Chapter 1

1

MARIAH

I t's a Friday morning at the Moonflower Inn and for once, remarkably, things are not chaotic.

Chaos is normal in a small town, and even more common in a magical town like Elderberry Falls. But so far today, there have been no gnomes running amok in the kitchen, no unexpected portals opening up in the guest rooms, and not a single complaint from the finicky wizard council about the thread count of their sheets.

It's peaceful, almost eerily so. I sink into the plush upholstered velvet desk chair I recently bought myself, a rare indulgent luxury. Then I kick my worn leather ankle boots up onto the reception desk and grin.

A girl could get used to quiet. It's rare that I'm able to make myself this at home at the inn—a place that I literally own.

"Excuse me, young lady!" A sharp voice slices through the tranquility, and I sigh, bringing my feet back down to the floor and standing, once again the consummate professional.

Like the unpredictable weather of Elderberry Falls, peace is often fleeting.

A human guest plants himself firmly before me, his tailored suit and sour face looking out of place against the whimsical backdrop of the inn.

The man's frown deepens and his name comes to me. Robert Kingsley. Checked in last night, due to stay for two weeks.

"There's an unacceptable noise coming from the room above mine," Mr. Kingsley says with a huff. "And I've seen...creatures lurking about."

"Creatures, Mr. Kingsley?" I keep my voice even, my smile fixed, but inside, I'm rolling my eyes so hard it hurts. "Our guests come in all shapes and sizes here. Diversity is part of the charm."

His eyes narrow. "I thought this was a human establishment."

I have to fight to keep my face pleasant now. This is typical of someone visiting from mostly human lands. Prejudices against monsters and other magical beings are widespread. It's why towns like Elderberry Falls exist. We're a haven for the non-human.

Not that Elderberry Falls is immune to prejudice. I know that personally.

"Human-owned, as you can see," I tell him, my voice cheery but firm. My great-aunt Ida, a human, bought this place from the sorceress who built it when she retired. When Ida died two years ago, I inherited it. "But the Moonflower Inn welcomes everyone—humans and magical beings alike."

Mr. Kingsley's face starts to redden, and I can see he's prepared to argue with me. He's not the first idiot I've dealt with in my twenty-seven years, so I know what he's going to say next. He'll threaten to take his business elsewhere.

"We don't have any segregated lodging in Elderberry Falls," I add quickly.

That takes the wind out of his sails, and his shoulders droop a bit. He's welcome to huff off and leave, but now he knows that if he does, he'll be sleeping out on the street or in his car.

It never fails to astound me that people who can't stomach magical beings even bother coming to Elderberry Falls. What on earth is this guy doing here, and for two whole weeks?

Mr. Kingsley looks like he's swallowed something bitter, his lips puckering slightly. "Of course, of course, I wouldn't suggest that. But last night, I swear I heard flapping wings and...giggling. It's unseemly. And it kept me up all night."

"Ah, that would be the Brownies from suite 3B," I say, tapping at my keyboard to signal I'm taking him seriously. "It looks like they're checking out today, so you shouldn't be disturbed by them again. I do apologize for the inconvenience." I offer him one of my most practiced sympathetic smiles. "Perhaps I could offer you a complimentary breakfast to make up for your disturbed rest?"

Mr. Kingsley seems momentarily placated by the prospect of free food, but his stiff demeanor suggests he's still not entirely comfortable.

"Very well, I'll accept the breakfast. But do ensure no further...disturbances," he replies, adjusting his tie as though straightening it could bolster his defenses against the magical world.

"Absolutely, Mr. Kingsley. Your comfort is our priority," I assure him, even though a part of me is itching to introduce him to a few of our more distinctive guests.

Just as he turns to leave with a rather abrupt, "Thank you," his foot catches on the edge of an ornately woven rug—one of the less magical items in the lobby—sending him stumbling slightly forward. He regains his composure with a quickness that's almost impressive, straightening up as if nothing happened.

His glare sweeps the lobby, checking if anyone saw his near-fall, and then he strides off toward the cafe with rigid dignity.

A quiet chuckle reaches my ear, and I turn to find Laurelle, my head housekeeper slash do-it-all woman. Laurelle's worked here for decades, since the sorceress was in charge.

She's barely holding back her laughter, a sparkle of mischief in her silver-blue eyes. I know without asking that Laurelle helped Mr. Kingsley with that stumble. Laurelle is an elf and likes to use her magic to play harmless tricks on people.

"That man would lose his mind if he spent one night in the enchanted forest suite," Laurelle whispers, leaning closer as if sharing a top-secret.

Since the inn was magically built, there's still magic in it, even though it's had human proprietors for years now. Many of our guest rooms have magical features.

"I'm half tempted to upgrade him for free," I reply with a grin, knowing full well that the enchantment on that room might actually cause a man like that psychic damage. The walls are lined with murals that come to life at night—fairies dance, trees sway, and the moon sings.

It would be a spectacle.

Alas, I do have a reputation to uphold here and I need the steady business I get from human travelers. It took years to get this place upgraded after my great aunt Ida's death and I'm mired in debts from it, both Ida's and my own.

Plus, things have been slow around here recently. We've been in a weird tourist slump. I can't afford anything impacting my business right now.

I wave Laurelle off as she heads upstairs to clean up the rooms and try to regain that moment of peace and calm I was enjoying so much.

Sinking back into my desk chair, I pick up my phone, mindlessly scrolling through MagicMatch, the dating app everyone uses in Elderberry Falls. My dating life has been as chaotic as the inn ever since I broke up with my last boyfriend—a charming but utterly unreliable sprite who thought borrowing money without asking was affection.

I swipe past a series of potential matches: a vampire who loves sunrises (ironic, much?), a werewolf with an allergy to fur (the poor guy), and a merman looking for someone who doesn't mind long distances, literally.

Being a human in a magical town is never boring, that's for sure. Sometimes I get treated like a sideshow attraction by my date. And sometimes I get the feeling that guys I'm seeing are just dating me because they find me exotic or a novelty.

But there are upsides. Monsters and magical beings are built differently from human men. Usually in good ways.

Very good ways.

As I chuckle to myself, my finger stops on a new profile that catches my eye in a spark of familiarity.

The photo shows a tall, muscular orc with a greenish hue to his skin, and a panty-melting smile that displays ferocious tusks. His thick, corded arms are folded across a broad chest swathed in a tight flannel.

Thorak Ironfist.

I scowl at his photo, even as a heat forms low in my belly.

Still stupidly handsome, I see.

Probably still an unrepentant asshole, too.

I swipe left with more force than necessary, causing my phone to slip from my grasp and clatter onto the desk. "Not today, Satan," I mutter under my breath.

Just as I'm about to pick my phone up, Laurelle comes barreling back down the stairs, panic plain on her face.

"Mariah, you need to come see this now!" she exclaims, her gray hair mussed and her usually calm demeanor replaced by urgent concern.

I spring up from my chair. "What's happened?"

I follow her quick strides back up the staircase. Laurelle doesn't often lose her composure, so whatever it is must be serious.

"There's something all over room 4A," she says over her shoulder as we climb to the fourth floor. "It's glittering. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but it looks like it might be…"

My heart sinks. "Pixie dust mites," I finish.

We rush into room 4A. The situation is a glittering disaster.

The pixie dust mites are everywhere, shimmering in the air like a cloud of mischievous stardust—it's beautiful and horrifying at the same time. The magic of the room's usual enchantments seems dimmer, sputtering under the assault of these tiny pests.

"They must have come in with someone's luggage," Laurelle guesses, a frown creasing her otherwise serene face. "Or maybe through an open window."

I nod, surveying the scene. The ornate mirror on the wall is obscured by a thick layer of glittering dust, and the hand-crafted wooden nightstands are shimmering unnaturally.

It's as if the room is caught in a perpetual twilight sparkle. Just not the enchanting kind we aim for at Moonflower Inn.

This is so freaking bad.

Pixie dust mites spread quickly. They're drawn to magic and can undo a whole host of enchantments—which, of course, cost money for me to get restored since I'm not magical myself.

But they also wreak mundane havoc. They can get into pipes and cause massive plumbing clogs. They'll short circuit an entire electrical grid if given the chance.

"I have to call the exterminator," I say, groaning.

They're probably going to be expensive to get rid of, but if I don't do it right away, the long-term costs will be so much worse.

Laurelle shoots me a worried look. She knows how tight things are around here right now.

"Let me help," she offers softly, scanning the enchanted chaos around us. "I'll try to hold them with a containment spell until the exterminator arrives."

She extends her delicate hands towards the glittering cloud, murmuring a string of fluid Elvish incantations that sound like music to my non-magical ears.

The shimmer in the air begins to condense, swirling towards Laurelle as if drawn by a magnet. It's mesmerizing to watch, this dance of light and magic commanded by my colleague's expertise.

"That should keep them from spreading too much," she says after a moment, her brows knit together in concentration. "But we need to act fast."

She doesn't need to tell me twice. I hightail it back down the stairs and to the front desk, where I've left my phone. Three minutes later and I've got an emergency appointment with Mystic Pest Control for this morning.

Unfortunately, they couldn't give me a quote without checking out the infestation in person. When I pressed the receptionist, she said that most pixie dust mite exterminations start, baseline, at ten thousand dollars.

I'm royally screwed.

Just as I hang up the phone, the bell above the front door jingles, heralding a new arrival. I look up, putting on my polite reception desk face.

The first thing I notice is how large the being is, a towering figure in the doorway that blocks out the morning light. They duck under the frame to fit inside. They must be over six and a half feet tall.

As they step further into the room, I can see that it's a male orc. His skin is a beautiful, deep mossy color and he has a chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones. His dark hair is cut short for an orc, but is still long enough that it's falling into his eyes. He pushes it out of his face with a giant, strong-looking hand, glancing around the entryway to the inn, searching for something.

His golden eyes connect with mine and an electrical shock courses through me. My stomach bottoms out in a traitorous way. I fight that feeling off and focus on the emotions that come swiftly after.

Anger, irritation.

My lips purse themselves into a tight, impatient line.

It's Thorak gods-damned Ironfist.

What is my high school tormentor doing in my inn?!