Page 62 of Killian
Lonnie kicked hard and low for Killian’s knee. Killian blocked and shoved him backward. Lonnie swung wildly hitting Killian repeatedly. Killian snarled in fury. He was so tired of assholes like Lonnie thinking that their anger made them important. He batted Lonnie’s blows away and wrapped a hand around Lonnie’s throat.
“You are not getting out of here,” snarled Killian. “You will lose everything.”
“This ain’t done,” hissed Lonnie. “You think we’re the only team? That this is the only artifact that will work? We’re going to crush you one way or another!”
Killian’s hand tightened around Lonnie’s windpipe. Killian knew he could kill Lonnie right here and now, but he knew that there was more on the line than his own desires. He had to think of the greater good.
A stiff wind swept across the valley, hot as a desert and stinking of death. Killian braced against it, but the humans folded, dropping to the ground, cut down like wheat. Lonnie’s face went white as he crumpled and Killian released his hand, catching the little ivory jar in his palm as the skinhead fell.
Killian stared at the jar. He could feel Moira inside the temple. He looked back to the temple expecting an explosion at any moment.
Moira
“The shield is almost in place,” Cynog yelled to Moira. “We’re hung up on some of these nails. They’re iron.”
“What the hell is wrong with iron?” demanded Moira.
“We’re allergic!” Cynog yelled back. “It blocks our magic!”
Across the field, Killian and Lonnie were engaged in a battle over his hand. Ceallach had formed a circle around the two, preventing the other warlocks from interfering. But the group was still managing to move closer to the exit.
Moira ran back to Sorcha. “They’re almost to the door!”
“I need more time,” gasped Sorcha, glancing up. “A few more seconds!”
Moira glanced over her shoulder. What would happen if Lonnie went through the door? Even if he was still holding the jar, would the door cut off the signal?
“It’s shifter magic?” yelled Moira.
“Yes!” Sorcha yelled back. Silver threads were emanating fromher fingertips.
Across the turf one of the warlocks had gotten the door open and hurled himself through it. If the spell was communicating with the other object based on a residual amount of shifter magic, could she substitute that signal with one of her own?
“Almost there,” muttered Sorcha.
“Fuck it,” said Moira and grabbed the necklace. There was one second of nothing, and then Moira could feel Killian as if she was standing where he was. He was looking toward the temple. Sorcha slammed her hands together and a sparkling silver net formed around the hoop, the necklace, and Moira’s hand, breaking her connection to the jar in Killian’s hand. The hoop sparked, but the electricity raced around the silver lines and then back into Sorcha’s hands and up Moira’s arm. It felt like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket, but the sensation was gone in a second.
Across the valley, a boom echoed and then a hot gust of air swept across all of them.
“The humans are down!” shouted one of the elves.
Everyone turned to look at the explosives. Moira’s hand around the necklace began to shake.
“Did we do it?” whispered Sorcha, falling backward onto her butt, blue charges of electricity still sparking off her fingertips.
Gingerly, Moira pulled the necklace and hoop away from the explosives, freeing the two items from all the wires connecting them to the explosives. Only when she was several steps away did she dare breathe.
“I think it is possible that you have saved us,” said Cynog cautiously. “And I say this because we appear to not be dead. So that is very exciting.”
“I personally prefer the days when that is not quite so exciting,” said Moira, sitting down on the nearest bench. She couldn’t seem to make her hand unclench.
“Agreed,” said Sorcha collapsing onto her back and spreading out like a starfish.
“They’re coming this way,” said one of the elves.
“That’s nice,” said Moira. “Does anyone know if I can let go of this?”
“Probably?” offered Sorcha from her place on the floor.
