Kilty Secrets

by Amy Vansant

  Catriona hustled to the woman’s side. The victim’s right hand hovered in the air as if pinned there, and as she knelt beside the cot, Catriona saw the woman’s wrist hung ensnared by a cuff bolted to the wall. She’d been gagged. Her eyes were closed and her body still.

  Too still.

  As Catriona’s fingers touched the edge of the cot she felt something wet and sticky. Raising her phone, she squinted at what she’d taken to be a thin scarlet choker around the woman’s throat. Her shoulders slumped.

  “Her throat’s been cut.”

  Broch looped his fingers around the woman’s left wrist and held up her hand. Her pinky was missing.

  Catriona stood. “She’s blonde. Jessica Scout has dark hair, so this has to be the guest she took.”

  Broch grunted. “That means Jessica cuid be in oan it.”

  “Not out of the realm of possibility. I don’t know much about Jessica. She’s new to the studio with this project.”

  Another scream rang out somewhere deep in the warehouse and Catriona jumped, goosebumps running down the length of her arms.

  Get it together, Cat.

  She set her jaw and did her best to appear calm.

  “This woman is still warm. Whoever did this can’t be far.”

  “Aye.”

  Every nerve in Catriona’s body thrummed with the urge to head back to the well-lit main hall. Only two days removed from her ordeal in the underground lair of a different maniac, she was finding it hard to quell her panic. She’d rather be staring down the barrel of a gun under the desert sun than lost in a dungeon.

  “Let’s keep going or this asshole will pick off people at the party all night,” she said aloud, more to bolster her own nerves than Broch’s.

  Even in the grotesque red light of the bulb, Catriona could see Broch’s expression soften as he brushed an errant strand of hair from her face.

  “When hae we ever failed?”

  She smiled. “You know, sometimes I think you traveled hundreds of years through time just to help me with this horrific job of mine.”

  Broch chuckled. “Nae on purpose.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Ah see light,” said Broch.

  Catriona lowered her phone and noticed a dull glow at the end of the black hallway. She switched off her phone to save battery as they entered a large rectangular room and the claustrophobic experience of the hallway lifted. Catriona glanced upward to find a cloth hovering, as if a large black circus tent had been erected above the room. Catriona guessed the center scraped the top of the actual warehouse. There were three doors against the far wall, all painted red.

  Nice touch. What about a happy teal? Perhaps a cheery yellow?

  Catriona held out a hand to keep Broch from moving toward the doors. “Wait. This is a standard horror movie trope. We have to pick a door and if we pick the wrong one—”

  Before she could finish her thought, the three doors flew open, shaking the walls of the makeshift room around them. Three men burst forward as if shot from cannons. Each wore black and held a katana, their faces covered but for their eyes. They stopped, each a few feet from their doors, posing with swords at the ready.

  Catriona jumped back a step, fists raising. As she and Broch stood in their fighting stances, locked in some strange stare-off with the three men, she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What is this Enter the Dragon crap?”

  She felt as if she’d made a wrong turn at Comic-Con. Their attackers were trying so hard to look like ninjas.

  Unfortunately, the swords looked real enough.

  Catriona slid her cell phone into the bodice of her dress for safe-keeping. Cleavage always made the most handy purse. And who knew, maybe tucked there, her phone could deflect a sword from her heart.

  The men stepped forward in unison, brandishing their blades.

  Broch glanced at her. “Och. Enough.”

  Before she could respond, he rushed to the one closest to his side of the room. There was no reason a man as large as Kilty, in an outfit as tight as his, should have been able to move as fast as he did.

  At the last possible second, the ninja being rushed raised his blade to strike. Broch easily dodged the katana and tackled him, pounding into the man’s waist as his right hand grabbed the hilt of the blade. Highlander and ninja slammed into the far wall, the man in black crumpling like a doll, limp and seemingly unconscious.

  Broch stood, the katana now in his hand.

  He turned to face the remaining two, who had frozen in their tracks, staring as their fellow ninja fell. Catriona imagined their jaws were hanging open, but she couldn’t be sure thanks to their dark headgear.

  She, too, had been caught off guard by Broch’s sudden attack and now gaped at her partner’s fierce stare as he waggled the katana at the other two. She knew he was handy with a blade.

  Holy hell, I’m glad I’m on his side.

  She looked at the men.

  “You messed up now.”

  The ninja closest to Broch ran at the Highlander. The remaining assailant ran at Catriona, screaming, katana raised.

  Catriona’s bemused smile collapsed. She’d been so shocked by Broch’s speed she’d forgotten to pull her own weapon.

  Crap.

  Catriona pushed aside her dress and fumbled for the gun on her leg. The lace holster refused to release. It felt as if a part of the pistol’s rear sight had entangled in the webbing. She didn’t have time to jerk it free before the man would be on her.

  This is going to hurt.

  Running out of options, she bowled herself sideways at his legs. In her head she thought the angle would make it impossible for the blade to hit her, but geometry had never been her favorite subject and she didn’t feel confident.

  Her already bruised ribs ignited with pain as she felt the man’s knee give way in a direction unnatural for that joint. She heard his attack roar shift into a yelp. As soon as she hit the ground she scrambled to her feet, every movement agony, and kicked the man’s fallen sword away from him. He rolled in the dirt, wailing as she finally ripped her gun from its holster.

  “Freeze!” she screamed, hoping her command would inspire the man on the ground and the man Broch had engaged to cease their attacks. She turned in time to see Broch thrust his blade into the last man standing. With only a muffled grunt, the attacker collapsed to his knees and flopped sideways to the floor.

  The first ninja remained folded on the ground, sprawled and still.

  Broch sniffed, staring down at his fallen foes, seeming confused. “Thay didn’t ken howfur tae fight.”

  “I can see that.” She stretched her neck to peer at the man Broch had skewered with his fellow-ninja’s sword. He groaned, his hand clamped over his side as he tried to stem the flow of blood darkening the fabric above his left kidney. She glanced at Broch.

  “He’ll probably live, but we’re going to have to have a little talk about the stabbing people. Laws aren’t quite the same here as they were in ancient Scotland. You can’t just go around Katana-ing people.”

  “Och, ah barely scratched him.”

  “You stabbed me,” said the ninja, his voice strained and grunty.

  Broch frowned down at him. “Ye wur trying tae murder us.”

  The wounded ninja’s body relaxed, his head lolling to the left.

  Catriona tapped his foot with the toe of her shoe. “He passed out.”

  Catriona moved toward the man writhing on the floor behind her.

  “Who are you?”

  The ninja had removed his mask and he spoke through gritted teeth. “You broke my knee.”

  “You’re lucky that’s all I broke. Have you seen your friend? Who are you?”

  The man lifted his chin, doing his best to look defiant. “We’re the Disciples of Pinky.”

  Catriona squinted. “Really? Do you hear yourself? Why are you here?”

  “Pinky’s been reborn. He’s teaching us.”

  “Reborn, how?”

 
The man fell silent and Catriona kicked his leg. He howled in pain.

  “Reborn, how?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know. He called to us. Had us come here.”

  “How did he call to you?”

  He didn’t answer and Catriona cocked her leg, preparing to kick.

  “No, no, wait! The dark web. I set up a page there called The Disciples of Pinky and he found it. He contacted me there.”

  “So you’re all a bunch of sad, lonely serial killer groupies?”

  The man grimaced. “We’re not groupies.”

  “Uh huh.” She put down her foot and turned to Broch. “That explains why they were such terrible fighters. They’re a bunch of murder-nerds.”

  “Acolytes,” muttered the man.

  Catriona rolled her eyes. “Same thing. Where’s the other girl?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Catriona prepared to kick him again and he waved a hand at her.

  “I swear! I swear. Pinky has her. I don’t know. He told us to stop anyone who came through here.”

  “Did you see him? Who is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Pinky.”

  “He’s Pinky.”

  “Pinky is dead. Who is this new asshole?”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t see him.”

  “You just said he told you to wait for us. How? On the phone?”

  “He told us to come here and then slid a note under the door.” The man nodded to the door farthest to the left.

  Catriona shook her head. “Unbelievable. I wonder what’s behind door number three.”

  “It’s just a room,” said the ninja.

  She didn’t even have to raise a foot.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anne Bonny looked up from where she sat squatting at the side of her bathtub. Inside, a wet, white dog stood looking as miserable as a creature could, all eyes and whiskers.

  Anne’s boyfriend, Michael, stood in the doorway.

  “So what’s wrong now? Is it this bad?” She motioned to the mutt as she gave him a vigorous towel dry.

  The dog stared at him dolefully.

  Michael frowned. “Worse.”

  “I doubt he thinks so.” She slipped one arm beneath the dog’s chest and another under his butt and hefted him from the tub. The moment the mutt’s paws hit the floor he bolted out of the room shaking so hard he ping-ponged from wall to wall leaving wet smears on the paint.

  Anne stood and pushed a strand of strawberry blonde hair from her eyes. “What’s up?”

  Michael heaved a sigh as he spoke, as if he were blowing the words from his chest. “The Kairos are falling ill and—”

  Anne held up a palm. “Hold on there, Sport. You already lost me. What’s a Kairos?”

  She thought she was playing it well, but in truth, the moment she’d seen Michael’s face Anne had felt a heavy, wet, woolen cloak of dread drape around her shoulders. She’d spent most of the previous three hundred years—since her transformation from ‘famous female pirate’ to Sentinel—as a soldier for mankind’s mysterious guardians, the Angeli, hunting and rebooting infected rogues in their midst. Now, the battle was supposed to be over. All the infected Angeli had been fixed. She was off the hook, job done, with seven hundred years left to enjoy retirement.

  But here was her favorite mystical Angelus, the head honcho himself, once again talking about creatures falling ill.

  She could feel her retirement growing shorter by the second.

  Michael took a deep breath, closed his eyes and then slowly released it as if he was tired of explaining life to a child.

  She let it go.

  “Kairos are enhanced humans like you,” he said studying his nails, which were perfect, of course. While Angeli only had one identity, it didn’t stop them from manifesting themselves as the most perfect version of that identity. Especially fastidious Michael. He never manifested clothes that didn’t cost more than most people’s apartments. His hair was always impeccable. And when he wanted a favor from her, he always manifested the sexiest little dimple in his left cheek...

  Oh no.

  There’s the dimple.

  She groaned and Michael’s brow knit.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. So, Kairos are Sentinels like me?”

  “No. They’re more like Angeli when it comes to their duties, but less...uh, proactive.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we make changes to keep the world in order. Kairos simply inspire people to be better. Think of them as beacons of light. They inspire goodness in the people around them. We scatter them about time and space to inspire humans to help themselves. We can’t do everything ourselves.”

  “Of course not. Poor babies. And these Kairos have Perfidia now too?”

  Anne hated even saying the word. Perfidia was the disease that had ravaged the Angeli, turning some into monsters. Monsters she’d had to fight.

  Michael shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t look good. Something’s going on. We’ve been getting strange reports since about sixteen fifty-three.”

  “Military time?”

  “The year.”

  “And you’re just looking into this now?”

  The Angeli rolled his eyes. “We don’t perceive time the same—”

  Anne huffed loudly enough to cut him short. “Yeah, yeah. You’re special. I get it.” She pushed past him into the hall. “I don’t think we need to have this whole conversation in the bathroom. I have a feeling I might need to sit and that would be awkward in there.”

  Moving into the living room she spotted Duppy. The wet, white dog crouched forward, his butt in the air, staring at her. The moment she stomped near him he bolted, running top speed around the sofa, slipping twice onto his hip only to bounce back up as if he were made of rubber.

  “What is wrong with him?” asked Michael.

  “He does it every time he gets a bath. Being wet makes him freak out.”

  Michael took a seat in an upholstered chair as Anne perched on her sofa.

  “I knew this couldn’t last,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “Life without Perfidia.”

  “Well, it is the only reason you exist.”

  Anne scowled. “That’s like telling someone they only exist for leprosy.”

  “I mean literally, you’d be dead. Remember that little bit where you woke up after being stabbed on your pirate ship? You never would have awoken if we hadn’t extended your life to help us defeat Perfidia.”

  “Ah. Fair point. Still. I thought maybe you and I could be like a normal couple for a while.” She heard a tinge of whine in her tone.

  “That depends on your definition of normal.”

  “Hm. I’m not sure either one of us is the person to ask.”

  Michael smiled. “Perhaps not.”

  Anne settled back into the sofa cushion. “So tell me more about the Kairos. How many of them are there? Where are they?”

  “They’re all over. But it’s a group in Los Angeles that’s caught our attention.”

  “They’re the sick ones?”

  “One we suspect, maybe more. We don’t always know.”

  “Can’t you just ask all the other Kairos to check in? Whoever doesn’t show up is suspect. Like you did when the Angels started falling ill?”

  Michael shook his head. “It’s not that easy. They don’t know they’re Kairos.”

  “The Kairos don’t know they’re Kairos? How is that possible?”

  “They start slow. They have no special powers beyond their sphere of influence, which grows over time. We move them around from time to time to keep them from realizing—”

  “Move them where?”

  “From time to time.”

  “No, where. Like from New York to L.A.?”

  “No, from time to time. Like from the seventeen hundreds to the twentieth century.”

  Anne gaped. “And they don’t notice this? Th
ey go to sleep on hay and wake up in a spaceship and don’t think, boy, that was weird?”

  “They don’t notice at first. The jump muddles their mind. Over time they start to remember their past lives—it takes longer for them to find their purpose. It’s all part of the process. Some pick it up more quickly than others.”

  Anne scratched behind her ear, musing how confused the Kairos must feel the first time they remember they used to be in another time period. She herself suffered moments of feeling out of place. Living eon after eon could do that to you.

  “I thought Sentinels were the only minds you people messed with,” she said. “I think I might like these Kairos. We have a lot in common. We could start a support group.”

  Michael scowled. “Stop calling us you people. The Angeli are single-handedly responsible for keeping you people from destroying yourselves.”

  “Don’t get your wings in a tangle.” Anne turned her head and smiled to herself, pleased she still knew how to get Michael ruffled. As arguably the most powerful Angelus, he had a tendency to get a big head.

  It’s a good thing he keeps me around to keep him grounded.

  “So how did you hear about the sick one?” she asked.

  “An Angel in the area let us know. An actress went missing and there’s some evidence she may have been syphoned.”

  “Kairos can syphon?”

  “There’s never been any evidence of it, but they identified some dust. Human remains.”

  “Dust? Not the husk of a body?”

  “Dust.”

  “That’s different.”

  He nodded.

  “But they don’t syphon, so…what does that mean?”

  Michael shrugged. “Things change.”

  “Could they be turning into Angeli?” Anne’s ex-boyfriend and fellow Sentinel, Con Carey, had developed Angeli powers. It seemed a reasonable thing to ask if the same might happen to Kairos, even though the second the sentence left her lips, Michael’s expression had twisted.

  Michael opened his mouth and then shut it.

  Ah. He just remembered Con, too.

  The Angelus sighed. “I guess anything is possible. The Kairos we think is responsible isn’t tapped into our collective consciousness, though. I can tell that much.”