Statue of Ku (Moa Book Series, #2) - Excerpt

Chapter 2 - Ku

The officers noiselessly board the plane. Four of them stand stiffly at the front, their AK45s hung by straps across their broad shoulders. A beautiful Monarch butterfly follows them in and flits around their heads before wending its way through the cabin, the kitchen, the cockpit, and eventually toward Hillary and Moa. None of the officers notice it, but Moa keeps her eyes fixed on the butterfly’s orange and black wings. It’s as if the creature is doing a thorough inspection of the vessel.

“I’ve got a driver’s license,” Hillary whispers intensely, “But, Moa, you don’t have any identification. No passport. Nothing at all!”

A particularly intense-looking officer approaches the Guardian. 

“Don’t worry.” Moa leans back and smiles. “It’s under control. The Monarch butterfly means everything will be okay.”

“Moa, I don’t think you understand. People here on Earth don’t take kindly to people who skirt the system. Those guns are real!”

The Guardian and the officers noiselessly acknowledge each other officially by bowing and nodding. Then an unusually scruffy-looking officer turns his gaze toward Hillary and Moa. His black hair has been combed and gelled, but four unruly cowlicks send tufts of hair springing outward. His beard is carefully trimmed, but the color is patchy with splotches of red and gold within the black hair. 

“How can someone who tries so hard to look neat and tidy look so messy?” Moa whispers and nudges Hillary in the ribs.

“Moa!” Hillary’s body stiffens as the unkempt officer approaches.

“Remember, you can see me but they can’t.” Moa gently pats Hillary’s arm and says confidently. “It’s okay.”

Hillary rolls her eyes, emits an exasperated sigh, and looks out the window.

The tallest of the officers pushes by the unkempt one, gives a wink to the flight attendant as he moves past, and addresses Hillary. “Identification please.” 

His haughty air unnerves Hillary. Suddenly, this whim of a trip seems more ill–advised—with every second she must bear the officer’s unsettling focus. Her stomach tightens as she carefully digs through her messy, green, leather hobo bag to produce her driver’s license.

“Here you go.” Then she quickly adds, “I know…bad picture…”

Moa’s energy work is almost as natural as breathing. A thought becomes an intention, which makes it reality. She calmly invokes an energetic cloak—as she’s done thousands of times before—and smiles as the snarky officer hands Hillary’s license back. It’s so fun toying with mortals.

“And what have we here?” The snarling royal police officer adjusts his large gun and takes two steps in Moa’s direction. “Identification please.” He spits the “p.”

Moa remains motionless, then slowly turns her head to look behind her. Surely there is another person he is addressing.

The officer leans down toward Moa until his face is inches from hers, “I do not like to repeat myself.” The smile fades and is replaced by a gritty snarl.

“Hello, sir. There is no need to get upset. I merely was attempting to use a cloaking field which failed because I am now human.” Gulp.

Hillary jumps to Moa’s rescue. “After all,” she lets out a nervous laugh, “To err is human.”

“Yes, yes.” Moa gives a genuine smile. “And to forgive is divine.”

The officer’s visage morphs into a disinterested stare as he turns to the three men behind him. “Take them away.” He doesn’t even look back as he turns on his heel, steps down the aisle, and descends the stairs.