewhere is right freaking here. I slap my knees and stand up.
“Listen, this has been a barrel of court-ordered fun, but I’ve got chores to do and a showerhead to install. Priorities.”
She stares me down.
“None of that’s on the clock. Promise.” I put my hands up and back toward the door. “Today’s my day off. Mostly.”
She blinks at me again, so I relent with some reassuring finger guns.
“Work less. Message received.”
She lifts her chin to the door. “Get out of my office.”
I salute her. Being respectful of your superiors is important. “See you next month, Officer Dale. The pleasure was all yours, I’m sure.”
L ucky Magic Diner is on fire.
Not literally, though my excitement over their broccoli cheese soup in a bread bowl did almost have my fingers sparking with childlike glee. This shit is fucking good. I slurp it up and make a note to order a few bowls to go. Birdie would love this.
“Nothing to say for yourself?” my brother, Rom, cuts in.
I glare at him, still hunched over my food. Busting my balls, as usual.
“What’s done is done.” I shrug and dig back in.
“You exploded a statue in the middle of town. Someone could’ve been killed, Rex. The damage to the small businesses along the plaza has been all the Chamber of Commerce has talked about for weeks.”
“Then they’d know there’s a process for damage claims.” I shrug. “The court’s covering that with our fees. My friends have been racking up enough penalties with their antics to float repairs for all the cute latticework fences or whatever your business owner buddies need.”
Rom glares. “That doesn’t sit right with some of them.”
Oh. Demons. I huff and take another bite before continuing, “Listen, if people want to keep the property damage off the books—lower insurance rate, avoid paperwork, whatever—have them text me. I’ll fix it up, no cost. I’ve come into some free time lately,” I grumble begrudgingly, imagining all the kisses I’m forgoing trying to follow the stupid fucking rules and be a good dude.
Noelle is smiling at me and I have no idea why.
“What’re you grinning at, lunatic?”
She giggles. “You blew up Alaric Infernus! You have no idea. There are more locals that want to kiss you guys than harangue you. Rom is mostly annoyed because it was a little dangerous.”
“A little?” He looks at her then glares at me. “Noelle likes to roller skate at night to clear her head. If she’d been down that way—”
“Just protective demon fiancé things.” Noelle squeezes his arm and kisses his shoulder. His jaw juts out, but he leans over and gives her a peck on the forehead.
“Sap.” I say.
“Goon.”
“Dickwad.”
“Bonehead.”
“Stop it, you two!” Noelle says. “That statue was a public hazard with those old natural gas lines. I signed a petition a few months ago to have it removed. But really, it’s an open secret that Alaric Infernus was a real piece of work back in his day. You know Judy, the bailiff, has been trying to track down video footage of the explosion.”
My face falls. “Oh fuck, would that bring our sentence back into question?”
“No! Everyone just wants to see it. You really exploded it? I mean, you must have. People were picking pieces out of the bushes for days. It was like a treasure hunt. I heard someone got a thousand bucks for his severed hand in an online auction.”
“I actually started it.” I puff up. “Thought it would be funny to melt that old dirtbag’s face off. Then, my buddy Vale threw a fireball at his chest. The gas lanterns caught fire and”—I smirk, making an explosion with my fist—“boom.”
“So cool,” she says, starry-eyed.
You know, Noelle isn’t half bad. A real sweetheart, actually. I lean back, soaking in the appreciation for my clearly well-intentioned public service. I really am shaping up to be quite the role model.
“Dessert?” I toss the smaller menu toward them, riding the good guy high. “My treat.”
“That’s so generous, Rex.” Noelle looks over the menu while my brother studies me.
Demons don’t comp meals for nothing. He knows there’s something on my mind, a favor at a minimum. Thanks to Birdie paying me for working the tree farm lately, I’ve got some money in my pocket, so I offered to pay for their dinner once they got here. They’re honor bound to hear me out in exchange for a meal.
“Well, what is it?” As expected, Rom is tracking the situation just fine.
“What is what?” Noelle looks up, then turns to Rom. “Will you split a butter cake in huckleberry sauce with me?”
“Add some ice cream and you’ve got a deal, goddess.”
She grins and gets the waitress’s attention.
I order a fudge sundae with extra cherries and some soup to-go.
Rom’s eyebrow quirks. “Well?”
“I need your help.”
Noelle clasps Rom’s arm tightly. “Finally!”
Rom smiles and shakes his head.
“You don’t even know what it is.” I stare at her.
“Rex! We’ve been worried sick about you for two months. You disappear. We hear you’re living in a barn! Are you doing okay? Have you been getting enough to eat?” She passes me a cracker packet, which I tear open, pausing just before I bite.
“You guys have been worried?”
“We’re family.” Rom shrugs. “So you need help. How’d you get in trouble this time?”
I roll my eyes. Classic family fuckup is what he thinks. “It’s actually about Birdie.”
Noelle’s face falls, moisture brimming on her bottom lashes. She looks stricken. “How is she? I shouldn’t pry, I know I shouldn’t, but is she okay? A few of her friends, me included, have tried to call her but she’s so quiet these days. I’m sure she’s been through the wringer emotionally. Let her know she can always call me. I can be an ear to listen in, a shoulder to cry on—”
I hold up a hand. My future sister-in-law is kind of a lot sometimes. Like, take a breath, girl. I hold my tongue and focus on what’s important.
“Birdie’s fine. Better than fine. She got me to build her some shit—a big ole tent for field trips and educational stuff. Nearby that, she’s got a new outlook spot with one of those big viewing scopes like at national parks.”
“Mom would love that,” Rom says.
“The telescope thing?”
“You know how into bird-watching she is.”
I nod. Last year, I built a little pond and put up some feeders so Mom could nerd out with her binoculars over morning coffee. When we were kids, she used to raise scarlet finches, a local cave-nesting bird. They didn’t like me much but ate right out of her hand.
“I bet she’d go crazy for Sunny.” I laugh, imagining Mom meeting Birdie’s venomous death owl. I'd like to see that. It does something funny to my chest. Mom would love Birdie—a brainiac who built a thriving ranch from scratch while doing good at the same time. Birdie would wow her. But could she ever meet my mom in the context of being, well, mine?
“Sunny is the little green owl, right?” Noelle asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nod. Am I just another stray she’s taken in? An almost criminal begging for scraps of her attention?
“Sounds like you’ve really been helping out.”
I shrug. It’s true enough, but I’m nowhere near confident I deserve more from her besides being the best damn rebound she could ask for. I want more, but is it realistic?
“I figured you’d be the perfect volunteer for her on account of you both being animal lovers.”
I shake my head with a chuckle. That’s a generous assessment, hinging on the fact I mostly just don’t like people. Animals don’t talk. Animals' needs are simple. Animals are easy to understand.
“I can’t believe she’s finally doing it!” Noelle says with an excited wiggle.
“Doing what?” I’ve been too lost in my head. Thankfully, this lady can keep up a conversation with a fence post. Case in point, marrying my introverted brother.
“Her work with local wildlife! It’s what she’s meant to do. I was so excited when she renamed the ranch Wild Hearts. It’s just perfect .” Noelle beams. I notice she left off the Retreat part of the title, probably because it never quite fit. “We went on a hike once and it was the cutest thing. She’s like some kind of magical princess, traipsing around whispering to birds and squirrels. She knows so many fun facts about them, it’s crazy! And then last year, she donated some historic handwritten journals to the library that she picked up at a garage sale. It’s an account of the first ornithologist to visit the area.”
“Yeah. Birdie’s fucking awesome.” I nod, a little dumbstruck. Damn, Noelle really does know everything about everyone. “Anyway, the help I need is with this big holiday event she’s planning for the ranch. It’ll be a couple days before Christmas, on the winter solstice.”
“Eeee!” Noelle squeals and reaches across the table, grabbing my hand. “Tell me all about it.”
I give them both the rundown of what Birdie’s got lined up for the Wild Hearts Holiday event, even though some of the activities sound kinda goofy to me. I mean, children sitting on the lap of a grown man in a costume? Noelle assures me they’re very appropriate for Christmas and will draw a big crowd. She’s fully on board and already making to-do lists about the fliers she can print out and how she’ll pop into all three school campuses to distribute them before kids go on break.
Rom suggests Perkatory sponsor a hot chocolate stand since our family business is still relatively new in town and the marketing budget has wiggle room. Why didn’t I think of that? When I tell Birdie, I’ll have to make it sound like it was at least half my idea.
With a couple of hugs, my to-go order in hand, and a promise to call Mom soon, I leave the diner with a full belly and two enthusiastic volunteers. Birdie will be very pleased. Pleased enough to give me a thank-you kiss? A horny demon can dream.
I find my lovely Umbran steed in the Hellfyre Inn garden right where I left her, chomping on some chili peppers. Mimi has been a good girl all morning on the ride up and well-behaved now, as I untie her and hop back on.
We trot merrily through town, earning a few curious stares, before making our way out of town and back toward the ranch. I stay just off the main road since I don’t know the side trails as well as Birdie. With the recent cold snap and snowfall covering the fields, it’s the smarter choice.
As we pass an old abandoned mill, Mimi stops short. My heels dig in to stay stable, and I pat her neck, looking around. “What is it, sweetheart?”
She prances over to a bush and nudges her nose at the middle, then down toward the ground.
I hear a high-pitched chattery noise followed by a hiss, and then I see the source—a calico kitten, no bigger than my hand, and that’s being generous. Its back is arched and they’re dancing side to side, trying to look big when there’s no hiding the fact they’re mostly skin and bones. Likely lost or abandoned out in the snow, alone.
I hop down on the opposite side of the horse and keep her reins in one fist while edging around her other side.
“Here, kitty, kitty.”
The little bean’s attention switches on a dime, from the horse head snuffling up in its space to me. They scoot further back under the brush with a noticeable limp. More hissing and high-pitched yowling follows as Mimi tries to follow with her nose. There’s some blood on the ground, not a lot, but enough to tell me the poor thing’s probably injured.
“Sorry, little one. I can’t leave you like this.” I drop to the ground. My free hand shoots out, snatching them up in one fell swoop. They scratch and howl and shake, but I hold firm, switching my hold to the scruff of their neck. Standing back up, I assess. “A girl, then. Hmm. Skinny as a stick bug. Got a nasty cut on your foot too.” I murmur an easy spell to heat up my hands, just a soft, warm glow, not fire exactly. When I place one hand flat for her feet, the change is instant. She stops fighting. Freezes. Then, one foot presses cautiously against my heated skin. Another soft step. When her claws retract, I loosen the hand holding her neck a tad and give a tentative scratch with two fingers, up and down near the top of her skull. She leans into the caress, paws at me twice more, and starts purring.
“Feels nice, huh?” I give her a second to relax and sniff around.
She’s pretty small and I’m not sure the protocols on food, but I hold her up to the front pocket of my overalls to see if she—
“Yep. Found my last piece of beef jerky, didn't you?” She dives into my pocket and goes feral, head thrashing as she tries to tear into it. That should keep the little killer busy and, I hope, distracted. I cup my hand securely over her tiny body as I hop back in the saddle and get comfortable. I crane my face down to check in once more and her smell hits me like a slap in the face.
“Oof, you’re a stinky little imp, huh? A real mess and a half.” I grin and click my tongue to get the horse walking again. "Birdie’s gonna love you."