Healed By the Grumpy Elf (Monsters of Saltford Bay #2)

Chapter 1

Maeve

“I’m bleeding, Nurse Maeve!”

Tommy Fangsworth looks up at me with watery eyes, his shoulders heaving as he tries, unsuccessfully, to repress a sob. His chubby little hand points to his right knee, where a shining wound contrasts with his soft brown fur.

As the school nurse for Saltford Bay Elementary, skinned knees and tummy aches are my bread and butter. And kindergarteners with boundless energy like Tommy are my most frequent visitors.

“My poor little friend!” I exclaim, taking him by the hand and guiding him inside my office.

He doesn’t wait to be told to hop onto the chair by the window, his little legs pumping.

"Did the dinosaur you were chasing bite back, or was it the monkey bars this time?"

I turn around to grab the cotton wipes to clean his skinned knee. It’s all a show, of course. Werewolves heal rapidly and by the time I turn back to him to clean his wound, it’s already closed and covered in fur.

"It was a dragon," Tommy corrects with all the seriousness his seven-year-old self can muster, fangs peeking out as he grins. "Dragons are way scarier than dinosaurs, Nurse Maeve. Everyone knows that."

His cherub face lights up and he flashes me a gap-toothed grin, exposing the small hole where his fang would soon grow.

Werewolf children are adorable, even when they fall and skin their knees on purpose just to get a lollipop.

"Well, next time you battle a dragon, maybe wear the kneepads your mom packed? Dragons play dirty."

He chuckles and wiggles excitedly on the chair as I offer him a purple lollipop. His favorite.

“Thank you, Nurse Maeve!”

I'm halfway through escorting him back out of my office when the unmistakable smell of singed hair wafts through my office door.

Ugh. Not again.

I watch Tommy walk through the hallway in progressively faster steps until he breaks into a run, then open my mouth to tell him to slow down, but the words don’t make it out of my mouth as the smell of burnt hair grows stronger and a frantic shout comes from the opposite direction.

"Coming!" I call, already reaching for the special shampoo I keep for this particular recurring emergency.

Two figures turn the corner, walking in my direction as fast as their legs can take them.

Ms. Grimsby, Harriet to me, with young Zinnia Sparkletoes clinging to her skirt.

Zinnia, a pixie kindergartener with iridescent wings and a penchant for pyrotechnics, has managed to set her own pigtails on fire. Again.

"Third time this month," Harriet says dryly, ushering the sniffling child forward. "We talked about practicing illumination spells during art time, Zinnia darling."

I crouch down to Zinnia's eye level, taking in the uneven, charred ends of her once-pink hair. "Well, hello there, my little matchstick. Let's get you fixed up, shall we?"

"Miss Maeve." Zinnia hiccups, a tiny tendril of smoke still coming from the tip of one pigtail. "I was just trying to make my drawing extra pretty."

"I know, sweetheart." I guide her to the sink in the corner of my office. "And I bet it was the most beautiful drawing in the class. But what's our rule about practicing spells in school?"

"It’s not allowed until fifth grade," she mumbles, her little wings drooping.

I nod, working the special fire-retardant shampoo into her singed hair. "That's right. Because even though magic is wonderful, it can sometimes be unpredictable. Like your lovely hair."

Harriet leans against the doorframe, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'll make sure she sits away from the art supplies for the rest of the week."

"Probably for the best." I rinse Zinnia's hair, now extinguished and smelling faintly of charcoal and peppermint. "There we go. All better. And look, you've got a new hairstyle!"

I spin her around to face the small mirror mounted on the wall, where she can see her newly shortened bob. It's a bit uneven, but nothing a proper haircut won't fix. Zinnia's face brightens, her wings perking up and sending little sparkles into the air.

"I look like a fairy warrior!" she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.

"The fiercest one I've ever seen," I agree, presenting her with a blueberry lollipop. It’s safe for pixies, who tend to get hyperactive with cherry flavoring. "Now, promise me you'll save the spells for magic class?"

She nods solemnly, taking the lollipop. "I promise, Nurse Maeve."

"Excellent. Now, Ms. Grimsby is going to take you back to class, okay?"

Zinnia skips over to Harriet, crisis forgotten in that miraculous way children have. As they turn to leave, the bell rings, signaling the start of lunch period.

"Perfect timing," Harriet says. "We'll see you in the lunchroom?"

I glance at the stack of paperwork on my desk, injury reports for parents, vaccination records to update, and a concerning number of permission slips for the upcoming field trip to Mermaid Cove that I really should organize.

But my stomach growls, reminding me I've been on my feet since six this morning.

"Save me a seat," I reply, running a hand through my own hair, which has mostly escaped its messy bun. "I just need to tidy up here."

The moment they leave, I collapse into my chair, spinning around to face the window that looks out over the playground.

Outside, the spring sun bathes the schoolyard in golden light.

Children race around, some flying, others climbing, a few practiced young wizards darting about in partial animal form.

It's organized chaos, but it's my chaos.

I'm about to get up and head to lunch when there's another knock at the door. This one is tentative, almost shy.

"Come in," I call, stifling a sigh and plastering on a fresh smile.

The door creaks open, revealing Gromm Stonefist, a six-grade orc with gray-green skin and the beginnings of tusks poking from his bottom lip. One of those tusks is now wobbling precariously, and tears well in his amber eyes.

"Nurse Maeve," he mumbles, his words slightly slurred around the loose tusk, "it hurts."

My lunch will have to wait.

"Come here, Gromm." I pat the examination table. "Let's take a look at that tusk."

He climbs up, his feet dangling over the edge, hands nervously fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. I pull on a pair of gloves and gently tilt his chin.

"Open wide for me?"

He does, revealing the baby tusk that's hanging by a thread. A milestone for young orcs, but a painful one.

"Well, it looks like you're growing up," I say cheerfully. "That baby tusk is ready to come out and make room for your big, strong adult tusk."

Gromm's eyes widen in fear. "Are you gonna pull it out?"

“Only if you want me to.” I recognize that look. It’s the same for all children, Others or humans. “But I think I have a better idea.”

I walk over to the small refrigerator I keep stocked with ice packs and special treats. From the freezer section, I pull out a carrot, rock-hard and frosted over.

"What's that for?" Gromm asks, suspicious.

"This"—I hand him the carrot—"is a special tusk helper. If you chew on this frozen carrot, it'll help numb your gum and maybe even help that tusk fall out all by itself. Much less scary than me pulling it, don't you think?"

Relief floods his face as he takes the carrot. "And it'll make me strong?"

"Carrots are full of vitamins that help you grow," I assure him. "And they're especially good for orcs with wobbly tusks."

That's not entirely scientifically accurate, but the placebo effect will work its wonders before recess is over, I’m certain of it. Gromm hops down, already gnawing on the carrot, his earlier tears forgotten.

"Thanks, Nurse Maeve!" he says around the vegetable, heading for the door.

"Remember, if it falls out, put it under your pillow for the Tusk Fairy!" I call after him.

The door has barely closed behind Gromm when it swings open again, revealing Harriet balancing her lunch box and two large coffees in her hands.

“Figured you were busy again,” Harriet says as I hurry over and take both mugs from her hands. “Then I got tired of hearing Principal Braggstone talk about his fishing trip last weekend. That troll really needs to learn how to read a room.”

“Oh, you’re a real lifesaver!” I almost inhale my first sip of piping hot, perfectly prepared coffee. Just a dash of milk, no sugar. Harriet knows me too well.

She should. She’s my bestie, after all.

“Speaking of reading a room,” Harriet continues, ignoring my persistent moans of pleasure as more caffeine fills my belly. “You need to carve time for yourself, girl. And not just to eat your lunch in peace.”

Harriet lifts her brows at me in that ‘teacher knows best’ way she has. “This is something you need to do. Go out. Have fun. Be selfish for once.”

I know she’s right. Can’t pour from an empty cup and all that.

“I’ll be selfish when I find the time to be selfish.”

Harriet scoffs and shakes her head.

I groan, sinking back into my chair, then I bend to the side to retrieve my carefully packed lunch.

Anticipation pulls my lips up in a smile as the delicious smell of fresh bread and pesto reach my nostrils.

It’s nothing special, really. Just a bit of French baguette, some pesto, seasonal arugula fresh from the farmer’s market and a few slices of mozzarella.

A Green Goddess sandwich, with a twist from my father, Curtis Callahan. The twist is a little dash of lemon juice and some sun-dried tomatoes.

I always make sure to pack something I know I will enjoy for lunch and I’m always glad I do. It’s the one self-care routine I never skip on.

It doesn’t hurt that my dad is a chef. I truly learned from the best.

Harriet leans over the edge of my desk, picking at her own lunch while eying mine with obvious jealousy. I make her wait a full minute before pulling another sandwich from the drawer and she makes a happy little dance in her seat before sinking her teeth into it.

Hey. School nurses have a right to indulge themselves, and cooking is my one and only hobby.

"Busy morning?"