“I’ll teach him,” Erik promises, and she scoffs, then softens the effect with an indulgent smile.
“That’s sweet, honey, but you’re still new to it yourself. Bask in it for a while before you pass on your love. I’ll find someone to teach him.”
Is this a sport or a cult? What exactly did Eoin and the king get me involved in?
“I know someone who’s a big fan,” I start, deciding it would be safest to beg for a favor from Consort Jared. I don’t get to finish.
“No. Now go to your meeting with Craig and the coach.” She walks away without giving either of us the chance to reply.
“Erik?” I stare at her departing back.
“Yeah?” The cringe is clear in his voice.
“It’s been literally thousands of years since I was scolded like a child.”
“Um. I’d say sorry, but… yeah. It’s probably going to happen again.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “Great. Let’s go to this meeting.”
Two days before I turned up to the Warhammers’ training camp to facilitate the photo ops for the king, Erik called to apologetically inform us that the team had a new coach. That prompted a frenzy on the security team as we rushed through a last-minute background check, but even with that inconvenience, I wasn’t upset about the change. The old coach was… how do I phrase this politely?
A homophobic asshole.
Aside from my personal encounter with him, I’ve also heard some snippets of information via Eoin, who got them from Dáithí, who’s friends with… a player on the team. It seems that ex-Coach Franks is just abusive in general and a large part of the reason the team has such a reputation for playing rough and dirty. Anybody was bound to be an improvement on him.
Having met the new coach, though, I still don’t know quite what to make of him. He’s stoic, which isn’t uncommon for demons, though a lot of what we other species perceive as stoicism is merely our own inability to properly read the subtlety of their expressions. Demons have heavier muscle mass than any other species on Earth, resulting in less mobility of facial muscles. So Coach Locke might be a jolly guy, but I just can’t tell.
Erik knocks once on Craig’s door and then opens it and gestures for me to enter. The GM and coach are already inside.
“Welcome, Ari,” Craig says. “We’re excited to kick off the season with this project. Let’s make more Warhammers fans, yeah?”
I nod. “Sounds good.” I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that people think I’m more invested in this project than I actually am. “I want to build a solid foundation for whoever takes overfrom me to work with,” I add to remind them that I’m not here permanently.
“Erik, you mentioned that you’d need some of the players to get involved,” Coach says. “I’ve got a list of names for you.”
Erik shoots me a startled look. “Oh… uh, we were going to come and talk to the players about the program and ask for volunteers.”
Coach nods. “Yeah, you’ll still do that. After training today, if you can. But I’ve got some names for you in addition to the volunteers.”
Do those people even know they’ll be helping?
Something tells me this is going to get messy.
CHAPTER THREE
Felix
Training campthis year was a nightmare. Our new coach was determined to put us all through our paces and figure out for himself who skates best with whom and where. One thing he didn’t do was share his plans—instead, he watched, made us do everything over and over until I was sure someone was going to crack, and scribbled endless notes to himself.
He even watched the rest of the coaching staff. It’s normal for there to be a shake-up in the staff when a new coach takes over, but it usually happens pretty quickly, because he brings his people with him. Not so much, this time.
By the time camp ended, tempers were frayed, and we were on tenterhooks to find out what changes, exactly, Coach Locke is planning to make to the Warhammers. We waited with bated breath on that last day… for nothing.
“See you next week” was all he said. If I hadn’t been so exhausted, there was a very good chance my hormones would have taken over and spurred me to a rage-filled murder.
I spent the weekend by myself despite invitations from a few friends to go out for one last hurrah before the grind of the season began. All I wanted was to wallow in my own self-pity. I looked Locke up, and there’s very little chance that he’ll continuerunning the team the way Franks did. Locke actually played for the human NHL. The number of those in the community who have done that can be counted on two hands, and most of them were back in the days before every game was being videoed by a million cameras. Even the most controlled of us—which is definitely not me—will have occasional slips in high-pressure moments, and while humans are very good at making up excuses for things they don’t think are possible—especially if they see them in said high-pressure moments—it’s harder to convince them they imagined something when it’s been captured on camera and can be replayed in slow motion. These days, only the best, most controlled community players have any chance at playing in the NHL. It’s why we created our own league.
Most of us don’t care. Playing is less fun when you have to be super aware of holding back your strength and speed. The CHL is faster, rougher, and wilder than the NHL can ever be, and that kind of no-holds-barred athleticism is what most of us are here for. Are we at the same level of skill, technically, as the NHL? Not really. Our game is different; we don’t play as often or have as much money—though we’re not hurting for cash. The community gets behind its own, and beings that live as long as we do have plenty of time to build wealth.
