Stars Have Fallen - editing

iv - secrets unfold

Date not specified: The Pacific Isle

Eighty miles off the coast of Southern CA

Late afternoon; exact time not specified

"What makes you so sure something's wrong?"

Corban clutched onto Ophelia for dear life as the dark woman held him bridal style, his muddied sneakers hitting the tops of trees every few feet.

It was more humiliating than it sounds.

"I dunno," he called over the wind and gulped. He vividly remembered the first time the Sayidat had flown him high above the ground, back in London. This time was just as frightening as the last.

"Meiren was just really upset," Corban recalled. "And they left pretty quickly. That's all."

"Who?"

Lady Imogen landed next to them as the troupe of Sayidats came to a halt in the midst of the woods. Her metallic eyes rested on him, her carefully braided hair coming loose from the rush of air.

"Ingrid and Meiren," he repeated. "I was with Oscar, and we were getting--" He stopped himself. Of course the Council wasn't supposed to know about their little shopping trip, and he was about to be the one to spill the beans, of all people.

"And where is Oscar now?" Lady Imogen interrogated. He noticed Ophelia's subtle look of disdain at the Sayidat's questions.

"I'm sure they are fine, Imogen," Ophelia soothed her colleague with a hand on her shoulder. "Bates will be okay. Meiren and Ingrid will find him."

Of course, Corban thought, Bates is her nephew. It had to explain why she was suddenly tense.

Perhaps Meiren believed Lady Imogen was Bates' enemy, but it was clear to Corban how worried she appeared for the young boy. Rightly so, too. If he was as crazy as everyone claimed, there was no telling of what might become of him.

"Thank you," the Lady replied to Phee, giving her a tight smile. Corban didn't miss the quick glance at him before Imogen stalked to the other Ladies.

"Don't mind her," Corban felt Ophelia's warm breath fan over his ears. "She's just a little concerned, frazzled. We all are."

He turned to look at her dark face, weary creases appearing beneath her midnight eyes and on her forehead, a physical sign of strain against days and weeks and months of relentless debate and secretive politics.

Corban could now see why Ingrid was so easily annoyed with the Council.

But, alas, he could not think of those things then. An eerie wailing pierced the forest floor, making Corban and a few Ladies drop to their knees with the heels of their hands over their ears.

He wasn't sure when it finally ceased, the coarse, high pitched shriek of some sort of hunger-stricken pain, but he felt Phee rest her hand on his shoulder.

"What...?" Corban shakily stood, stabilizing himself with his hands on his knees.

"Siad," a Lady hissed from somewhere midst their group. Siad.

Corban thought back to his tedious Arabic lessons with Oscar. Siads. Hunters for Chaos.

Murmuring and anxious chatter broke out among the Sayidat ranks. He caught small snippets of conversation between them.

"Impossible."

"There are no Underworldian beasts here."

"I can feel it. It's on the Isle."