But the danger wasn’t over, and no one knew this better than Soleil Orpheline, the squad leader.
Not wanting her soldiers to witness her disquiet, she turned her back on her soldiers and faced the doors of the dungeon once more.
Let’s consider the facts, she told herself.
Tonight was supposed to be a simple cleanup operation, meant to teach rookies about getting rid of pranks left by otherworlders. They ranged from a witch’s spell for diarrhea to a wizard’s one-day curse of selfie madness, in which a human being would find himself addicted to taking as much selfies as a celebrity. They were frequently irritating, moderately harmful at times, but that was it.
The mission wasn’t supposed to put her recruits’ lives in danger.
And yet here they were, about to go against the forces of Hell, literally.
Granted, imps were the lowest forms of demons, with sub-zero IQ. But they were still demons and thus inhumanly strong and, worse, soulless.
Another loud, powerful thud hit the basement’s walls, the sound underscoring the peril they were in. It had no effect on Soleil, but the squeak of terror from one of her rookies made her mentally flinch.
Dear God, I hate asking You for anything, but I think I’m going to need a miracle right now.
The imps were head-butting the doors, literally throwing their lives against it. At the rate they were going, she would have less than three minutes before confrontation, and that was putting it lightly.
Panic clawed at Soleil’s throat, but her concerns were all for her team. The youngest of her squad was just fifteen years old – the same age she and the others had been when they first had their field assignment. Then, they had only gone against possessed humans, and they had still come back bloodied and bruised.
But kids pitted against imps?
It would be a massacre, and their blood would be on Soleil’s hands.
Another thud resounded through the basement, running through the walls of the keep, and a rookie cried out, “I don’t think the doors are going to hold that much longer.”
She turned to her squad immediately, saying, “It’s okay.” Soleil managed to keep her voice calm even as whips of her terror flayed her body. She was ready to die, had been so for quite some time. But what she would never be ready for, never take lying down, was letting her team die without a fight.
She reached into her pocket, digging out her Bluetooth earpieces, and only sheer experience enabled Soleil to keep her hands from shaking as she plugged her ears. The shock of her young soldiers was palpable, and one of them blurted out, “Is s-she doing what I think she’s doing?”
When Soleil didn’t seem to notice them, the rookies turned in unison to the slim, brown-eyed redhead standing next to their commander.
Seeing all eyes on her, Aurora deadpanned, “Nope. She’s just cleaning her ears.”
The rookies didn’t laugh at all.
Right. As second-in-command, Aurora knew she had to do a better job at keeping the rookies from pissing in fear. So she tried again, this time with the truth. “Commander Soleil is most likely listening to La Vie En Rose,” Aurora relayed. “The How I Met Your Mother version, just in case you’re wondering.”
The rookies looked at her like she was crazy.
“It means we’re in Code TARFU territory,” she explained. Fighting under Soleil’s command for almost a decade had made Aurora familiar with all the telltale signs concerning their leader. Listening to the nostalgic, bittersweet notes of her favorite song was Soleil’s last-minute aid for strategy planning, which meant it was her job to keep the rookies distracted.
“What’s TARFU?” another rookie asked.
“It means ‘Things Are Really Fucked Up’,” Fleur, the third-in-command, answered as she ran back to rejoin the squad, having finished sending out a message to her network of spies. Or at least she had tried sending it. Everything was really TARFU right now, so there was no telling if her SOS call would push through.
“It could also mean,” the curvy brunette continued thoughtfully, “Totally And Royally Fucked Up—-” She looked up, saw the rookies gazing at her in horror, and behind them, Aurora was hastily shaking her head and drawing an imaginary line across her throat.
Oops.
“Just joking,” Fleur said quickly. “Actually, let Aurora tell you guys the real meaning of TARFU.” As the rookies then turned to Aurora, she mouthed, Sorry, before coughing, “Sesquipedalian.”
Aurora mentally let out an unladylike swear. Basically, Fleur wanted her to confuse the rookies with long, complicated words. Clearing her throat, she said slowly, “TARFU means…Tacent Auxiliary Request for Ultion.” That could work, she thought, considering their probabilities of surviving tonight was 22.4%.
Fleur blinked. “Exactly.” What did that even mean?
The rookies nodded uncertainly, none of them having the courage to ask for a clearer explanation. But they forgot all about it soon enough, seeing their commander opening her eyes and putting away her earpieces.