Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice Book 1), page 22
“You’re so weak, a gentle spring breeze could blow you over.” My taunt didn’t seem to offend the human. In fact, he looked like he was amused.
“That’s not what your mother said when I was balls-deep in her last night,” he shot back.
Again with my mother. What was with these idiotic humans?
“My mother is dead. If you had sex with her last night, that makes you a neophiliac.”
The human looked confused. “You mean necrophiliac?”
Yeah. That.
“You like to fuck corpses because they can’t make fun of the tiny twig you’ve got between your legs,” I continued.
The human dove at me, tossing off his gloves and flinging his stick across the ice before swinging a fist at my face. Gloves flew and again we pummeled the humans.
Clearly, someone with a more level mind had spoken to the human team, because the third time I was unable to taunt my enemy into a reaction beyond shooting the puck past me and to the expert stick of his teammate.
We scrambled after them, but even with practice, the humans could skate at double our speed. Immediately, I saw our error in having only Bwat and Eng positioned and ready near our goal. The humans reached our end of the ice without an orc in sight beside our goalie, who waved his arms ineffectually as our enemy shot the puck between his legs and into the net.
By the time we left the ice for our break, the enemy had scored four points to our zero. Back in the locker room, we collapsed on the benches and the floor.
“See? There’s no sense in all that practice you’re forcing us to do, Ozar,” Eng growled. “These fucks were born with knife-blades on their feet. We can practice every day this year, and it won’t make any difference.”
Ugwyll snorted. “As if you ever actually practice. Unless by ‘practice,’ you mean leaning against the wall.”
“They’re faster. They’re too good at evading us. We can’t hurt them if we can’t catch them, and there’s not a chance in our lifetime of us getting control of that puck-turd,” Bwat moaned.
“We need to spread out,” I said. “All of us shouldn’t go after the one with the puck. We should work on taking down the other humans by any means necessary where our best skater concentrates on trying to chase the puck-human.”
“If one of us tries to chase the puck-human, then the others can move themselves into positions where it would be difficult for the human to change direction and get away,” Ugwyll suggested.
I nodded. “It’s an excellent idea. Like when we are driving a herd of vokelna through a canyon to better pasture. We will close in on this human, then steal the puck.”
That was our plan. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The humans were smarter than vokelna. They saw us moving close and were able to quickly maneuver around us. At the end of the second period, the human team had scored another four points. By the end of the game, they’d won with ten points to our zero.
I didn’t score a point in this game. No one had scored a point in this game. And for the first time ever, I didn’t want to see Jordan tonight. I just wanted to go back to my den, drink my cold milk, and suffer the bruises to my pride alone.
Chapter 28
Jordan
“We’ve got this whole section to ourselves,” I commented as Willa, Abby, and I scooted down the row to sit right behind the Tusks’ bench. We’d arrived early to make sure there was enough time to get our tickets from will-call, grab beers, and find our seats before the teams were announced.
“It’s for friends and family.” Abby frowned as she took in the empty seats. “I get it that the players wouldn’t have much in the way of family, but what about friends?”
“They’re still pretty new in town,” I told her. “It’s not like they’ve had time to make friends.”
Abby sniffed, clearly not believing that explanation. “Fine. But these unused seats should have been comped for PR. These should be filled with Make-A-Wish kids, or winners from a charity drive, or teachers, or first responders.”
“I’m going to guess they don’t have a public relations firm.” Willa picked a seat at random and sprawled into it, propping her feet up on the wall. “The owner isn’t even springing for shirts or pads, so he’s obviously running this whole thing on the cheap.”
“The shirt thing doesn’t make sense either,” Abby complained. “I love seeing a naked, muscled chest as much as the next girl, but if they don’t have jerseys, then that cuts out significant revenue from product sales.”
She wasn’t wrong. Baltimore residents loved their sports teams and gobbled up merchandise at an astonishing rate. Sports jerseys and team logo-covered clothing items were second only to stuff with the Maryland flag or pictures of blue crabs on them in terms of sales. Or Old Bay Seasoning. Heck, the locals even “O!” in the “Oh say can you see” portion of the National Anthem in an enthusiastic nod to the Orioles baseball team—or the “O’s,” as they were affectionately called. The Tusks were missing out on some serious money here.
Abby and I sat next to Willa, sipped our beers and people watched. The arena wasn’t even half full, and there was a noticeable lack of Tusks colors in the crowd, although a boy a few sections up did have one of those huge number one foam hands in lime green.
Wishful thinking, kid.
The Maple Leafs were on the ice practicing, but as the music changed, they headed down the tunnel to their locker rooms. The announcer made a few comments about parking and concessions, then brought the Toronto team back to skate around the edge of the rink while the overhead showed their headshots and introduced each one.
“Here they come!” Abby announced with a seat-bounce.
Willa sat up straight, and I leaned forward to see as the orcs took the ice. I noticed the improvement right away. The one guy remained along the wall as before, but the others were actually gliding into the center of the rink, even if they did have some issues stopping.
“No one’s fallen yet,” Abby said with crossed fingers.
Keyword: yet.
We screamed and yelled as the team was introduced, even though Abby had a few things to say about the headshots on the screen.
“Tough day at work?” Willa asked her once the last team member, an orc whose name didn’t appear to have any vowels in it, faded from the overhead.
Abby sighed. “I can’t stand crappy PR work. This is our home team, and I want better for them.”
Willa nodded. “Me too. It’s not like it’s packed here, but it could be. People come out even if the team is on a losing streak.”
Abby snorted. “They would if they pimped this all out at even the most minimal level. Lots came out the first game for the novelty, but there is going to be decreasing attendance unless the owner gets his shit together.”
“Get your sales staff over here,” I told her. “There’s an opportunity. Someone should be closing the deal.”
Willa’s expression turned thoughtful. “Yeah. Closing the deal,” she murmured. “You know, it’s a good idea.”
“We don’t usually go for demon-owned business.” Abby held up a hand. “I know, I know. The owner is worried they will skip out on payment. I’ve tried to explain that demons are very respectful of contracts and with a properly worded one, there won’t be any more problems than we have with human-owned businesses. Less, actually.”
“Make a solid pitch,” I advised her. “This isn’t a corner vape shop, it’s a major sports team, an NHL franchise. If the NHL felt the owner could abide by the rules of their contract, then your company’s owner shouldn’t be so worried.”
Our discussion abruptly ended as the announcer instructed us all to stand for the National Anthem. Once the song had finished, we sat and watched as the players not starting took to their benches. Ozar was facing off against the Maple Leaf’s center, flanked by Ugwyll and the orc with no vowels in his name. Eng remained against the wall, his location such that I think he was supposed to be playing defense. The only other player I recognized was Bwat, who was hovering near their goalie in a defensive spot.
I couldn’t hear what Ozar and the Toronto center were saying, but it was clear they were riling each other up. The puck dropped, and all hell broke loose. Instead of gaining control, the two players lost it. Gloves came off, and the Toronto center dove at Ozar with a shout of anger. The crowd got to their feet in excitement, screaming encouragement as the players all began to brawl. It took the referees and the few level-headed Maple Leafs to settle everyone down. The next time the fight started even before the puck hit the ice.
“Damn. Best gladiatorial fight I’ve ever seen,” Willa commented.
“All we need is some lions to come out of the tunnels,” Abby added.
“And a couple of chariots,” I agreed.
The refs sent both teams to their benches to think about what they’d done for a couple of minutes, and this time when the puck dropped, a hockey game actually ensued.
Well, sort of a hockey game. The Maple Leafs literally skated circles around the slow-moving, clumsy orcs, remaining far enough from them that they wouldn’t be pummeled by the orcs’ superior strength. At the end of the first period, the opposing team had casually scored four points.
I strongly believed the human team was taking it easy on the Tusks because that score should have been much higher.
During the second period, the Tusks tried a new approach. They appeared to be herding the human with the puck toward the wall where he had limited options, then closing in so one of the orcs could check their opponent. The move, which Willa had named “The Border Collie,” worked the first few times until the Maple Leafs caught on and used their speed to evade the orcs. Even with several of their players injured, the Toronto team still scored an additional four points in the second period, then another two in the third to win ten to zero. The Tusks never got possession of the puck once during the whole game.
We sat in silence after the buzzer, mourning this loss.
“They are skating better.” Abby’s voice was soft. “It’s only their second game. And the Maple Leafs are looking really great this year.”
“They scored a goal last week. This shutout has to hurt,” I said.
Willa blew out a frustrated breath. “You can’t have a team full of Hulks in a game where speed and agility are critical. Who the hell is in charge of their training? They need to be doing weighted sprints and fartlek. Is anyone tracking their VO2 max and customizing a program for each player? They need speed work and a decent flexibility program in addition to skating lessons, or they’ll never be able to win a game.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I turned to Willa.
“Tough day at work?” Abby teased her.
“If it’s not a tough day, then I’m not working hard enough,” she shot back with a grin. “You hate crappy PR; I hate unfocused and inadequate sports training.”
“And Jordan hates poor dental hygiene.” Abby held out her empty beer cup and I tapped it with mine in agreement.
“Shall we drown our sorrows at a nearby pub?” Willa asked as we got to our feet and gathered up our coats and purses.
“I’m game,” Abby chimed in.
“Me too.” I’d spent the morning with Ozar, and while I did want to see him tonight, I knew he’d probably be here at the arena for at least another few hours. Maybe he could meet me at my house. Or I could go to his.
Or maybe I was going too darned fast with this whole thing.
Luckily, Willa steered us over to McHenry’s where we’d met the orcs after their last game. Just in case this wasn’t a team routine, I sent a text to Ozar, letting him know that we appreciated the tickets and how much we’d enjoyed the game. It ended up being a stupidly long post in which I rambled about how unmatched they were against the Maple Leafs, how proud I was of the team’s performance and improvements since last week, and expressing confidence that they were on the right track to an eventual win.
Staring at the text before hitting send, I realized it read like I was cheering on a toddler who’d just lost a pee-wee soccer game. Yes, the loss sucked, but Ozar was a grown man. He’d fought minotaurs and other scary beings. He didn’t need a participation trophy from me to make him feel better.
So, I deleted most of the text, sending my thanks, a brief commiseration for their loss, and an invitation to dinner tomorrow night. Then I shoved my phone into my purse and focused on enjoying the rest of the evening with my friends.
Chapter 29
Ozar
Istared down at a tray full of water-insects. They were covered in some sort of spicy-smelling orange powder and had arrived at our table with small plastic cups of hot yellowish liquid. Jordan and I were dining outdoors at a river-side establishment. The temperature had dropped, and all the humans were wearing several layers of clothing even with the pillar-shaped heaters scattered throughout dining area. The chill wasn’t dampening anyone’s enthusiasm. Conversation and frequent laughter filled the air as a band tested their amplification system in the corner. The sun had almost vanished from the sky, but boats still came in to dock, disgorging their passengers to enjoy an evening of food and drink.
The drink was good. I wasn’t so sure about the food, though.
Glancing around, I noticed that most of the humans had also ordered the water-insects which Jordan had said were pretty much the official food of the state.
“Let me show you how to eat these.” Jordan grabbed one of the insects from the tray and held it up by the largest set of legs. “Start with the claws. You want to crack the joint here, then twist and gently pull apart.”
She demonstrated and the claw separated from the insect’s body, pulling a thick wad of white flesh with it. Picking up one of the creatures, I mimicked her movements and snapped the claw off without the white flesh.
“Is mine empty?” I scowled, thinking that the restaurant was ripping us off, selling us carapaces without meat.
“No, you just have to be gentler. Crack the shell, but don’t break the claw all the way off. Then gently twist and pull. If the meat doesn’t come out, then you’ll just get it when you open up the body.”
This had to be the strangest meal I’d ever had. Humans had many foods in common with us, and we weren’t opposed to eating large insect-like creatures, but we would never go to this much trouble for such a small amount of food.
“Here.”
Jordan dipped the white flesh in the yellow liquid and shoved it toward my mouth. I was in love, so I didn’t hesitate to eat it.
She watched expectantly, hopefully, as I chewed and swallowed.
“Butter?” I’d only spread the stuff on bread and hadn’t recognized it in the melted form.
“Some people don’t bother with the butter,” she explained. “And others like to butter, then add extra Old Bay Seasoning. Personally, I think that’s too much Old Bay, that it overwhelms the flavor of the crab, but that’s pretty close to a heretical sentiment here in Maryland. The Maryland natives believe you can never have too much Old Bay.”
“It’s very good,” I reluctantly admitted. The flesh was mild and sweet and tender with a rich peppery spice and a faint brackish, salty tang. It tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten in my life. I wished I could bring these home to my clan to show them that the flavor was worth the effort.
Half an hour later, I wasn’t sure that the flavor was truly worth the effort. The next time Jordan wanted us to go out for crabs, I would need to remember to eat a full dinner beforehand because I would starve if I needed to fulfill my evening caloric needs with these water-insects. Those tiny little legs were absolutely not worth bothering with. It was a struggle to release what amounted to a splinter-sized piece of meat. The body was a bit more satisfying in terms of sustenance. Jordan advised me not to eat the gray bits that she called lungs and let me know that many people enjoyed eating the mustards, which were basically the innards of the creature. Jordan carefully scraped them aside, but I’d always been taught not to waste any edible part of an animal—to do so would be a disrespect to the creature who’d lost its life so you might survive—so I ate the mustards. And I liked them almost as much as the flesh.
As we took the last two crabs from the tray, my stomach growled, and I wondered if we might stop off for something more filling after we left here. Before I could voice my request, our server was back with yet another tray of the water-insects.
Jordan quit a few crabs into our second tray, sipping her beer and nibbling on the balls of fried bread that the server had also brought us. “Hush puppies,” she’d called them, explaining that the story behind the name was that you could throw them to a barking dog who would be silent as they ate the bread. I didn’t know much about dogs, but from what Bwat said about the ones at the shelter, canines would be silent if given just about any item of food.
As we ate, we talked. She spoke more about her childhood home and her family, telling me that while she missed them, she enjoyed living in Baltimore. She loved the rivers, the Bay, being close to the ocean and the mountains. And she loved that the weather wasn’t as harsh as back in Buffalo.
I told her about the mountain caves near our clan’s home, about how we purchased and used fae magic lanterns and other spells and had indoor plumbing and heating systems similar to what the humans had here. After polishing off a third tray of crabs on my own, I sat back, my hunger finally satisfied.
Our dining area looked as if a brutal insect battle had occurred. The brown paper that covered the tabletop was damp and torn in spots and littered with clumps of the orange spice. Broken bits of shell, stray leg segments, and smears of mustard covered the surface. Wadded paper towels and buckets full of dissected crab parts flanked the empty bottles of beer.
Our server didn’t seem at all disturbed by the scene. She efficiently scooped everything into a large, black plastic bag and cheerfully asked us if we’d saved room for dessert.
