Rich, Rugged, and Orcish, page 1
RICH, RUGGED, AND ORCISH
ZORA BLACK
RICH, RUGGED, AND ORCISH
By Zora Black
Copyright © 2024 by Zora Black
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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CONTENTS
1. Navin
2. Lenora
3. Navin
4. Lenora
5. Navin
6. Lenora
7. Navin
8. Lenora
9. Navin
10. Lenora
11. Lenora
12. Lenora
13. Navin
14. Lenora
15. Navin
16. Lenora
17. Navin
18. Lenora
19. Navin
20. Lenora
21. Navin
22. Lenora
23. Navin
24. Lenora
25. Navin
26. Lenora
27. Navin
28. Lenora
29. Navin
30. Lenora
31. Ria
1
NAVIN
“Navin! Navin, wake up! There’s a herd of soccer moms jogging this way out front!” a shrill voice calls. “Throw a shirt on and go look like you’re watering the lawn! No, wait. Leave the shirt off!”
Shards of sunlight pierce through the gap in my bedroom curtains and into my face as I stretch awake, telling me it’s morning already.
It’s Shuranna on the other side of the door. My mother-in-law and self-proclaimed stand-in parent hasn't met a door she couldn’t shriek through. This also tells me something else – my dream last night didn’t come true. She’s still living with me and the kids, destroying my love life one potential match at a time.
“You need glasses, Shur!” I yell but mostly into the pillow.
She also needs a different zip code. It’s not that I don’t love her, because I do, it’s just that I’d love my late wife’s mother more if I had a chance to miss the stubborn gorgon.
“I’m bad luck with glasses!” she lies, and I fight the urge to call her out.
She and I both know that losing four pairs of glasses in two weeks isn’t a coincidence, not when she has the world’s cutest minions at her beck and call in my twin offspring, Xandoss and Ria. But who helped Shurnana, as they call her, ‘lose’ all four pairs is a mystery to solve another day.
“You're bad with boundaries, too!” I snap.
I hear the handle of my locked door jiggling, and I smirk. I spent more time unpacking the new place than I expected to last night, meaning today has ‘double shot of espresso required’ written all over it. And also ‘take advantage of that locked door for maximum sleep time.’ Obviously, I forgot about her powerful knuckles and how the sound of them rapping can shake even the strongest oak.
“They are moms this time!” Suddenly, the lock clicks and the door swings open.
Shuranna and her eternal entourage of snakes-for-hair glower my way. I jump to my feet as she struts in, quieting her hissing mane with a flick of the wrist.
“One at a time, creatures. Now’s mine.” Her violet-hued serpents coil together as she dangles a skeleton key from a rusty metal ring around her extended, green pinky. “Soccer moms, too. You love those.”
Obviously, she either lied about not finding our new home’s master key. Or she got really lucky after I asked, which I doubt to the underworld and back. She stepped into the Lander House before any of us, and the small hooks above the kitchen sink had keys on all but one. Coincidence? Not when the missing one opens every door.
“You found the key.” I hope she picks up on my emphasis on the word ‘found.’
It’s my first time living in a house with a name. And the same goes for living in something rumored to be haunted. Though it’s mostly the humans who think this. They say that about every old home with a witch for a resident. Some humans equate all magic with spookiness, though I’m just happy the place has a great backyard and only a few neighbors.
“And you’re ignoring a perfectly good suggestion. Soccer moms,” she retorts, repeating the last part in a sing-song voice. She shuffles over to the window and rips my curtains all the way back.
Soccer moms might as well be synonymous with anything remotely feminine-looking at this point. A gaggle of teen track stars and their equally underaged mullets highlight her most recent mistake.
“Because you’re a broken record!” I snap.
“And you’re going to miss them.” She opens the window and sticks her head out. I take the opportunity to flip her the bird behind her back. Anyone else waking me up like this, and they’d be out that window.
“You said that this last time.” I point out to her it's a gaggle of teens, plus their murder of mullets. I can’t put it any other way.
“Grown gorgons make mistakes, too,” she snaps, tucking the skeleton key in her back pocket like it’s hers.
“You also said this last time.” I hold my hand out and snap my fingers, then make the ‘gimme now’ gesture with my open hand. “What about those Girl Scouts? Or the gay couple looking for their lost dog? Or the Christmas carolers last year?”
She cocks her head at me, then tosses the key out the window. “What about them? You had fun with the Jurassic Tramps.”
Did I mention they were a choir of elderly rock lovers? I roll my eyes but keep them on her. Of course, she found one surefire way to get me outside and in front of the new neighbors.
“Xandoss! Ria!” I holler, slowly sticking my head out the door and into the second-floor hall while keeping my eyes on Shuranna. The kids are most certainly awake and enjoying the fruits of my late-night labor.
The newly renovated, but still pretty spooky, Victorian isn’t just a series of empty rooms now that their rec room is together. I hear a high-pitched cackle followed by a smattering of applause. The kids are definitely awake, and they're playing video games.
“Who said that?” Ria’s voice rings out from the first floor, then echoes off the bare walls and up the stairs to me. “Is that really you, Dad?”
I close my eyes and wait for her echoing words to fade. I’ll need to buy the world’s longest carpet for the world’s loudest hall as soon as possible.
“Morgana would have wanted this.” Shuranna’s voice is calm.
“Really, Shur?” I turn to face her. “You think your daughter wants our first day in the neighborhood to kick off with me on my hands and knees?”
“Why would you be on your hands and knees?” she asks, squinting at me.
I know that’s her confused face. But it’s also how she sees because she’s vain and glasses aren’t ‘in right now.’ I wonder if looking into a magical alternative to contacts might be a good idea.
Again, that is. Now that we’re a few zip codes away, I’ll have more options than the trio of witch healers she gave my personal number to. Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a warlock.
“Looking for the key you threw!” I holler over my shoulder as I turn away, running into my son Xandoss and his unyielding head. He smacks into my midsection at full speed, and I wonder whether today might be a ‘double shot right now’ kind of day. And of something stronger than coffee.
“Dad!” Xandoss brings both his small green hands to his cheeks as I bring one of my own to my core.
The loud smack of his palms hitting skin echoes off the walls. I flinch, not from the sound but from the sharp pain hitting the walls of my abdomen. Even at seven years old, this boy’s getting strong. Inquisitive, matter-of-fact, and in love with school, he’ll be my size in no time. But maybe not a miniature of me but of his late mother.
“What you should be worried about finding is a rug for this place,” Shuranna huffs, crossing the room. “They’ve got a market coming up. I saw it on the interweb. And before you ask, it’s not just vegetables.”
She tries to pass me, but I step in front of the doorway. “You wouldn’t be going downstairs to get that skeleton key, would you?”
“What’s a skeleton key?” Ria asks. Not as tall, pensive, or built like her brother, Ria is the picture of Morgana but with a personality all her own.
“Something your dear Shurnana needs you to get. It’s a long, metal –”
“Nothing,” I cut her off. Ria is a daddy’s girl through and through, but she loves her Shurnana just as much. I’d hate to put her in a difficult spot by pitting her against her grandmother. “False alarm. Return to your video games.”
“I didn’t want to be left alone downstairs while Xanny checks if it’s you or not,” Ria explains.
“Honey, this place is just fine.” Shuranna’s voice is tender. “There’s nothing here that sounds like your father but your father.”
“But Old Lady Lander could throw her voice!” Ria steps closer, widening her green eyes flecked with gold, just like her mother’s. “So I’d really rather be safe than sorry.”
“Right, but that’s her voice, not mine.” I feel Shuranna’s cold breath against my back as she exhales loudly and right into it. As if something like this is going to get me to step aside. That key is mine.
“Well, let’s just say she does know how to throw her voice and other people’s too. What then?” Ria says.
I sigh as Shuranna
“Then as a family –”
“We’ll tell her to get along or move along. This place is ours,” Shuranna interrupts, and I shudder inwardly at the word ‘ours.’
Her gentle tone belongs to a different sentence than this. It’s like she’s suggesting everyone go make cookies, rather than fixing the attitude of the ghostly resident rumor with some harsh facts. Ghosts can’t own property. That’s for those of us still breathing.
“We’re not answering to anyone.” As I bend down to comfort my favorite girl and her imagination, Shuranna slips past me and down the steps. “I’m locking you out if you don’t come back!”
“They were soccer moms!” Shuranna calls.
I hear the front door open and admit momentary defeat. I’ll swipe the skeleton key back soon enough. She can win this round. But the king of the house will be winning the war.
2
LENORA
“Hey! Now, don’t you be talking that mess, Elvira,” I tell my favorite stray tabby as she meows in my driveway. “Now, I done offered you a place to stay. But rules is rules.”
I point to the blue and white two-story Victorian, then back to the cat. The four-bedroom, two-bath has certainly seen better days, but I’m still not budging on the wash for the tabby. My sister Cassy would kill me. And the place is half hers, too.
Elvira purrs through her high-pitched whine, which I take for sass and shake my head at her.
“No, no, no,” I say. “It’s not about being good enough, Elvira. You’re good enough. It’s about clean enough. Nothing personal. What do you take me for?”
Another meow tells me she’s still offended after Cassy’s boyfriend, Amos, chased her out last time. Her decision to stay feral isn't the one I’d choose, but she’s a good stray kitty for coming back to check in after what happened.
I listen to her long decision to stay slick with grime, at least according to my imagination. I might be twenty-eight going on nine when it comes to pretend time, but hey, at least I’m popular in the neighborhood with the strays.
“You make that bed, you lie in it,” I say.
I let Elvira cozy up to me because Amos is on his way, and nothing pleases me more than to greet my sister’s boyfriend covered in cat fur. Dirty cat fur. Especially after the shit he pulled to spook the poor thing.
Elvira scratches her ear with a back leg, then hits me with another high-pitched meow.
“You’ll have canned food every day,” I plead, running a hand along her dusty back, then scratching her heinie like I know she loves. “And lots of pets.”
And I’ll never pick you up, I think. Do that, and she turns feral. Not like, ‘I’ll kill you and your family next time I catch you staring’ feral. More like, ‘How dare you scoop me up and start walking! I will not stay quiet or still for this!’ feral. It’s so cute.
Once when I pressed, trying to hold her tighter for her own safety and mine, Elvira’s ears fell back as the saddest howl escaped her. She was as still as possible in my arms. So scared. She was scared and hated the ride.
“Are you still feeding that stray cat?” Cassy asks from behind me, shaking a bag of cheap cat food my way. “Because Amos picked this up the other day, just in case the stray came back.”
I don’t want to take her deadbeat boyfriend’s subpar kibble, not when I’m on a mission to be as aloof and unfazed by his existence as possible. Childish? Yes. Something I’m still going to do because it makes me feel good? Also, yes.
“No, I’ve got Elvira’s stuff already. But tell him thanks.”
She drops her extended arm and lets the cheap peace offering slap the side of her leg. “You can’t foresee needing more at some point?“ Her tone tells me she’s not interested in asking me about Elvira’s return.
“Maybe,” I reply.
The tabby doesn’t know it yet, but she’ll be half house cat, half stray cat soon enough. We just need to get over this no-holding hurdle. That doesn’t mean I’m feeding her Amos’ garbage.
“Because I think that cat could use more than the two cans of kitten food I saw on the counter when I walked in.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder, and I know she’s got me.
Not taking her shitty boyfriend‘s shitty cat-food peace offering after his shitty apology for his shitty behavior is my choice. When he found fur on his shitty sweater, activating his shitty allergies, he could have made the opposite choice than the one he did.
I’m not surprised to learn his immune system is just as weak as his employment game. Such a scrawny, free-riding, fantasy-loving Darrell. It’s what I call mouth breathers with barely any personality. I’ve heard the guy's respiratory system more than I’ve heard his voice. And he’s been dating my sister on and off for two years.
She says they weren’t together that entire time. She tries to always insist that part of that time, at least, they were just friends. Though she admits that she suspects even during their ‘just friends’ period, he was already trying to court her from afar. She likes to make it sound romantic, but I think it’s stupid.
I don’t care what she says. A guy who doesn't drink coffee but waits two hours at a cafe just to say hello to a girl he used to study with in high school is not qualified. He’s certifiable.
Guy didn’t even order anything the whole time. He just waited for Cassy. Ew. That’s not how you make friends with the staff.
“Tell him I’m pleased,” I reply.
So sure, they kinda sorta became friends senior year of school. They fell out as soon as everyone left for college.
“You’re not going to tell him yourself? He’s coming over tonight.” She looks hurt, which pisses me off and makes me sad at the same time.
Why does the one guy sweet enough to help her move after a cheating boyfriend have to be this guy? It’s easy to help a baby out of your league. When you have nothing better to do and you’ve been burning a candle for them for a long time.
I was almost swayed by his clammy hands and choppy speech patterns. Which I thought would have stayed behind with the rest of our awkward high school days, to be honest. I understand cues can suggest social discomfort. He’s not the only one who experiences social discomfort.
How can I support my sister in going out with the part-time accountant when I think she can do better? He doesn’t want to try to be friendly with anyone but her. That’s his preferred way of being. He's content with his awkwardness somehow.
I know because he never drinks to get over it. Everyone’s better after a few beers. What’s going to make him an exception to this rule? But he’s never going to have fun babysitting the cherry cola he drinks like it’s water.
“That’s thoughtful of him,“ I lie, taking the bag with a plastered-on smile.
She’s breathing through her nose slowly, and I know I am testing her patience.
“He’s sorry he freaked out about the pet. He just didn’t know…” Her voice trails off, and I run my tongue along my gritted teeth, rather than remind her what she already knows.
His reaction wouldn’t fly for a two-year-old. Let alone someone with his pasty complexion. I haven’t been speaking to him since Elvira left, which was exactly nine days ago. It’s been the saddest, most satisfying nine days of my life in a lot of ways.
“Maybe at first, but he knows how to apologize.” He said sorry to you.
I wonder if she’s remembering the same thing as I am right now – Amos chasing the cat out of the house like it asked him for money. While Elvira got away. The point is, she got away.
“You are intimidating to him,” she explains.
