A Slayer With Wings

***Book Three of the Orson Goldbloom tetralogy***

"What?" she exclaims. "Trixie is captain?!"

I nod firmly. "Yeah. Today's not April Fool's Day, and looks like the All-Father's brain is clouded as f😠😠😠."

"Language, Orson!"

I look at her puppy eyes, and decide I don't care. "Evangeline, I'd love to tell you that I've been yanking your tail, but I'm not. Trixie is our new head."

"What the f-" she sounds as if she would start swearing herself.

"Language, my sweet Angel," I say. "The gesture is cute, though."

"Go f-" she seems to be unable to speak the word.

I grin. Let's do this the fun way. "Read after me: duck."

"Duck," she copies.

"Luck."

"Luck."

"Buck."

"Buck."

"Tuck."

"Tuck."

"Muck."

"Muck."

"F😠😠😠."

"Fff...uh..."

I sigh and facepalm. "Evangeline Youngspire, you are officially hopeless."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she says, all smiley.

"Oh, of course, you little sh😤😤!" I cry.

Puppy eyes, oh how I hate you.

"Orson, that's mean!" she pouts.

"B😣😣😣😣!" I cry. "Little sl😡😡!"

"Orson, you're impossible."

I smile, raising my voice a few hundred octaves higher. I brush back my hair exaggeratedly and say as Evangelinely as I can, "I'll take that as a compliment."