Page 25 of Killian
“As long as we’re together, we’ll be OK,” he said.
Moira hesitated. She wanted to trust Killian, but she also didn’t want to end up in handcuffs. Moira took a deep breath and made a decision.
Episode 11
Council of Librarians
Killian
Moira was annoyed. No, that was putting it far too mildly. Moira was pissed. She was sitting on the bed in the cell across from his, glaring at him through the bars. Killian knew he was currently experiencing memory loss, so he had no direct comparison, but he was pretty sure he had never been so thoroughly scowled at.
She had glared at him through the entire process, including the bit where three elves with a variety of magical devices had come into the jail and waved crystals at them. The group had gone away, muttering about fascinating readings, which only enhanced Moira’s glower.
“I’m sure this will get sorted out,” he said.
“We could have taken them,” hissed Moira.
He suspected she was right. The prison, such as it was, looked like it was mostly for the rowdy Saturday night crowd—although Killian had a hard time picturing raucous elves. The bars, like the gate on level eight, were made of bronze, and Killian suspected that if he wanted to, he would be able to bend them. He didn’t think the elves looked prepared for anyone who truly wanted violence. Killian also didn’t want a fight, but Moira seemed to think they should have one simply on principle.
“Well, maybe we could have, and maybe not,” said Killian, hedging his bets. “I’m glad you’ve got this shapeshifting thing figured out, but I can’t seem…” He raised his hand and tried to make the claws come out. It was like he could feel them, ready and waiting, but he couldn’t figure out how to make them pop.
“You just flex,” said Moira, demonstrating. He growled infrustration and slapped his hands down on the bed.
“My point is that even if we’d gotten away, where are we supposed to go? We need them to figure out whatever is going on with our memories.”
“This is monumentally insulting,” said Moira. “We should not be in here. We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Killian crept closer to the bars. The guard who had been loitering at the end of the hallway was out of sight. “Are you sure about that?”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t remember anything. Cynog said the memory spell should only affect certain kinds of human magic. What if we did something but can’t remember it?”
“We are the good guys,” she snapped.
Killian hesitated. “I’m not saying we’re bad people. And if, and I stress theif,we did something, I’m sure we had reasons. But I’m simply saying, that given our current state, I think it’s something we have to consider.”
Moira let out an angry snort. “I do not have to consider that. I suppose it’s possible that I could have done something… rash. Or just plain bitchy. I have a temper, is what I’m saying.”
“And you’re not afraid to use it,” he said. Her lips twitched, but Moira resolutely refused to smile.
“I’m entirely willing to concede that I probably act on impulse too much, but you are a very sensible person. I cannot see you attacking some poor elf without a justifiable reason. In fact, our current situation only proves that I’m right.”
Killian looked across the aisle and through the bars. Her dark hair had fluffed out into a halo of wavy curls, and her chin jutted out fiercely. She was going to sit there and argue that she had faults, but he didn’t—and she was willing to take that argument all the way.
“You take action when action is needed,” he said. “It’s notimpulsive. It’s quick-thinking. I love that about you.”
Moira’s cheeks flushed pink, and she broke eye contact.
“I think I probably yell a lot,” she muttered. “Grandpa yells a lot. Mom yells. Uncle Rafe yells. Ooh! Uncle Rafe. That’s his name.”
“You’re a family who yell. I’m getting the picture,” he said, smiling and trying once again to block the flood of jealousy at the idea of her family. Killian had brothers; he was sure of it. Sebastian, Hudson, and Pellos. The names popped into his mind, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Remembering their names, even if he only had hazy impressions of the rest of them, was steadying. But why was he so jealous of her family if he had them?
There was a loud bang as the door at the end of the corridor swung open and hit the wall. The jailor bustled in. He was a gangly fellow who had looked quite surprised to have prisoners to begin with.
“Well, it’s time,” he said as if that was an explanation.
“Time for what?” asked Moira.
