A Spell of Time (A Shade of Vampire #10)(33)

This was the first time I’d really spoken to him since I’d met him the day they arrived on the island.

He stood at the entrance of a large cave. I’d forgotten that he lived on this side of the island.

“You wanna come in?” His meaty hand beckoned me over.

As much as I’d been assured by everyone that he wasn’t dangerous, my heartbeat doubled as I walked toward him over the boulders, slowly and cautiously. His appearance was so imposing, I couldn’t help but feel nervous.

He was grinning from ear to ear as I stepped into the cave, looking down at me with sheer delight.

He lumbered further into his home, leading me forward. I glanced around. There was a mound of straw in one corner with a heap of dirty clothes at the end of it. And in the center of the cave was an axe, a saw, small carving tools, a log of wood and half of a chair.

Brett looked at me sheepishly. “Sorry there’s nothin’ for a princess to sit on yet,” he mumbled. “I need to work faster. I don’t get many folks visiting me, you see.”

I took a seat on his straw while he sat on the floor opposite me.

I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact I was sitting next to an ogre. I hadn’t even known such things existed until recently. I remembered my father reading stories involving ogres to Ben and me when we were younger, but I’d thought they were nothing more than that—stories. Then again, it wouldn’t take much getting used to, having grown up with vampires as parents.

I looked at his work in progress on the floor, admiring his handiwork.

“That’s looking pretty,” I said. “How long will it take you to complete it?”

He shrugged. “Going slower than I’m used to. I don’t have as good tools as I did back home. I had to leave them all,” he said, wiping his runny nose with the back of his hand.

“I’m sure we have extra chairs if you need any. The witches are good with that sort of thing. And what about getting you a more comfortable bed? This straw seems spiky to sleep on.”

“I like creating my own stuff. And I like straw too. It’s good for itches. You should try it sometime.”

“Hm, maybe I will.”

I stood up and crouched down closer over his half finished chair. I was impressed by how delicately designed it was—there were beautiful etchings in the wood around the seat. I wondered how long he had been laboring over it.

“So this is what you do with your time?” I asked. “You create beautiful things.”

He cast another wistful glance at his half-finished chair and sighed. “Yeah, well, it was my job before. When we were back on our own island. Captain Matteo gave me the job of creating things. ’Cos I don’t like to fight.”

“Fight?”

He eyed me. “Yeah. Like when nasty people tried to enter our island. I don’t like it.”

“Oh, okay. I understand.” I reached out and patted his leathery forearm. “I don’t like fighting either.”

A pang of sadness hit me as I looked once more around his damp empty cave. It occurred to me how lonely this creature must get, being the only one of his kind on the island.

“Have you always lived alone?”

He looked taken aback by my question, as though the answer should be obvious. “Yes.” Then he chortled and shook his head. “There isn’t anyone who’d want to share my cave with me.”

I paused, looking into his face. It was innocent, good-natured. Much like a child.

“We need to find you a pretty girl ogre to keep you company, Brett.”

He blushed. He actually looked sweet—a word I’d never thought I’d use to describe an ogre.

“Agh,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Girls are trouble…”

I giggled. “But have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“G-girl…” He paused, frowning. “Saira is a girl friend.”

“No. By girlfriend, I mean like a lover. A girl you’re in love with.”

He furrowed his brows as though deep in thought. “No. I have never had that.”

“Then how do you know girls are trouble?”

He looked away from me, as though hoping that avoiding my eye contact would also avoid the subject. His expression was not unlike a four-year-old trying to hide from an uncomfortable question.

“Well?”

“Fights always start when they’re around.”

“That doesn’t have to happen. There are lots of couples who don’t fight.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know about girl ogres. They’re mean.”

There wasn’t much I could say to counter that argument. Brett was the only ogre I’d come across, and from what I’d learned about ogres so far, Brett was an anomaly. Most ogres were cruel-hearted beasts, and that was why Brett was an outcast. He didn’t like violence.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “it’s better to be alone. There’s no fighting. It’s peaceful. No troubles.”

I bit my lip, looking out at Brett’s view of the sea. We were both quiet for a few minutes, listening to the waves crashing against the shore.

“You have a boy-lover, don’t ya?” Brett blurted.

I frowned and shook my head.

A grin spilt his face and his eyes narrowed on me. “Yeah, you do. Don’t think I haven’t seen you with that Micah boy.”