Page 5 of Killian
“They should,” agreed Killian, “but apparently not. Although,at least it makes them easy to spot. Most of the ones I run into just look like assholes.”
“Most of the ones I run into just look dead,” said Moira, and Killian snorted. “I actually don’t run into that many,” she clarified. She wasn’t trying to sound like some sort of hardcore badass. “They tend to avoid us since the incident with my uncle.”
“There was an incident?” he asked, his expression torn between amusement and skepticism.
“It’s a long story. I’ll have to tell you about it later. Why aren’t they moving?”
“I don’t know, but it makes me think they’re up to something,” said Killian.
As they watched, the Warlocks broke apart from their knot and formed a line. A guttural chanting began. The reverberation made the words indistinguishable, but the intent and tone seemed clear, and Moira shuddered. The feeling of listening to something evil was unshakeable.
“I really hate them,” said Moira.
“The feeling is mutual, but I don’t think they really care how we feel.”
“That’s one of the reasons I hate them.”
As they watched, a black cloud formed above the heads of the warlocks. Moira grabbed a large rock and hurled it overhand at a warlock in the center of the line. The warlock went down with a shriek.
“Nice shot,” said Killian.
“I pitched on the pack baseball team,” said Moira.
“You have enough for an entire team?” Killian looked shocked. Moira decided that he really didn’t know who her family was, and now she was nervous to explain it to him.
The rest of the warlocks hurried to shuffle back together.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Killian as the warlock line reformed.
“Agreed,” said Moira. “On the other hand, we have the higher ground, and if we hold the door, I think we can stop them from getting in.”
She started back toward the door, but as she jogged, she heard a black whirring like a thousand bees from behind her. Looking back, she saw the warlocks had managed to activate their black cloud, which was now hurtling toward them.
“Moira,” said Killian, his voice urgent. “Run.”
Moira picked up speed and ducked as the cloud hit the rock above their heads with a sound like an enormous slap. Moira flinched as a shower of boulders rained down on them. The small ones bounced off and left bruises. She could feel each impact healing, but it didn’t stop the sharp, stabbing pain from the strikes.
“They’re going again,” yelled Killian.
Moira felt her lungs burn in the thin air as she picked up her feet, but the reassuring tingle of her healing power pushed her forward. She could see the doors ahead of her. Two large double doors covered in gold were incongruously placed in the mountainside. Some Tibetan prayer flags had hooked themselves to the doorknob like a forgotten fishing line. It was well off the pathway—they would have to climb up to get inside. The humming began behind them again, and Moira inhaled, trying to take in more oxygen. She could hear Killian’s footfalls behind her—quick, steady, and reassuring.
She reached for the door, yanking off the line of prayer flags. She had to jump to grasp the handle. She twisted the knob, flung the door open, and then reached upward, preparing to climb in. The buzzing was thunderous, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Killian seized her by the hips and threw her through the door. There was an enormous boom, and then the world went black.
Episode 3
Waking Up
Moira
The carpet was the first thing Moira noticed. It was red, and it filled her vision so that, for a moment, she was worried something was wrong with her eyes. This was plausible because... She couldn’t remember why something would be wrong with her vision. She blinked, and she felt her eyelashes brush against the stiff fibers. Once she became aware of the texture of the carpet, she could suddenly feel the way it was pushing with painful stiffness into her cheek. She pulled her head up and opened her mouth, stretching her jaw. She would need to change to be able to open it suitably wide.
That thought made her scratch her head. Change? Change what?
She sat up and looked down at herself. She was wearing black leathers and—she fumbled a hand up to her head—goggles. Had she been on a motorcycle? What the hell had happened? She must have gotten hit on the head. It felt about three feet thick.
She shook her head, and the world swam in her vision. When it settled, she could see she was in some sort of foyer. Smooth granite walls formed a round room about twenty feet across. A few feet in front of her, a short flight of stairs led into a darkened hall. She shivered. She was damp as if she’d been out in a drizzle, and the breeze from the stairs smelled of a cavernous space and cold stone. Above her was a leaded glass window of frosted glass that filtered a cold gray light into the room. She looked behind her and saw an ornate golden door. Between the door and the red carpet, she was reminded of a movie theater.
Where the hell was she? She fumbled through her pockets,finding a ballpoint pen, a roll of mints, and finally, her phone. She seized the phone in satisfaction. She would call...
