Taking on Dakota Frost, Book 7. Added 305 words. A raw unedited excerpt (including some prior text from Tuesday for context):
Agent Grant, commander of the MIRTH unit—if I remember my DEI alphabet soup, that stands for something twee like Magical Incident Response Transportable Headquarters—turned towards us, turned off his earpiece, and turned completely serious.
“She’s right, this is an operation,” he said evenly but firmly, his full beard making him look grimmer and sterner than he already sounded. “It doesn’t matter if you two are the only ones on deck. If you’re not ready, I am not sending you in.”
“I fought in the Great War, you ridiculous pup!” But Nyissa’s voice quavered. I knew she was not particularly brave; but what was up? More than just anger at being awakened before the crack of sunset, I think. “But I’ll not be going in at all, I think—”
My hand fell on her knee. “And no-one thinks less of you for it,” I said.
Nyissa sagged a bit. Grant raised his eyebrows at me.
“So we have one operative,” he said.
“We have one operative,” Philip said.
“And it’s Red Sonja here,” Grant said.
“Hey!” I said. “Just because I have a metal bikini and a sword—”
“Outclassed by my own supposed sub,” Nyissa said. “Some bodyguard I am.”
“Different kind of discipline,” Grant said, looking between us. “Frost, you ready?”
“As much as I ever am,” I grumbled, squinting at the church. “What can you tell me?”
That is all. Zzzzz…
-the Centaur
