3. Chapter 3 Clash of the Christmas Spirits

Chapter 3: Clash of the Christmas Spirits

G rum

Three days into this Christmas nightmare, and I’m ready to snap. Today we’ve moved from the Jingle All the Way storefront to the Zone’s community center where we’ll hold the Santa’s Workshop event.

The first damn thing that woman must have done was bring in speakers to play Christmas music, because the tinny sound of “Santa Baby” assaults my ears for what feels like the millionth time today. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as I fight the urge to smash the speakers or bang my head against the wall—or both. Either option seems preferable to enduring another minute of this torture. I now know the definition of “earworm.”

“Grum! Could you hang these wreaths around the Santa’s Workshop stage?” Joy’s voice chirps from somewhere behind a mountain of tinsel.

A grunt is the only response I can muster. Pushing off the wall I’ve been leaning against, I grudgingly make my way to the pile of greenery. The scent of artificial pine makes my nose burn. Does this woman not know how sensitive orc noses are? The stench is painful. Back on An’Wa, our winter festivals smelled of real evergreens and woodsmoke, not this plastic crap.

If I didn’t think my question might destroy this woman whose heart seems to be in the right, albeit annoying, place, I’d ask her to explain how all this manufactured garbage is supposed to bring happiness. But one look at her cheerful face as she decorates one of the ten artificial trees scattered around the room convinces me I’m not mean enough to break her human brain.

As I reach for a wreath, Joy pops up beside me, a streak of gold glitter sparkling across her cheek. “Oh, and don’t forget to fluff them a bit before hanging. They need to look full and festive!”

Fluff. Festive. The words make my skin crawl. “Whatever,” I mutter, grabbing a wreath and stomping toward the stage.

Joy’s enthusiasm is grating, but there’s something almost admirable about her persistence. Almost. If it weren’t so damned annoying.

As I’m wrestling with the third wreath, wondering how the hell to make it fluff, my sensitive orc hearing picks up hushed voices from the storage room behind the stage.

“Someone needs to talk to her,” a woman’s voice whispers urgently. “This is getting out of hand.”

“It’s definitely gone too far, but you know how Joy gets about Christmas,” another voice replies. “It can be a hard time. I think she overcompensates…”

They think she’s having a hard time? Why would they say that? To me, she acts like she just won the lottery.

“Shh! Let’s just go talk to her. As a group, she’ll have to listen.”

My ears prick up as the storage room door opens and a group of human volunteers file out. Joy told me they help with the Santa’s Workshop event every year. Their expressions range from uncomfortable to downright annoyed.

“Joy?” one of the women calls out. “Can we have a word?”

Joy bounds over, tinsel trailing behind her like a festive comet. “Of course! What can I do for you? Need more ornaments? More lights? I’ve got plenty!”

The woman sighs. “Joy, honey, we need to talk about… all this.” She gestures vaguely around the hall.

Joy’s smile falters for a split second before bouncing back, brighter than ever. “All what? Isn’t it coming together beautifully?”

One of the women steps forward. “Joy, we appreciate your enthusiasm, but… the 24/7 Christmas music is driving everyone crazy. And the mandatory ugly sweater rule for volunteers? It’s 70 degrees outside!”

“Yeah,” a short woman in the back mutters, “and why doesn’t he have to wear an ugly sweater?”

“Really, Karen? You want to hide that chest with an ugly sweater ?”

“Not to mention the glitter explosion yesterday,” another chimes in. “Mrs. Peterson is still picking glitter out of her hair.”

Joy’s smile is looking strained. “I… I’m sorry about Mrs. Peterson. But surely a little glitter never hurt anyone? And the music… well, it’s designed to put us in a holiday mood!”

Her gaze flicks from one volunteer to another. It seems she’s looking for support.

The group exchanges glances. “Look, Joy,” the first woman says, her voice gentler now. “We know you mean well. But maybe you could… tone it down a bit? For the actual event?”

Something in Joy’s expression shifts. For a moment, she looks small and vulnerable, nothing like the Christmas tornado I’ve come to know over the past few days. It’s… unsettling to see her practically crumble under their criticism.

Without making a conscious decision, I move toward the group. “Hey,” I growl, crossing my arms over my chest. “If you don’t like how things are run here, you’re free to leave.”

The humans turn to me, startled. One of them takes a step back. Good.

“Joy’s putting in a lot of effort to make this event special for the whole community,” I continue, surprising myself with each word. “So what if she’s a bit… enthusiastic? At least she cares. Which is more than I can say for…” I cut myself off when I realize that if I drive them away, all the work will fall to me.

“Well, I never!” the short woman huffs, tossing her head.

“Right. You never seem to be lifting or toting or fluffing, or… tinseling.” I spear her with a look designed to put her in her place.

The group stares at me, wide-eyed. Joy’s looking at me too, her expression a mix of shock and… something else I can’t quite read.

“Now,” I say, letting a bit of my orc growl seep into my voice, “are you here to help or complain? Because if it’s the latter, there’s the door.” For emphasis, as though they’re all idiots, I point to the exit for good measure.

For a moment, no one moves. Then the group disperses. Some slowly return to their assigned tasks, but when others move to the door, they all follow, slipping off their ugly sweaters as they go. A few have the grace to mumble an apology as they scurry out the exit.

As the last of them hurries away, I turn back to Joy, suddenly uncomfortable with her stare. “What?” I grunt. “Someone had to shut them up. They were being… unkind.”

I tip my head as I have an internal discussion, wondering just why these humans being mean to Joy pushed all my buttons.

Joy blinks, then a slow smile spreads across her face. Not her usual manic grin, but something softer. “Thank you, Grum,” she says quietly, her voice more sincere than I’ve ever heard it.

“You’re thanking me? For running off all your helpers?”

“Well.” She shrugs. “They weren’t super helpful, and they were unkind but they were right about the sweaters being too hot.”

She shrugs, and with a sigh, she grasps the bottom of the bright red sweater featuring a large reindeer with sunglasses and lights that actually illuminate and blink. The bells in her earrings tinkle as she pulls the sweater over her head. She has a green Christmas t-shirt with elves all over it underneath. I swallow a groan.

“Besides,” her gaze pierces mine, “I still have you, right?”

I clamp my teeth together, ordering myself not to tell her I’d be gone, too, if my job didn’t depend on it. Instead, for some reason, I shrug, feeling my ears heat. “Yes. I’m gunning for Volunteer of the Year.”

“I’ll put buying a plaque for you on my to-do list. But thanks. I mean it.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t.”

Turning back to the wreaths, I try to ignore the warm feeling in my chest. It doesn’t mean anything. I just can’t stand whiners, that’s all. It has nothing to do with Joy or her ridiculous Christmas obsession.

Nothing at all.

Right?

She did turn off the damn music. Thank the Goddess for small blessings.

I spend the rest of the afternoon hanging wreaths and untangling lights, all while trying to ignore the way Joy keeps glancing at me. Her eyes are full of something that looks dangerously close to gratitude. Frankly, I have no idea how to handle it.

It’s after dark when Joy approaches me again. She’s holding two steaming paper cups, and the rich aroma of coffee fills the air.

“I thought you might need this,” she says, offering me one of the cups. “It’s getting late, and we still have so much to do.”

I eye the cup suspiciously. “Let me guess, it’s some sickeningly sweet peppermint mocha frappa-latte thing, right?”

Joy laughs, and the sound is surprisingly pleasant. “No, just black coffee from the vending machine. Strong enough to put hair on your chest… or, well, more hair on your chest, I suppose.”

Despite myself, my mouth twitches in what I think is the beginning of a smile. Taking the cup, I grunt out a reluctant, “Thanks.”

As we sip our coffee in blissful, non-Christmas-music silence, I study Joy. Up close, the dark circles under her eyes are noticeable, although it looks like she tries to cover them with makeup. Her cheerful demeanor might be irritating, but I have to admire her dedication.

“You know, you might want to consider… cutting back.” Though I’ve only known her a few days, I knew exactly what her face would look like when I said that—like she just swallowed a cat turd. Because I’m not ready to be on the receiving end of her tongue-lashing, I continue without a breath. “I mean, ten trees? You don’t think maybe six would do? And all the wreaths? Maybe we could spread them farther apart? Looks like you could use a day off.”

Joy sighs, her constant smile faltering for a moment. “I know. It’s just… this event means so much to me. To the kids. It needs to be perfect. I can rest on the 26 th .”

I nod, understanding her drive, if not her method. “Well, don’t work yourself to death over it. These kids would probably be happy with a candy cane and a high-five from Santa.”

She laughs again, and this time, I allow myself a small smile in return. Maybe this mandatory “volunteer” gig won’t be a complete nightmare after all.