Page 82 of Mistletoe

“Where is it?” the major asked.

Oscar stepped forward. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

His gaze went straight ahead, missing the major by about a foot.

The major’s jaw flexed in irritation at the slight. Oscar had perfectly good hearing and could detect where someone stood when they spoke to him. It was quite the intentional cut.

“I am Major Anthony Pearson.” He dismounted and approached the porch.

“A major? Why would someone as esteemed as yourself visit our humble estate?” Oscar continued to stare past the man, even as he stood only an arm’s length away.

“Sir, Mr. De Lacey, you are harboring a monster.”

“Being a monster is not a crime,” Oscar said.

Emma flinched. He should have denied Hal’s presence. Instead, he inadvertently confirmed the accusation and removed any doubt that the blind man knew his hired farmhand was a monster. At least he continued to speak past the major, who took a step to the left to stand directly in front of Oscar.

“I am authorized by the Enrollment Act to conscript those who will be useful in service to Nexus,” the major said, his tone sharp. “A monster is useful. Bring it to me.”

“Is he a monster? First, I’ve heard of it, but we all have our struggles. Cruelty to others is what makes us truly monstrous?—”

The major backhanded Oscar. Agatha gasped. The old man stumbled back, clutching his jaw as he tripped over his own feet.

“What are you doing?” Emma rushed to her father. She and Agatha helped him to his feet.

“The orc. Do not try my patience.”

“Do you see an orc? Don’t you think he’d have made himself known by now?”

“Those creatures are very territorial and will go to great lengths to protect what they consider theirs.”

Emma did not like where this was heading. “If you think you can…threats won’t work. He’s not here. He left. Days ago, because he knewhewouldrat him out!” Emma pointed to Felix. She was so angry with Felix that she could spit nails.

The major gave her a look that said he was not impressed by her lie.

He sauntered back to his horse. “Sergeant, draw the beast out. Smoke should suffice.”

“With pleasure, sir.” A man stepped forward, holding a bottle with a cloth stuffed into the mouth and a flint. “Any building you’d prefer?”

“Hmm, let’s start with that eyesore.”

Not the barn. Not the barn.

If the soldier torched the barn, she doubted they’d let her save the animals. All the goats, the two horses, and the chickens would die horribly. Their screams already haunted her. Any hope of turning enough of a profit to buy more sheep and keep the farm going would die, too.

“Take them with you,” the major commanded.

Soldiers seized Emma and her parents, hauling them away from the house. The soldier’s grip dug into her arm, sure to leave a bruise, and he walked too fast for Emma to catch up. She kept tripping on her feet. This rough treatment continued as she was dragged past the barn and toward the bunkhouse.

“I will ask you once more as a courtesy: where is the monster?” The major did not wait for Emma to answer—not that she would—before he flicked his fingers.

A bottle was lit and tossed through the bunkhouse’s window. Emma smelled alcohol, then smoke, oily smoke.

She struggled against the soldier’s grip but could not break free. He pressed a blade to her side and ordered her to behave.

Emma stilled, but she would neverbehave. In a fit of petulance, she stomped her foot down on the soldiers, those heavy boots doing most of the work.

That earned her a slap across her face. She spat at the soldier.

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