3. Willa
CHAPTER THREE
WILLA
The weekend before I'd started had vanished in a flurry of moving boxes, and now, one day into the job, Tuesday morning found me more than ready to dive back in.
The day started with two cups of strong coffee and a decision I made without thinking hard about it.
The phone message pad sat on the reception desk where I’d left it, next to the stapler, which had been lined up beside the tape dispenser, which neighbored a tray of pens that had been organized by color.
Someone had strong feelings about organization, and I had a good idea who that person might be.
I moved the message pad to the left, closer to the phone, where I could take down notes during calls. Where I could use it instead of having to reach across the desk like I was playing office supply Twister.
I booted up the computer and logged in.
The front door opened.
Traig stepped inside, holding his tablet, his hair tied back in the same knot at his nape as yesterday, his midnight eyes scanning the room.
Spying me, he walked over and stopped at the counter opposite where I sat, his gaze taking in me and the desk in general.
His eyes landed on the message pad, and his lips twitched.
“Good morning,” I said, aiming for breezy.
“Good morning.”
He set his tablet down on the counter and frowned at the message pad. Without a word, he moved it back to its original position.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
His eyes met mine before he lifted his tablet.
“Ready for day two?” he asked.
“I sure am.”
“We’ll continue with the orientation. I’ve updated the schedule to include a brief review of intake processing, then a broader facility tour. You should meet the creatures to give context to the intake documentation.”
“That sounds like a great idea.” I’d adored Nix and Fred and couldn’t wait to meet more creature friends.
He tapped something on his tablet. “I’ve prioritized the tour based on species that require the most frequent documentation.”
Why wasn’t I surprised about that?
“Before we start,” he said, reaching into a canvas bag I hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying. “I thought it would be beneficial for you to have direct interaction with one of the residents.”
He lifted something round and velvety from the bag, placing it on the counter.
Fred the grumbletoad, with his perpetual scowl and tiny folded wings, blinked at me.
“Oh my,” I said. “My cutie pie is back!”
The grumbletoad made a low, rolling sound that rattled in his throat like stones in a tumbler.
“May I touch him?” I asked, reaching out slowly. “I wasn’t sure if I could yesterday, since he was in a crate, but you’re handling him now. He must be friendly.”
“Fred enjoys physical contact.”
What about Traig?
Bad Willa, I thought. I shouldn’t be thinking about my new boss in that way.
I scooped Fred up and laid him on my lap. He was heavier than I expected, dense and warm, and about the size of a soccer ball. His grumbling intensified, deeper now, vibrating against my palms.
“Is he okay?” I asked. “He’s making a lot of noise.”
“He’s very pleased,” Traig said. “Grumbletoad vocalizations increase in volume when they experience contentment. The louder the grumble, the higher the approval.”
“So he’s complimenting me?”
“In his language, yes.”
Fred scooted closer to me, tucking himself against my belly, and his grumbling turned into a purring rumble that made my ribs vibrate.
I looked up to find Traig watching us. His expression hadn’t changed, but his posture had softened by maybe half a degree.
“He likes you,” Traig said.
“I like him too.”
Fred grumbled even louder.
Traig’s mouth curled up on one side. Not quite a smile but maybe he was trying.
“I thought he might be good company at the front desk,” he said. “Grumbletoads are social creatures. They do well in environments with consistent interaction. If you’re comfortable with having him here, he can stay.”
My skin felt too tight to hold it all in. “You’re letting me have a desk grumbletoad?”
“I’m assigning him to reception for behavioral enrichment purposes.”
Right.
Behavioral enrichment.
Not because Traig had noticed I was charmed by Fred yesterday and decided to do something about it.
Definitely not that.
“Thank you,” I said. “Does he need a litter box and…food and water?” I peered around as if they might magically materialize in the foyer.
“He’ll go outside for both. He has a pen out back. I’ll leave the gate open. Then he can come and go as he pleases.”
“Perfect.”
He nodded and picked up his tablet, carrying it and his tote bag around to my side of the counter. “We should begin.”
We spent the next hour on intake processing, which turned out to be as thorough as the manual suggested. Traig walked me through the digital forms field by field, explaining the logic that determined which follow-up questions appeared based on prior answers.
It was genuinely impressive.
It was also completely incomprehensible to anyone who hadn’t designed it.
“This makes sense,” I said carefully, “if you already know what you’re looking for.”
He frowned. “The categories are clearly labeled.”
“They are. But the subcategories reference other subcategories, and some of the drop-down menus have options that trigger entirely different forms.”
“That’s the way it should be.”
“Right. But what if someone doesn’t know which option triggers which form?”
He blinked. “They would read the descriptions.”
“And if the descriptions assume knowledge they don’t have yet?”
His frown deepened. He tapped something on his tablet, pulled up one of the forms, and studied it in silence.
Fred grumbled from my lap.
“You’re suggesting the system is not intuitive,” Traig finally said.
“I’m suggesting it’s intuitive for you.”
I held his gaze.
“We’ll revisit this,” he said. “After the tour.”
Which wasn’t a “you don’t know what you’re talking about” and more than I’d expected.
He stood, gesturing toward the back door. “The enclosures are this way.”
I set Fred on the desk. He snapped out his wings and floated upward, bobbing gently toward the ceiling like the world’s grumpiest balloon. He impacted with a beam and grumbled even louder.
I frowned, hoping he was okay.
“He does that,” Traig said.
“I see.”
Fred bumped into the ceiling, grumbled some more, adjusted his trajectory, and floated toward the wall. He hit it with a soft thud, grumbled again, and ricocheted toward the window.
“Should we…?” I gestured at my airborne friend.
“He enjoys exploring. Grumbletoads are very tactile-driven. He’s enjoying getting to know his new home.”
“Ah, okay.”
Fred hit the window, the wall, and the corner where the wall met the ceiling in quick succession, purring his approval with each impact.
Shaking my head, I followed Traig outside, though I glanced back once. Fred had lodged himself in the corner where two walls met the ceiling, fluttering his wings to hold his position. His grumbles echoed in the entryway.
When I turned forward, Traig was watching me.
Not Fred.
Me.
He blinked a moment, then waved for me to follow.
The enclosures stretched across the back of the property, separated by gravel paths and reinforced fencing. Some of the large pastures had shelters built into the far corners. Others were smaller, more contained, with climate-controlled sections and plexiglass panels.
Traig led me down the main path, past a pen where something with too many legs was sunbathing on a rock, though it looked much like a moss-covered rock itself. A moving one, that is.
“A pebblet,” Traig said, pointing. He nudged his chin toward a crow-sized bird perched on a post ahead. Its feathers gleamed like brushed steel, catching the light as it preened. “And that’s a clatterwing.”
The bird launched into the air, and a cascade of chimes rang out, like someone had shaken a chandelier.
“They’re made of metal?” I asked.
“The feathers appear metallic, but the core structure is organic.” He tipped his head back as the clatterwing circled overhead.
“They’re drawn to reflective objects. We’ve had to reinforce all the hubcaps on the facility vehicles and make sure all tools are returned to the shed before we leave for the day. We painted all the doorknobs black.”
“I’d wondered why.”
The bird landed on the roof of a nearby shed, tilting its head to study us.
“They steal things,” he said. “Last month, one of them collected eight spoons from the break room.”
I laughed.
The corner of Traig’s mouth lifted.
We kept walking.
The path curved toward a wide pasture where two creatures grazed near the fence. Goat-sized, they had leafy vines trailing along their backs and clusters of flowers blooming in rows between their shoulder blades and tails.
Bloombacks. I recognized them from the photos in the break room.
“Rue and Fern,” Traig said, stopping at the fence, resting his arms on the railing. “Rue’s on the left.”
Rue lifted her head, and the soft pink petals speckling her back opened and relaxed. She took three steps toward us, paused, and glanced back over her shoulder.
The second bloomback, Fern, stood motionless near the far fence.
Rue waited.
Fern’s flowers were paler. Muted lavender, the petals half-closed.
Rue turned back toward her.
“They do that often,” Traig said. “Check in with each other. Rue moves, Fern watches her. When Fern shifts position, Rue adjusts.”
“They’re aware of each other’s locations? Isn’t that normal herd behavior?”
“It’s more than that.” He pulled up a document on his tablet. “Rue’s behavioral assessments show independent grazing patterns. She explores the full pasture range, initiates social contact with staff, and demonstrates low stress markers when separated for examinations and walks.”
“And Fern?”
“Fern is more reserved but equally independent.”
“And how do her stress markers respond?”
He lifted his screen and tapped into it. The skin between his eyebrows creased. “She doesn’t appear to tolerate the exams as well as Rue.”
“Maybe she doesn’t like being examined.”
“Her…vital signs—the words Laina uses—are stable during that time.”