Page 1 of Every Little Thing She Orcs
CHAPTER 1
PURPLE REIGN
WREN
I crawl down the main street of Screaming Woods like a student driver. Here’s what I know from the briefing packet. Years ago, a scientist mislabeled a Halloween punch. Half the residents drank it, and at midnight they became monsters. Nobody has figured out how to reverse it.
What does a town do when half its residents wake up with horns? It adjusts, apparently. Now it has a coffee shop with a 4.8-star rating and a tattoo parlor.
A woman with a tail waters the hanging baskets outside a bakery. A horned man the size of a refrigerator helps a tiny old lady load groceries into her hatchback.
I love it already. Can you fall for a town in ninety seconds? Yes.
Past the last shopfront, the street turns to gravel, and the trees close in overhead. The ranger station sits at the end of the road, a big timber-and-stone building that’s one half visitor center and one half office.
At the bottom of the stairs, a person holds a clipboard and a key-filled lanyard. That must be Prue, the preserve administrator, and the name on every one of my onboarding emails.
“Officer Nicholls.” Her handshake is warm and brisk, and she looks like a woman who has never once lost a form. “Welcome to Screaming Woods. Don’t let the name put you off. Nobody’s screamed in years.” She considers that. “Not on purpose, anyway.”
“Honestly, that’s a better welcome than most of the bars I’ve played.”
Her eyes go to my hair, and I brace for it out of habit.
“Purple,” she says. “Good. The kids will spot you on the trail.”
I decide right there that I like her.
She leads me up a staircase bolted to the outside of the building. At the top is the staff apartment, my home for the next twelve weeks. It’s one room and a bathroom, with honey-colored pine walls and a ceiling that slopes under the roof.
There’s a bed with crisp white sheets, a table, a kitchenette, and an enormous window that looks straight down onto the creek and the timber fence along its bank.
A bag of Lucky Bean coffee sits by the two-burner stove with a welcome card from the café, and a jam jar of yellow flowers brightens the windowsill. It feels like a treehouse for grown-ups.
“This is lovely,” I say, and I mean it.
“The hot plate switches off when it feels like it, and the radiator makes a knocking sound.” Prue shrugs. “But the view’s good.”
“I’m a musician. I’ve slept in a van with three other musicians. This has walls, and nobody’s fermenting anything.”
She laughs. “Then you’ll do fine. Let’s talk about the job.”
She spreads a map across the table.
“Hidden Wonders,” she says. “It’s a new walking trail through the preserve, and it opens on the Harvest Festival weekend. That’s the last weekend of September, our biggest event of the year. Since folks no longer fear monsters, tourism numbers are up. The council wants to give visitors a reason to stay for more than one coffee and a selfie with a werewolf.”
“So, a trail that makes people stay.”
“Exactly. Family-friendly, accessible, and interesting enough that people tell their friends.” She taps the map. “The festival committee has funding for contractors. You won’t be swinging a pick. Your job is to survey the preserve, recommend the best route, and supervise the build crew until it’s done.”
“I’ve read the targets in my contract,” I say. “But I want to know what a great job looks like to you. What would make you glad you hired me?”
She smiles as though that’s the right question. Then she counts them off on her fingers. “It opens on time. It comes in on budget. And on festival weekend, we get the visitor numbers and the feedback to prove the trail works.” She peers at me over her glasses. “If we do, the council funds a full-time second wildlife officer. That’s why your posting exists. You’re the trial run.”
“No pressure, then.”
“It’s a bit of pressure,” she admits. “Would you apply for the permanent role, if it happens?”
“Oh, I’m not a permanent kind of girl.” I smile so it doesn’t sound sad. “Twelve weeks, a great reference, and on to the next thing. That’s the plan.”
