But, because I suspect Mires and Ashy might physically injure me if I don't (Mires on behalf of Ashy, since Ashy lives to far away to do it herself), here's a small taste, completely unedited, of the nightmare that is chapter seven:
“Deacon,” Hendricks said, voice even. “You can’t rush in and provoke the pixies. When they strike back, they strike back hard. They’ll wipe us out. You don’t want another child to lose his family. You don’t want this to become another Mirren Slaughter.”
For an old man, Hendricks was fast. He ducked and, instead of meeting Hendricks’ jaw, Deacon’s fist passed through empty air. He spun, raising his arm to meet his mark on the second swing. Hendricks, calm as ever, seized Deacon’s fist and twisted, spinning Deacon into a hold that strained his joints and then dropped him to the ground.
“You can’t live for revenge,” Hendricks said, offering Deacon a hand. Deacon ignored it. “You’re going to get yourself killed. I’ll help you bring her in, only because I don’t want you going into that forest by yourself.”
Deacon, scowling so deep his face ached, dragged himself to his feet. “You had no right to say that. You don’t know what happened that day.”
“I have every right,” Hendricks said. “You’re the one obsessed with duty; you should know my duty is to keep you informed and the lieutenants together. I can’t do either one if you’re a screaming wreck.”
“Get out.”
“No. You can’t hole up in your office and hide like a little girl. You’re a leader, so lead. You assembled the lieutenants, so get to work. Piss and moan later, if we’re not dead by then.”
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