Page 1 of The Orc and the Innkeeper

1

MARIAH

It’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 moredistinctiveguests.

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.

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