Chapter Nine

~

By the time we got home I was in an odd space. Mind wise. I love Mama and Papa. Despite Papa bein’ more than a bit challengin’. Funny I would think that. I adore Hale to pieces and back and his ways affect me a lot more. I’m in his company ten times more, and he’s a bit more closed emotionally than Papa.

So why am I so irritated with the two of them—the parents, not Papa and Hale? Got a lot of up and downs goin’ in my head. The irritation of Woriz freakin’ Hale out. The fun watchin’ washed up bulls ramblin’ on the court. Mama and Papa’s arguin’. The thought of livin’ with Mama the comin’ year.

What would Papa do without Mama? Sure, Grand says before he and Mama mated he’d been on his own since high school, but the evidence implies he’s less capable of carin’ for himself today than he was then.

The bull might surprise me. Every time he opens his mouth a surprise comes out. I get used to thinkin’ of parents as irrelevant, and bam, I discover a whole new reason to appreciate their existence. Funny how that works. As though they get smarter everyday.

Mama’s never not amazed me, honestly. She peers at me with those deep green eyes and picks things right out of my soul, as though she’d known it was there and just waited for me to find it myself.

I turned off the shower, and gave a little shiver. Without noticin’, must have gotten used to the warmer temperature maintained on campus and the dorms for the few humans about. They still wear winter coats inside. We don’t accommodate them that much. But comin’ home, the house always feels chilly. Livin’ at about eight-thousand feet higher here may have something to do with it.

I spent a few minutes ringin’ the water out of my natty braids. Maybe I should cut my hair like Hale. Papa almost had a coronary when we returned that semester break after Hale had it cleaved off. Poor Papa.

Mama grimaced. Funny, the one who can’t share emotion much, displayed an enormous amount meetin’ us at the airport.

One more day at home and we head for the hoedown, ogre butt crack of dawn on Monday. Funny that Hale wanted to drive. I mean, be driven versus flyin’. Mama offered her car. Yeah. Wasn’t travelin’ to the West Slope in Hale’s ancient contraption. I love her car. Replaces a lease every thousand miles. Amazin’ Papa goes along with that. He’s stupidly frugal considerin’ the money he has in the bank. Not that I know the balance. But Mama’s dropped unintentional hints. She’s sorta embarrassed to be part of the one percent. Happy to belong to the Birs clan, but she’s from humble roots and proud of it.

We’d put three times what Mama drives in a year, goin’ to the West Slope and back.

I wouldn’t mind flyin’. Only take a couple hours instead of thirteen. But Hale doesn’t ask me for much. What’s so important about clearin’ the West Summit and takin’ in the valley below? He said with a good scope ya can see all the way to the ocean. That would be cool. Haven’t been to the shore in a while. Though our first few semesters at TIT, we made the sojourn across the desert and the Eastern Mountains to do a little body surfin’.

Whoa. Did we get sunburned. We’re from the land of trees—snort. Not like we knew the dangers of a full sun.

~ Hale ~

The hard knock brought me out of the deep-think I tend to fall into when I’m dreamin’ of my next, significant project. Have five requests slash grants sittin’ on the shelf waitin’ impatiently for me. I searched out my phone to check the time as Bele breached my sanctuary. After eight. Where’d the day go? Maybe the thirty sketches litterin’ my draftin’ table could explain that.

Ya’d think sittin’ in a studio with three glass walls to suck in as much light as possible, would clue me in that the sun had been below the peaks for hours.

Bele hefted the jug to my right and growled. The troll genes in us can make that sound so mean.

“We played five games of hoops. Three hours. Have ya hydrated at all?”

I found myself crunchin’ inward.

“Don’t even,” she hissed. “Do I have to stand by ya all day to make sure ya take care of yarself?”

She gave me her wimpy slap to the back of my head. My embarrassment eased and I managed a smile. She likes to see me smile. Does she know they don’t mean anything to me? That they’re just for show? Prolly.

I accepted the mug she pushed at me and sucked in a long drink. Felt good on my throat. Maybe I was thirsty.

“Mama sent me to retrieve ya. She’s after Papa, so we have a few minutes before she texts me with an angry emoji.”

That implied she had something to say to me. I waited.

“I don’t want to wait. Suspense is killin’ me. Where do ya stand about the North thing?”

I’d spent a bunch of minutes composin’ how I would answer her. All of the words escaped me. Sigh. By experience, I did best just throwin’ it out there thought by thought, without a lot of worryin’ about sequence. The brain, it seems, has a way of workin’ that out, most times.

“There’s an art professor up North.” That wasn’t a good startin’ place. “Gave me an open invitation to meet his staff.” My mind clogged. “Says he can acquire a ten-day cultural visa for us with no problem. Just needs a few hours warnin’.”

Bele’s face was contortin’. Anger? Irritation? “What? Yar in contact with a professor up North?”

“Uh. He’s visited TIT, me, a couple times.”

She repeated my words as though I didn’t hear myself utter them.

“He’s a big uppity up in the art world up there,” I said. “He wanted me to continue my art education up there.”

Air was comin’ out of her throat. Not a lot of sound. “How long have ya been, ya know, talkin’ with this guy? A human? Ogre?”

“Man. Uh. A few years. Always said he was eager to get me in the art world up North. Guess he thinks we’re mostly troglodytes down here, when it comes to art.”

“A few years?” Her shout made me twitch. “And ya never thought I’d be interested in knowin’ that?”

“Ya stay really busy with yar studies.” Heat crawled up both sides of my throat. Don’t know why.

I found myself studyin’ the hair that flowed across the tops of her toes, as her feet arched left and right, as though teasin’ if she was gonna cut one way or the other. In basketball, I was coached to watch the hips of the person I defended. I found the feet were a better indication of which way the rest of the body intended to go. Some folk could really fake ya out with their hips.

“Here.” She was pointin’ at her eyes. “Look me in the eyes.”

She knows I hate that. I fought it for a few moments, but peripherally I could sense her finger still swing to and fro, a few inches from her face. I sighed and looked up.

“Now cop to all yar secrets or I’m gonna plow ya in the face with my ogre-troll fist, and maybe repeat myself a couple times.”

She likes to sound mean. Must be the ogre in her.

“Now,” she said.

I repeated my sigh. Seems that’s meanin’ful to those not on the spectrum. Something like a surrender, sometimes. Other times, an expression of impatience. Either worked right now.

“Seems we ought to visit up North before committin’ to livin’ up there for a year. So a visit to the professor would serve a couple duties.”

“Ya’ve given this some thought, huh?”

Had no clue what to say to that. Folk make statements like that, which confuse the heck out of me. Too full of emotion. So I shrugged. Let her figger out where I was on the matter.

“Clearly ya have. And I take it, ya wouldn’t mind visitin’ this human?”

“Wouldn’t hurt none.”

Her lashes were workin’ more than seemed necessary. I wish everyone could just explain how they feel, instead of paintin’ it all over their face.

I waited, and waited a bit longer for her to reply.

I couldn’t wait any longer. “We could grab a flight up after the hoedown. Could tell Mama and Papa we were takin’ the long way home back to view the coast.”

“Lie, ya mean?”

“Ya wanna tell them we’re goin’ to visit a Northerner, up North?” I asked.

“Not like either of them would throw a fit, if we did,” she said.

I gave that some thought. She was prolly right. But it would worry Mama more than a little. Not like we haven’t been travelin’ on our own for years. Often times, them not knowin’ where on the continent we might be on any given weekend, until after the fact. Mama paid our credit card, after all.

“We tell ’em we’re goin’ before we leave, or after we get there?” Bele asked.

Wouldn’t have to put up with an attitude from Mama if after.

“Or just tell ’em up front we’re gonna do a coast drive about?” Think that’s what I suggested. Folk like to double up on statements. Maybe because they aren’t sure I’m followin’ the conversation.

I hate conflict.

“Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Bele said, and pushed her lips up against her tusks. There she went only puttin’ her emotions on her face.

“Think that’s a human expression,” I said.

“So. Still relevant.” I think a soul would say she snapped at me.

“Not an ogrish way,” I said.

Her face wrinkled a bunch. Nothing trollish about it.

“Ogres lie,” she hissed.

No ogre had ever lied to me. Trolls just won't give ya an answer. More likely growl at ya.

Her phone pinged. She gave it a quick look. “Time for crickets,” she said.

That tingly sensation vibrated from my throat to my gut. Never know what it means. But I do enjoy the sarcasm, think it’s sarcasm, between Mama and Papa.

There’s significant differences between my ogre and troll sides. Mama and Papa blended ’em together seamlessly—to me—except for food choices. Papa wouldn’t touch a centipede with a mile-long staff, but I’d never eaten at the grands’ without that favorite dish bein’ set out for dessert.

~

Chapter Ten

~

I’d used enough eye shadow I could do Halloween. Three tones. Made for a very dramatic look. Very rare for me to use much house paint, but I opted to apply a bit of lightener below my brows. I expected Mama to pound on my door any moment, so I held the applicator lightly. Didn’t need to put out my eye today of all days.

Thirteen hour drive. Would any of my makeup make it to the Western hamlet? Why did I want to look so adult? Sultry?

I pulled away from the mirror to take it in. Wow. Very dramatic. If I say so myself. Worked well with my nearly black irises. Contrasted well with my gold hair. I considered wipin’ some of the blush off. I’ve got enough ogre genes my cheekbones can cut glass. Don’t know why I like to give ’em any more emphasis. I fought the little guilt that polarized me. I’m not embarrassed about my troll side. So. I enjoy the drama of my ogre genes. Tough tiddlywinks.

My phone pinged. It’ll be noon soon. I stuck my tongue out at it. Sun wouldn’t even rise for two more hours. Another ping. I’m gonna leave without ya. Yeah. Mama gave me her key fob.

It occurred to me Mama might have borrowed Hale’s phone. Not like him to be passive aggressive. Mama was a little irritated about us announcin’ we were headin’ North after the hoedown. With a huff, I stuffed my last-minute items into my duffle, zipped it up and slung it over my shoulder, walked out of my en suite, givin’ my room a last glance over to ensure I hadn’t left my brain on my bedside table, or nothing similar. Yes, my passport was stashed. Pair of dressy shoes, just in case. Not likely necessary for an ogre hoedown.

My bedroom door banged open and I worked on an evil eye for Mama. She squinted at me though before I got my own face goin’.

“I wanted ya to know,” she said. “Late last night yar cousin, Izig, texted me. Wanted to see ya off at the airport this mornin’.”

That was strange.

“I told her ya two weren’t flyin’.”

I met her at the door and we danced a moment as I made my way around her, into the hall.

“She’s in the lobby,” she added.

I stopped abrupt enough she bounced into me. Ya get bounced by a troll, ya notice it.

“What?” I hissed. Worry hit me.

“Yar brother is waitin’ for ya in the car. I got her away from him.”

I strode briskly through the residence, and searched for her in the dim light of the lobby. Found her sittin’ in my favorite place. I heard Mama’s faint pitter patter on the granite as she headed outside, clickin’ the door closed subtly. Gone the passive aggressive, maybe.

Izig stood abruptly and slinked toward me, as though she approached a mountain cat. “I won’t keep ya,” she said.

“Why are ya here?” Don’t know why those words came out of my head. Coulda come up with better things if I’d put my brain to it.

“Papa said last night, that it's more about actions than words.”

That made no sense. Maybe if there was some context.

“So I’m here to see ya off. This is a big deal. Everyone in the Hamlet’s excited for yall.”

Okay. I considered just noddin’ and headin’ for the door, but waited.

“It was good seein’ ya Saturday,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much I missed havin’ ya in my life.”

Yeah. Sure.

“Sorry our—uh—didn’t go well.” She motioned toward the door. “Don’t have any excuses. Just. Want ya to know I feel ashamed.”

Ashamed of what? I wanted to hear in her own words, what exactly she was ashamed of, so I waited.

After a good ten-count, it appeared clear she meant it, about no excuses. The light was dim, but I imagined her eyes might be misted up. Quickly thrust that idea out of my mind as a possibility. She motioned toward the door again, so I accepted the offer, and led her outside. Oddly, the pitch dark surprised me. Yeah. We’d opted to leave hours before sunrise so we wouldn’t arrive so late.

Mama stood next to Papa, who leaned against the car, which was already pulled out of the garage. He reached out for my duffle, grunted a bit when he grabbed it. Tough ogre. It couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, maybe a bit more. I had to pack for a lot of contingencies.

While he stowed it in the backseat, Mama and I shared a tight hug. She didn’t have to try to break my sternum. Dang troll. We weren’t goin’ off to war. “Drive safe,” she blubbered.

Really? Tears were washin’ down her cheeks?

~ Hale ~

Drama. Hens are all about drama. Drama, drama, and more drama. I observed that a long time ago. I didn’t have to reach the enlightened age of seventeen to figger it out. I think Izig may have wafted a wave at me, but I wasn’t gonna respond. So dark inside the car, and with the tinted glass, she wouldn’t have seen it anyway.

Was good to get the engine goin’, the air blowin’. Prolly maybe fifty degrees this mornin’, but felt a bit stuffy in the car. Whoa. Bele used a bit of right foot on the floor as she pulled out of the drive. Hit the peddle harder as she merged onto the village drive. If there was a constable about, we’d be startin’ our big trip out in an ignoble fashion.

“Don’t kill us before we give ’em humans a chance at us.” I had to say that.

“Ya just had to drive. I coulda gotten an extra three hours of sleep this mornin’, easy.”

I waited. Bele never ended with that few number of words. She made me wait a good twenty-count.

“No idea why that evil cousin wanted to see us off.”

Let it all out, hen.

“Not like they’ve changed their spots.”

I know Woriz hasn’t grown any digits of IQ.

“So immature,” she said.

They’re sixty days older than us, I think. She flew by an SUV I was pretty certain had to be a constable, this time of the mornin’. I peered back to see if red and blue lights flashed on.

No?

“So Woriz wasn’t with her. That surprise ya?”

Not my drama. I considered askin’ her about all the black over her eyes. Decided against it. Might just be the dark. But the dash gave her face an interestin’ earth-tone hue.

“Ya hear from yar professor friend?”

Good, she wasn’t completely consumed by one obsession. “He’ll overnight a sponsor visa by Thursday night.”

“Ya give him the clan leader’s address?” she asked.

Now why would I give him a way to get it to us?

“Ya consider givin’ Woriz a—”

She musta had a brain fart. I waited. After a while I withdrew a stylus and my twenty-inch tablet. I could do plenty of sketchin’ before the sun gave me some cool topography to enjoy. But wished Bele would click down the speedometer a bit. A few moments later she merged onto the West Highway, and accelerated more.

~

Chapter Eleven

~

It was officially day, though the higher peaks at our back would keep us in the gloom of the shadows for another forty-five minutes prolly. Pullin’ back on the highway from fillin’ up, I glanced at Hale. His eyes scanned front to right, front to right, seemin’ly thrilled by the view. We grew up in these mountains. Don’t know what was so rivetin’. One stretch of peaks after another, pine trees bunched up everywhere, searchin’ for the sun.

We passed another on-ramp from the village we filled up at, a few trucks leanin’ in to join us. I settled in the left lane, accelerated to get past the long-haulers, and between one caught a glimpse of a white SUV pulled onto a wide shoulder for the purpose. Couldn’t be anything other than a constable, and I groaned. Been on the road less than three hours.

Keepin’ my eyes checkin’ my rearview—yep, the beefy OM was catchin’ up to us quickly. I whimsically considered hittin’ the gas hard. Not as though there are any crossroads here on the turnpike that would allow me to avoid ’em. I felt Hale’s eyes studyin’ me. Deep sigh.

I flipped on my blinker as the red and blue flashed. Stink. Stink. Took a bit to find a stretch of the highway not bordered by guardrails, considerin’ we were often either in a tunnel or passin’ a raised portion of the highway with three-hundred foot drops. The long-haulers passed us, rockin’ the car hard. Hale asked me how fast I’d been goin’. I hadn’t checked. Hadn’t even re-set the cruise control yet.

Two minutes later an ogre trudged up to us on the right. Not a troll meanin’fully fixin’ a trooper’s hat on his head. The ogre wasn’t wearin’ a uniform. By the time the bull reached us though, a trooper hen did stand in front of her cruiser, arms crossed, irritated-like.

Our visitin’ bull tapped on Hale’s glass, and he rolled it down. My stomach wrenched left and right hard. Why was a bull in khakies and a pullover—

“May I join ya inside for a few minutes?” the bull asked. He waved at the backseat.

I was maybe feelin’ a little faint. This was more than a bit out of the ordinary. Why wasn’t the trooper here, askin’ for my license? Hale gave me a look, and my surroundin’s maybe clarified. They both were waitin’ on me to do something. I unlocked the back doors, and the bull climbed in, after rearrangin’ our duffels.

“I’m clan leader of the local villages nearby.” He introduced himself, offered his hand.

Hale twisted in his seat and shook with him. I noticed the shiver cross Hale’s shoulders. He doesn’t like a lot of physical contact. Surprised me he even responded to the greetin’. Usually leaves the conversin’ up to me.

“Apologize for this, unorthodox meetin’. My friend—” He waved a hand to indicate the trooper standin’ behind us. “Not happy with me. Said ya can sue my pink ogre butt off for false something or other.”

We waited. Shivers were crossing my chest. Beads of sweat dappled my brow. Be ticked if it messed up my makeup. Noted my hands maybe cramped a bit on the steerin’ wheel.

“First time I’ve gotten to see ya in person,” he continued, eyes glued just on me in the rearview. “Ya’re a beautiful young hen, if ya don’t mind me sayin’.”

Maybe I shouldn’ta used a twelve-inch house brush to paint my eyes this mornin’.

“Uh. That’s me not knowin’ how to start, ya know, breakin’ the ice. Forgive me.”

We waited.

“Considered doin’ this officially, but the office would have had to request an audience, and the hullabaloo official nonsense, recordin’ the conversation and all, wasn’t something I— Never would have happened.”

This is weird. Hale’s eyes traipsed from him to me and back.

“Can ya get to the point?” Hale asked.

I jerked a bit, at Hale’s voice. Not used to him bein’ proactive, communicative-like.

Our guest nodded, with maybe a guilty expression crossin’ his face. “Ya’re close to our Range leader. It’s said. She’s very focused, strongly in favor of, what ’em liberals call normalizin’ relations with the North. And the word in the Statehouse is yar cousin Ike, who I personally look up to, but many of us disagree with on this one point, is facilitatin’ her agenda in certain ways.”

Okay. This was headin’ into Weirdsville. Maybe we’d already docked and were already nearly unloaded.

“Pretty sure ya’ll hear from our family’s attorney, stoppin’ and interferrin’ with us durin’ official clan duties,” Hale growled.

Really. Hale?

“If ya choose to, so be it,” our visitor said. “But the only way to get the emotions of ninety percent of the Range, who feel the North hasn’t yet paid for the Troubles—those of us who don’t live in the ivory tower of the Hamlet, was to reach ya in this underhanded way. We need ya to be aware of our position.

“Ya see. It’s no accident ya two were chosen to press the flesh with the Western clan leaders at the hoedown.”

What?

“The average political type, we would have access to. Official business could be entertained. We could press our agenda. Not easy to go through channels with—outsiders. Laws against such a thing. Frowned upon.

“It was quite the nervy move, the council assignin’ ya, at this critical point in time. Comin’ in from the East, and three days later headin’ for the hoedown.

“Not proud of takin’ this avenue,” he continued.

Hale shocked me again. “The point.”

“Folk in the urban centers, Hamlet, the industrial South, Western ranchers, Eastern shippers, the minority, lookin’ at the dollars normalization would bring in.

“Those of us outside the ivory towers will pay for the impact of the injustices and unsettled social climate the North will have on us, the silent majority.”

“What’s that got to do with us?” Hale asked.

“No surprise to think two younglings influenced by liberals and big capitalists will be clueless to the preferences of the majority outside the Hamlet. Ya’re gonna be engagin’ in official conversations with Western uppity-ups who only care about financial bottom lines. Not fairness. Not right and wrong. Not the danger the Northern bigotry will have on our culture outside the ivory towers.”

Someone must have just clubbed me in the chest. Hoedowns are just social gatherin’s, aren’t they?

~ Hale ~

I’m glad he finally got to the point. Once he did, he rambled on a bit more than I thought necessary. Maybe bein’ younglings, in his words, meant Bele and I weren’t too terribly bright. And naive.

Truly the bull tried to go subtle. Maybe he didn’t want to scare us. Phft. Confuse us simpletons. Maybe sayin’ his piece in a few different manners expressed the nuances of his position.

Got to admit, gave me a bit to think about. Who knew hoedowns aren’t just the social gatherin’ I thought they are. Could he have known we’re headin’ North immediately after the gatherin’? Don’t know how he could. Professor prolly hadn’t put it in the news or nothing. And how did he catch up with us here on the turnpike? Hm.

He didn’t mention us studyin’ up North. He went on and on enough, he prolly would have mentioned it, if he knew. Uncle Ike must be working on the sly, settin’ our spyin’ up.

Second truth. Can’t say I’d spent two synapses considerin’ Aunt Nuel’s political desires. Politics isn’t anything Mama has ever broached on her daily calls. Papa doesn’t raise conversation ’bout nothing. I’ve just the vaguest awareness that normalization was a subject of conversation in the Commons, or classrooms. Definitely not in the art department, where I spend all my free time.

Prolly the folk in the business college discuss it more.

A rapid-fire explosion made me jerk. Noted it rattled Bele a lot. No one shootin’ at us. She’d just driven up on the shoulder’s rumble strip. She jerked the other way, overcompensatin’, and then back to the right again. I checked the dash. She was goin’ considerably under the speed limit. Her knuckles tinged white on the steerin’ wheel at ten and two o’clock.

“Ya need me to drive?” I asked.

She jerked yet again. Don’t think my voice is rumble-strip-like.

She moved around a bit in her seat. Tryin’ to settle herself? “No. I’m good.”

Never seen Bele so rattled. Had there been something goin’ on I wasn’t aware of? Been a few days, but I thought back how that healer, our second day home, unsettled her. What did the hen call it? Touch? With the ethereal.

“Did ya get—a sense, from that clan leader?” I asked.

She maybe jerked a bit again. “What? Sense?”

“Yar ethereal business?”

She wrinkled her brow. A moment later laughed. I waited. I waited some more.

“Ya don’t believe in that stuff, right?” she finally asked.

“There are folk who don’t even believe in dragons,” I said. “Not gonna suggest most anything is false, just because I can’t see it.”

She remained silent long enough I recognized I’d have to blab on my own self. “Ya’ve had an unnatural connection to me yar entire life. I pretty much don’t have to explain myself to ya at all. Not my emotions. Ya always know.”

“That’s different,” she said. “We’re twins.”

“Phft,” I snorted. “Less likely any more part of it than ya havin’ a connection with majic. Ya’ve always seemed majical to me.”

She laughed. Good. She recognized I was smilin’, on the inside. That proved she’s majical. “So why are ya so rattled over that bull?” I tossed a thumb over my shoulder.

She denied bein’ rattled. I snorted at her again. “Liar.”

“That’s rude. Ogres don’t lie.”

“Phft. Ya’re half troll.”

“Ya sayin’ Mama lies?”

“She’s always said I’m special, and ya’re beautiful, what do ya think?”

She leveled me a glare long enough she was back to the rumble strip.

“Everyone knows ya’re stupid, and that I’m gorgeous. So she only half lies.”

“Half lies are good,” I said.

She sighed. “I sensed no exaggeration or dishonesty from that guy.”

I waited. Maybe I’d opened her up.

“I’m shocked he got us pulled over to discuss something in politics we have no involvement or impact in.”

Hm. “He had a pretty good argument, that we needed to know there’s an issue. That it would be broached at the hoedown. That maybe we shouldn’t just take the blather without applyin’ a little of our own judgment. Ya don’t think he lied, that the conversations at the hoedown directly impact subsequent policy?”

She remained quiet a long time. Maybe I’d used too many words on her. Nah. The way hens go on and on, that’s not possible. Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me?” she asked.

There it was. That majic of hers.

My sister’s a witch. Who knew.

“I’m not a witch,” she hissed.

I nodded. Whatever ya say, witch.

She growled.

I wonder if humans think the giant growl is melodious? I think it is. Mama’s is gorgeous. Maybe Papa’s comes across a little more—intimidatin’.

~

Chapter Twelve

~

We hadn’t been back on the road thirty minutes when Hale’s phone rang, and heard Uncle Ike shout, “Put me on speaker.”

When Hale had, and told him to go ahead, Uncle talked a lot faster than I’m used to an ogre talkin’. It’s safe to say he was ticked off.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” he said, maybe hearin’ himself in his head, and slowin’ down a tad.

How had he heard? Neither of us had called anyone.

“Council attorneys have ripped him a new one. The Range council’s already acted to deny the clan any votes for the next two years. He’s been personally sanctioned with prejudice.”

That was fast. Papa’s complained the council can argue about the day of the week for three months.

“That’ll alienate them a bunch, doncha think,” Hale said.

I gave him a sharp look. There he went openin’ his mouth again. He might get in the habit and I’d never get him to shut up.

Uncle remained quiet a long moment. “Ya have something to say?”

“He didn’t lie about the hoops ya’ve jumped through to avoid the issue at the hoedown. So ya’ve ticked him off, and ya’ve ticked me and Bele off, for the despicable way ya’ve used us.”

Whoa. Ya go, bull. Though I wasn’t feelin’ used. More, confused.

“Despicable? Not usin’ ya,” Ike hissed.

Hale called him a liar, and a sudden intake of air made me half-choke, half-vomit. Yuck. Tasted terrible. I swallowed at it hard.

“Ya’re callin’ an ogre a liar?” Uncle close-to screamed. “Another bull, I’d shake ’em till their head flew off.”

Hale laughed, more cackled. “So, ya’re a little loose with yar honor. Not a big difference.”

Holy Moly.

“Ya’ve got a lot of nerve, ya—”

“Oh, save it,” Hale barked at Uncle. “I always thought it was odd ya, or no other council leader, or even Aunt Nuel, took us aside to chat about their expectations at the hoedown. Ya wanted us to be stupid, ignert, and unaware. Save ya from havin’ to go against folk who disagree with ya.”

Whoa. Uncle remained silent. Hale must have punched him right in the solar plexus.

“Ya don’t think much of me, do ya?” Uncle finally muttered.

Did he think he was gonna get sympathy from Hale now?

“Not this moment, no,” Hale answered. “Papa’s always said ya're so full of yarself ya can’t see the sky for yar own ego.”

“Yeah. He’s said that to my face, on many occasions. But we fling insults at one another for fun. It’s how we communicate. Ya take that to heart ya’re conflatin’ reality.”

“Maybe,” Hale said, “ya’ve gotten so used to getting’ yar way even when folk call ya on yar dragon pooh, ya think yar sky’s a different color than everyone else’s.”

Unexpectedly, Uncle laughed, hard, after a five-count.

Hale and I exchanged confused glances.

“Yar papa never let me get away with anything either,” Uncle said softly. “Ya’re definitely yar papa’s offspring.” He paused a two-count. “Okay, tell me yar thoughts about the other thing. Ya don’t think it’s politically bright to tick off the bull that pulled ya off the highway? I suspect that was a bit—disconcertin’.”

Askin’ us naive younglings about diplomacy?

“Pullin’ us over like that was indeed wrong,” Hale said. “But he didn’t think ya’d given him a choice. A bull with deep convictions can behave unexpectedly if ya don’t show ’em the respect they deserve. At least the consideration they believe they deserve.”

Uncle remained quiet.

“I think,” Hale continued, “ya oughta call the bull, apologize, tell him ya’ll get the action revoked.”

“Apologize? Phft.”

“Yes,” Hale hissed.

“I’m not reversin’ his personal sanction,” Uncle bellowed. “No one assaults a member of this family.”

“Wasn’t an assault,” I said. Thought it was time for me to speak up. Besides I felt left out. Not used to Hale doin’ all the talkin’.

“Assault. Tomato. Tomato. He messed with ya, on the open highway.”

“Turnpike,” I said. Felt good to get another word in.

“Ya’ve left us terribly unprepared for the hoedown,” Hale said.

“Yeah,” I hissed.

“I want ya to send us an unbiased summary of this issue, and any other we may be hit with. Or we’ll turn around and come home.”

I jerked a look at Hale. No. He was bluffin’. But don’t think Uncle would think he was. Hale has never played games. The spectrum leaves him pretty black and white.

“That would be embarrassin’ for the clan,” Uncle said. “Ya’d do that to yar kin?”

“Ya deserve a little cuttin’ down to size,” I said. Felt good.

“I said unbiased. In the next hour. Give us time to prepare as we drive.”

“An hour,” Uncle bellowed. “I—”

“Fifty-nine minutes and a few seconds, now,” Hale said.

Maybe my chest expanded a bit. I didn’t know my bull sibling has those kinds of tusks. Oh, I hate that expression. Hale and I have meagerly-sized tusks, whether we were full ogre or full troll. Just not right.

~ Hale ~

A sense of stinkin’ exhaustion flowed over me after we hung up with Uncle. Did it tire out others to engage in a conflict-filled conversation? Or just me? Was it the actual openin’ my mouth? Or the conflict itself?

Did it make any difference? Prolly, either way, I wasn’t gonna be able to improve how I respond to such things.

Bele continued to glance at me. She could be a metronome sittin’ on a learner’s piano. What might her little majic be tellin’ her? Prolly shriekin’ that any moment I might traipse into an episode. But the terror, pressure that attacks my chest, is absent. It usually comes on quickly, incapacitates me. Shuts down my ability to cope, with whatever invasion is settin’ upon me.

Did pretty well Saturday in the gym. I sensed an episode takin’ over me, and my mind focused only on that, but the terror receded quickly. I sensed my surroundin’s in just a few moments.

Hadn’t had one in months. Many months. Which is very refreshin’. And to be able to recover, like that. Hallelujah. Let the gods and angels sing, dragons bugle from the heights. Gods and angels, a very troll thought. Dragons bugle, very ogrish.

My stomach growled. I could never think about food after previous episodes. Last thing I’d want. Checkin’ the dash, wouldn’t be a bad time to have a break. Even if we’ve only been back on the road an hour or so after fillin’ up.

Saliva tickled my tusks, imaginin’ a pile of barbecue ribs. Followed by a steak. Bele and I aren’t huge eaters like the typical ogre. Have a bit of a sluggish, trollish metabolism, but not quite. Not like we could make do with a bowl of insects followed up by a platter of squirmin’ centipedes. Thought made me shiver. How Mama eats those things.

“Ya’re hungry?” Bele asked.

There goes that majic thing.

“Not majic,” she mumbled. “I heard yar tummy.”

Giants don’t have tummies. We have guts. At least a beef-basket. Uh, ogres. Don’t know if trolls have that. Insect-basket? Cricket casket? Hate I don’t have bullish tusks. Been mistaken more times for a tall, homely human to irritate my ogre side. My trollish side prolly goes phish. Takes a bit more to tick off a troll. But not wise to do so. Have I ever really been ticked off? Insulted, sure. Got cousins, two in particular, loved to do nothing more than— Not good to think of that.

“Ya’re thinkin’ about Woriz and Izig?” Bele asked.

Why would she ask me that?

“Got a sense of irritation from ya, like ya got this mornin’ lookin’ out at Izig.”

“Yar majic is gonna irritate me,” I said.

“Or it’s just that we’re twins.”

I sighed. “Fraternal. Ya’re not that special to me.”

“Ya’re not special to anyone,” she said.

Phish.

“Mama may not even love ya.”

“I’ve been told ya’re adopted.”

“That was mean,” she whined.

We approached an exit that listed a slew of restaurants, and Bele pressed up her blinker. Guess we’re gonna eat.

“Ya said ya were hungry,” she said.

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Ya’re an idjit.”

“Ya’re a fool, and an idjit.”

Phish. “Must hurt not knowin’ who yar real folks are.”

“At least my adopted kin love me.”

~

Chapter Thirteen

~

Hale pointed at the blue signs listing the exit’s options. “There’s an orc diner.”

“Stinkin’ spicy,” I said.

“Ya’re a wuss,” Hale countered.

“Servings are small.”

“Why Papa orders three meals,” Hale said.

I was shakin’ my head, but when my stinkin’ brother gets something in his head it’s hard to shake it out of his brain basket. But I could try. “Prefer barbecue.”

“Ya eat barbecue every day. Ya’re a straight, unimaginative line struck by the most borin’ straight edge in the world.”

“Don’t eat barbecue every day. And I’ve been told I have a great imagination.”

Hale shot me a glance. “Ya’ve never, not eaten barbecue. And whoever told ya that is a fool and an idjit. Hope they don’t drive, ’cause they’d be a menace to society.”

I opened my mouth to counterattack, but he wasn’t done.

“Just ’cause Mama and the Commons cooks don’t use a grill, doesn’t mean the meat ya eat isn’t barbecue. They cook for ogres. Know a proper ogre isn’t gonna touch a piece of meat that doesn’t look like it was charred over a fire.”

“I hate ya,” I told him.

“Orc.”

“Fine.”

Forty seconds later we learned the orc place was closed for remodelin’, and a serious pout flowed over Hale’s face. I almost lost it laughin’ my rose-colored ogre-troll butt off. Hale’s not much for showin’ his feelin’s. I sensed a lot of it was just embarrassment. Served ’im right.

I pulled into a Continental-style and thought Hale might cry. What’s his trouble? He could choose between goblin or human here. Not that it would necessarily be authentic.

Inside, an orc waitress seated us in a giant section. Not that the unmixed variety is odd. Guess it’s easier for the staff in a lot of ways, and maybe lets servers more familiar with a style of food help their guests better. I kinda prefer when we’re all mixed together. I like to watch folk, folk of all flavors. Easier if they aren’t a hundred yards away.

“Giant, or continental menu?” she asked.

I said giant. Hale, continental. I got a tiny red menu, Hale a much larger white one.

Then the orc hen ’bout blew my mind. “You guys are Bele and Hale?”

I know my mouth hung agape. I looked at Hale. He was studyin’ her as though she sat wavin’ at ’im under a microscope.

She gave us a phish. “You’ve been all over the Internet. Besides, Papa just last night talked about you headin’ for the hoedown.”

All over the Internet? Okay, maybe one jerk reporter mentioned us headin’ for TIT at thirteen, like that’s a big deal. But—I don’t spend a lick on-line. So what do I know. The Birs clan does get a lot of attention. Mostly Aunt Nuel. She’s our lightenin’ rod.

“Ya don’t speak with a Southern accent,” Hale said. Speakin’ to a stranger again. Very weird. I guess I’d never get ’im to shut up now. Besides, the accent’s less Southern than non-human. As an accent, we mostly just talk slower. Though I’ve been told humans think we sound like yokels. I think it’s mostly the giant pronouns that make us sound—unique. Which is clearly wrong—orcs in the Hamlet use them too.

She shot Hale an enormous smile, not timid about showin’ off her orc, needle-sharp teeth. That puts off the human tourists at the Lake. “Papa says I act like I’m too good for the family.” She laughed. “Got into the habit after a year backpackin’ up North.

“Ya traveled up North?” we both, sorta gushed.

She waved a loose hand at us. “Humans aren’t intimidated by us orcs.” She made a tiny face, implyin’ a concession was comin’. “A lot of them still ticked off at ogres and trolls though.” She shrugged. “To drink?”

“Sweet tea,” we both answered.

I noted Hale followed her progress up the aisle. Takin’ a second look, I noticed she didn’t wear the longer, shin-length skirt typical for them. Still outlandishly colorful, but hit her mid-hamstring. “See something ya like?”

He turned radish-red. Very endearin’. I told him he didn’t seem to mind when she patted his forearm. He blinked hard. What, he didn’t notice? Maybe it was all the eyelash flashin’ she gave him. Knows how to work a good tip from the bulls.

“Nice figure, huh?” I teased. “That brief skirt, with the tucked in, scarlet blouse, makes her hard to ignore. Dreads are nice and shiny, huh.”

He studied his menu hard now. Wow. An awareness struck me that embarrassed me a little. This shouldn’t be new to me. Of course. Hale has always been more open with orcs than any other. Funny. To think about it, Papa’s always acted more comfortable around them too. Maybe not a coincidence the entire staff is orc. Except for the old troll that works security, when Papa holds functions in the other wing.

~ Hale ~

Don’t know why she had to make a big deal about me enjoyin’ the ambiance of our gorgeous server. She teases me so much sometimes, it could be considered bullyin’. Maybe I should tell her that.

A lot of my attention, to be fair, was driven by the little orc’s time up North. Might be enlightenin’, hearin’ her thoughts about—

“I’m havin’ the Ogre Platter,” Bele announced.

“That’s a startlin’ anomaly.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m gonna give her my phone number,” I said. “Ya know, so we can ask her about, uh, her time up North.”

“And she’s just a puddle hopper away, if ya wanna invite her to a concert or something.”

“Shut up.”

“In all fairness, she is cute,” Bele said.

“It’s for background,” I stressed.

“Uh huh.” Not a lie, but yep, not the full story.

Good thing. An ogre-troll romance is one thing. In no situation could I see a seven-foot-tall ogre-troll, four-foot-tall orc relationship ever—well, workin’ out. That’s too bad. If a bull and a hen like each other, no matter, it should be okay.

She returned and took our orders, smiles still radiatin’ my way. I kept my eyes down—mostly. But, bein’ so short, her generous bazoombas layered about even with our tabletop. Midway she maybe noticed my attitude had changed, and her demeanor chilled, significantly. I’m not totally incompetent in readin’ an attitude, just not good at it. My chest vibrated. Guilt? Had I led her on, inappropriately? Not like anything was ever gonna be. Stupid thinkin’.

After she left, Bele apologized. I kept my eyes down.

“Really. I’m sorry,” Bele said. “I teased. I shouldn’ta. I was—just taken unexpected-like, a bit, ya showin’ interest. Not something—I’ve ever seen ya do before. And here I go makin’ a thing about it. I was out of line. Forgive me?”

I looked up and tears pooled.

“Dragon pooh,” she hissed, and hurried to dab her eyes dry with her napkin. “Did I mess up my makeup?”

“Really bad,” I said. Didn’t really. But she deserved it.

A second later she laughed. “Ya liar.” I’m definitely gonna hate her majic.

When our orc server returned, Bele explained in painful detail that she’d teased me about fancyin’ her. Thought my ears were gonna explode. Dumb sibling went on and on. Blast her. Even explained I wanted to talk to her about her experiences North. Like I couldn’t do that.

“Ya fancy me, huh?” she asked. Not sure what she was doin’ with her face. Maybe I should ask my stupid sibling. The pretty orc hen told me to give her my phone. I was so frozen in shock there was no denyin’ her, with Bele studyin’ me like one of her biology doodads. The hen took enough time with my phone to take over every account I’ve got. My skin crawled. After leavin’ the table givin’ me a long, pretty smile, I checked my recent texts, which was still open. To a Beky. Said, “Look forward to hearing from you.”

“She enter herself in yar contacts?” Bele asked me.

She must have. Otherwise my text wouldn’ta had her name on it.

“Did I make up for teasin’ ya?”

I’m not good at makin’ a face fit a mood, but I worked at givin’ her an angry motif. No clue if it worked. But she smiled. So maybe not.

After we finished, Bele grabbed our check, but I left a gold Continental for a tip. Was that wrong? Would she take it—badly? Couldn’t guess how it might come across. Didn’t want it to be as though I tried to buy her friendship. As an arrogant—

In fairness, Papa often leaves what Mama would call an exorbitant tip, when he appreciates the service. Funny, that Papa is otherwise as frugal as a muskrat with twenty younglings.

~

Chapter Fourteen

~

We hadn’t been in the local leader’s home five minutes when he groused about us bein’ held up on the turnpike. He went on a bit, about how uppity they were on the other side of the Ridge.

Hale’s emotions changed pages. Which had been hung on the elation at the views from the West Ridge pullout. At least he got fifteen minutes takin’ a hundred photos in every direction. It was pretty, but really didn’t get what the big deal was.

He had blabbered about the geology, how this platonic plate rammed up and onto that oceanic shelf sixty-something million years ago. If it doesn’t have a heartbeat, doesn’t entertain me much. Who knew Hale had studied something besides art at TIT.

I turned to study him. Was he gonna light into our elder? He’d been pretty open with that council leader, and with Uncle. I got a tickle in my chest, thinkin’ about him callin’ Uncle a liar. Awesome.

I waited, as our host blasted his neighbor a bunch more.

But Hale appeared as emotionless as usual, usual prior to, say the past three days.

Maybe our council host’s hen noted the two of us weren’t grinnin’ and layerin’ additional insults on the neighbor, and she grabbed hold of the situation and guided us into their sittin’ room, usherin’ her mate and his second-guy off to prepare coffee—something a troll hen would never do, but most ogre bulls, in my experience, know it isn’t wise to ignore the admonitions of his mate.

Hale and I aren’t coffee drinkers, has to be Mama’s influence since tea is a more appropriate troll social drink, but neither interrupted our hostess to nix the coffee threat.

“My mate can go on and on,” she half-wispered, “and as a proud bull isn’t about to closely monitor his mouth around someone he considers—” She paused.

As though I didn’t know where she was goin’. “Lower standin’?” I suggested.

“As good a way to say it as any,” she admitted. “Not to insult ya.” She squirmed in her seat a tad. “Ya two are Birs stock, after all.”

I offered a smile to thank her for her attempted, if not successful tact. I took the interruption in the conversation to address the elephant. “So we aren’t likely to meet many folk around here interested in forcin’ the Northerners to change their ways before we—” I’m already gettin’ tired of what’s obviously a popular cliché, but I didn’t know a better term. “Normalize relations.”

“Goodness. Of course ya would, if ya worked hard enough. But honestly, the party line lies in one direction, and a lot of folk feel uncomfortable takin’ an opinion opposite those—in charge.”

“Seems like that’s the only hot button,” Hale said.

She stared at him a long bit. Surprised he could actually speak? Hale and Papa’s condition has been discussed a bit in the news, maybe. “We ogres are emotional folk,” she finally said. “As the joke goes, we’ll argue the day of the week just to have something to chat about.”

Our host’s number two strode in with a tray of cups, sugar and cream doodads, and our hostess settled back in her chair, lips tight. The bull glanced at her, an edge in his expression, like he expected her to leap up and settle up the servin’. Good for her, leavin’ it up to the bulls. I’d vote for her, if I had a chance.

The next hour dragged. I intentionally allowed my yawns to linger, but our host didn’t get the hint. I almost broke into hysterical laughter when my trustworthy sibling took things into his own hands.

~ Hale ~

I stood. Had enough of the meanin’less blatherin’. Maybe I’m used to Papa. Takes a crowbar and a blowtorch to get a peep out of him on most occasions. Maybe why I like to avoid Uncle Ike. He’s a bit of a blowhard too—besides bein’ a lowdown lyin’ snake in the grass. He’s nothing like Aunt Nuel. But the average ogre hen is pretty hard to shut up in general.

Yep. If I have a choice, I’ll fall in love with a troll hen, not an ogre. With that thought, I imagined Beky. Not as though that made sense. She weighs sixty pounds to my three hundred. Ogre muscle and troll height may curse me to look into daemon hens, for a better physical cohesion. Shame they don’t have a more dramatic presence in the Hamlet. Very family, communal type of folk, it seems. They home school their younglings, so no excuse to see them on a day to day basis, growin’ up.

“Gotta check in at the Hilton,” I said, walkin’ toward the front door. I left the rest of ’em to recover. I can do abrupt things like this. It’s expected. I appreciate Papa explainin’ that to me, a couple summers ago.

I left Bele to say our good nights. She’s good at blah blah blah.

Outside, I ripped my stinkin’ phone out of my pocket. Dang-blasted thing probably vibrated fifteen-hundred times in the last hour. It had started to warm up good as we neared the local village. A lot of reporters up the West Coast were requestin’ interviews. The one thing Ike had suggested to us, allow the council to schedule those. So I’d simply been deletin’ all the texts and messages.

Council lawyers hadn’t yet reached out with an official interview invitation. Most of ’em, if not all of ’em would be fluff pieces. The famous—gag me—twins who went to TIT at thirteen. Makes sense, not like they’d expect seventeen-year-olds, art and premed majors, to be very schooled in public policy. Blast Uncle Ike for getting’ us in this.

I swallowed hard to see I had a text from Beky. From two hours earlier. “You two get in safely?” I leaned against Mama’s car, irritated I couldn’t get in until Bele clicked the doodad, and reread the short question four times. A hen asked if I was good. A hen reached out to me. Pretty sure that’s a first. What should I reply? Usually just send Mama a smiley emoji. Didn’t want to go blah blah. Not like we’re all—uh, well-known to each other yet.

“What’s wrong?” Bele gushed, makin’ me jerk. Hadn’t noticed her creepin’ up on me. Oh. Then I noticed the throng on the stoop shoutin’ their good nights, and stuff like see ya in the mornin’. Think it’s about mornin’ now.

I looked back at Bele. Her face was scrunched up. Maybe serious-like. I hate not understandin’ facial emotions.

“What happened?”

I pointed at the door, and she tooted us in. Seated, she hissed a, “Well?” at me.

I held my phone out to her. After a half second, the emotion that had wrapped her face melted a bit. Whatever that meant.

“Oh? So why are ya so stressed out?”

I rotated a finger at the dash, to rush her gettin’ us out of here. Those folks were still standin’ there, as though they could see through the dark glass. I think she used the fob to start up the car, and she shifted it into gear. Smooth-like. I don’t know if I could do that as nonchalant. I’m more—measured.

She pulled up the preloaded address to the Hilton on the navigator, and had us in the village lane before she hissed at me again.

“Like ya get a ton of messages from bulls that might like ya,” I hissed back at her.

“I get my share,” she said.

Liar.

“I’m not a liar. A couple, maybe.”

Like twenty-five-year-old med students are reachin’ out to my nerdy, seventeen-year-old sibling.

“Have too.”

For study groups.

“I’ve been known to go out on the town.”

To attend talks in the auditorium.

“And pretty much everyone in med school is a nerd,” she said.

Don’t doubt that. I hate my peers work overtime to be cool—the arty peers. Gag me. Maybe not in the business college now. They’re big into their cliques, rubbernecking at the Rathskeller while splittin’ pitchers of beer.

That’s my imagination. Not as though I’ve experienced it firsthand.

Hm. New thought struck me. If we studied up North, I’d get an excuse not to work on my MBA, since the reason I’m bein’ invited, outside of Uncle’s schemin’, is to give the North a chance to be judgmental about my work. Art.

“What?” Bele asked.

Does she get tired of askin’ me that?

“Ya were stressed out about one thing, now all squeamish about something else.”

Stinks bein’ a witch’s sibling.

“Don’t call me a witch.”

We could talk about school later. “What do I tell Beky?”

“That we’re good.”

That’s too simple. Wouldn’t she expect more?

“She’s just bein’ polite anyway. Doesn’t expect a monologue about the turnpike, yar million pictures ya clicked on the Ridge, or our coffee with arrogant politicians.”

“Ya think they’re arrogant?” I asked.

She snorted.

I waited for more. What in the heck did a snort mean?

“What?” she asked.

Hm. I stared at Beky’s text. Maybe I’d think about it and answer her tomorrow.

“Don’t put off answerin’ her,” Bele said. “Ya’ll overthink it. Plus, she’ll think ya’re blowin’ her off.”

How does one overthink something? Don’t want her to think I don’t care.

“Consider an ogre hen. They’ll blah blah the first thing comes into their brain case.”

“Ya’re quite the racist,” I said.

She laughed. And continued to laugh. Finally she managed, “We sit between two dramatic folk. We can’t tiptoe a line. We see both sides better than any other on the continent.

I thought about that. By the time I was measurin’ it some, she pulled into the Hilton. Bele had collected her duffle and headed for the hotel when I thought back to the text. I clicked the mic and said. “Great. Beautiful drive. Thanks.”

I hurried to click send, as pain ricocheted from shoulder to shoulder. I prolly answered in the dumbest manner possible. I don’t understand folk. I shouldn’t ever have to answer a question. It’s like someone holdin’ a gun on me, tellin’ me to hurry, holdin’ hostages that are hangin’ over a vat of acid.

~

Chapter Fifteen

~

The day hadn’t started as I’d expected. Who knew there’d be someone callin’ us from the lobby at six-thirty in the stinkin’ ogre pre-butt crack of dawn to drag us to our first conference? Didn’t get time to put my sultry makeup on. And I wanted to look so adult. Swollen eyes, draggin’ out of an elevator does not promise an adult look.

But the two ogres who met us didn’t give my swollen eyes a second look, thankfully. Though it was rude the bull of the pair didn’t at least give me a once over. Maybe because the hen who grabbed hold of me, with a mouth that didn’t stop for a second, immediately led me to a waitin’ car.

I hadn’t noticed until she started backin’ her car out of her parkin’ slot that Hale had been escorted to a different vehicle. Okay. So maybe I panicked a bit. I dialed Hale, and he seemed okay with goin’ off with some strange bull. He hung up the phone without wishin’ me a good day. Really!

“I thought ya knew,” Kla said.

Not so much. Good thing she spelled her name for me. I thought she was Clay. We ogres do like short names, even if it’s only by one letter. But seemed like she was missin’ a sometimes-vowel. She clarified all but the evenin’ festivities would be separate—hens and bulls.

“Since we hens truly make all the decisions, our side breaks out to actually write the platform.”

I asked her what the bulls did. She shrugged. “No clue. They just grumble about what we’ve decided for ’em. Guess that’s why they spend much of the evenin’s standin’ over a still complainin’.” She continued briskly, “We’ve never had a hen as young as ya join us. This should be a hoot.”

A hoot?

Five minutes later we arrived at the clan’s civic center. Lots of shiny metal and glass, gardens engulfin’ the’ sidewalks meanderin’ toward the main entrance. Inside, we queued up for registration, which clipped along briskly, better organized than any war. We stepped into a large conference room, where thankfully, my eyes narrowed upon tables along the left overflowin’ with food. Oddly, I headed for the urns first. Hale and I may not be coffee drinkers, but I needed a kick. Caffeine would do it.

Kla didn’t get more than a step away from me from the time we exited her car to the moment we sat down with platters six inches deep in beef, pork, and some kind of white meat, I assumed was chicken.

Yep. It was chicken. Could have used a glaze, or an onion and pepper rub. I’d been told my first trip South not to expect the flavor accustomed to at the Hamlet. It was the orc influence, supposedly. Made sense. Orcs are the largest minority in our part of the Range. Well, after trolls. Never thought of trolls as a minority though. Ogres and trolls have always just been—the ever-present residents of the Range.

“I was chosen to be yar sidekick,” Kla said between bites, “because I’m the youngest of the caucus. If ya’ve wondered why I’ve latched onto ya.”

My mind was on Hale. He doesn’t do well with a heavy hand. If the bull that dragged him away from me is as heavy handed as Kla—dragon pooh, he’s likely to experience an episode. I used a big hit of my coffee to get down a chunk of brisket, and dialed him. “Ya okay?

“Dandy.”

And the jerk hung up on me.

“Something wrong?” Kla asked.

I shook my head. Nothing a mortician couldn’t fix, when I got my hands on my sibling. I looked around the room and recognized each of the big, round tables seemed to have an aggressive speaker directin’ the conversation. Our den mother was explainin’ the process for the next three days, as soon as empty platters began to be cleared away.

Was still noshin’ when a goblin grabbed my platter, along with Kla’s. How rude. The movement of the goblins across the room was almost dizzyin’, and a rotund hen was already warmin’ up a mic at the front of the room.

Wouldn’t we get a bathroom break?

A battalion of orcs began handin’ out a thick folder to each of us. These folks were focused on efficiency, let me tell ya. I think we must be a lot more mellow in the Hamlet. I only found serious expressions on the faces across the grand salon.

I opened my folder to find an extensive agenda on the top of the sheaf. No way we were getting’ through this in the next three days. A headache flowed across one temple to the base of my skull. I’ll flay that no good for nothing, schemin’ uncle of mine.

Our first speaker was already startin’. I looked across at Kla, face riveted on the front of the room.

~ Hale ~

The only thing that made sense is breakfast was first up. Did not expect beer taps to go with the piles of eggs, bacon, and steaks. I looked around for the lighter liquid offerin’s. Couldn’t find any.

They did know I’m only seventeen, right?

Gai, pronounced jay—he spelled it for me, I guess in case I wanted to look ’im up in social media—plunked down an enormous stein in front of me. The head on the ale was as dark as any storm front, leaned a tad threatenin’ to slide down the outside of the glass. I watched it, waitin’. Smelled a tad like something my Grandmama Eacy made me drink down one day I’d come up green in the gills. Smelled like something Grandpa on Papa’s side would use to lubricate bearin’s. Made me throw up within ten minutes. That hurt, but got me feelin’ better after a bit. Troll grandparents have stern medicine, but it works.

I stared at that tall stein, and shook my head. Gai started laughin’, as did everyone else at the table. I guess everyone was in on the prank. Five seconds later a grinnin’ goblin replaced the stein with a mug of tea an orc could bathe in.

Gai nudged me in the arm. “Tea, right? Heard ya weren’t a coffee drinker.”

Where’d he hear that? Maybe from the clan leader from last night. I hadn’t touched the mug they plied me with last night.

The conversation around the enormous round table immediately began to build up in my brain case. Ogre bulls aren’t much for talkin’ durin’ a meal, is my experience. These folk were geared up for conflict and battle. In this case dinin’ and arguin’ was an evenly balanced endeavor. More than a few times I saw a tough of meat sneak around a tusk and land back in its owner’s platter.

After I fielded a call from Bele, Gai leaned near and spoke over a pound of masticated beef, he was here to support me with anything I needed. That he was aware there are situations I might find uncomfortable, just to say something. He’d take care of it. Then he pressed a fat-ogre fist on my shoulder, before slappin’ me a few good times. I fought the shiver that traveled back and forth across my shoulders.

I opted to set ’im straight. “Ya pat me on the shoulder again, ya’ll find yarself in traction on a hospital bed.”

He sobered a moment, before chortlin’. “Good one.”

I held my glare on ’im until his mood evened out again.

~

Chapter Sixteen

~

Who knew sittin’ in a conference room for seven hours was so stinkin’ exhaustin’? I could gag up an agenda item or two as I flopped on the short couch in the livin’ area between our suites. I’ve worked hard in my life. Studied all day before, crammed for important exams. But never felt as ripped to shreds as I did this moment. And as explained to me by an almost giddy Kla, the day was only half over. She or her sibling Gai would pick us up in a couple hours for barbecue and general minglin’.

Not embarrassed to admit Hale hadn’t been on my mind much. Considered pullin’ out my phone and ringin’ him. But he hadn’t lowered himself to call me once, to share the experiences of his day. I thought back to that mortician I needed to hire. Officially I should still be ticked off at Hale. Maybe I’m too tired to keep the emotion up.

I opted to close my eyes for a moment, leaned over and hugged the large side cushion. Pretty sure I fell asleep. For no more than a second, when the front door opened and Hale strolled in, all but whistling. Not that he wore a smile. He doesn’t smile. But I sensed his absence of malaise, which didn’t feel right. I ripped a quick look at my watch, and leapt from the settee.

“What’s up?” Hale asked.

I’m usually the one askin’ that. “They’re supposed to be pickin’ us up in, like, twenty minutes.”

“They’re waitin’ for us in the lobby,” he said.

No way. I wouldn’t have time to shower, pick out a dress, paint my face. My life is ruined, and complacency flowed off my stinkin’ sibling’s aura. Don’t know if aura is a good word for what I pick up on. I’m new to bein’ a witch. Not that I’m a witch.

Hale cocked ’is head at me. “Ya ready to go?”

My shoulders sagged a bit. Sensed impatience and confusion washin’ from Hale. Dragon pooh. I was gonna slip into the shower for a moment. They could wait on me.

~ Hale ~

Bele is usually—hard to put her in a certain round or square peg hole. Put together. That’s as good an expression to come to mind. From the other room I could hear her ramblin’ to herself. Had to be to herself. Not like I was listenin’ to her, on purpose. But I think she decided upon the top dress facin’ her from her duffle. Least wrinkled. She didn’t have time to iron it. Blah blah.

I think her jeans and polo from the mornin’ was fine. I wasn’t gonna don a dress for the evenin’. Snort. I have a sense of humor. Can’t let nobody say I don’t. I just don’t laugh. Much. I try it once a month just to see if it changes my mood. But my mood is pretty constant. Except for the occasional episode.

My mind wandered to Gai whisperin’ to a friend that I worried him. Had threatened to kill ’im. Which isn’t true. Just promised to put ’im in the hospital. I checked my watch. Hope Gai and Kla are patient. Been ten minutes.

Another fifteen minutes passed before she showed her face. She walked as she painted junk above an eye, peerin’ in a mirror the size of an orc’s palm. We are amazin’ creatures, considerin’ she can paint, walk, peer into a mirror, and blather mean epitaphs at a sibling at the same time.

I led her to the door, got her to the elevator without her trippin’ and breakin’ her face. I’ll admit I had to analyze her bearin’. The black swirls of her mostly red dress, that ended mid-thigh, wasn’t something I could recall her ever wearin’ before. Her wet dreads streaked moisture across her mostly bare shoulders, runnin’ halfway down her back before it found more material to moisten.

Whoa. That dress didn’t cover much of her. Thankfully it didn’t dip as far in the front as it did in the back. She’s half troll, but her Papa’s genes gave her plenty to pad her chest. I guess there’s a better way of sayin’ that ogre hens are pretty much always weighted heavy in the top-front half. But then they’ve got generous paddin’ in the hips and ogre butt too. That’s where Bele’s troll side gives her a break. The curves don’t so much match a Range’s village lane, as it does a turnpike.

“What are ya studyin’ so hard?” Bele hissed.

I’d let her witch side read my mind.

The elevator settled on the ground floor, and she was still tryin’ to gouge her eyes out through her eyelids. How she managed to follow me out after the door opened will impress me for months.

Fifty feet away, Gai and Kla stood in the lobby. I’d go out on a ledge and say they were waitin’ with a mood of irritation, only because I know I’d gotten tired waitin’ on Bele.

“Expected ya to be hungrier than ya two are showin’,” Kla said.

I caught Gai’s expression. What maybe was irritation a moment before had evaporated. I imagined what the long face, jaw agape, eyes twitchin’, meant. A moment later, Kla caught on to her sibling’s demeanor. A second later she elbowed ’im hard in the ribs. Real hard. She hissed at him something that sounded like, get yar eyes back in yar head and yar tusks back in yar mouth.

All of this gave me a lot to think about as we rushed to the parkin’ lot. In the OM SUV, Bele continued usin’ her itty-bitty mirror. Paintin’ isn’t a big part of my art repertoire, but I could sense she’d applied at least three complimentary layers. Was workin’ well, aesthetically. For what end, I couldn’t understand. But she’s a hen. Papa’s told me a few times that we’re not intended to understand ’em.

Thirty minutes later after a short jaunt on the North-South Turnpike, and a couple quick lights, we pulled into a Prestige Resort, the half-mile drive snakin’ up a steep slope. Out the left, the ocean glittered under a sun which was way too bright, low in the sky. We don’t get suns like that in the Range. All that water, yet the region remains as arid as the plain three hundred miles north. Odd.

Papa’s never used a valet that I’m aware of, but Kla strode away from her car leavin’ her door open—so I figgered what was up, and followed her. Oddly, Gai held back and seemed awfully attentive to Bele. I woulda thought waitin’ for her for better part of an hour would have put ’im off, but he reminded me a bit like a puppy followin’ someone from the barn after milkin’ a cow.

The lobby of this place grabbed my attention for the next ten minutes. Mama has said Papa’s as rich as two or three gods, but we’ve never stayed any place this opulent. Actually, far from it—Papa will use his travel app to find a place with free breakfast.

The steep, two-floor escalator was cool. A wall of glass behind us continued to ogle the darkenin’ purple of the ocean. Not as beautiful as the Ridge, but it had me wishin’ I’d brought along my camera.

Well-dressed ogres began crossin’ our path as we arrived at the mezzanine. Maybe I should have scooted out of my jeans. The hens appeared more in line with Bele’s attire. Though there were plenty dressed like Kla, in her black, silky slacks that reached mid-shin, matching blouse that flowed open across the top enough for Mama to plant her hand over her mouth.

Music flowed. At least five fiddles, a base or two, banjo, drums, and a piano. Enterin’ the salon, startled me a bit. There was more of that shiny bling, tall ceilin’. I thought the West hoedown was supposed to be a small affair. I remember one of the grands talkin’ about minglin’ under the trees durin’ a local hoedown, moons ago. Why were there at least two-hundred folk standin’ around itsy-bitsy, what I’ll call tall cocktail tables for lack of a different word, gnawin’ on kebabs, sippin' from fluted glasses? Pretty fancy for ogres, just my opinion.

For a moment the world swiveled a bit, as Gai dragged Bele for the dance floor. In my opinion, she would have paired up with a troll better. As close as he chose to stand to her, he had to look up a lot.

“Ya wanna bite before we hit the floor?” Kla asked me.

Uh. She thought she’d get me dancin’? Didn’t see that happenin’. And I was led to believe the hoedown evenin’s were just about bulls standin’ around a still gettin’ looped. While the hens did whatever hens do.

Evidently not. I studied Bele, as Gai twisted and turned her. Maybe enjoyin’ a bit too much, restin’ his hand on her bare back. She appeared to be enjoyin’ herself, even when another bull tapped Gai on the shoulder and absconded deeper into the pool of dancers with my sister eagerly followin’. Very strange. No matter how deep she’d get in the mob, I should be able to keep track of her. She was definitely the tallest out there.

Without the musicians startin’ a second song, at least two more bulls had claimed her. Hm.

~

Chapter Seventeen

~

The second band was callin’ it quits and the dancers began to straggle away. I don’t think I’d ever had so much fun. I definitely had never endured so much attention. Endured wasn’t the right word. That thought may have been knee jerk. I loved the attention. Every bull in the caucus seemed to fight over me. Didn’t expect that. Hale and I have always been—a bit out of the mainstream, even at home.

My watch claimed it was two in the mornin’. No way. My heart was pumpin’ but I coulda danced another hour or two. I guess we exhausted two sets of musicians, though. So this is the part of the hoedown everyone talked about. I peered at the surroundin’—they almost weren’t tables—sticks with a platter on them to hold a glass. No chairs surroundin’ ’em. No little sibling. I searched the darker corners, against the wall where there were chairs, emptyin’ of old bulls and hens who’d watched us younglings dance our fool heads off. No sibling.

I jerked, findin’ him standin’ off my right shoulder. He gave me a what-look.

“Ya ever leave the dance floor?” I asked.

He shrugged. I imagined him laughin’ at me, seein’ me gnawin’ on a three-foot-long kebab as I danced. The fools wouldn’t give me time to eat, otherwise.

“Did ya try that champagne the staff was pushin’ on everyone?”

He shrugged without usin’ his shoulder. I took that as a no. I had taken a sip or two, just to hydrate. Holy Moly was it strong. The way it flowed, there oughta be a bunch of ogres carryin’ pain in their brain cases durin’ tomorrow’s—today’s sessions.

He must have tired of my questions, ’cause he headed for the exit with everyone else. I tagged behind him, keepin’ my eyes open for our ride. We found ’em about ten minutes later on the mezzanine.

Kla stood wide-tusk-exuberant. Gai appeared as though he’d been beat about the head and shoulders. Wobbled a bit on his feet. No doubt a tad too many flutes of champagne. Kla handed Hale a platter of kebab.

“In case ya need a bit of energy after all that dancin’ ya did.”

True. I’d been shocked over and over again to find him so often twirlin’ a hen five feet away from me. Did he ever sit down? Kla got him started and maybe he never found his way off the floor. I certainly had to threaten a bull or two with death if they didn’t escort me over to the buffet a couple times. Burned a lot of calories tonight.

How could hoedowns transition so far from the cliché “bulls standin’ around stills”? Didn’t see a single beer tap in there tonight.

Hands freed, Kla dipped inside a tiny hidden pocket in her silky slacks. “No way either of us can drive.” I accepted the offered valet stub. “We’re gettin’ rides from a friend. Ya think ya can find yar way to the civic center tomorrow?”

A half-wit can use a vehicle’s navigator. I shared her a nod. Guess she kept tabs on us to know we hadn’t been slingin’ back those ogre-sized flutes. Her smile never failin’, she gave us a wave and dragged her sibling with her toward the escalator.

That was odd, wasn’t it? This whole night had been—different. Pleasant. But far from what I expected. I jolted a bit, noticin’ Hale already treadin’ into the pack behind our sidekicks, as the mezzanine quickly thinned.

~ Hale ~

Whatever evil I’d contemplated be-landin’ upon my no-good, stinkin’ uncle, wasn’t as necessary as it had been twenty-four hours ago. I’d never admit to the rank muskrat that I enjoyed listenin’ to all the political back and forth durin’ the day’s session.

I would forever deny it with my last breath, that I enjoyed the unendin’ dancin’. Never had hens fawn—that sounded egotistical in my head, but oh well—on me before. As though they enjoyed my company. Had several explain I could work on a smile. Not a priority of mine. Sounds too much like admittin’ to an emotion. Ick.

“Ya enjoyed yarself, huh,” Bele said as we landed on the lobby floor.

Some. Maybe.

“Ya claimed ya hated those dance lessons Mama made us take every summer. But appeared ya put ’em to use, flingin’ hens hither and yon.”

Surely she didn’t expect an answer. Truthfully, those classes had been a pain in the ogre butt. But they were a reasonable break from workin’ granite. Seventeen and already gettin’ chronic tendinitis in my wrist and elbow, tappin’ a mallet hours on end.

Why do the art-folk go so crazy about the texture of my work? I’d accidentally tread into my style. No need to overly worry about a smooth texture on a piece gracin’ the entry of a buildin’, or actin’ the focal point of a roundabout.

“No surprise ya’re thinkin’ about yar sculptin’.”

The dry air as we exited startled me a bit. Even the foothills TIT strolls across on the East Slope wrangled more moisture for a bull’s sinuses. Also. The temperature had dropped significantly. That’s nice. Not Range-cool, but better than it had been earlier. Ah. I remember bein’ told the desert nature of the coast didn’t hold the daytime heat.

“Ya wanna drive?” Bele asked.

After hours of bodies pushin’ near me, the last thing I wanted to do was concentrate on traffic and stuff flyin’ toward me.

Bele left me alone as we waited at the curb for Kla’s car. I would have druthered hikin’ to a lot than waitin’ for a valet, but guess that option was past. The voices around us had softened. Felt good on my brain bonnet. Thankfully all the hens were through with me. I finished another kebab, wafted the platter at Bele. She accepted one and I grabbed the last.

Kla’s silver OM pulled up, and a goblin valet rushed to open the passenger door for Bele, but she headed to the far side. Did he think it was odd the hen was drivin’ me? Not that I care. Like I’ve ever cared. Much. Maybe he routinely opens doors for bulls too, though. I handed him the empty, drippin' platter, and a ten-spot Continental. Noticed Bele did the same with her goblin, without a kebab platter.

Papa, despite bein’ as antisocial—he hates folks in general—as he is, taught us to be generous to those who do for us. Mama has always been distracted by the practice of tippin’ big. Said it went against her humble upbringin’.

Pullin’ away from all the glitzy neon, I stared at the pitch of the ocean. Much like the forest on a moonless night. We had a sliver of a moon tonight, but it still leaned eastward a bit. In four or five hours, I bet the glimmer off the water would be magnificent. If only there was a way to duplicate that in granite.

“Tell me what ya bulls did today.” Really didn’t appreciate Bele interruptin’ my thoughts.

“Chaotic,” I said.

“Really? The hens rattled and rambled like a troupe of ants returnin’ from a buffet.”

That sounded contradictory.

“Okay. Maybe not a great analogy. They were exhaustin’ in their depth of diplomatic minutia.”

Minutia. Hm. Every bull grated as though every raised opinion could either save the world or ruin society. They sure were in an uproar about more roads leadin’ into the Range. But mostly, everything connected to Northern normalization in one way or the other.

“Yeah. That too,” Bele said.

Witch.

“I’m not a witch.”

Witch.

“Shut up. Ya gigalo.”

An unusual sensation traveled up from my gut, settin’ a tremor off in my chest, threatenin’ to expel every bit of air from my lungs. Not sure what that was.

“That’s called a laugh,” Bele said. “Ya should try it now and then.

~

Chapter Eighteen

~

I should change my general ring tone to a grumpy groan, ’cause the contraption goes off mostly when I just want to sleep. Then I realized I’m not at home, but not in my dorm room. I was on the West Coast. Oh jeez, did I oversleep? I answered quickly.

“No ya didn’t oversleep.” Mama. How’d she know I was asleep, but not late? Maybe I get my majic from her.

“Then why are ya wakin’ me up?” I asked.

“Didn’t want to disturb ya later in the day when ya were involved in important things.”

I looked at the time. Oh. It was past the time Kla woke us yesterday.

“Don’t worry,” Mama said. “The second day always starts mid-mornin’ so drunken fools can get past the worst of their headaches. Didn’t ya study the agenda?”

I told her I was mostly overwhelmed by the number of topics and speakers.

She cackled. “Can’t believe yar Aunt Nuel made me go to that hoedown with her down South years ago, ’cause Ike wouldn’t go with her. Don’t know how those two have remained mated. I was relieved there were a lot of troll clans gatherin’ with us. Didn’t have to be the odd duck out.”

“Hale and I—”

She didn’t let me finish the thought. “I’ve already heard the two of ya dusted off yar dancin’ toes with vim and vigor last night.”

I gave that a second thought. How would she have—maybe she’s been out of sight the last few years since we’ve been at TIT, doesn’t mean she hasn’t kept her ears open about us. As Ike joked once, “Yar Mama has spies out the wazoo watchin’ out for ya.”

“Folk said—”

Like more than one had reported on us already?

“—they worried Hale wasn’t havin’ a good time, but that he didn’t seem to ever leave the dance floor.”

I let out a big eeeeh. “Did I tell ya about the cute orc hen who gobsmacked yar bull youngling?” How did that not come up yesterday?

“What?” She drew the word out to what could have been five syllables. “An orc hen, ya say. Whoa. That would be—”

“Ya’re tellin’ me.”

“Ya didn’t give me time to tell ya nothing.”

“’Cause ya talk too slow, ya old troll,” I teased.

“Don’t think ya’re too old to turn over my knee.”

That made me cackle like a loon. She joined me after a second.

~ Hale ~

She had to be talkin’ with Mama, what with all the cacklin’. No way I was getting’ back to sleep. I visited the little bull’s room, then pounded on her door, since she might not hear me with all the cluckin’ the two hens were doin’.

I expected to hear a shouted, “come in,” or maybe a “go away,” my usual refrain. Instead she opened her door, wore nutin but a tee that barely covered what a bull never wants to see on his hen sibling, and an enormous smile. That, with her eyes bulgin’, she and Mama had to be talkin’ about me. I considered turnin’ around and goin’ back to my bedroom. Don’t know why I didn’t.

“Tell her how many times ya’ve texted with her.” Bele shook her phone at me.

I lamely asked, “With whom?” Just barely under Bele’s ridiculous cacklin’ I could hear Mama’s.

“Here. She wants to tell ya good mornin’.”

Liar. Mama wanted to tease me about likin’ an orc hen.

“Don’t call me a liar,” Bele hissed.

I took the phone, but didn’t feel like talkin’ about—okay, I’ll call her my crush. Considerin’ she was on my mind regardless of who I danced with last night. Didn’t really matter anyway, since very few of ’em were unattached. Most older than Mama. Just appreciated my spectacular dancin’ ability. Could I dance with Beky if I wanted to? There’s a considerable height difference. I’m a bit taller than the garden-variety ogre, and she’s—well, an orc. I could barely tickle her ear if she stood next to me. Pretty sure.

“Ya have any witches on yar side of the family?” I asked instead.

Bele’s face turned crimson. What? They hadn’t talked about it yet? She hissed a shut up at me.

“Witches?” Mama mumbled. “Why’re ya askin’ me such a silly thing?”

“Sounds like ya and yar hen youngling have a bunch to talk about.” I handed the phone back to Bele and ran for my life. That’s an exaggeration. I just headed for my room to exchange my pajamas for the day’s jeans and polo.

Odd, Bele hadn’t had that conversation yet. Almost tempted me to call Papa to ask him if we had any witches on his side of the family.

Ten minutes later I was polishin’ my tusks when Bele strode into my bathroom.

“That was not cool,” she said.

What?

“The witch remark,” she hissed. “How could that slink out of yar itty-bitty little brain cavity? She’s not gonna let it go now. She’s prolly on the phone with Grandma Eacy as I speak.”

Why didn’t she want Mama to know?

“Are ya insane? We’re weird enough as it is. It’ll be all over the Range in an hour.”

Oh. That’s a good reason to have kept it a secret. And her weirdness would reflect on me.

She slugged me in the chest. A bit of polish, and a few bubbles, puffed between us. Made me lick at a tusk. Got small tusks, but at least I could work to keep ’em shiny white.

“Don’t change the subject,” she hissed.

I hadn’t said a word. But I sure wish she’d go and put on more than a tee. What time were we supposed to be meetin’ today? Did Bele know where she was supposed to drop me off?

“We’re talkin’ about Mama,” Bele said, fist flutterin’ as though she considered hittin’ me a bit harder this time. Instead she poked me hard in the forehead with her stinkin’ fat ogre-troll finger. She coulda put out my eye if I’d twitched.

“Focus, fool. This could be a problem.”

Why didn’t she tell me this was a secret?

“I figgered ya’d be smart enough to figger it out yar ownself.”

The witch.

~

Chapter Nineteen

~

It was hard not to pay attention to the goblin him-hawin’ down the aisle lookin’ left and right and back, that interrupted the present speaker. The bull appeared to be very stressed out. Clearly he looked for someone in particular. Finally, a hen trotted up from one of the front tables. Considering her hips and shoulders were about as broad as she was tall, she had to be someone important in the caucus. In my experience, the bossy type, political, tended to have a grand relationship with food. Oh, I’m awful.

Evidently the hen and bull whispered a little too loudly because those sitting near the two expressed a bit of shock, eyes wide open, mouths gapin’. What was that about? Two other hens joined the gaggle. Could have been performin’ a rugby move.

By then the speaker had given up trying to keep the audience’s attention and just glared at the ongoin’ fuss. After a few moments, a hen broke away from the gaggle, eyes glancin’ across the salon, looking for someone. It wasn’t hard to tell that she stopped lookin’ when her eyes landed on me.

Every hen in the chamber was now cluckin’. I gave a little prayer to the gods that the hen rushing up to our table wasn’t comin’ to visit me. But of course she was. Somehow an entire brood of hens coalesced around me.

“Sweetie, come with us,” the hen as-tall-as-she’s-wide said. She tried to be subtle, but every ear in the salon was zeroed in on her. The clucking was growing into a crescendo.

There were few things that I could think of that would encourage so much excitement. Mama. Papa? Could something have happened to them? Or maybe one of the grands? Somethin’ happen at the Hamlet? An episode. A bad one. It’d have to been a really bad one for this excitement.

The clutter of hens whooshed me out to the lobby. Kla was hangin’ on my elbow now, arm around my shoulder. A voice was saying that it was about my sibling. There had been an incident.

“At the statehouse?”

“The sergeant at arms called me,” the goblin said. “Some kind of dust up.”

“Our clan leader’s already spoken with yar papa,” the heavy hen said.

“I’ll stay with ya,” I think Kla said.

~ Hale ~

Maybe I shouldn’ta called him a liar. Ogres outside of my immediate family tend to get a bit riled havin’ their integrity questioned. But if the idjit was gonna claim somethin’ stupid as fact, just about anyone in the chamber coulda called him a fool or a liar, either one.

That it had been me, have to admit surprised me. I’m not really one to align much with any particular kind of thinkin’. Not many of the ogres in sight kept to their seats. I prolly shoulda stood sooner than I did as the oaf ran at me full tilt. And tilted, he was.

It was the only way he took me to the floor, maybe. Even though the two of us prolly weigh about the same. My mass is just distributed across a longer distance.

At least the fellow didn’t catch me with a fist. Even a mealy ogre has a punch that can crush bones. Not that I’ve ever seen adults go at it before—to know if that’s a fact. Only once in grade school did I see a couple ogre younglings take that kind of offense. I think it was about a bull’s knuckles illegally passin’ cross the line before releasin’ his marble toward his opponent's.

I’ve read that folk experiencin’ a near-death episode see their life flash through their brain case, or somthin’ like that. To me, the world itself just flashed, more like the statehouse blew up, and it wasn’t what I would have defined as a near-death situation.

But there were a lot of upset bulls. That’s the truth.

So here, more than an hour later, I couldn’t really tell the constable much about what happened, at least after that moment I used the word, liar. The troll shook his head slowly, blue eyes takin’ me in, not that I’m good with expressions, as though I had a death wish.

He pushed back in his chair.

“My sergeant’s passed word that the bull is touch and go. If he dies, ya know I’ll have to charge ya.”

Charge. Me.

“DA prolly call it manslaughter,” he said, before leavin’ the little room. A closet. More like it.

What if the lyin’ bull didn’t die? And didn’t he attack me? Oh yeah. The troll explained callin’ a bull a liar isn’t legal. Can pretty fairly take offense. But prolly not a capital offense.

I closed my eyes and sat straight. To focus some. Didn’t have a sketch book, but I imagined I drew a dragon. Detail by detail. I might have been doin’ that for an hour or so when the door creaked open. I had to blink a few times to whet the ole eyeballs. A goblin all fussed up in a fashion that meant he couldn’t be nothin’ but an attorney, entered. He edged to his right, allowin’ me to see Bele standin’ behind him.

She did not look happy, if the tears meant anythin’.

She stood there, holdin’ me in place with those almost-black eyes, darin’ me to say somethin’ stupid. I waited.

But the goblin swung an attache a bit, catchin’ my attention. “Let’s go. Isn’t over by a lurch and a chug, but for now they’re not bookin’ ya.”

Weird. Huh. He attacked me.

I stood and walked around the table. Bele didn’t step aside as I neared the doorway. Instead pulled me against her, pressin’ her forehead into my chest. She didn’t move for longer than I was comfortable. Not that I find any contact comfortable. I cleared my throat a bit, hopin’ she’d catch my thoughts. But she didn’t move. She’s a witch. She should know I needed this to end.

“Shut up,” she said softly.

Hopefully she knew I didn’t say anythin’.

“Papa—”

I waited.

“Told us to come home.”

I’ll bet no one has ever been kicked out of a hoedown.

“Prolly not,” she said, finally leanin’ up straight. “Ya had to call someone a liar? Really?”

“Worst case,” the goblin, who still hadn’t introduced himself, said, “ya might get community service. But my associate at the hospital says he’s woken up and they’ve taken off his neck brace. No signs of anythin’ more serious than a big bruise on the forehead where ya plowed his face into the floor—good thin’ it’s a carpeted chamber—and a concussion. I’d be shocked if he filed a grievance. Be more than a bit embarrassin’ that a seventeen-year-old called him for his diatribe, and put him in the hospital for takin’ offense. Not like this is a hundred years ago. We don’t allow duels either.” He chuckled. Goblins have an interestin’ chuckle. A cross between a human’s laugh and a gator’s love song.

“That’s somethin’.” Bele’s eyes were tryin’ to glom onto mine. I avoided the contact.

Charges were the last thin’ worryin’ me. I’d really embarrassed the family, and the clan. If the odd folk seein’ me in public didn’t stare at me like a freak before, they really would from this day forward.

Bele clasped a wad of my polo in her hand and gave me a tug. “Let’s get out of here.”

Took a few minutes to sign some papers, get an escort through the little constable’s office. Outside, my chest tightened, for all the folk wearin’ hoedown tags still, waitin’ in the lobby. That couldn’t be good. There was a lot of emotion blarin’ on faces, but not understandin’ emotion for nutin, I braced for the worst.

~