Ogreness
A Black Lake Novel
by
R. Mac Wheeler

Ogres Ike and Nuel are thrust into the middle of dangerous politics and persecution when a troll cop is unfairly arrested for murder with no expectation of justice. Rioters prowl the streets shouting, “Ike’s head on a pike”. Resentment for ogre success and industry soars, and with it, the fear humans hold for the giants. There’s nasty history between their kinds. The arrogant Ike and uptight Nuel may not be the best candidates to sketch a path to peace, considering they don’t even like each other.

Humor—Suspense—Ogre romance

Chapter 1
~

With my lower lip worryin’ my right tusk, a habit I just can’t break, I peered down at Sissy the pit bull and she belted out a four note yodel. Pretty sure she was sayin’, “I told ya so.” Which she did. I was in bed though, and it takes a lot to get an ogre out of bed when we’ve gotten the blankets just right.

Must have been around eleven PM. That means the dozen eggs splattered against the house had gotten a good five hours to dry and make like barnacles to the stucco and siding. Wouldn’t wash off with the hose. Maybe a little scrubbin’ with the brush I use on the Green Hornet, my truck.

No. Would need something stiffer than that. Should just pull out the pressure washer and go to it. Even if it’s on the left-side of 5 AM. Most neighbors don’t like me much already. Not much harm to be done to our relations.

I took a step for the house to call Dave, to warn him our morning run was off, but I caught a shadow comin’ up the lane. I musta stared at those egg shells a while. I strode down to the street.

“Let’s pick up the feet,” Dave said as he got close enough not to have to shout.

My dreadlocks scrapin’ my shoulders, I told him I couldn’t go.

“You’re all dressed to run. Whazzup?” Dave trundled to a stop, drew his forearm across his brow, though he couldn’t have gotten too sweaty traversin’ the block here.

“Some dinkleberries egged my house last night.”

“That stinks,” Dave groused a little loudly. The Olstein’s shepherd ranted a five-second solo. “So after our run, have your guy call a guy to have it cleaned up.”

I gave him a look. We ogres have what humans consider a mean look. But Dave and I go back. College freshmen back. Hard to intimidate him. Not like that was my intention—just sayin’.

“What?” Dave asked.

“Ya know I don’t have a guy.”

Dave blinked. “You don’t have a guy? Everyone has a guy? Why don’t you have a guy?”

I sighed. I like to do for myself. But I wasn’t gonna tell this jerk that for the four hundredth time. I handed him my card key so he could let himself through my side gate, and into the plains reserve my place abuts, so he could do his run without me.

“You sure?” He asked.

I nodded my dreads.

“You’re not locking yourself out, are you?” Dave asked, givin’ the piece of plastic a shake.

“Nah. I smelled the eggs the moment I opened the front door.” We ogres have a pretty good snout. Dave really knows that. Short story I won't get into. But yeah, I told him humans stink once. “Besides, I can use the keypad on the garage.”

Dave shrugged. Steppin’ into a jog for the side of the house he said, “You oughta get a guy.”

Yeah. My papa says that. My mama says that. The grands say that. I should get a guy. Maybe even my cousin Kriz has mumbled that a couple times.

I whistled at Sissy, since she looked a little absorbed in her pmail catchin’ up. She gave me that pit bull, go-to-heck look, and leaned back into her sniffin’. I jogged at her floppin’ my runners onto the pavers. The go-to-heck glare turned into a ya’re-a-butthead glance, before she sprinted away from my hand, which I swatted in the general direction of her rumpus.

She beat me to the stoop. So all was well.

But my hand jolted on a locked front door. Oh, stink. Why did I lock it? Stink. I strode to the right-side garage door, tapped at the keypad, only to get a red flashing dot.

Oh, stink. Papa had told me he was gonna change the pin, since I hadn’t updated it since the construction was done on the place, and three hundred workers had my code.

What did he say he changed it too?

I tried Papa’s birth date. Mama’s. All the siblings’.

Of course I didn’t have my phone to call him. Hens run with their phones. Tough ogre bulls don’t have to worry about emergencies.

Yeah.

Ah, stink. Stink stink. I grabbed Sissy up and sprinted for the side gate. Gotta catch up with Dave. No card key, of course. In a wild hurdle I caught the right post of the fence with my right foot, used my left hand on the left jam and pulled and kicked. The ornamental edge of the gate still got me in the side of my thigh. Ouch.

Maybe I wrenched my ankle when I hit the pavers on the other side. I settled Sissy in the grass midstride, maybe a little roughly. She barked, a little irritated, ran after me with a gnarly attitude, threatenin’ to draw blood from the ankle I’d just sprained.

At the back gate I growled at her to stay. Had to give her a size twenty-seven runner to the chest to keep her from followin’ me out.

Dave and I usually walk the dip in the ravine just outside my property, since it’s a little rough, but I didn’t want to catch Dave on the backside of his run.

Of course I stumbled on the descent, never got my size twenty-sevens high enough, before I plowed my knees into the gravel of the wash. Ouch. I think the gate had drawn blood from my thigh. I now had road rash on my palms, and definitely scraped my knees.

I considered settling on my bum, and walkin’ to Dave’s house to wait for him. Don't know where I would've found access to our neighborhood, though. I think I’ve already hurdled enough gates. And my luck today, he’d decide to make a triple loop in the park this morning.

So I walked across the ravine, climbed the far side carefully in the dark of the setting moon, before strikin’ into a sprint on a sprained ankle to catch my stinkin’ neighbor.

What a great way to start the day.

~ Nuel ~

I woke close to regular time. My head wasn’t in vacation mode yet. I considered rolling over. First night in a strange bed, of course I didn’t sleep well. Could stand another couple hours of snooze time. But Silva suggested a six AM run, like the old days. Why didn’t I slap her? Twenty minutes of pillow time wouldn’t do me any good. So I forced myself out of bed. A cup of caffeine while I waited for my hosts to rise couldn’t hurt.

To be a catty female, I pulled on my sexiest running top, vee down to my knees. It was an old meow between us. Silva had to stuff her bra. Her Ralph is a boob man, prolly from knowing me long before he met Silva, through me.

A nice gawk from her husband would give us a laugh. Last night, Silva reminded me mornings on the plains are chilly, so instead of shorts I pulled out my red running tights. If Ralph’s gonna stare, he might as well enjoy a good view of my butt too.

~

Chapter 2
~

A guy would think with my ogre stride I’d catch up with a puny human pretty fast. I hit the main loop and optimistically turned right, since we always run counterclockwise.

A mile later I was worryin’ I mighta shoulda struck out in the opposite direction. I passed the trail to the southern loop. Still no Dave. I shoulda caught up with him by now, right? I started worryin’ maybe Dave decided on a short run and headed south, for the wraparound trail back into our subdivision via the main entrance.

No light to speak of still, I assumed the shadow blottin’ the trail ahead had to be Dave. He must have stopped to tie his shoe.

The shadow split two ways, then three ways. A bit short, even for a human—oh stink.

I staggered out of my hard run to face three wolves. Erp. They must have been gnawin’ down on something they killed, considerin’ the way they wafted back and forth in the middle of the trail. The odor of the kill finally hit me.

Must have just taken down whatever they were hidin’ behind them, or Dave would have been footin’ it in reverse and we would have met.

“So what are ya guys doing on the plains this time of year, huh boys? Shouldn’t ya be up in the hills with all the snow melted?”

The alpha of the small pack snarled. His two buds followed after him. The aroma of their breaths hit me. Deer breath. Lovely.

“I don’t want yar breakfast, promise, but I have to pass ya gents,” I said in my friendliest voice.

The three growled. I growled back at them. Even to an ogre, our growls are intimidating. These three slunk backward, but they weren’t ready to give up their snack yet.

I answered their louder snarls with my own. And stink, if the guy actin’ all alpha didn’t dash into a sprint toward me. A bluff. I held still. Never met a wolf that wasn’t scared stiff of my kind.

He launched, straight for my face.

That ain’t supposed to happen.

Somehow I dipped low enough he went mostly over me, claws draggin’ across my shoulder and arm. The other two dudes approached at a sprint, and two seconds later I was surrounded. Oh stink.

Time to get off the trail, or accept I’d have to rip a few wolves in half. I really didn’t want to do that. The highways kill enough of the little guys. Humans like to shoot ’em. Yeah. Wolves take a couple sheep and goats down every year, but the species can’t even keep the varmint population down, much less the deer, which impact the future of our pine forests. We really oughta be givin’ ’em free Viagra.

I plowed off the trail, branches draggin’ across my forearms which I braced in front of me. Needles slashed my face. The pine scent drowned my sinuses. I veered right, but at this point, did I really think I’d be able to catch up with Dave?

What choice did I have? I picked up my pace. My arms would be shredded by the time I got back on the trail. At least I didn’t hear, or smell, my four-pawed buddies on my heels. I stuck to the brush longer than I probably needed to but I didn’t need another dust up with three bull wolves.

Back on the trail I tried to push back into a sprint. Maybe it was the blood I knew trailed down my leg from hurdlin’ my gate, or the sprained ankle, or the gazillion scratches burnin’ my arms. I should have worn a tee instead of a tank. Maybe my attitude’s slowin’ me down too. I have those stinkin’ eggs to wash off the house.

A mile later I reached the cutoff for my ravine and still hadn’t caught up with Dave. I staggered to a halt, slung my arms about in a mini-tantrum, and said darn a couple times. And a couple of my favorite troll expressions. Sorry, Mama.

“Enough of this nonsense,” I hissed.

A yelp thread from the gloom. “Who’s there?”

Uh. “Just me,” I called back. “Uh. Ike.”

“Ya’re with an ogre, woman. Chill,” a deeper voice returned from the wash below.

Two forms folded out of the dark. Another pair of running enthusiasts, by their attire. I was rather shocked. A human woman and an ogre hen. There aren’t that many humans willin’ to be seen with an ogre these days, as though we’re the enemy.

Dave doesn’t count. He isn’t socially aware. All he cares about is computer code. Lives it, dreams it.

I recognized my human neighbor Silva in the gloom. “What are you doing lurking around?” I think that’s what she said, but my tongue was wound around an ankle or something. No words made it through any synapses. The sky might have clouded over. In other words, I was gobstruck by the ogre hen standin’ in front of me, next to Silva.

Wow. What a looker.

“What happened to you, Ike?” Silva blurted. Actually, I was surprised she bothered to ask. She and her husband have never appeared very happy I built next door. My place doesn’t exactly fit in, spread across four regular lots. The HOA sued me. Ha. I had better attorneys.

The ogre hen with Silva reached out, began pullin’ parts of forest out of my dreads. “Ya’re bleeding,” she said matter-of-factly, in a Northern accent.

“Uh.”

They both gazed at me. Silva bolted her head forward a bit, I think to provoke me to explain.

“Oh,” I gushed. “There are wolves east of the southern spur that made me skirt around ’em off-trail. I’d avoid that section of the loop.”

“Good to know,” the ogre hen mumbled. “Ya afraid of wolves?” The grin was uncalled for.

“They were suppin’ on a deer,” I said.

“And ya didn’t want to disturb ’em?” The smirk was clear in the ogre hen’s voice.

“We better go,” Silva told her companion, nudgin’ her in the arm.

Before they got away I asked her if Ralph was home, though what I wanted to ask her was who was the babe she was with. “I locked myself out and need to borrow a phone.”

Both females laughed. “Ralph’s doing his machines with earbuds in. Ring the bell but he probably won’t hear you.” I barely caught the last of her statement as the two blended into the dark. A last ogre hen chuckle reached me a moment later. It clicked late that maybe one of them was carryin’ a phone.

Females. Meaner than cougars. Not a lot of sympathy. Or empathy. I scratched at my forearm without thinkin’, which wasn’t a good idea. Burned like the dickens. Speakin’ of felines, I’m clawed up like I’d gone to war with a gaggle of the creatures.

I managed across the ravine without wrenchin’ my good ankle. Got a good poke in the butt climbin’ my gate, but I don’t think that drew blood. I might need to visit a blood bank as it is.

Sissy barked her head off as I came over. Stinkin’ girl couldn’t smell it was me? She had her teeth on my ankle before I think she realized I wasn’t a favorite foe. Though some of the raccoons she despises that visit the bird feeder could eat her for brunch.

~ Nuel ~

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Eh. Neighbor,” Silva answered. “I told you about him.”

“From the mausoleum?” I cracked up when she first called it that.

“The one.”

“Ya’re right. He is cute. But seemed to be a bit of a space cadet.”

“There you go girl. Best thing to do, get right back on the horse.”

That irritated me more than a little. The girl part. She knows our kind don’t like to be called that. We’re bulls and hens. Not boys and girls. And there was no way I wanted to look at another bull for at least a year. It wasn’t a bad break up. But a break up is a break up.

~

Chapter 3
~

Five rings didn’t bring Ralph to the door. I strode off the stoop and glared up the street. No, I didn’t wanna knock on Gozer’s door. No shuttin’ up a troll once he gets talkin’. Very irritating creatures.

Okay, I had to admit I didn’t want to face Dave. Just a short block away. Maybe already be home. He’d never let me live this down. Take one look at the scratches up and down my arms, prolly have a few across my face, and every time he sees me for the next ten years he’ll ask if I’ve danced with any wolves lately.

He’ll give me grief every morning run. Every day on the basketball court. Every staff meeting. I spend too much time with the jerk. Never should have hired him. Or joined his mixed league. But the jerk knows his tech.

And he’s a natural leader. People seem to like him. Go figger.

I looked up toward Gozer’s. And maybe lurched. What was all that piled in front of the empty house next to Gozer’s? Looked like the pieces of a giant erector set, but these parts were all ecru-hued steel waitin’ to go into a highrise up North.

It all blocked the view of the houses up the block. That couldn’t meet code. HOA will be fixin’ this quick. Though I hate HOA's. My papa skipped a week mowing his lawn and received a nasty note from his board.

I pushed off to explore. Stood in front of a gazillion tons of beautiful rust-flavored steel when Gozer’s door opened. He strode toward me, coffee cup in hand, calf-length bath robe flowin’ open, chest bare, pajama bottoms, what, decorated with day-glow-yellow dolphins?

“Must be worth millions of Continentals,” Gozer groused.

More like dozens. One beam prolly cost a hundred grand.

“Surprised ya didn’t join us neighbors when the truck come unloadin’.” Gozer wasn’t a happy camper.

“It’s a blight,” he continued. “A danger. An insult to all of us. What is this, Sanford and Son. Despicable.”

“Last night, huh?” I mumbled.

“Ya out late or something?” Gozer asked. “What are ya gonna do about it?” He snorted those words and coffee slopped out of his cup.

“Me? Why should I do anything about—”

“Ya’re the only Range-privileged in the neighborhood with the power to make anything happen.”

I really don’t like being interrupted. And don’t like to be called Range-privileged. Not that I can hide the family I was born into. If I wanted to.

“Hey,” I said. “Our neighbor Silva was out for a run with an ogre hen this morning. We have a new ogre family in the hood?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Gozer growled. Trolls like to growl almost as much as us ogres.

I dared to tell him I was more interested in an ogre hen neighbor than a pile of steel. Of course he growled again. I asked him if he had his cell on him.

His face brightened up. “Ya gonna call yar guy about this yard of—”

“No. I locked myself out. Got to call my papa.”

Gozer’s chest did that trollish thing no other race can do. Supposed to be a laugh. More like a volcanic eruption in the esophagus. Yeah, yeah. Very funny. I locked myself out.

His eyes narrowed. “What happened to yar arms?”

I looked down. The sun was darin’ to peek over the horizon soon, so the blood coatin’ my arms was a little more dramatic. I mumbled about havin’ to take a detour in the reserve.

“Some detour.” Gozer drew his phone out of a deep pocket and handed it to me.

I dialed Papa. On the second ring he was grumpin’ about being retired and not appreciatin’ early morning calls from idjits he didn't know.

“Ya’re sittin’ drinkin’ yar coffee, readin’ the news, right?” I asked.

“Ike?” He harumphed. “Doesn’t matter. Retired is a thing. I put in my sixty years. Deserve my morning peace. And why are ya callin’ me on an unknown number?”

He was never one to be overly perky in the morning. Back in the day, maybe had something to do with draggin’ in from the office after ten in the evening most nights. Of the three days a week he was in the Range.

I suggested that some old goats love to hear from their adoring sons.

He growled high, which is an ogre’s laugh. “I hear from ya too often anyway. What. Was just last month, huh? Get a life, youngling.”

Mama was prolly swishin’ a firm fist at him. “Ya changed the code on my security thing. What’s the new one?”

He was silent.

“Used to be my birthdate,” I hedged.

He remained silent.

“Did ya write it down somewhere?”

“Ya locked yarself out?” Thankfully he sounded surprised.

I waited. Uh oh. He didn’t remember. I’d have to hunt down Dave. Last thing in the world I wanted to do.

“I’d been tellin’ ya—”

Yeah, yeah. Papa harangued me for six weeks. I told him, “If ya ever touch my computer again I’ll break yar arm,” and hung up.

I’d pay for those words on my next visit. Not from Papa. Mama would slap me around a couple times, maybe give a dreadlock a hard pull. Being the youngest of four, at least I get a break from serious repercussions. Have no clue why I’m her favorite. Maybe I'm not her favorite. Doesn’t matter if I’m forty, or fifty like my brother, we toe the line or answer to Mama. She can be meaner than a prison guard. Not that I've ever met a prison guard.

I dialed the office quick, left a message the crew was on their own for the day. They’d be ecstatic. The morning’s slippin’ by. I hadn’t taken a day off in five months anyway. They need to learn to survive without me.

“Ya know anything about that.” Gozer sloshed his cup toward the mountain of steel when I handed him his phone.

“Not my biggest concern this morning,” I said.

He shook his head, dreads swingin’, brow arched, not a happy troll. “They musta taken down the for sale sign, or buried it in all that.” Gozer sloshed what had to be an empty cup now toward the expensive debris pile.

“Not a portent of good neighbors,” Gozer continued.

I gave him a shrug as I turned up the block, and thanked him for the phone. I considered breakin’ into a jog, but the wrenched ankle seemed to be swellin’ up some while we talked.

As I neared Dave’s, his garage door opened, car backed out, and vroom, he pushed his little sports car as though a fire flicked at his skinny white butt. I ran after him, wavin’ my arms.

Jerk. Must have taken the shortest loop.

~ Nuel ~

Silva hadn’t stopped talking. How did I survive college with a human roomy? The wolves barely gave me a reprieve from her blah, blah, as we backed up to take the shorter trail home.

~

Chapter 4
~

Turnin’ around to head home, my heart cramped, or something. Silva and her runnin’ partner were comin’ back, via the southern spur, joggin’ up the middle of the street.

We met at the intersection. Silva jogged in place next to me, a smile huein’ her face. The ogre hen dropped into a stride matchin’ mine.

“Still locked out?” Silva asked.

I nodded, keepin’ my eyes on the asphalt in front of us.

“This must be what an embarrassed ogre bull looks like.” Silva only kept half of the humor out of her voice. On the bright side, she introduced me to her friend. Nuel. A college sorority sister visitin’ on vacation. I’d never heard of an ogre being part of the Greek community. Must be a Northern thing I never got into? But then, I was either studyin’ or buildin’ business portals for my papa’s cronies. Or playin’ basketball.

“Yeah, there weren’t many of us,” she said. Clearly a mind reader.

She shook my hand in a human fashion, leavin’ my knuckles uncracked.

My eyes knew enough not to stare at the hen’s loftier attributes, but still wanted to flick down at the runnin’ tights she wore, and frankly, I looked forward to her walkin’ in front of me. She wasn’t my grandpa’s generation ogre hen. Yeah, she could chuck a pickup truck if she wanted to, but she didn’t have the shoulders and hips of yesterday’s ogre hens. Now it’s all about fittin’ in. Being proud to be a mountain-sized ogre is out of fashion.

I would never fit anywhere. True, I don’t swath wheat, or chop trees with an axe as a livelihood, but competin’ athletically has always been one of my thrills. Even the most aerobic exercise bulks my muscles into knots. Not like I get many opportunities to fight a troll or daemon for the right to—anything. My mind was going in strange directions.

“Couldn’t raise Ralph?” Silva asked.

I shook my head. Nuel said my arms looked like they’d gone through a shredder. I grunted.

“Ike has always been a talker,” Silva mumbled, and broke her artificial jog, joinin’ our walkin’ pace. “Nuel’s a big software architect,” she continued.

I ripped my head up to take a closer look at her. Whoa. She didn’t hurt the eyes. Lovely tusks, smooth as silk. The new sun glinted off of them hard enough to stab ya in the eye.

“Fancy name for a software geek,” she said.

Software. My steps didn’t quite fall right, and I yanked a harder look at her. If I’d seen her in the building, I would have remembered her. Not like I meet every new hire. I took in the golden-red hues in her dreads.

“You run Ogreware, don’t you?” Silva asked. I was actually surprised she even knew anything about me. Maybe I’d mentioned to Ralph I was part of the company.

“Hardly.” My voice rasped. “Just one of many.” Yeah, just ask Kriz.

“Ralph said you’re on the board of OI too,” Silva pressed. I didn't comment. Don’t know why I was tryin’ to be humble. Not usually my thing.

I closed my eyes tightly for a moment. Time to change the topic. “Did ya see all the stuff stacked up the street?”

“The whole neighborhood was out there watching the stacking last night,” Nuel answered for Silva.

We neared Silva’s place. She told me to come in. Said she was already cookin’ for one ogre, I might as well stay for breakfast. I was taken by surprise by the invitation. The hen gave her friend a hard glance.

Silva and Ralph had never acted very excited to be livin’ next door to an ogre. We’d done little more than mention the weather in passin’, which we didn’t do much of. I certainly couldn’t remember talkin’ to Ralph about Ogreware. He must have heard about me from someone else.

Tel-ephone. Tel-egraph. Tel-a-neighbor.

My old hood was even worse. A lot more ogre and troll hens to keep the whisperin’ at a force-4 level.

Uh, I had a breakfast offer on the table. Oops. “Don’t wish to intrude.”

“I’ll just slaughter another cow,” Silva said.

“Oh. Really funny,” Nuel rasped, irritated like. But her lips curled up on her tusks.

She was cute. But I needed my mind workin’ on who to call. Maybe have to take a taxi downtown to get my cardkey from Dave. Be tough without my wallet. Could the security company help me?

“Uh,” I hmmed. “I’d love a cup of coffee.”

“Wouldn’t expect ya to be a coffee drinker,” Nuel said. What a quaint accent. Clearly not from the Range.

I’m no ogre traditionalist. Even Grandpa drinks coffee. Must have come from my namesake. He was known to spend a lot of time with humans back in his day. Less and less of that these days.

We ogres are the enemy. Again.

A big surprise Nuel is vacationin’ with a human. The hen reached Silva’s door first and used her own cardkey to let us in. I must have reacted, considerin’ the look Silva gave me.

“If Ralph and I ever get around to having kids,” Silva said softly, “Nuel will be their godmother.”

A bit of heat rushed to my face. Silva must have read my mind. Maybe I was a bit startled by her strong statement, in as many words sayin’, “We aren’t racists.” Maybe. Easy to assume everyone is these days, if ya spend too much time watchin’ the news.

Silva gave me another look before we lengthened into a single line through the entry. Nuel led us to the kitchen. Gave me the briefest glimpse of those runnin’ tights. They fit nice. Really nice.

Ralph sat at a breakfast counter, in a sweat-streaked tee, readin’ his tablet. He tossed me a, hey, but rose and shook my hand. I could see in his face he tried to give me an ogre grip. A human just can’t do it. I gave his knuckles a break. Meanin’, I didn’t break ’em.

Silva, explainin’ I was locked out, reached into a cabinet to retrieve a cup to go with the two settin’ near the coffee machine.

“Locked out?” Ralph chuckled. “How’d you do that?”

How many times am I gonna hear that?

“So you fall in love with Nuel yet?” Ralph continued.

Both females shouted, “Ralph,” at him.

“Well. Everyone does.” The man gave me a knowin’ look and a half smirk. “If I was a foot taller with shoulders as wide as yours, Ike, I would have stalked her for another year, but Silva caught my eye, in between.”

“Ya didn’t stalk me.” Nuel filled the three waitin’ cups.

“I was very subtle,” Ralph said. “Maybe a little cowardish.”

His smile implied he was serious about his youthful lustin’. But the few interracial relationships I’ve ever seen never went very far. There’s a lot between us beside the physical differences. I had to be seein’ a flirtatious side of Ralph, one I didn’t expect. Nor really wished to see, for that matter.

“What do you think about the junk pile?” Ralph said to me, smile fadin’.

Silva rolled her whole head, not just her eyes.

~ Nuel ~

This bull has the personality of an ear of corn.

~

Chapter 5
~

The sun had been on the eggs for a few hours by the time I got to them. The water hose did nothing. Neither did my little pressure washer, which shocked me. The yucky slime just grinned back. I took a bucket of warm water, dish detergent, and the bristle brush I use on the bathroom tile to the mean globs of goo.

Now ogres don’t complain much about havin’ to apply a little muscle grease, but these dozen eggs were ridiculous. If I ever catch the dinks that did this I’ll rip their hides off. The protein in the eggs did something to the paint. Darkened it. I will kill.

I was straightenin’ my back from my toilin’ when Nuel strode toward me. She wore a simple summer sweater that molded to her generous contours, and a fairly traditional, breezy white cotton skirt that floated almost to her ankles. Her feet were bare, which gave me a bit of a smile.

“So ya got inside.”

“Aye,” I said. Must have stood too fast, because stars danced around her face for a moment. Whew. “Security company was able to port into my system.”

Her eyes were locked into the gloom of my garage. “Ya ride.” Folk do stare at my wheels. They’re awesome. Bad to the bone. That thought embarrassed me. I offered her a, yes ma’am.

“My papa did too, until he left half of his skin on the highway, twenty years ago.”

“The OI platform is a lot more stable for us,” I said.

“Oh, Papa was on an Ogre Industries bike.”

Hmm. It took a lot to take an OI to the asphalt. And they’re expensive enough a two-wheel enthusiast isn’t likely to take a lot of chances with them, for the most part. Not anyone I would ride with. But maybe a blind idjit took a left in front of him. That kills a lot of riders.

“At least ya have something to drive in the rain.” She was checkin’ out the Green Hornet, my retro-lookin’ OI pickup. She said I must like my OI products.

Weird statement. “They are built for our statures.”

“And Ogre Industries makes sure no one competes with them.”

Oh stink. One of those. A self-hater. I see enough loathin’ from humans I don’t need to put up with it from one of us. “Been nice talkin’ with ya, but I got to get a move on. Got stuff—”

“Aw, did I insult yar ogreness?” she drawled.

I held my eye on her an extra moment, before I bent to collect the bucket, which I emptied in the grass.

“Don’t worry,” she continued. “I only came out here to shut Silva up.” She twisted around and headed back to the neighbors’.

To shut Silva up?

Oh. Match makin’. Yeah. I’ve survived enough of that too. A smile broke out as I finished rollin’ the hose and headed for the garage. Mama goes on about me being a bachelor within three seconds of me enterin’ her front door. As do my brothers and sister. I like my bachelorhood. Prolly a little like Nuel. No reason to ruin perfection.

I cleaned up a bit, before ridin’ my bike down to the electronics store. I returned home after droppin’ a few hundred more Continentals than I expected, on cameras that would take in more of the property than necessary. If anyone prowled the back, or up or down the street, they’d be recorded for prosecution.

Really don’t like scrubbin’ scrambled eggs off the house.

Spent the remainder of the day installin’ the new stuff. I don’t get enough time to do that kind of thing, usin’ my hands. But I could have done without all the twistin’ of itty bitty wires and screws meant to be worked by orcs or very patient humans. But I didn’t cut any corners, like a subcontractor might have, so the sun had been down a while by the time I was settlin’ my ladder in the garage.

Headlights pullin’ into the drive drew me back outside, a tired Sissy sloggin’ behind me. She had a tough day watchin’ me work. I groaned a bit on the inside to find Gozer gettin’ out of his OI pickup, last year’s model, a nice, rounded, red beast, step-up sides, and whitewalls. Always have liked that look. The red clashed a little with his purple suit. My opinion.

He stepped back a bit toward the street, eyes clearly tracin’ over my afternoon handiwork.

“Ya’re worried about the new neighbors too, huh?” he grumbled.

Hmm. “No. I’m worried about stupid teenagers chuckin’ eggs at my house.”

“A double load of rocksalt will fix that.”

“And get me sued for a million bucks.”

He laughed. “At least ya’re good for it.”

Oh, stink. Already.

“The mate called, told me ya were hangin’ off the side of yar house tryin’ to kill yarself.” He pulled off his chartreuse necktie which he folded over his shoulder. “Ya did a nice job. Four cameras?”

“Eight,” I answered. “Covered every inch of the back too.”

“Smart ogre,” he mumbled. “I think I have my own project for the weekend, what with whatever rude beast has moved in next door.”

His use of the B word struck me. Our kind had worked many a generation to squash the use of the word. Now giants are usin’ the word? What did he think moved in next door?

“Sorry,” he muttered, and looked down at the pavers. “Poor choice of words. So—” He blurted the single syllable hard, as though really interested in changin’ topics. “What does a bachelor do in such a big place, anyhow?”

I couldn’t help grinnin’. I had bought four lots to build my place on, my dream home. Am proud of it. Fits me to a tee. No one but my basketball buddies, or Darshee and Wizper, have ever been inside, excludin’ family, of course. Family always likes to converge on the youngest born.

“Ya like the two cent tour?” I asked Gozer.

“Always have been curious, since the walls started to go up. Didn’t look like any residential place I’ve ever seen. Though lookin’ at the front all finished up, appears like any other mansion ya’d find in the big city.

No mansion. Why the rich man remarks? Feelin’ snarky this afternoon, maybe. I strode away from him, but wafted my hand in invitation.

After Sissy put the troll through a serious sniff test, we entered through the laundry room, into my modest kitchen and dining area. Gozer looked unimpressed until he followed me into the back, which is a three story, giant-dimensioned, full basketball court, sided completely by glass on the east, facin’ the pool, and the plains reserve.

The faux bedroom windows facin’ the street north and south on the false-front, second and third floors, allows a lot of nice natural light in.

“Wow.” He walked to the rack holdin’ the basketballs, feet slappin’ on the hardwood. “No bedrooms?”

I pointed down the hall. “A few, and home office.”

He was busy drawin’ out of his suit coat, layin’ it on the rack, where he grabbed a ball, strode toward the top of the key with a few dribbles. “Wow. Quiet.”

Motion sensors turn on state of the art noise cancellin’ speakers. I grinned, maybe feelin’ a bit of pride. “Just speak in a conversational tone, I’ll hear ya better.”

He nodded, before hurlin’ the ball up at the fifteen-foot rim, which clunked and bounced right. “Been a while.” His eyes traced to the other side of the court, and a rim currently set to the human, ten feet. “Can I move in with ya?”

I grinned. “Think the missus might miss ya.”

He shook his head, dreads flowin’ across his shoulders. “Not for a moment. This place is awesome.”

Yeah. I think so.

~ Nuel ~

I’d forgotten how much human females like to shop. Not an ogre thing. The discomfort between us vibrated for more reasons than that, though we both pretended it wasn’t there. A rare week passes, even after all these years, we haven’t dropped each other a hello note, but we just don’t have anything in common anymore. Not that we ever had much, honestly. I still love Silva. But she’s a plains yokum. I’m a city ogre.

And if she suggested fixing me up with one more bull I might rip off one of her limbs.

This trip was a bad idea.

~

Chapter 6

~

Sissy went nuts about ten PM. Raised me from a half-drowse. I think I’d read the same paragraph three times already. I leaned out of bed to follow after the pit pull, but while she headed for the foyer, I veered into my office, to check out my new camera feeds.

A twenty-foot flatbed was backin’ into our cul-de-sac. Small forms, movin’ too fast to be human, flicked about in the gloom. A boom moved into place and levered beam after beam onto the long bed.

Gozer and a few other neighbors entered into view. Arms waved. An elf in my office prolly could have heard them grumblin’. I’ve been told they have sensitive ears. Maybe Sissy wasn’t barkin’ just at the loadin’ going on.

Fifteen minutes later those dark wisps moved about, I guess chainin’ down the load, and the rig pulled away, leavin’ no one in sight, like they were never there, except part of the erector set was missin’. Interestin’. But I was more keen on learnin’ who egged my house. The twits.

I called Sissy to calm her down. Third hiss, she let out a final howl at the door before trottin’ up the hall. I gave her silly praise, and then headed for the backyard. I was done readin’, and Sissy needed to do her last business, but I followed her out to keep down the explorin’.

I’d barely stepped outside when a scent matchin’ a newly-acquired memory struck me, waftin’ past the chlorine stench from the pool. I padded slowly to the edge of the screened lanai and whispered, “Ya there?”

A healthy, if subtle ogre growl answered me.

“Ya studyin’ the stars?” I asked.

She didn’t speak for a bit. When she did, her voice was nearer than where the first growl originated. “No peace even out here on the plains, clearly.”

“So ya’re not from around here?” I asked Nuel. As though the Northern accent didn't define that.

Sissy chortled from the far side of the yard, but quieted before I had to shush her. I waited for Nuel to answer. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to a capitalist ogre.

“It’s quiet out here.”

So maybe she’s from the big city.

“Ya from the plains?” she asked.

I told her I grew up on a ranch on the East Slope of the Range. That was sorta true. But mostly only weekends and summer. It’s a story I like better.

“Ya lived in the Range?” There was an odd surprise in her tone. “So. Ya’re old money.”

She could say that. No one could afford to buy a foot of land anywhere in the Range now. “Have cousins who still work the inns on Black Lake.”

“That’s sickening.” The words were terse, but a hint of humor lilted under them. She asked what drew me out of the mountains.

I thought about her question for a moment. I had various answers, dependin’ upon my mood. And audience. Twenty years ago there wasn’t a backlash against our race. Today, I never woulda come down to be closer to our developers, where land is affordable. I woulda preferred to work cattle and attend the quarterly board meetin’, and flee home the minute my great, great uncle adjourned. Wistful thinkin’.

“Tough question?” she asked.

I smiled. She couldn’t guess how tough.

“Silva is dying to know why ya’re still a bachelor.”

Hmm. Really? Silva? Oh, yeah. Nuel wasn’t interested in a capitalist ogre.

She said, “I suggested it was yar body odor and bad looks.”

Ah. That was mean. And funnier than heck.

“After all these years Silva still can’t guess when I’m pulling her chain. I think humans think we ogres are a lot more different than we are.” She asked how my arms are doing.

“Meh. Dress shirt will hide the scratches tomorrow.”

“Ya go into an office, like normal people?”

What? Normal? I opted to leave that and the people-comment alone. Think it's a northern expression. “But I refuse to wear a suit. And I hate ties.”

“In ten more years the fad will fade again,” she said. I think that’s what she said. She was keepin’ her voice down, prolly to keep the neighbor mutts from raisin’ a din.

With that thought, Sissy raised her own fuss. I shushed her. The glow of her white hide trotted toward me, passed right by, and to the wall between us and Nuel. She let out a quiet pit bull yodel.

Nuel said, “I didn’t think they liked our kind.”

Years past, not so much. But if they grow up as puppies around us, they’re smart enough to love us more than humans. A bit of my own prejudice.

“Ya never had a dog?” I asked.

“Never. Scarred as a child by all the neighbor dogs that went nuts when they saw one of us.”

Us. An ogre. Not a lot of ogres in the big city. Most of their buildings still don’t accommodate our height, which is every giant’s hot button. After all these generations, if they wanted to embrace us as neighbors, they would have changed by now.

“Scarred?” I asked.

“Emotionally, not physically. I think my hosts are getting ready for bed. I better call it a night too. Nice chatting with ya.”

Not, good night. Or, see ya. As in, I put up with ya, now go away, forever. Her scent diminished, and the clunk of a slidin’ door openin’ and closin’ raised Sissy’s hackles.

The silence that followed made me feel a little—alone. Which is odd. I figgered out a long time ago that I’m a loner. Got that in common with my cousin, Kriz. When the clan bulls get together and work on a keg, howl old ogre epics, I’m good disappearin’ when I can get away with it.

Darshee and Wizper had both finally given up on me. Like it was possible for me to ever choose one over the other, if I was tempted to end my bachelorhood. The three of us have for the most part, settled in as best of best friends. Though I’m not naive enough to think one or the other wouldn’t slit the other’s throat if that would enable ’em to snag me. Oh. I’m so mean. Got a good ogre ego.

“Let’s go to bed, girl.”

Sissy trotted to my side and we traipsed into the house together.

~ Nuel ~

Rich and good looking. No wonder he’s so full of himself. Dumb enough to lock himself out of his house. What a bumpkin.

~

Chapter 7
~

No repeat performance with the eggin’. But my chest was still a little flatter than usual as I readied for work. I donned leather to two-wheel it. Be a nice almost-fall day. To get my emotions up a little I asked Sissy if she wanted to join me. She went bazonkers, twirlin’ around in circles. She ran to the shelf where we keep her helmet, vest, and doggles. I think that was a yes.

The traffic in seemed a bit heavier than usual, but I settled back and enjoyed the cool air and Sissy’s face in my rearview mirror. I always smile like a fool at the image of her in that little black leather vest. She’s the cutest thing on this Earth in that.

The line for my first coffee in Ogreware’s atrium was a bit longer too. Seemed folks’ heads bent together in rumor mode more than usual. Something must have happened. Figgers I was out one day and the world twisted on its axis or something. Looks wafted back at me often, followed by the obligatory smile and nod.

Hmm.

I was two from the coffee guy when Darshee and Wizper approached. I stepped to the back of the line to join them. I didn’t get any arguments from the three employees I let slide in front of me.

“Ya see the news this morning?” Darshee asked without a typical good morning.

I shook my head.

“Squeee. Sissy’s cute in her black vest,” Wizper said.

“Violence was bound to break out,” Darshee said.

Oh, no. One of us had gotten tired of the bigotry and lashed out. “How many did he hurt?”

“Didn’t fight back.” Darshee shook her head. “Weird. Very weird.”

“Then how was there violence?” I asked.

“A mob, on one of us,” Darshee hissed.

“A mob?” I mumbled.

“Last night.” Wizper interrupted her visit with Sissy.

“What happened last night?” I asked.

“A bull ended up in the hospital,” Darshee said. “Pounded with sticks and bricks, kicked for ten minutes before the police broke it up. Concussion, in a coma, poor thing. He should have killed them.”

I sucked in a hard breath between my teeth. There was a day just thinkin’ about a giant settlin’ on a human was enough to give a giant a shiver. Humans are awfully fragile.

I’ve broken a few ribs by accident on our basketball mixed-league, and they wear pads just for that reason. I get a little competitive on the hardcourt.

“Did ya hear me?” Darshee poked me in the chest.

“What?”

She waved me to step up in line. “Rumor is ya took a day off.”

“Had something to clean up at home,” I said.

“Heard ya locked yarself out,” Wizper said.

Ah. How did that get out? A guy can’t hide from nothing.

“So ya did,” Darshee shrilled.

I shrugged. “Were there arrests?”

“For lockin’ ya out?” Wizper grinned.

I grimaced at her.

“Story is the trolls that broke it up were so taken back to find an ogre on the bottom of the pile, they maybe dropped the ball.”

“Ya’re kiddin’ me.” I mumbled more to myself than them, mixed thoughts tumblin’ around.

“They’re idjits,” Wizper said softly.

Darshee and I nodded. She wasn’t talkin’ about the troll cops, but the mob. Northerners, more specifically. Escalatin’ to violence against a race than can snap them in two is ludicrous. And simply not good for society.

“Ya’re up.” Darshee pointed forward.

I got my order in. Our barista gave me an extra broad smile this morning, tinged with a darker edge, in my head I thought, gloom. This latest news was unsettlin’ for anyone associated with Ogre Industries. And of course, Ogreware. I handed Sissy a giant-sized blueberry scone, which she grabbed and trotted ten feet away to devour.

By the time I got my tall coffee with a hint of cream, Darshee and Wizper were in a conversation with another OW-er, so I gave Sissy a whistle, which isn’t that easy for ogres to do with our tusks, and headed upstairs.

The phone-system-thingie said I had sixty-four messages. Oh, gods. Eighty percent of them would be about yesterday’s debacle up North. Before I did anything, I pulled the news up on my tablet and searched for the report. Serious anchors drawled on and on about the unprecedented harassment in the state’s largest city, ending with a caveat. Ogre Industries opened down ten percent on the exchange. OW six.

Complete idjitry. Did the fools think we were gonna go to war or something? On the bright side, the company could buy back some stock if the trend continued for a few days.

How many generations had it been since OI released stock? Stink. Those original shares had split a few thousand times. An orc workin’ for the company a hundred years ago, earnin’ a few shares a quarter, would have several million bucks to leave to her ancestors. If she was wise enough to keep those shares. She would have been livin’ well off the dividends the past sixty years.

I was stallin’. I had a responsibility to the clan. I dialed up our gnarly leader. His phone was busy. Busy again. So I listened to a few of my messages. Earliest calls were teases that wunderkind had locked himself out of his house.

The eleventh call was finally business. An answer to a query I left two days ago. I tried the clan leader again. He answered, a little breathlessly.

“Which Ike is this?” he asked.

“Son of Bliar,” I answered.

“About time.” He sniffed. “Called ya earlier.”

I explained I have a lot of messages. He wasn’t interested. Interrupted me with the obvious. We have to keep our folk calm. Who could have thunk that up? At least he didn’t start our conversation with our stock numbers.

“Ya know anyone up North ya can call, get the skinny on the emotions going on in the little skulls of those humans in the big city?”

I told him my papa would.

He told me to get on it. “Best thing in the world financially in the long haul, is if our stock tanks. Imagine, buyin’ up all those lose bonds. But those silly humans reproduce like rabbits. Outnumber us by the gazillions now. This discontent scares our old timers.” Stink, his mind was spinnin’ an odd number of directions.

I mentioned he’s one of our old timers.

“This old timer doesn’t get spooked. Listen to yar stinkin’ messages.” And he hung up. The goat never had much patience for decorum. Good thing he never wandered out of the Range.

The next zillion messages were a lot of the same, minus a few business calls from being out one day. How many meetings and conference calls was I blowin’ off today? I didn’t even want to look at my calendar.

It was already midmorning. I called Papa.

“Everyone is panickin’, huh?” He really didn’t mean it as a question.

“Humans used to be smart enough not to back a giant into a corner,” I said.

“Ogres use to have a spine not to be beat on by a passel of puny humans.”

He had a good point. “Our glorious leader wants me to make a call.”

“Ya want me to do it?” he asked.

Very polite of him. But I knew he didn’t want to get in the middle of clan business any more than he wanted to stick his toe in an electric socket. A reason he insisted I take the open seat on the council.

With a grin I said, “Sure.”

“Never gonna happen.”

“Doke wants a line on the emotions up North,” I explained.

Papa chuckled. “More likely wants a name for someone to blame. Remember Ozir?”

“Yeah.” Curmudgeon troll who taught me a bit about tendin’ cattle. Trolls truly embraced beef when the humans brought them into the Range.

“He’s got a grandson, or a great, great grandson, I forget which, who’s a big mucky muck in the police force up there. Kid has to interact with those flighty-brained humans every day. Be first I’d call.”

He gave me the kid’s number. I called him immediately. Didn’t surprise me Zug sounded a hundred years old. Figgered. Ozir has to be a couple eons old.

Trolls are kind of long lived. Even more than us ogres.

“Ya’re calling for the council?” Zug asked up front. I wasn't surprised he didn't have a Southern accent.

I admitted I was. He offered to put me up if I’d come up and visit, see the world first hand. The world. Funny. I told him I had a real job. He whined about all of us havin’ responsibility.

“But I don’t owe ya ogres a whole lot.”

“That’s rude,” I said.

He laughed, that trollish bass makin’ my phone vibrate—tickled my ear. “Just pulling yar tail. Ogres are getting a lot of that these days. It’s always been us trolls on the butt end of the joke. Them stinking humans wouldn’t have anything to do with us trolls if they didn’t need our bulk to keep all the other giants in line.”

My chin thrust toward my lap. For a mucky muck, as Papa called him, he wasn’t in the mood to play political, or polite.

“Ya all gettin’ some of yar own negative media?” I asked.

He didn’t answer for a few beats. “Some.”

“What can the council do?” I asked.

I worried I’d lost him. I repeated my question.

He sighed, long and hard. “This ain’t the world of our forebears. Not like we can descend on them aback dragons and correct their attitudes.”

The bull was definitely not talkin’ politically correct. He had been pushed a little too far, lately. Maybe.

“There are pockets of insurrection,” he continued.

“Insurrection?” I blurted.

“Dinks of no matter mingling about, talking trash. Organizing fools to parade around with signs. And baseball bats.”

“What’s their beef?” I asked.

“Hatred. Vitriol. No substance. I’d like to make all of them disappear.”

Wow. “Zug, I hope ya aren’t being recorded.”

“Me too,” he said. “Maybe I do. Give me an excuse to collect all of my brethren and head to the lowlands south of the Range, get away from these uppity humans who resent us because we look a little different, listen to different music. Pray differently. Prefer to sit around at night and tell stories than drink beer and act like idjits at the corner pub.”

My mouth hung open. I’d never heard such measurable disgust—from a politically connected sort. Not that I could recall.

He continued. “Ya remember we originally moved North to work our old mines. They invited us above ground, to protect them. Protect, them. From day one they’ve treated us like usurpers.”

I told him he sounded like he needed a vacation down South.

He didn’t respond.

“Zug. What can I do?”

“A little late,” he said. “Maybe we didn’t handle the prejudice right. We ignored it, best we could. Soon, there will be ogres and trolls tiring of turning the other cheek. And there will be blood in the streets.”

“Reinforcements?” I asked. Though I didn't know what I meant with that.

“Just incite more distrust,” he said. “Truly. I think the days of harmoniously living side by side has outworn its time. I have a letter of resignation typed up. Mulling it. No one needs to put up with this nonsense. Life is too short. Even for our kind.”

I let out a long breath of air.

“Did I make yar day?” Zug asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Got nothing better to tell ya. If ya haven’t been on the highway lately, there are lots of moving vans full of trolls heading south. Don’t know where they’re gonna land, but they may be the smart ones, getting out early.”

Seriously? This was not an uneducated man. He’d seen a lot in his day. A good forty years older than me.

“Ya’re not givin’ me anything to take back to the council,” I whined. I hate to whine. Just doesn’t set well for any ogre.

“Well, maybe it’s time for the council to get off its butt and do something besides visiting widows and opening free Internet cafes.”

“We do more than—”

“Pulling yar tail, whippersnapper.” He chuckled. The vibration tickled my hand.

He begged off. I sat starin’ at my handset for a good five minutes after he disconnected. I didn’t want to call Doke back.

“Whacha got?” he asked when I did.

My words escaped me for a couple breaths. He prompted me again.

“Nothing good. I think maybe the council should meet.”

“That bad?” Doke asked.

Lawyers take care of the minutia the council tended to generations ago. Rarely meet more than the minimum quarterly, stated in the charter.

“I suggest we all reach out to as many inside and outside of the clan as we can, bring some ideas together.”

“Ya don’t just want an excuse to traipse up to Black Lake, do ya?”

Good that he could keep his humor. I told him that’s all it was. He said he’d set something up for the weekend. I reminded him the inns are pretty busy on weekends. Though I’m one of only a few councilors that don’t live in the Range, and couldn’t drive in at our leisure.

“Next Tuesday then. That satisfy ya?”

Meh. Either way, I had plenty of cousins to stay with, what with my cabin rented out. I wanted to smile, but the lips didn’t twitch against my tusks.

~ Nuel ~

I’m a city hen. Whatever came over Silva to believe I’d like a nature hike on the prairie first light? I guess it was nice enough. She stayed busy pointing out this warbler and that jay, like I care one orc’s sliver tooth.

Why was she so excited about me chatting with that Ike, the yokum ogre next door? What an absence of class. Like I care he’s richer than one of the gods. She thought that was important to me?

~

Chapter 8
~

By the heavy clunks at my office door, those were ogre knuckles. I looked up as it swung open, and Darshee and Wizper leaned in.

“Lunch?” Wizper asked.

My eyes jolted down to the bottom of my laptop for the time. Hadn’t I just gotten into the office? My stomach took that moment to grumble. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything in an ogre, since we can down a modest carcass between meals without dentin’ our real appetite, but the rumble was consistent with it being midday.

“Been a hard morning?” Darshee’s brown eyes softened. “Poor widdle ogreling.” The sizzle returned to her face.

Wizper growled. She has such a cute chuckle.

I stood, suggestin’ I should get the two hens to the cafeteria where they wouldn’t cause anyone any more grief. Sissy was eager to join us. We headed for the stairs.

Despite the grim discussions this morning, my eyes took in the sways of the two hens’ derrieres in front of me. They both wore traditional skirts of tan hues, a gazillion pleats, that fanned across their rumpuses as though darin’ a bull to overheat.

They are my best friends, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy their—uh, physical assets. Their long steps allowed their cute bare feet to peek out from under those flowin’ pleats.

Wizper asked how my calls had gone this morning. I summarized. Neither appeared very surprised, shook their heads, dreads swingin’. When I said I’d be headin’ for Black Lake Monday, both of them perked up.

Uh oh.

“Ridin’ or drivin’?” Darshee asked.

I guess flyin’ was out of the question. Why did I ever buy that little jet? Should take advantage of it now and then.

Wizper said, “Ridin’ of course, this time of year. Gorgeous weather. Perfect for two-wheelin’ it.”

They locked on to each other. “Road trip.”

“Uh—”

“We could use a vacation,” Wizper said. “When’d we last take any time off?”

“We’ve taken time off before?” Darshee asked. “Aren’t we slaves to OW?”

There was no fightin’ this. Not like I wouldn’t enjoy their company. So I shut my mouth and listened to them scheme. Or in their words, plan. Projects they had to get in line. People they had to smack around before Monday. Shoppin’. They had to shop. Gear. Snacks.

“Will the weekend be enough time to consolidate all of our requirements?” Wizper gushed. Why was she talkin’ like a lawyer? Stinkin’ lawyers. Have ruined the industry.

Darshee giggled, or what ogres call a giggle, though with our tusks, it doesn’t sound anything similar to what comes out of a human.

We worked our way down the food line, the hens still going blah, blah about their road trip, as I considered how good it is that most ogres are well to do, because the prices on the glass for everything was three times that listed for human-sized servings.

Mother Nature endowed us with big stomachs, bigger metabolisms. No arguin’ that. But I still found bites to subtly drop for Sissy. Of course they never hit the floor. There was just a sound, like a vacuum in space fallin’ in on itself in two notes.

I’ve never been much for cooked carrots, but Sissy loves ’em. So I always buy a servin’ that is usually empty before we get to the cashier. Marzzy the troll hen usually gives me an eye like I’m tryin’ to pull a fast one over her. A game we play.

We moseyed to a table, the hens still going blah, blah, and I actually got a bit excited about ridin’ south with them.

Wizper rides an enormous sport bike. Orange with a hint of yellow and red flames. More a troll paint job if ya ask me. Them trolls love their bright colors. But Wizper looks good on it in her black leathers.

Darshee is a little less garish, rides an OI tourer similar to mine, instead of midnight black, silver and pearl. Never know what kind of armor she’s gonna don. She prolly has more leathers than skirts. I think she rides to give herself an excuse to buy something new every month.

I met Wizper at an OI kick tire, where riders stand around with an alcohol-free beer in our fists talkin’ about bikes and bikin’, before I even knew she worked at OW. Think Kriz hired her.

Think Darshee believed Wizper’s interest gave her a notch up in the campaign to snag me, so she asked me to help her get into the biker lifestyle. And she never looked back.

If a bull is gonna have a side interest, it may as well be one his two best friends, who happen to be babes, are into as deeply. Gives us more to talk about than Ogreware issues. I mean, ya can’t talk software all day every day. Algorithms, systems, and the latest code level get boring after a while, even for me.

Be fun to see Mama’s eyes when I show up with ’em as a surprise. As though we could ride all the way into Black Lake without showin’ up at the condo. Mama would kill me if I didn’t drop by their hideaway in the hills. Whoever dreamed up retirement villages, with their cookie-cutter shacks bunched up one after another?

Mama loves Darshee and Wizper with equal abandon. She’d be happy, ecstatic, if I ended up with one of ’em. I’ve feared she’d knock one of ’em off just to leave only one candidate. I don’t keep close to the two as a process of decidin’ between ’em. I’m happy with the life I have.

Mama just doesn’t get me.

I was halfway through my beef stroganoff when I realized a nervous OW-er balanced, somewhat, in front of me, one hand wrenchin’ away at the other. Poor human wore a face of static terror, as though she’d drawn the short straw to come talk to one of the mean ogres.

“Hey,” I said as light-hearted as I could to smooth the edges for her.

“Sir. Sorry to interrupt your lunch—” Sissy gave her a poke in the crotch for her own style of hello, and the young woman gasped.

I swatted Sissy away, and she crawled back under the table.

“I need interruptin’,” I said. “Sometimes I don’t slow down soon enough and get a place settin’ stuck in my tusks.”

I thought I was being amusin’, but by her expression, maybe I missed the mark. Darshee whispered at me not to scare the poor thing. Really that’s easy to do, with humans who aren’t used to us. Our tusks make our expressions impossible for them to read and our gravelly voices seem to put them off too. With all the ogres wanderin’ around OW, she must be new here.

“How can I help ya?” I asked as cheerfully as I could.

“Management hasn’t put out, you know, any word on the recent, goings on. And you have to understand, everyone is a little—”

The extreme discomfort on her face sent a whole new recognition of the situation slicin’ between my ribs. This human, hundreds of miles from the center of the altercations up North, is terrified of the repercussions to her life and livelihood.

I suggested she sit. Her eyes flashed a moment, then took Darshee and Wizper in, before she nodded. The two hens scooted over a skoosh. It might have been cruel of me to invite the human to sit with us, considerin’ we were in one of the ogre-sized booths. She had to crawl up, knees on the seat, and twist around, feet ensconced in those spikes I don’t understand, danglin’ a couple feet above the floor. She looked like a youngling perched there lookin’ up at me.

She blinked.

She was waitin’ for me to belch out wisdom. As though that's possible. Darshee and Wizper’s eyes bore holes in my forehead too.

“Uh.” Had to start somewhere. “An adage I’ve lived by, durin’ times of doubt is, first visualize the worst possible outcome. Accept it with a heavy heart, then back away with scenarios that are more likely.”

She blinked again, no less worried.

“The races have prolly segregated themselves too much,” Darshee said. “Growin’ distrustful with the chasm between us.”

I was unsure how that fit in with my opening. I munched up on my right tusk. Besides, I live in a predominately human neighborhood, play basketball with humans. My closest facsimile to a male friend, not countin’ cousin Kriz, is human, known him since college. Though I call Dave a jerk more than I compliment him.

“The economy up North has been in a pickle for a long time,” I continued, not wantin’ to go where Darshee suggested. “A lot of folk haven’t seen the progress others have. Breeds resentment.”

“The simple minded have to find someone to blame,” Wizper said, which wasn’t the positive tone I had in mind. I wrenched her a look. She gave me a, well-shrug.

I cleared my throat. “We all have to be patient, until things improve on the economic front. The social stuff will follow.”

“I don’t think they’re gonna improve,” the human woman peeped.

Oh, child. “Maybe not tomorrow, or next week. But all things are forgotten when better times arrive.”

“You haven’t seen the news lately, have you, sir?”

Uh oh.

“Since the market opened this morning,” Darshee said, “it’s plunged. They’re callin’ it this generation’s Black Thursday.”

Oh boy. Think fast, Ike. “The punsters love to talk—uh, which they get paid to do. And they get paid a lot to do it, so they blab more than the average village idjit. They don’t have enough brain cells to weigh down a gnat, or they’d be in industry being productive. Eighty percent of everything ya see in the news is hogwash. Believe what ya see, first hand.”

“Wise words,” Darshee murmured.

“Here, here.” Wizper nodded hard, flippin’ shorter whips of dreads around her shoulders.

The human opened her mouth to speak, and froze. I imagined all the financial indicators she could cite. The last two quarters had been bad up North. Really bad. Consumer confidence. Jobs were down. Hirin’ down. Construction starts, the same. Home sales, ditto. In weeks they’d be callin’ it a true recession. Recent history weaved a three to seven-year cycle, and if we were on the leadin’ edge of a new cycle, it would be a long time before them sycophants in the North bode good tidings.

“Ma’am,” I said. “Nothing any of us can do about anything other than the decisions we make hour by hour. Ya smile and make the best, or ya stay home and cry, which don’t help nobody.”

“But, but—”

I waited.

“Be nice if management would crack open an email to us nobodies and give us some good words.”

“OW doesn’t employ nobodies,” I said. “The board is workin’ on a communique.” I hoped. Some of those thirty phone messages I haven’t listened to should be about that topic. Or the emails I haven’t opened yet. Stink. I prolly have hundreds in my inbox. I so need a guy.

“And he’s on the board, honey,” Darshee said. “So he knows.”

I should know. This stinkin’ clan business always takes up more time than there are rocks in my head. A guy with fewer rocks in their head than I got.

The human scooted to get away, dangled over the edge of the seat until a stiletto pump reached the floor. Thankin’ me, she scuttled away. A gaggle of females waited for her near the cafeteria exit.

“Ya certainly didn’t make her feel any better,” Wizper said. “Don’t go into politics. Or any social arts.”

What was I supposed to tell her? And what are social arts? Maybe a guy who knows what those are.

“Consider the worst,” Wizper quoted. “What kind of idjit are ya?”

That was cold.

“Maybe a little harsh, sweetie,” Darshee said to Wizper.

“People want to hear that things are gonna be great,” Wizper said. “That’s why the Chicken Littles are attached to the news stations by their frontal lobes. They can’t get enough doom and gloom.”

“Ya would have me lie to her?” I asked.

She snorted. We ogres love to snort. They echo well in our snouts. “Are ya a deity or something, all knowin’? It would only be a lie if ya are. Otherwise ya comfort the simple minded.”

“Definitely harsh,” Darshee said.

This wasn’t Wizper’s normal attitude. She usually preferred light topics and takin’ the high road. Darshee is usually the one to speak harsh realities. I peered at her for her take.

“That accept the worst stuff,” she said, “came from yar papa, huh?”

I nodded.

“That’s a patient ogreish attitude,” she said softly. “Humans like red cherries and cream toppin’.”

I think I understood what she meant. It dawned on me that we ogres are truly superior to humans, or only think we are. Neither helped the current situation.

~ Nuel ~

I hung up the phone, a bit of shock frilling through my shoulders. I’ve done a bit of volunteer work for the Northern Council, but I didn’t think anyone even knew my name. To get a call. That someone happened to have heard I was taking a vacation with a friend who just happened to live in the right neighborhood, struck me—more than a little freaky.

~

Chapter 9

~

Dave leaned into my office about an hour later, a grin on his face. Every orc in the eastern desert had prolly heard about yesterday. With all the crud I’d gotten in my inbox, I didn’t need his attitude.

“Oh, I didn’t lock myself out.” He drew my cardkey out of his breast pocket, waved it in the air. “Then you probably don’t need this.”

“Gimmie, before I break ya in two.”

This was makin’ his day. He strode in, no, danced in, no, waltzed in, flipped the card across my desk. “So very sorry you were inconvenienced.” His smirk denied any sorrow existed.

I told him he was the first person I would lay off with Black Thursday.

His smirk washed away. “That was rude.”

I gave him a good glare. “We’ll get one of yar interns to run yar group.”

“I’m indispensable, and you know it.”

I snorted. “Which of ya ingrates are in line to sit in for me?”

“Not me,” he said. “I’ve got enough headaches.”

I was feelin’ better now. “I’m pretty sure it’s yar turn.”

“Yesterday was your first day out since I joined OW, I think,” Dave said. “So nobody’s gonna know whose turn it is. But it certainly isn’t mine.”

Why did I ever let them force me into management? I just wanted to design databases and help developers tune their code for lightnin’ fast access. Kriz and I started the stinkin’ business. Tagged with a VP title, how could that have even happened, with a dozen stinkin’ directors under me. How did I let them force me onto the OI board on top of that?

Papa called me chicken, if I didn't accept my responsibilities. What ogre can stand being called a chicken?

“Is this a good time for you to take vacation?” Dave asked.

I glared. He withered just a tad, to make my irritation worthwhile. “Have clan business. Not a stinkin’ vacation.”

“Black Lake?” His face turned sunny. “Can I go with you?”

“No.” I growled, the low decibel variety that sends a shiver through all humans.

“You may need someone to watch your back,” he dared to say. If I had a guy, I’d take him.

I tipped my head forward. The man can hit a ten-foot jump shot with a hand in his face, but the idea of him watchin’ my back among a congress of ogres almost made me laugh. If I laughed much. If any ogre laughs much.

“Ya got vacation?” I asked. “If ya can get reservations, go for it.”

He grimaced.

The limited rooms available at Black Lake are hard to snag. I’ve been told folk get their reservations two years in advance. Makes it tough the council banned any new commercial enterprise there a hundred and fifty years ago.

I would be stayin’ with my most favorite cousin. Took me five calls to find family that could put up Darshee and Wizper. Helps I’m expected to one day replace the council leader. Runs in the Ike line.

Why did I have to be named Ike?

We ogres like our tradition. Papa always said he was blessed to be named Bliar, being the second bull in the family. Much less expectation that way.

“You can’t spot a friend?” Dave asked.

I tilted my head.

“Darshee and Wizper beat me, huh?”

I massaged my right tusk with a grin. Then told him to get the shell out of my office. “I got emails up to my fuzzy butt and one day to prepare for next week.”

“You’re gonna be out all week?”

I couldn’t see the council gettin’ much done Tuesday. And the beer would flow that night. And we’d meet late on Wednesday because of that. And really, what were we gonna accomplish sittin’ in the woods hundreds of miles away from the idjits that resent our accomplishments won by workin’ our tushes off?

The only decision I foresee, is how many millions of shares of OI we would buy off the open market while the stock is depressed. That would give humans another reason to resent us.

Dave’s mouth was workin’. I pointed at the door, figgerin’ he’d figger out that he needed to close it with him on the other side. Maybe a guy to escort sorts like Dave out of my office.

After he played all-hurt for a double-beat, Dave stormed out. Really need to lay him off. I picked up my phone and speed dialed. Papa picked up on the fifth ring. Normally Mama would have picked up before that, but she would have checked caller ID, and knew I would be callin’ for his advice.

I asked him how he was doing, to be polite. He grunted. Of course he was workin’ with his roses. That’s what he did every afternoon. Mornings he worked on the two hundred square feet of garden he had hangin’ off the back of the condo. The bull never should have retired.

“Ya catch any news?” I asked.

“Ya were smarter than me by the time ya were ten,” he said. “What can this old bull tell ya?”

“Ya know that pat expression ticks off my siblings.”

“They’re overly emotional, and weak minded.”

“They’re ogres,” I said. “What do ya expect?”

“I’ve always figgered that’s why humans resent us so much.”

That stumped me. He’d never said anything like that before. Hmm. “I always thought it was because we can work forty hours on three hours of sleep, and slap them through a concrete wall if they give us any lip.”

“That too,” he said. “Plus the whole thing about us not lookin’ very bright. Being beasts and all.”

I had never heard my papa use the B word before. Maybe he’s allowed to finally let some of his old frustrations free in retirement.

“How did yar call with Zug go?” Papa asked.

“He sounded serious about movin’ his troll clan South.”

The sound of Papa’s rose clippers clacked for a ten-count, while I waited. “As he should be. Maybe it’s time.”

“Time?” I blurted.

“Time to put a little space between the races.”

“Ya don’t mean that.” I wasn’t sure if I stated, or asked that.

“Them humans—” I could imagine Papa shakin’ his head slowly. “They’ve always resented us for one thing or another. It’s never ended, and this old ogre is gettin’ tired of it.”

I believe I broke into a cold sweat. My papa. Said that out loud. Bliar, son of Klow, lives a level of moderation and kindness that’s rare among us. Though to hear him speak, he’s a mass murderer. All bluff. He's a real bull ogre. An ogre's ogre.

“Is that what ya’d have me take to the council?” I asked.

“Politics is yar business. I’m just a retired rancher.”

“Ya’re an entrepreneur with yar fingers in five industries. Don’t go actin’ modest on me.” I may have snarled a little.

“Modest?” His snort sounded more like a sneeze. “Never met a modest ogre.”

True enough. Maybe that’s part of our problem with humans.

“No it isn’t,” Papa said, readin’ my mind, maybe. “We’re proud. Should act accordin’ to our beliefs and feelings. Livin’ otherwise would be a fraud.”

“So we should just start poundin’ into the ground every human who insults us?”

“Believe that would be considered assault.” His tone edged on the humorous.

“Are ya sharin’ the emotions of yar coconspirators?”

He growled hard, what we call a chuckle, echoed “coconspirators” back at me. “My better friends and associates may be of a mind.”

That didn’t bode well, if our kind is pushed much harder.

~ Nuel ~

“You did what?”

A bit of guilt tinged Silva’s face. “I might have mentioned to a couple sorority sisters in your office that I maybe, if you liked him, maybe might try to set you up with a big pooh bah from Ogre Industries.”

I stretched my fists in the air, a little left, a little right. I could bam, send her to the moon. Sorority sisters share half a brain, a zillion mouths.

~

Chapter 10
~

Saturday morning I woke with the same sense of exhaustion tightenin’ my shoulders I’d gone to bed with. I should have cancelled on the game. Jump ball was scheduled for nine. I’ve never backed out of a commitment in my life, wasn’t gonna start usin’ excuses, like I’m tired or busy, to worm out today.

The one thing I had to look forward to, was that the humans I’d be playin’ with this morning were on the liberal side, willin’ to give ogres a break.

I ate light, just six bagels and cream cheese, six poached eggs, and half a pound of slow fried bacon. I’d be really hungry at lunch. Dave rang the bell as I threw back the last of my coffee. I let him in, asked him if he wanted a cup.

Instead of answerin’ me he asked, “You think the others at the court will be okay this morning?”

He meant, the other humans.

“Why shouldn’t they be?” I asked, walkin’ back to my restroom to brush my teeth.

Dave followed. I guess he figgered I finished my other business, because he sat on the toilet and watched me. Funny how humans are intrigued with our tusk polishin’. They’re really jealous of us, if they told the truth.

“You hear about the riot?” he asked.

Yeah. Couldn’t turn on my tablet without it punchin’ me in the snout. A lot of businesses lost storefront glass Friday night, and a lot of shelf inventory, which makes no sense. Ogre businesses don’t generally follow the storefront model, so the rioters were puttin’ their fellow humans out of business for the duration.

“State of the economy,” Dave mumbled, “a lot of those folks won’t ever be opening back up.”

I nodded.

Finished with my polishin’, I peeked into my gym bag. Shoes. Socks. Change of clothes. Sweat towel. Basketball. I was ready. Slung over my shoulder, I grabbed my leather jacket, and my old one for Dave, assumin’ he was ridin’ behind me and not followin’ me in his car. He grabbed the jacket, so he must be. He grabbed the human-sized helmet by the door as we made our way into the garage.

Sissy doesn’t much like sittin’ in Dave’s lap, but the three of us were leavin’ the neighborhood five minutes later.

At the middle school where our game was scheduled, seemed to be a few extra cars in the lot than normal. As we were unsaddlin’, humans exited their cars, pullin’ picket signs out of trunks. I stood starin’ for a moment. They needed a good writer on the payroll. No more ogres. Ogres go home. Ogres fault. Or did that accurately hue their intentions. And their point?

I started walkin’ toward the line and Dave sprinted to get in front of me, pressed both hands into my chest, and screeched, “Not a good idea, big guy.”

What? He think I was gonna pound ’em? These were the first idjits I’d personally ever come across. I just wanted to ask them what their problem was.

Jeers rose from the half dozen. Really? Bad ogre. Bad ogre. Maybe I would suggest our marketin’ department help them out. Give them a semblance of purpose.

“Dave.” The man was shakin’, leanin’ against me hard. “Dave.”

He finally looked up at me.

“Not necessary, dude,” I explained.

“Oh. Okay. But you—”

“I can’t be curious?” I asked.

Dave shook his head. Under my breath I said, “They better not touch my bike,” and Sissy growled in support. She’s a very supportive pit bull.

A few more cars filtered into the parking lot as the three of us made our way into the gym. I was surprised we weren’t catchin’ the back end of the early game. Walkin’ to the scorin’ table to sign in, Dave asked. Evidently the first game was a forfeit.

“What?” Dave shrieked.

“Their ogres didn’t show up.” The official shrugged.

What? Ogres hadn’t shown up? If I’d had to guess, the opposite was more to be expected. I was standin’ behind Dave feelin’ a little dizzy when the ogre I would play against this morning walked into the gym. Only one ogre can be on the court at a time for each team. That’s plenty of brute force in one place.

We exchanged nods. He’s a pretty good guy. Takes seriously, keepin’ his opponent out of the paint with whatever force necessary. But upstanding. Owns a towin’ company that serves the three-county area.

I was sheddin’ my boots and gearin’ up in my basketball shoes when the guy came over and sat next to me. My other guys gave him a look, but everyone bumped fists.

“I thought about not comin’,” the guy whispered to me, as he worried the seam of his basketball shorts with a hand that was deeply tanned and tattooed.

I gave him an arched brow.

“Ya didn’t?” He wiped his hand down his shorts.

“I like my basketball,” I answered. “Only time I can beat on another ogre without gettin’ thrown in jail.”

He didn’t smile at that. “Ya see the protestors?”

I shrugged. “This stuff hurtin’ yar business?”

He shrugged. “There’s been some graffiti.”

We sat in silence a moment.

“Well, have a good game.” He rose and walked over to his side of the official’s table.

I watched a bit, curious. His guys appeared comfortable around him. Prolly drove his trucks. Around him every day. Not a guard among them. All beefy-lookin’ forwards, arms full of tats. My guys would be faster, but they’d get beat to a bloody pulp if they approached the paint.

We tipped off ten minutes later, me and my ogre opponent poundin’ each other chest-to-chest. My favorite part of the game. Nothing extraordinary happened durin’ the game, except maybe the humans on the other team kept a healthier distance from me when my guy set a pick.

Oh, and my human guys, all white collar, just a little prissy compared to the other team’s tow truck drivers, picked themselves up off the floor more than usual. Accounted for one split lip and a bloody nose.

Fun basketball. The best.

I caught more than a couple elbows in my solar plexus. We kept it way closer than I ever expected. They only beat us by thirteen. I need beefier humans to play with.

Outside an hour later, two of the local networks had news crews filmin’ the now-seven protestors, shootin’ nice and tight to make the crowd look like a crowd. I started toward the crews wantin’ to crush a couple half-million-dollar cameras to pieces, but Dave smartly headed me off.

The man is braver than he looks.

One camera held on me. The smile slickin’ on the operator’s face ticked me off. I glared, sensed my lips curl under, lengthenin’ my tusks. My chest rumbled. Prolly not the best face to hit the news tonight, from a board member of Ogre Industries.

When we got back to my place and Dave got his helmet off, he shook his head at me. “Didn’t help,” he mumbled.

Like I didn’t know that. But the orchestrated event ticked me off. I wanted to pound some face. Maybe the adrenalin was still pumpin’ from joustin’ with my tow truck buddy.

I didn’t overlook that our other guys didn’t come back here afterward to join us. A lot of times we played some more hoops here on the weekends. Finished a case of beer.

So Dave and I got out the lawn chairs, pulled drinks from the fridge, sat there in the garage, without talkin’ much. A bit later the neighbor’s friend strolled up the walk toward us. What was her name? I’m so bad with names. Nuel. Nuel.

She wore chino pants, that narrowed and ended mid-calf. I’ve never really liked the look. Maybe on a skinny human, but they make an ogre hen’s hips look a quarter-mile-wide. She wore a cotton, cap-shouldered white blouse that was overly tent-like over her mid-section, though ended just short of where her chinos began. The hint of skin was— Okay. All in all, a nice, casual look.

The sun played with her dreads, makin’ the red and gold hues glint.

“Wow,” Dave mumbled.

I gave him a look. “What are ya wowin’ about?”

“We roomed together,” he whispered. “I’ve checked out my share of ogre hens you brought around, and that’s one stacked ogre hen.”

“Ya think?” I asked.

He cleared his throat, and I turned back to find Nuel already enterin’ the garage. She had a nice stride, that’s for sure. Great posture.

We both stood. She smiled. I don’t know why being bull-polite is funny. It might have set up a grump in me. Or maybe it was the abrupt manner she ended our nice conversation the other night.

And of course she started with a challenge instead of a hello. “What’s got ya grumpy?” We hadn’t spoken since, what was it, Wednesday night, when she sounded excited to get away from me, and that’s the first thing she says, without even a hello?

Dave laughed. Humans laugh easily. They’re such idjits. I grabbed another lawn chair off the wall and invited her to join us. She felt it was early for a beer. Never early for a beer on Saturday.

“Ya were on a newsbreak five minutes ago,” Nuel said.

A sense of fire flowed from my chest, up to my scalp.

“I told you,” Dave mumbled.

I could backhand him and no one had to find out. I could bribe Nuel to keep her mouth shut. Patch the dry wall over his dead body.

“They’re calling ya the epitome of ogre superiority,” she said.

Oh, stink. The council wouldn’t be happy with me Tuesday. I introduced Dave and Nuel, and we all sat. Dave worked on his beer quick, stood a few moments later sayin’ he needed to shove off. The guy never was one for stickin’ around and supportin’ a buddy. I growled, maybe, a little, because, well, we ogres like to growl. Nuel gave me a look.

I may not have given Dave another glance, but I heard his sports car revvin’ up the street.

“I’m not here out of boredom,” Nuel said.

Interestin’ openin’ salvo.

“I’ve been asked by the Northern Council to sit in, this week, as their representative.”

Hmm. Didn't see that commin’. I told her, “I didn’t know there was a Northern Council.”

“Ya’ve never shared much interest in our issues, up North,” Nuel said.

They never showed much interest in the goings on in the South, either.

“More informal than the council,” she said.

“Now there’s an issue affectin’ ya, maybe time—”

“We never stopped paying clan or council dues,” she grumbled.

I snorted. But in truth, the council has its own enterprises that support it, so if our Northern neighbors were light on tithin’, no one would be complainin’.

Nuel turned her lips angry for a moment. “I didn’t come over here to argue.”

Good to know.

“I didn’t even know ya were on the council until I got a call Thursday, and Ike son of Bliar, sunk in.”

Took her a couple days to reach out. But I’ve been busy too. Maybe I could throw her a bone. “This messin’ up yar vacation?” I asked.

“I’m not complaining.”

For not complainin’, she certainly hissed at me. She asked if I was flyin’ up Tuesday morning. I shook my head. “Driving?” I shook my head.

“Ya aren’t going?”

“I’m two wheelin’ it,” I said.

She grimaced. We ogres look our most natural when we grimace. “I hoped to drive up with ya, since I couldn’t get a flight.”

I tried to keep from smilin’, but it wasn’t workin’. “Ya can drive the Green Hornet.”

“What is a Green Hornet?”

I looked over at my truck, on the far side of my bike.

Her face turned, funny. Was she gonna be sick?

“I don’t care for driving those winding roads,” she said.

Uh huh. I asked her if the Northern council was puttin’ her up.

Her face turned a little persimmon-like. “I was hoping ya could help me with that, too.”

Perfect Northerner. Resented me for who I am, but without the means to get where she needed to go and no place to stay if she got there. But was angry I wasn’t ecstatic to help her. What did she hope to add to the discussion? My distaste for this hen grew, despite Dave’s claim that she was rather keen on the eyes.

Okay. She’s a knock out.

~ Nuel ~

I strode away from the ignernt fool wanting to cry, and that’s not a common emotion in ogres. I caught myself fisting a hand a couple times as he shimmied the knife in my chest.

How was I gonna sit next to him for hours Monday? One of us might end up dead.

~