Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 6
~

“I saw Ezra drivin’ up the South Lake Slope with a strange human,” the cousin gushed on my phone. “What’s she doin’ with a human, alone like?”

It was the fourth such call I’d answered in ten minutes. I’d figgered out an answer the first time around, so I didn’t have to stutter like an idjit. “She’s out to hike with a friend of mine from college.” Telegram, tell-a-cousin. Within ten minutes the whole Range knew Ezra was out cavortin’ with a strange human.

My cousin gave me a meanin’ful hmm. Then welcomed me home. “See ya at the pub Friday night?” he asked.

“Unless I see ya first,” I said. Or a constable catches me in the parking lot. Since I won’t be of legal age in the Range for a bit yet. He gave me a sociable growl and hung up.

“Another one?” Crita, our lead project manager—really my boss—asked me. The hen hides a grin well.

“It isn’t just my clan,” I grumbled. “No one in this Valley has any idea how to keep their snout in their own business.”

“The Valley, huh?” she mumbled under her breath. “That pretty much makes up yar entire clan.”

“Doesn’t either,” I growled.

“Does too.”

“Doesn’t.” My tone might have grown a bit edgier.

“Ya younglings behave,” Wekz, the system admin who sits at the desk next to me, mumbled.

I told him to mind the twenty monitors glarin’ at him. The troll chuckled, what trolls call a chuckle. Something that scares the snot out of humans.

“I’m surprised ya’re not headin’ out to find Ezra,” Crita said. Must be her turn to give me a rash of grief. Folks prolly draw straws.

“To protect her from a human?” I asked with a good snort. “Shouldn’t ya be supervisin’ a server install or something?”

The ogre hen grinned. Yeah. She coerced me into that foolish “from a human” remark. I asked her if she was done botherin’ me.

“Sorry. Just thought ya’d want a status on twenty-million dollars worth of new projects.”

“I pay ya to ensure they stay on time and on budget.” She was irritatin’ me on purpose, the twit.

“Ya’ve relied on Northern contractors on some of these projects. Ya expect them to be on time and budget?”

“Ya’re an ogre hen. If ya can’t keep em in line, what am I payin’ ya three times the goin’ rate for?”

“Maybe twice. Ya want me to mess em up?” Crita asked, just being outright ornery. “Besides, all my paychecks are signed by Kriz. Ya got something to do with runnin’ this business?”

She was bein’ downright mean, now—we do auto deposit. I glared at her. Like that would work. No one with any sense thinks they can intimidate an ogre hen. Troll or daemon bulls wouldn’t even try that. I’ll bet in the day, dragons thought twice about crossin’ an ogre hen.

“Yar gears are spinnin’,” Crita said. “Any chance of an answer to my question this quarter? Maybe even this week?”

Think this is called abuse, in a court of law. I told her I hate her. She turned around with a snicker. Walkin’ to her own desk she said over her shoulder, “All my project plans are up-to-date on the server. Ya wanna peruse em, knock yarself out.”

What a news flash. Why didn’t I think of that? Everyone in the company knows she runs this place. The technical side. No point in arguin’ with her. Kriz and I just play with all the technology. We love that. That’s our thing. Runnin’ a business, we haven’t really grown into, yet. We spend any extra time we have ensurin’ we hire the best people in the world so the company doesn’t go broke. Get sued too many times. Northerners love to sue.

Most of these folks sittin’ around me would work twenty hours a day, if I didn’t pay the cleanin’ folk to turn the building lights off at eight o’clock. I can’t help it that all our folk have home offices. Kriz talked me into payin’ three times the goin’ rate for folks years ago—when we were still in high school, pish, middle school—and we’ve never regretted the decision.

Kriz, who doesn’t posses a twinge of empathy, has done two amazin’ things for our success. That early resource decision, and mostly workin’ remotely so he doesn’t get killed by the amazin’ folks we’ve hired. He really wouldn’t have lasted long. When it comes to tact, I think he believes it has something to do with the point of a spear. If we ever hire a human, we’ll need to keep her far, far away from Kriz. Oh. Maybe we have one human on staff. Works with Uknol.

I guess Kriz is good for a third thing. He’s a stinkin’ technical genius. Don’t see how I left that off my mental list. His tech is a hundred years ahead of anything else in the industry.

~ Ezra ~

“Why are ya starin’ at me?” I asked the human.

He jerked, as though I poked him with a sharp stick. “Sorry. Sorry.” He ripped his view back to the Lake miles below us. “Just. Just. Haven’t ever been around a female giant before.”

“Ya missed out on a lot of class and beauty, huh?” I teased.

“Truly.” What a BSer. He looked back at me, though I didn’t meet his gaze. “I didn’t expect you to be so pleasing on the eyes.”

Are all humans so full of it? I know they think our tusks and strong features aren’t what songs are written about. No human songs.

“No. Really. You take a bit getting used to, but I think you’re beautiful.”

I rolled my eyes. Even ogre bulls don’t think I’m anything close to beautiful, in ogre terms. A school friend once hurtfully admitted my features are too soft. We were bitty younglings. She didn’t know any better. Don’t know why she thought she needed to explain that to me. As though I didn’t own a mirror, or never been in the middle of a mixed mob of other younglings.

“Why do you all wear your hair in dreadlocks?” he asked. “Seems, uh—” Oh. This was worth waitin’ for. “Uh. It’s a hard look.”

I laughed. Of course he jerked again. He needs to adjust to the vibration ogres and trolls create from our sternocleidomastoid—stink, that’s a mouthful—surprised the mile-long word even came to me. What we call our giggle box—when talkin’ with younglings.

He asked if that was a laugh. I turned his way and gave him the closest thing an ogre, with our tusks, can make to a human smile.

“A hard look, huh?” I challenged.

“Uh—”

I waited. This oughta be good.

“It’s just. Your hair would probably reach your waist, if, uh—”

“Prolly would,” I said.

“Long hair, on women, is a particularly—uh—appreciated—uh.”

“We aren’t women,” I might have said with a sharp edge of irritation.

“Just because we have a different word for our females, doesn’t mean there’s that much difference between you.”

That keyed me into a long, joyful laugh. Good thing we’re alone on the top of a mountain ridge. Most hens hearin’ that suggestion would get notably riled up. No ogre hen ever wants to get compared to a woman. Our folk consider em pretty worthless. Weak. And borin’, borin’, lookin’.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

No way to get into that topic without way more discussion than I was willin’ or interested to put forth.

“Look,” I finally started after I gathered my composure. “We’re new to ya. Ya don’t get us. And I frankly don’t wanta get into the prejudice between our folks.”

I’m not well versed in human expressions, but if I had to guess, he looked a little—hurt. Or at least insulted.

“Be rude,” he said slowly. “But I’m attracted to you.”

Oh. Papa warned me about players like this one. But I’m sure Papa was more concerned about discouragin’ me away from gold-diggin’ ogre bulls. To become part of the Birs clan, I guess Papa thought an outside bull might lower his standards—to cozy up to me. He would laugh up a lung to see a human tryin’ to soften me up. Though, not very deep down, maybe settin’ aside my best judgment, the possibility someone thought I wasn’t as homely as I know I am, felt good.

There’s a reason I’m described as sweet. No one has ever called me beautiful. Prolly not even Mama. Oh. That was a sad thought.

“You’re just going to ignore that?” he asked.

I chose not to look back at him. Why should I? We sat in one of the best places on Earth to enjoy the Lake. No time to be banterin’ with nonsense.

“What do ya want from me, human?” I asked.

“Human? I’m just, a human? I just—”

“No stinkin’ reason for me to believe ya as far as I can throw ya, which is a considerable distance, considerin’ how skinny and slight ya are. Ogres have been disrespected by humans longer than there’s written word. That ya’re sittin’ here complimentin’ me is rich. Especially in its abruptness.”

“Not fair,” he gushed. “I was struck by you, literally at first sight. You didn’t get the sense last night. That I—I—”

Good. He finally shut up. Do human girls fall for this gibberish? Prolly. They’re not known for havin’ much in the attic.

~