Hot, Hard & Howling - OpenDrive

Mari Freeman
Then all got quiet for a moment.
She looked up. The shadow was still moving around her and she held her breath,
unable to fight it in any other way. How do you stop a shadow? She resigned herself to
waiting for an actual attack. She was weakened by such a large surge of magic. She
wasn’t able to call on her telekinesis as much as she liked, and after the emotional night
and a panicked burst of energy that big, she was toast.
Her breathing calmed. She held the gun pointed at the far wall as the shadow began
to take on a more physical presence. It wasn’t a shadow after all. It was a bunch of life
forces, flying, flitting and finally starting to settle around the room.
Shaking her head as she turned on the light, Nell realized she had fired a gun—and
then sent a huge blast of her power—at a bunch of moths. Many of them were still
flitting, a few toward the blaring light fixture, others haphazardly in reaction to her
movements, but the majority of them were alighting to a particular place. Past the
overturned table, close to the far wall, was a box on its side, spilled open, papers and
stones strewn across the floor. It was a box of research papers. She recognized the
writing on one of the scattered documents. The moths were all heading toward the
contents of the box.
The creatures stirred again as she moved through them. The design on the moths
seemed familiar, as if she should recognize the significance of the blue and silver
markings on their wings. But then, everything meant something. Surely a basement full
of six-inch black moths was a harbinger. As if she needed this day to get any more
stressful.
The winged insects were clamoring over the box, hundreds of the black, blue and
silver beasts clung to the cardboard, the pages and the stones. Nell glanced at the lone
window. Broken. She turned back to the stairs, still pointing the gun, ready to fire, and
allowed her body to gently shift back to her human form. The golden, glowing shadow
of the Dragon under her skin melted back to soft, tanned human flesh. She felt more
comfortable in this body, even if it was far more vulnerable
A trail of blood led up the stairs. She’d hit someone or something. She followed the
trail through the kitchen and out onto the deck. Whatever she’d shot, it was gone now.
She locked the door as she went back in.
Back in the basement she settled her attention on the scattered papers. Her father’s
shakily printed words covered the pages. His notes from Scotland. His last excursion.
The shipping labels and stickers had kept Nell away from these particular boxes.
She wasn’t ready to go through the last of his work.
Personal effects—Gregor Ambercroft.
Isle of Skye. Scotland.
Handle with care.
One of the moths fluttered to her, landing on her arm. Tiny legs gripping the faint
hair made her shiver. She scanned the depths of the shelves in the basement one more
time. She was alone. Alone with a thousand moths and a mystery.
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