Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Ari
OCTOBER
In the more than four thousand years that I’ve known Eoin, I’ve considered him to be a good boss and a great friend. Right now, I’m struggling to remember why.
I sit in my car outside the Warhammers’ training facility and wonder how long I’m going to be paying for the ignorance of my youth. I’ve already spent thousands of years trying to redeem myself, but I guess that’s not enough.
Sighing, I shove open the door and haul myself out of the driver’s seat.
Eoin swears this assignment isn’t punishment, that instinct guided him to give it to me, but as far as I’m concerned those two things can both be true.
We all know that instinct is a result of our connection with the life force, and the life force will decide when my penance is done.
Whatever it is that got me lumped with this job, I can’t deny it’s a great opportunity for me.
If I ever decide to leave the security team and do something else, it’ll show potential employers that I’m quick to learn and can be flexible.
And if I stay put—which, let’s face it, is the most likely option—Eoin and the king will remember that I can take on anything the job throws at me, even stuff like this which is out of my scope, and that I only complained… a lot. But I did it anyway.
Plus, this is the consort’s pet project, and he specifically suggested me to fill the role until someone more suitable can be found.
That’s not something an elf can just turn down without a really good reason, and sadly, “I think this is a stupid sport and I made an idiot of myself in regard to one of the players” isn’t a good enough reason. They already know the latter, anyway.
Reminding myself that bolstering the participation of young elves and dragons within the community of species is a good thing—I of all people get that—I march toward the door.
“Ari!”
And stop to wait for Erik from the team’s marketing department to catch up with me.
I have conflicting feelings about Erik. He’s an elf, and the person behind this drive to attract dragons and elves to this sport, and specifically to the Warhammers, so this whole mess I’m in could be labeled as his fault.
On the other hand, he’s so earnest and enthusiastic, it’s hard to hate him.
He genuinely wants to see our people integrating better here on Earth and thinks that hockey is a good way to do it.
“Hey,” he says, a little out of breath, as he reaches me. “Good morning. Is that your car?” He points, and I glance over at… my car.
“Good morning. Yeah, it is.”
“Oh. I… um.”
He’s one of those people whose expression shows their every thought, and I can see the moment when he decides not to ask the question he’s dying to ask. Fortunately for him, it’s one I’m used to hearing.
“Yes, I’m portal capable,” I tell him, starting toward the door again. He falls into step beside me, his confidence bolstered by me volunteering information.
“That’s what I thought, because all the elves on the king’s security team are, right? But in that case, why did you drive? Why do you even have a car? If I was portal capable, I’d never travel any other way.”
Portalling is awesome, but when you’ve been able to do it most of your life, it becomes just another method of travel.
That’s not something I can say to someone who can’t portal, though—not without sounding like an ass.
Instead, I reply, “Driving is kind of epic. When I open a portal, I have to control all the elements to make it work right. When I’m driving, I can only control the car—everything else is up to the life force and the other people on the roads.
It’s a wild adventure.” I fucking love it.
There are rules and guidelines to make it safe, but ultimately, most of it is just pure luck.
Given how restrictive my childhood was and the regulations I work within now, I like having this one thing that I have so little power over.
Erik doesn’t seem convinced. “I guess. But you can’t tell me that sitting in peak hour traffic is better than a portal that will take you to where you need to be in a single step.”
He might have a point.
I let Erik lead the way to the offices, since I haven’t actually been here before.
Training camp was held in a facility a few hours away, supposedly because it allows the team to have bonding time away from the distractions they’d face at home.
I didn’t spend a lot of time with the team, myself, but from what I saw, it wasn’t working.
It would take a lot more than being in forced proximity to bond that group.
“Hi, Lurlene,” Erik says cheerfully to a woman coming out of a kitchenette with a mug cradled lovingly between her palms. “This is Ari, from the DEA. He’s—”
“So you’re the liaison,” she interrupts, looking me up and down. “I guess you’ll do.”
“Temporary liaison,” I correct, not wanting anyone to get the idea that I’d be willing to take on this job permanently. “Nice to meet you.”
“Lurlene is Craig’s assistant,” Erik explains helpfully, and I file that information away.
I’ve met Craig Voss, the general manager, several times, and based on what I know of him, his assistant is bound to be a highly capable, no-bullshit type of person.
I bet she’ll be the one who knows everything that happens within the organization, so I should try to stay on her good side.
“You’ll be here one day a week, right?” she asks, already walking away. We trail after her.
“Yes, but I’ll make sure everyone has my contact details in case you need to reach me when I’m not here.” Even though I really hope they don’t use them. It’s an outreach program, and Erik and I will be working on it together. How much time can it take on the days we don’t have activities?
Lurlene makes a noise that might be acknowledgement.
I think she’s a vampire, but that’s a guess.
Based on her size, I’m pretty sure she’s not a demon or hellhound—though I’ve been caught out guessing that way before—and she doesn’t have that way of moving that most felid shifters exhibit.
That leaves vampire, succubus, or sorcerer, and I’m not all that good at telling the difference between them.
“We’ve put a desk for you next to Erik’s,” she tells me. “He’ll show you around. Don’t eat anyone’s lunch out of the fridge, don’t steal pens, and answer the phone if it’s ringing off the hook. You’ve got a meeting with Craig and Henry at nine thirty.”
“Answer the phone?” I repeat. “Whose phone?”
“The external line,” Erik explains. “We don’t have a full-time receptionist, so calls to the public Warhammers number go to Lurlene first, then bounce around to other phones if she’s busy.”
They want me to answer business calls? Are they serious? “I don’t actually work here,” I remind them.
“You do one day a week,” Lurlene snaps.
I smile at her, but I’m pretty sure it looks like I’m just baring my teeth. “But I don’t work for the Warhammers. It’s unlikely I’d be able to help whoever was calling, because I know nothing about the club. Or hockey.”
Her mouth drops open. “What do you mean?”
How is this day already a disaster? I just got here. “I mean, if someone asks me about tickets, I don’t know how much they cost, how to sell them, or where—”
“Not that! You said you know nothing about hockey.”
Oh. That. I shrug. “That’s right.”
She turns on Erik, who holds his hands up in defense. “That’s the whole point of this program, Lurlene. We’re trying to get more of my people interested in our sport.”
“Don’t you think that would be easier if the people running it were interested?”
She has an excellent point there.
“That’s what I’m here for,” Erik assures her. “Ari’s just helping me coordinate. He’s here to show that the government supports this program.”
Well, that makes me feel special.
“Unacceptable,” she declares. “He doesn’t need to be a lifelong fan, but he at least needs to know something about the game.”
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. After all, most of what I’ll be doing is reaching out to schools and community programs and hosting some open days. Occasionally facilitating pregame meet-and-greets with some of the players and the king. I don’t need to understand the game to do any of that.
Lurlene seems to take the question as a personal affront. “How, exactly, are you going to interest people in something you don’t know anything about?”
“I don’t need to know how the game is played to do that. I’ll be selling them on vibes. Most sports fans care more about the atmosphere and camaraderie of being a fan than they do about the actual sport.”
Judging by the look on her face, I’ve just waved goodbye to any chance I had of staying on her good side. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me lately, but this has to stop. I take a deep breath and dredge up my charm.
“What I meant was—”
“You will learn about this sport,” she orders, and I can clearly hear the implied or else.
“I’ll teach him,” Erik promises, and she scoffs, then softens the effect with an indulgent smile.
“That’s sweet, honey, but you’re still new to it yourself. Bask in it for a while before you pass on your love. I’ll find someone to teach him.”
Is this a sport or a cult? What exactly did Eoin and the king get me involved in?
“I know someone who’s a big fan,” I start, deciding it would be safest to beg for a favor from Consort Jared. I don’t get to finish.
“No. Now go to your meeting with Craig and the coach.” She walks away without giving either of us the chance to reply.
“Erik?” I stare at her departing back.
“Yeah?” The cringe is clear in his voice.
“It’s been literally thousands of years since I was scolded like a child.”
“Um. I’d say sorry, but… yeah. It’s probably going to happen again.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “Great. Let’s go to this meeting.”
Two days before I turned up to the Warhammers’ training camp to facilitate the photo ops for the king, Erik called to apologetically inform us that the team had a new coach.
That prompted a frenzy on the security team as we rushed through a last-minute background check, but even with that inconvenience, I wasn’t upset about the change.
The old coach was… how do I phrase this politely?
A homophobic asshole.
Aside from my personal encounter with him, I’ve also heard some snippets of information via Eoin, who got them from Dáithí, who’s friends with…
a player on the team. It seems that ex-Coach Franks is just abusive in general and a large part of the reason the team has such a reputation for playing rough and dirty.
Anybody was bound to be an improvement on him.
Having met the new coach, though, I still don’t know quite what to make of him.
He’s stoic, which isn’t uncommon for demons, though a lot of what we other species perceive as stoicism is merely our own inability to properly read the subtlety of their expressions.
Demons have heavier muscle mass than any other species on Earth, resulting in less mobility of facial muscles.
So Coach Locke might be a jolly guy, but I just can’t tell.
Erik knocks once on Craig’s door and then opens it and gestures for me to enter. The GM and coach are already inside.
“Welcome, Ari,” Craig says. “We’re excited to kick off the season with this project. Let’s make more Warhammers fans, yeah?”
I nod. “Sounds good.” I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that people think I’m more invested in this project than I actually am. “I want to build a solid foundation for whoever takes over from me to work with,” I add to remind them that I’m not here permanently.
“Erik, you mentioned that you’d need some of the players to get involved,” Coach says. “I’ve got a list of names for you.”
Erik shoots me a startled look. “Oh… uh, we were going to come and talk to the players about the program and ask for volunteers.”
Coach nods. “Yeah, you’ll still do that. After training today, if you can. But I’ve got some names for you in addition to the volunteers.”
Do those people even know they’ll be helping?
Something tells me this is going to get messy.