When one of Brucies came dangerously close to him, Tate’s hand shot up, pointing at the faerie, blasting a red flaring stream into its chest. The movement obliterated the Brucie immediately, causing the other two to stop in whatever odd body position they had jerked into at that particular moment like some ghastly phase of freeze-tag. Even though their faces were not visible, it felt as though the surviving two were eyeing him under their cowls, perhaps reassessing just as he was calculating their next move. It wasn’t like he wanted to kill them, but if they attacked, Tate wasn’t going to be first in line to join Dean in the hamburger-face club.
After the Brucies remained motionless for a bit, Tate was about to speak to them again, hoping to maybe find a way to communicate. As his mouth
