“No!” shouts Moxie, arms pinioned by two of Misery’s goons, as two more smash the casing off her little basement generator. The room goes dark and quiet.
“Let’s take Miss Bitters outside, boys,” Misery chuckles. “I think she’ll want to watch.”
Moxie kicks and struggles, but doesn’t bite. She’s busy counting under her breath.
“Three Missouri,” she mutters, “two Missouri, one–”
Crack. Misery spins around to see the bloom of light at the top of the tower–then a flicker, and a surge. Soon the whole roof’s on fire.
Not far off, a fugitive winks its lantern, then sails away north.