Page 2 of The Grinch Who Stole Orcmas

A bark of laughter escapes me before I can stop it. “You’ve got to be joking. Me? Help with a Christmas event?”

Brokka’s expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious, Grum. This is your last chance. Hey, it’s a positive thing. The humans usually give presents to human kids whose parents don’t have the means to give them a great Christmas. This year, they invited needy kids from the Zone—which is almost every single kid here. They’ve even accepted our invitation to hold it in the emptywing of our community center. And don’t forget, some of us have human mates who love these traditions. It’s… disrespectful to them and you’re demoralizing the community. Your attitude needs to change. Either you do this, or I’ll have no choice but to let you go because of your insubordination.”

The threat hangs in the air between us. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding so hard my tusks almost pierce my skin. The familiar taste of anger rises in my throat, bitter and hot.

What would I do if I’m not a firefighter? I can’t even imagine an alternative.

“Fine,” I spit out eventually. “But don’t expect me to enjoy it.”

Brokka’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Report to the Jingle All the Way store. It’s practically across the street.”

That place? Of course, I’ve seen it. How could I miss the perpetually happy, perpetually Christmas shop mocking me 365 days a year?

“You’ll be working with the owner, Joy Noel. She’s organizing the Santa’s Workshop event out of her store, before they move things to our community center.”

Joy Noel. Even her name sounds sickeningly festive. This is going to be a nightmare.

I storm out of Brokka’s office. The smell of fake pine air fresheners some jerk hung to the rafters clings to my clothes asthough its only purpose is to infuriate me. The other firefighters all pretend to look busy as they avoid eye contact. Although Brokka’s door was closed, I’m sure they heard every word.

At my locker, I slam the door shut with more force than necessary. The metal reverberates, the sound echoing through the quiet station.

“Humans,” I mutter under my breath, the familiar word bringing little comfort. “Back on An’Wa, we didn’t have to deal with this shit.”

But I’m not on An’Wa anymore. I’m here, on Earth, have been since I was pulled through the Rift as a child. To this day, the best minds on the planet have no idea how or why we were sucked from our home world and brought here. Orcs, minotaurs, nagas, wolven, and others were pulled here with no way back.

This time of year, I’m surrounded by twinkling lights, cheerful carols, and people who don’t understand what it’s like to be here almost all their life and still feel like a stranger. People who expect me to smile and be merry when all I want to do is punch something. People who either don’t know or don’t care that we have our own holiday traditions—that I can’t celebrate because my family is all still back on An’Wa. It feels wrong to celebrate without them.

Even though it’s been over twenty-five years, the wave of grief and anger still hits me like a tsunami.

As I head home, the streets of the Integration Zone taunt me with their festive decorations. Garlands hang from lampposts,and storefronts twinkle with tiny lights. The contrast between the holiday cheer and the reality of our lives here is stark and infuriating.

At home, I slam the door behind me, relieved at the silence. No carols here. No twinkling lights or cheerful greetings. Just quiet and darkness, blessed solitude, and not one strand of tinsel.

But even here, I can’t escape the knowledge of what tomorrow brings. Community service. Santa’s Workshop. Joy Noel.

The name conjures an image of a frail old woman with wire-rim glasses perched on the end of her nose and her silver hair pulled back in a tight bun. She probably bakes cookies by the truckload and calls everyone “dearie.” The thought makes me want to gag.

Collapsing onto my worn couch, I close my eyes, trying to block out the world. But behind my eyelids, all I see are visions of tomorrow’s torture. How am I supposed to survive this without losing my mind?

Chapter 2: Joy to the World (aka Grum’s Nightmare)

Joy

“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…”

I sing along with the all-Christmas-music station as I hang another string of lights in the shop window. Outside, the Los Angeles sun beats down, a stark contrast to the winter wonderland I’m creating inside Jingle All the Way, the store I envisioned in childhood and made into a reality a few years ago. Everything about this store is a physical expression of who I am.

A car horn blares, followed by a string of colorful curses. Ah, the sweet sounds of L.A. traffic. Whatever, I shrug. It will take a lot more than that to spoil my mood. Not today. Not when we’re so close to moving all the decorations I’ve accumulated all year to the Santa’s Workshop event in the Integration Zone’scommunity center. I can picture the excited looks on all those needy little faces. And—how exciting!—this year some of those faces will be green with happy tusked grins, or have pointed wolven ears and wagging tails, or have little minotaur horns, or be covered in sparkling blue naga scales.

“Joy?” Marcy, my assistant, pokes her head around a life-sized nutcracker. “The tinsel delivery is here. Where do you want it?”

“Everywhere!” The word bursts out before I can stop it. Marcy’s eyes widen, and I quickly backtrack. “I mean, let’s start with the main display area. We can always add more later.”

Marcy nods, but I catch a slight eye roll as she turns away. It’s a familiar reaction these days. Even my assistant and enthusiastic volunteers are starting to flag under the weight of my holiday cheer.

But they don’t understand. They can’t. This isn’t just about Christmas. It’s about… No. Not going there. Not today.

Shaking off the sadness that sometimes lurks at the edges of my mind, I turn back to the window display. The handcrafted village needs more snow. Definitely more snow.

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