Page 15 of Mistletoe

“I’m not surprised Felix joined up,” Nina said, leaning against the bar on one elbow. Her gaze swept over Emma from head to toe. “Farm life always seemed a bit dull for him.”

The sheriff’s own order of coffee arrived. She doctored it with cream and sugar.

“Nor am I surprised they passed on you.” Nina took a sip. “Too old.”

“The same could be said of you, Sheriff. I believe we both qualify as spinsters.”

“Active law officers are exempt from conscription,” she replied.

Whatever Emma intended to say, it was forgotten as her father’s voice rose in volume, no longer amiable.

“That reading is a blatant misinterpretation. Besides, the editor changed it. The unresponsive sky moveswithoutme.” Oscar jabbed a finger toward his companion. “The newest edition will be corrected.”

“That blatant misinterpretation is the opinion held by many readers. It inspires, not that fatalistic view you’re spouting.”

“I am the author, and I tell you it is wrong,” Oscar said, slapping a hand down on the bar.

“Death of the author says my interpretation is as valid as yours,” his companion replied.

“Don’t youdeath of the authorme, lad. I’m sitting right here and telling you that your understanding of modern poetry is fundamentally wrong. Frankly, I have half a mind to write to the university in Founding and complain about standards.”

“Only half a mind?”

Her father stood abruptly, knocking over the chair.

“Miscreant,” Nina said softly.

This had gone on long enough.

Emma slid into the space between the two men. “Gentlemen, let’s not do something we’d regret.”

“I would never regret correcting wrong opinions,” her father said. Despite being at the far side of his sixth decade, he stood ready for a fight with a man who had the vitality of youth on his side.

Emma pressed her hand against her father’s chest. His breath had the sharp odor of whiskey. “Are you drunk?”

“I’ve had a tipple.”

Annoyed, she pushed on his chest. “Your children were marched into the beast’s lair and you’rehaving a tipple? I cannot believe you.”

“We’re celebrating, my petal,” he said, tugging on the lapel of his coat as if to regain his composure.

“What could you possibly be celebrating?” Her gaze swung to the soldier, ordering him to explain.

“We took the Aerie today without a single casualty,” the soldier announced. A cheer went up through the bar.

“That can’t possibly be true,” Emma said, desperately wanting it to be true. “No messenger could have reached town so quickly.”

“We had an inside operative open the gates.”

“You mean a traitor.”

“A patriot,” the soldier said, sounding offended. “I would have loved to be there myself, but someone needs to keep order and ensure that the supply lines are working properly.”

Administration. Unglamorous but necessary. Someone had to ensure that the guns had enough bullets and that the soldiers were fed. Still, Emma wasn’t betting the safety of her brother on the say-so of a clerk with pristine, non-muddy boots.

“But you have no certainty over the claim of no casualties,” she said. “There would be resistance inside the Aerie. The vampire would not just surrender his fortress without a fight.”

“The only advantage Draven had was the gate. We have the numbers and the weaponry,” the soldier said.

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