I didn’t recognize either face, so they probably wouldn't murder me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grandma Frida yank the tarp off of Romeo. Romeo’s real name was M551 Sheridan. He was a light armored tank. He carried nine antitank Shillelagh missiles, and Grandma Frida kept him in perfect health.

He rose, his face serious and harsh. “You will. You’ll fall asleep fast and sleep soundly until morning, and then you’ll get up and have breakfast with your family because I’ll be prowling in your house tonight. And if anyone tries to interrupt your sleep and end your life, you have my word that they’ll sleep forever.”

 

That was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me.

Mom folded her hands on her lap. “What feels right to you, Nevada?”

 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

 

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know. If I have to shoot Mad Rogan, I’d like to be properly prepared for it.”

I wouldn’t die today. Demon or not, I’ll be damned if I lay there, petrified, and let him rip the life out of me. Not today. Not ever.

 

... grabbed my gun, and fired three bullets into the left side of the mage’s chest. Well, if he wasn’t dead, he definitely wasn’t happy.

 

Great, I’ve turned into my mother. That’s what she would say.