Page 8 of Killian
“Twelve hours, four-year shelf life, meets NATO supply standards. I’m packing ten.”
“Sure, but you can’t remember how we met,” said Moira,stepping out into the dark.
“I can’t even remember my last name,” he said, following her.
The space beyond the foyer was vast and full of enormous pillars and shelving stretched out of sight upward into the dark. The carpet under their feet branched out into three main paths. Killian approached the nearest bookcase and peered into it. Each shelf was covered by a metal grate, with each segment locked down by a discreet, if old-fashioned, looking padlock.
“They look like books,” he said.
Moira took another shelf and peered in. “Mine look like scrolls. We’re in a library?”
“A very large, old, and dark library,” he said.
“Which direction?” she asked.
“Straight ahead, I guess,” he said. “They all smell the same to me.”
As they walked, the air grew warmer and more humid. Killian unzipped his jacket, and Moira was thinking about taking hers off. Did she have room in her backpack for it? She didn’t know or even know what else she had in it. Ahead of them, she saw another shape in the gloom. It looked like a pavilion among a forest of bookcases and columns.
“I think there’s something over here,” she said, tugging at Killian. They soon arrived at what seemed to be a line of curtained alcoves.
“Study rooms?” suggested Killian, lifting his glowstick for a better look.
“Let’s stop here for a minute,” said Moira. She cautiously pushed her way through the curtains and saw a wide couch bed thing, chairs, and tables. There were sconces on the wall, but Moira couldn’t see how to light them. “Most comfortable study room ever. I could totally nap here.”
Killian chuckled as Moira carefully set her glowstick upright on one of the tables.
“So it occurs to me,” she said, taking off her backpack, “that although we’re wandering memoryless, we might actually have some of the answers on us. I think we should take a look in our bags.”
“Good idea,” said Killian. He tossed his jacket over the back of a chair and unzipped his bag. “At the very least we’ll know what assets we have.” He started pulling items out of his bag as Moira upended hers onto the couch. “Or there’s that approach.”
“Oooh! Wallet!” Moira snatched at Killian’s pile.
“No fair! Where’s yours?” he demanded. Moira looked through her mess and handed over her wallet and passport. They both sat down on the couch, and Moira leaned against him as she opened the leather billfold. He had credit cards, restaurant punch cards, business cards, a Greek driver’s license, and three different types of currency. The picture on his license managed the remarkable feat of not looking like a mug shot, which proved how handsome he really was.
“Adeche,” she said. “Your full name is Killian Adeche.” She savored the name. She liked it. It tasted romantic in her mouth.
“Oh. That sounds nice,” Killian said, sounding surprised.
“Are we sure my name is Moira?” she asked, peering at her passport in his hand.
“Yes! It’s right here! Moira DeSandre.”
“It’s so old-fashioned. Do I look like a Moira?”
Killian looked up and scrutinized her with a frown.
“Oh, God, it’s worse than I thought. I actuallydolook like a Moira, and you don’t want to tell me.”
He laughed. “Well, it’s hard. I don’t know any other Moiras, and you’re beautiful. So if Moiras are beautiful, then yes, you do look like a Moira. But I don’t know what they’re supposed to look like.”
Moira glared at him. “You’re making this a compliment?”
Killian shrugged. “I guess? Do I look like a Killian?”
“Um. No? To be perfectly honest, I suppose I would have assumed a Killian would be white.”
“Wait, I’m not white?”
