Page 14 of Wooing the Wiccan (Elf Magic #1)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Raeulfr
This is bad. Very bad. Very very bad. One might even call it a disaster.
While Jared is transfixed by the preternatural speed of the players he doesn’t realize aren’t human, I slip my phone from my pocket and hold it in my lap while I text Eoin.
He’s sitting in the lounge behind us, hidden by the same distortion shield he used to get into said lounge, since Dáithí selected a nosebleed-section ticket for him.
Why didn’t you stop us?!
It takes only a moment for him to reply.
Eoin:
Stop you from what?
Raeulfr:
COMING HERE! To a community event with Jared, a HUMAN WHO DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT US!
I can’t believe he’s playing coy right now. He might not like my relationship with Jared, but I never thought he?—
Eoin:
You didn’t know? I thought you knew and had a plan! I thought you were getting back at me and the others by coming here!
I twist in my seat and look up toward where he’s now standing at the top of the steps, wide-eyed shock on his face. I shake my head slightly, pulling a face, and he closes his eyes for a second.
My phone vibrates again.
Eoin:
Can you leave? Make up an excuse?
Raeulfr:
Already tried that. Not happening. What kind of plan did you think I had?
Maybe I can use that. Because we’re only a few minutes into the game, and already there have been a couple dozen incidents that could have given away the secret.
Eoin:
I don’t know! Something that a wise king with the connection to the life force would have thought of!
Not. Helpful.
Raeulfr:
We’re just going to have to ride it out and hope for the best. I’ll try to keep him distracted.
So much for Dáithí’s idea that we were at the stage of our relationship where we could spend time together but focused on other things. I need all his attention to be on me, and not the hellhound across the aisle who’s growling in a way no human ever could about the goal the Glaives just scored.
A sideways glance at Jared shows he’s too busy clapping and cheering to notice. This is going to be a nail-biter of a game, but not for the reason competitive sports usually are.
He turns to me with a huge smile. “Did you see that goal? It was so fast, I missed it!”
“Me too.” I sound a lot less enthusiastic than I should, but he just laughs.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be sore just because your team isn’t winning.”
Pulling myself together, I nod. “You’re right. There’s plenty of time for the Warhammers to turn this around.” Hopefully without doing anything too inhuman.
He gives me a quick, affectionate kiss and then goes back to watching the game, and I divide my attention between what’s happening on the ice and the crowd. How did this happen? Why would Dáithí?—
Shit. This is my fault. I never told Dáithí that Jared is human, and Eoin wouldn’t have told him either, since he doesn’t know I’ve been consulting his sort-of boyfriend for dating advice.
When Dáithí said hockey, I assumed he meant the human league, not the Community Hockey League.
And the “hockey primer” email he sent me so I could “study” for tonight only covered basic hockey terms and rules (like the puck has to go into the net to score a goal), plus a four-line summary about the team names, their colors, and the names of the most popular players on each.
I know better than to enter an unknown situation without full background, but living on Earth, at peace, without the imminent threat of my whole species being destroyed, has dulled my edge.
Plus, maybe Eoin had a point that I was getting back at my security team.
Not by coming here and risking exposure, but by not giving them full access to my plans ahead of time and letting them do the risk analyses I know they prefer.
Just because they’re trained to react to any bad situation that comes up doesn’t mean I shouldn’t give them whatever they need to be prepared. This whole mess?—
“Is that a streaker?!” I shout as a demon two rows in front of us teleports out. He’s huge like most demons, and he was standing… My heartbeat picks up pace while I wait to see if Jared noticed.
“Where?” he asks, his head swiveling left and right, and I try not to sigh with relief as I point to the top level on the opposite side of the stadium.
“Over there… no, to the left… there, do you see him?” There isn’t a streaker, of course, but I must be convincing, because most of the people around us are now also looking, and I can only hope I’m not creating a problem for myself.
“I don’t see him,” Jared says. “Are you sure it was a streaker? Nobody seems to care, and who’d take their clothes off in an ice rink, anyway?
” He’s still scanning the mostly empty seats in that section, and I’m grateful for his distraction when the demon teleports back in, a can of beer in each hand.
He passes one to his friend, and they both sit.
“Maybe it was just somebody wearing a beige coat,” I suggest. “I don’t see them now. Sorry—I guess I overreacted.” I really hope I don’t have to do that again.
He pats my arm. “Don’t worry about it.”
We both look back at the ice just as “my favorite player,” Ansas, swings his stick at the head of another player on his own team. The other guy, who’s about a foot taller and wider than Ansas, goes down like a pile of bricks… amid the pieces of Ansas’s broken stick. The whistle blows.
“Whoa,” Jared says. “That’s gonna get him ejected for sure. Suspended, too.”
I wince. I may not know much about hockey, but I do know how the community plays sports.
The referee makes the call.
“Two minutes?” Jared turns wide eyes to me. “That was a minor penalty? He assaulted another player! His own teammate!”
I shrug. “I don’t get it either,” I say weakly as Ansas is dragged toward the box by four of his much bigger teammates, shouting threats and obscenities the whole way. Someone needs to remind him that these games are supposed to be family friendly.
“This is the weirdest game I’ve ever been to,” Jared says, shaking his head as the play resumes. “So much rougher than any league I’ve ever seen.”
“They probably weren’t allowed to play in any of those,” I offer, and it’s the most truthful thing I’ve said since we arrived.
A few minutes pass without any other disasters, and I’m actually watching the game—which is better than I expected—when someone tugs my sleeve.
“Psst!”
I look right. There’s an empty chair beside me, but the woman—a vampire, I think—in the one next to that is gesturing for me to lean over. With a quick glance to make sure Jared isn’t paying attention, I lean.
“What’s that all about?” she whispers. “The penalty and the streaker?”
I pull a face. “He’s human and doesn’t know.”
Her mouth drops open into a perfect O. “Why did you bring him?” she hisses.
“It was an accident!” She obviously doesn’t recognize me, because it’s been a long time since a stranger has castigated me. “But I can’t think of a reason to leave that won’t make him suspicious, so?—”
She holds up a hand. “Say no more. Distraction is key. We’ve got you.” She turns away to talk to the people on her other side, and I straighten in my seat.
“What did she want?” Jared asks softly, his eyes still on the ice.
“To ask if I have a mint,” I lie. “I don’t.” At least that part is true.
He nods, then leaps to his feet to cheer as the Glaives steal the puck and race down the ice, thankfully not noticing the way my seat neighbor is now leaning forward to whisper to the people in front of us.
The rest of the first period passes without disaster, and the group in front of us, an incubus, a sorcerer, and a vampire, turn around to engage us in casual conversation during the intermission, keeping Jared’s attention away from the rest of the crowd.
I give my neighbor a grateful smile, and she winks back.
My phone vibrates.
Eoin:
How’s it going?
Raeulfr:
A few close calls. The people near us know and are helping to run interference.
Eoin:
Can you pretend to be sick?
I consider it for a moment. Sure, I could pull it off, but it would mean another lie, and one that’s likely to make Jared worry about me. I hate that idea. Plus, he’s having fun. Aside from the occasional panicky moment on my part, this date is a success.
Raeulfr:
No.
The players skate back out, and I put my phone in my pocket, ignoring the vibration as a new message arrives. Eoin’s just going to have to accept my decision. I’ve been managing things just fine so far, and now I have help.
That help proves itself five minutes into the second period, when some dragons in the next section over send up some magical lights to celebrate the Warhammers’ first goal.
“Let’s start a wave!” my neighbor shouts, surging to her feet and throwing up her arms, and the people surrounding us immediately do the same, momentarily blocking our sightlines. She must have told them all while I wasn’t paying attention.
Jared and I belatedly join in, though when we sit again (after having successfully started the wave), he looks toward where the dragons are sitting. “I could have sworn I saw fireworks or something,” he says.
“Probably laser lights,” the felid shifter behind us announces. “Kids bring them everywhere.”
Jared glances over his shoulder at the man. “Good point.”
“Thank you,” I mouth, and get a firm nod in return.
We’ve made it almost to the end of the period when one of the bigger Glaives’ players checks a Warhammer into the boards right in front of us. We’re close enough to see the buckle on his helmet give way as the helmet pops off…
“Is he wearing horns under his helmet?” Jared asks incredulously.
I open my mouth to give a reason for that absurdity, but the life force isn’t finished fucking with me yet. The teenagers sitting in the front row are jeering and shouting taunts, and the big demon Warhammer raises his gloved fists and slams them against the plexiglass.
It cracks.
But worse… one of the teens loses control and shifts into his hellhound form.
The men in front of us surge to their feet, trying to block Jared from seeing, but one glance at his face tells me it’s too late. He scrambles to stand on his seat and look over the crowd, and I don’t need to do the same to know what he sees.
The horned player.
The cracked plexiglass.
The hellhound teen, who may be shifting back to biped as he watches.
The hundreds of horned spectators in the crowd around us.
Put them together with the hard hits and seemingly lawless play, the not-magic from earlier, and my behavior since we got here, and there’s no way he’s not coming to a conclusion that’s going to need a big explanation from me.
His knees seemingly give way, and he sinks down, drawing them to his chest as he looks at me with a pale face. His hand is shaking when he lifts it to run through his hair.
“Raeulfr? Was there a hallucinogen in my nachos?”