Page 36 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“Then let’s use them,” I said. “The kids will love them.”

“The Bloombacks would work well for the program structure.” He pulled up a new document, already typing—with only two fingers. But I doubted orcs took typing classes back in the kingdom. “We can design the lesson around their behavior and introduce basic ideas about creature social structures⁠—”

“Or,” I said, “we could tell the kids they’re in love.”

His head snapped up. “What?”

“The Bloombacks. We tell the kids they’re in love. That they need to be together to be happy. That they take care of each other.”

“That makes them sound human.”

“It’s also true.”

“It’s assigning people emotions to non-people behavior.”

“Traig.” I leaned forward. “The kids are eight. They don’t need behavioral frameworks. They need a story they can understand and care about.”

He stared at me, his expression cycling through horror, consideration, and a touch of acceptance that was punctuated by his shoulders drooping, though only slightly.

“That would be effective,” he said.

“Stories matter more than precision.”

“I’m not sure anything matters more than precision.”

“To you, perhaps. Me to some extent, too, but to little kids? It’s simple to understand. They all know happy couples, or I hope they do. We just show them that creatures form similar bonds and that makes them happy, too.”

His tusks shifted again, and this time his mouth definitely twitched toward a smile. “I’ll add it to the lesson.”

“Deal.”

I took another sip of coffee, and he started typing on his tablet.

We worked through the next creature selection together, finding a rhythm. He’d suggest something based on behavioral data, I’d push back on practicality, and we’d land somewhere in the middle with an animal that was actually better than either of our first choices.

By the time we hit the forty-five-minute mark, I’d eaten three cookies, Traig ten, and Traig had relaxed enough that he wasn’t clutching his tablet like a shield. And we’d only made a dent in the creature schedule. We’d have to finish on another day since it was almost time to end the meeting. I still had work to do at my desk.

A yellow-and-pink blur shot through the gap where I’d left the conference room door cracked open.

“No,” Traig said.

Nix chittered, already zooming around the perimeter of the room at top speed.

“How does he keep getting out?” I asked.

“I checked the enclosure after lunch. It’s impossible.” Traig stood, tracking Nix’s movement. “I’ve started to suspect he’s using magic.”

“Can fizzlings do that?”

“No. But I have no other explanation.”

Nix completed another lap, building speed, his stripes glowing brighter with each pass. He launched himself off the back wall, ricocheted off a filing cabinet, and aimed directly for the space between Traig and me.

We both reached for him at the same time.

My hand closed around air.

Traig’s hand closed around my wrist.