Page 21 of Killian
“Ow!” she said, rubbing her ears. “I just felt all my face cartilage rearrange.”
The neckline of her shirt was now stretched and slightly torn at the seams. The rest of her clothes looked like they had made it through more or less unscathed.
“Really?” exclaimed the elf. “I always wondered how that worked. You read the records, and it doesn’t sound plausible, does it? Changing from one shape to another, I mean. But look at you! Just out here doing it like it was nothing! Well, live, learn, and record, as they say. I shall have to make a notation in the household book of accounts.” The elf-person beamed at them, and Killian smiled weakly back.
“I’m Moira and this is Killian,” said Moira.
“Oh, what lovely names. Killian means bright-headed, and Moira refers to the Fates. How auspicious! I am Cynog. It means confident. I can’t help feeling my mothers misnamed me.” Cynog frowned sadly.
“I’m not very bright-headed,” said Killian, trying to help.
“But you are! So much…” Cynog made waving motions around Killian’s head. “I don’t know. Maybe all wolves are so energetic.” He squinted. “Or maybe it’s your other face. How odd.” He peered at Moira in turn and then smiled again. “And obviously, you are mated! How nice! I assume it’s nice. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. Dryads talk a lot.”
“Uh,” said Killian. They were mated? Killian felt a surge of emotion that could only be described as relief. He’d known Moira was his—he’d felt it in his bones—but what a relief that everyone else knew it too.
“The wood nymphs I’ve met also talk a lot,” said Moira and then looked surprised. “Apparently, I’ve met wood nymphs.” She scratched her head.
“I have cousins who are wood nymphs! We are not inviting them to parties right now because of what they said about Granny Esther.”
“Cynog, are you a librarian?” asked Moira, apparently deciding not to pursue the intricacies of nymph-dryad relations.
“Oh, no. I wish. I’m still just an acolyte.”
“I have a letter for the librarians,” said Moira. She glanced nervously at Killian. “And um… we’re having some troubles with our memories.”
“Really?” Cynog made a face. “Um… that’s not good.”
“Well, we’re not enjoying it,” said Killian.
“But you’re wolves, so I’m not sure why you would have been affected.”
“Affected by what?” asked Killian cautiously.
“By the doorway spell. It deflects certain kinds of human magic.”
“I don’t think we do any magic,” said Killian.
“Other than the changing shape thing,” said Moira. “But I don’t think we can help that.” Her eyes flicked to Killian, and he shrugged. Her guess was as good as his.
“Oh, no, of course not. No Supernatural can have their innate magic fully blocked. I mean, there have been those who have tried. Bad people. Very bad people.” He shook his head at such depraved behavior. “And your auras don’t have any sort of… gunk.” He made a blech face as if he was tasting something disgusting. “So I don’t know why you would have been affected. Which door did you come in?”
“Uh… The one back there?” offered Killian, pointing. “It had red carpeting.”
“And silverfish,” said Moira disapprovingly.
“There’s a silverfish outbreak? Oh no! We must tell the Hexapoda Librarian!”
“Well, the geckos did seem to be eating a lot of them.”
“Blessings on the holy geckos,” said Cynog, nodding with noticeable relief.
“We squished a bunch, too,” said Moira.
“Did you! How bold! I think they’re icky. Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. All the records say that wolves are very brave. Warriors and fighters!”
Killian felt flattered, but he wasn’t sure it was accurate. He didn’t feel particularly courageous.
“Well, to be honest, I just didn’t want them in my hair,” said Moira, looking embarrassed. Killian reached out and took her hand. She squeezed his fingers back.
