Page 27 of Wooing the Wiccan
“Oh, you do,” I assure him, though I’m still laughing. “But you’re sadly mistaken if you think I’m not going to start referring to your cock as your warhammer.”
His laugh joins mine, and as the players start to skate out and the announcer begins his spiel, I lean my shoulder against his, ready for a fun night. I’ll never remember the players’ names anyway, so I let my attention drift across the crowd. The devil from the pregame show must be the mascot, because there are a lot of people in the crowd wearing horns, and they’re kind of cool.
“Did you see where they were selling the horns?” I ask Raðulfr. “I know I said I was going for the Glaives, but I think I want to buy a pair anyway. They look great, and they’d be perfect for Halloween.”
“No. Um… I think they were limited edition. They don’t have them here tonight.”
Minor disappointment curls in my stomach. “Oh. That’s a pity. I guess I’ll have to be happy with my jersey.”
The game starts just a few minutes later, and from the start I’m surprised by the level of play. It’s not NHL-good, butdamn, these players have a lot more skill than I was expecting to see from a community league. And they’refast. Way fast, super fast… “I had my eyes on that guy the whole time and didn’t see him move” fast.
The kids I was eavesdropping on were right about the Warhammers being a bigger team—with the exception of Ansas, who’s alotsmaller than I thought he would be, they’re all well over six feet, and even pads wouldn’t make a man look that big if he wasn’t. The Glaives have some super-big players too, but the team is more of a mix of?—
Crash!
The boards vibrate so hard, I’m sure the plexiglass is going to give up as one of the Warhammers shoulder-checks a Glaive with an elbow into the back of him, the hit high enough to be illegal. I wait for the ref to call the penalty, but play continueslike nothing happened, the only protests coming from the Glaives supporters in the crowd.
I think this league might play rougher than I’m used to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Raðulfr
This is bad.Very bad. Veryverybad. One might even call it a disaster. While Jared is transfixed by the preternatural speed of the players he doesn’t realize aren’t human, I slip my phone from my pocket and hold it in my lap while I text Eoin. He’s sitting in the lounge behind us, hidden by the same distortion shield he used to get into said lounge, since Dáithí selected a nosebleed-section ticket for him.
Why didn’t you stop us?!
It takes only a moment for him to reply.
Eoin:
Stop you from what?
Raðulfr:
COMING HERE! To a community event with Jared, a HUMAN WHO DOESN’T KNOW ABOUT US!
I can’t believe he’s playing coy right now. He might not like my relationship with Jared, but I never thought he?—
Eoin:
You didn’t know? I thought you knew and had a plan! I thought you were getting back at me and the others by coming here!
I twist in my seat and look up toward where he’s now standing at the top of the steps, wide-eyed shock on his face. I shake my head slightly, pulling a face, and he closes his eyes for a second.
My phone vibrates again.
Eoin:
Can you leave? Make up an excuse?
Raðulfr:
Already tried that. Not happening. What kind of plan did you think I had?
Maybe I can use that. Because we’re only a few minutes into the game, and already there have been a couple dozen incidents that could have given away the secret.
Eoin:
