Chapter Nine
I used to like airports.
I used to like Sunday school, prayers, and religious pop music, too.
Tastes change.
I vividly remembered the excitement of wiggling at the airport when my parents had dropped me off and pointed me toward TSA so I could go spend a summer with my aunt.
They’d needed a break from their only child, and my father’s sister was a devout evangelical, so between their vacation and my indoctrination, everyone would win.
Still, I remembered the quickly moving feet, each sneaker squeaking against the tiles as people hurried from one gate to another.
I’d marveled at the rolling bags of every shape and color.
The windows had been the size of the world, big enough to take in the runway, the sky, and airplanes that could seat hundreds and hundreds of passengers.
It was the first time I’d truly understood that everyone around me was scuttling about living their own lives.
Each man with his briefcase was the main character in the Wall Street-esque film playing in his head.
Every woman clasping her partner’s hand on the way to a tropical destination was the heroine in a romance novel.
They were all stars, and to them, I was just noise in the background.
There was a pendulum swing to overcorrections.
I went from feeling awe at realizing that everyone was their own, autonomous human living unique and separate lives to being bored and annoyed at the selfishness it took for every person to think of themselves as the protagonist of life.
The people’s silvery charm was made of cheap nickel, and it turned, souring with time.
The rideshare to the airport and last-minute tickets were courtesy of my rose-gold American Express card.
The numbers were steep enough that I tilted the screen away from Nia’s and Kirby’s prying eyes to keep them from worrying about me.
I didn’t mind the hit. I liked the points and could spare the cash.
Besides, it was the end of the world. If we didn’t make it, I’d never have to repay the bill.
Money was the least of my reasons to dislike the airport.
I opened my mouth to yell at the man in front of me for holding up the line by insisting he be allowed through the X-ray scanner even though he didn’t have TSA PreCheck, but Silas stopped me.
“Come on,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, pleading with him to get out of the way. “Hurry up.”
The woman in front of us twisted to cast a scolding look, which froze on her face the moment she saw me.
I knew precisely what was happening as she whipped back around, leaned into her friend, and whispered.
I’d been spotted.
“Shit,” I whispered.
Silas’s hand twitched, eyes tense, at the ready.
The woman turned and said, “We just want to say we’re sorry. About the senator, that is. It never should have happened.”
“And we love your books!” the friend piped before facing dutifully forward.
My throat worked against emotion. I’d spent so long between álfheimr and the Phoenician realm that I’d nearly forgotten the vile politician and why I’d fled in the first place.
Silas said, “Stay calm. You’re famous, and you were just outed by a politician. You cause a scene, and a thousand phones whip out to record Merit Finnegan throwing an entitlement tantrum at the airport.”
I reached the front of the line and handed the TSA agent my ID. He gave it the same bored look he’d given everyone else in line, which comforted me. Sometimes, it was nice to be just another face in the crowd.
The angel tagged along as I plopped my phone and wallet onto the conveyor belt, shrugging apologetically over my lack of luggage.
Silas followed me through the metal detector, saying, “Besides, you have a small army working overtime to keep you concealed. Do us all a favor and lay low.”
“Aren’t we mostly safe for three days?” I asked, fetching my phone from the scanner.
“No,” he said. “And be quiet. Security notices when people talk to themselves. As for the countdown: I have the autonomy to help you without being completely cut off from Heaven until the three-day timer goes off. They don’t understand the extent of my role, and it’s best if we keep it that way.
We benefit when they think I’m working to bring you down from the inside. ”
I didn’t care for the message. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was safer this way. Or maybe I was a complete fool for trusting him while he said, point blank, that he may as well be a double agent.
Since now was not the time to start a fight, I pursed my lips. “Caliban would have applauded me for putting him in his place.”
“Well, I’m not your lap dog,” Silas said.
It would have been hard enough traveling with an angel and demon if I alone could see them. It was so much worse being held accountable by preternatural forces when my best friends and two newly acquired witches were there to watch my temper be subdued by a heavenly defector.
Still, he deserved a scolding.
The five of us were having our own main character moments.
My nails were freshly polished, curls blown out and bouncy, blouse silky, high-rise pants hugged me tightly at my middle, making my ass look every bit as great as my waist. We were an array of celebrities, Xuan with the shock of green hair, Priscilla as a vision in all black, Nia ready to take the podium at the chicest TED Talk, and Kirby, an equal-opportunity lover, prepared to sweep anyone off their feet who so much as looked in their direction.
We should have breezed through security on our voyage to New York, turning heads, making bystanders fall in love with us as they crossed our paths.
Instead, some white man wearing a Rolex had already ruined our moment by holding up the line.
“Relax,” Silas said, hand grazing my shoulder.
“You relax,” I replied, arms crossed tightly.
“I’m curious,” came the deep, angelic voice over the pedestrian din of security, beeping, luggage, and crowds. “Did anyone try to teach you to meditate so that you could communicate without looking like a madwoman, or do you prefer to have your mouth forcibly shut?”
My cheeks heated painfully. I winced away from my litter of friends, hoping they couldn’t see the shade of what must have been violet that painted my face and chest. Lips parted in speechless rebuttal, I stumbled forward numbly, too tongue-tied to do anything more than wait for the others to get through security.
Silas wore his cocky smirk like a badge. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“You’re a problem.”
“Ah”—he grinned—“but I’m your problem now.”
Azrames stayed with the others until the last of us filtered through security, the lot of us passed from one nanny to the other in an endlessly insulting cycle of daycare.
My head understood that, just as the president traveled with the Secret Service and Jason Momoa famously had a collection of security guards half his size, anyone with any form of target on their forehead needed backup.
We were lucky that our backup was unspeakably powerful on both ends of the Heaven-and-Hell spectrum, even if it would take some getting used to.
The remaining evening, night, and following morning at the church had gone exactly as predicted, with a few more roasting insults and ill-fated plans tossed around than I might have liked.
It had been a pleasure to learn that Priscilla and Xuan were easy to be around, even if Xuan had to field calls from her baby daddy six times an hour, and Priscilla was nearly as famous as I was, in her own right.
Calls, texts, and occultist fans from her YouTube channel had stopped her in the airport twice.
Still, we got along well, which was every bit as much about understanding when to be quiet and leave each other alone for introverted recharge time as it was about jokes and chatter.
“Why aren’t you telling Pris to keep a low profile, too?” I hissed at Silas.
“Because she’s not chomping at the bit to make a fool of herself,” he said.
I wasn’t sure how to kill an angel, but once I figured it out, he’d be the first to know.
We’d almost made it to our gate when a man dropped his bag at his feet and cried out.
I took a half step back in shock, instantly flanked by a borderline feral angel and a demon in the time it took for the man to drop to his knees, unzip his bag, and procure A Night of Runes—the first book in the Pantheon series.
He lifted the novel and a pen like a peasant of yore begging before a king.
Humiliated that I’d overreacted, I joined him on the floor. The fan and I exchanged high-energy pleasantries while I signed his book, silently adding a tally in the competition that Priscilla didn’t realize she’d entered with me. If one more fan spotted me, I’d pull ahead and win the unspoken game.
The man grunted as he worked his way to his feet, and I wondered if it looked to onlookers like I levitated as supernatural forces helped lift me to my toes. Perhaps I’d be able to foster rumors that I’d developed a few neat abilities. The woman, the myth, the…apocalypse.
Silas postured a little too protectively in front of me as we waited by our gate.
“Would you leave me alone?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low.
His puff of air was nearly a laugh. He managed to look flawless even in the horribly unflattering airport light. Cheap blue carpet, bright screens, piles of exhausted travelers, and ringing overhead announcers couldn’t drown out our standoff. “Hush, hush. It’s my turn to talk.”
I mimicked a trout, opening my mouth and closing it. Nia and Kirby were preoccupied with their new friends, too busy to notice how I was being harassed.
“Atta girl.” He winked when I’d quieted. “Now, how do I abuse this power…?”
I tried to kick him.
He clicked his tongue. “Let’s see. If you can’t speak, then it seems like a perfectly good time to tell you that you make truly insane choices. Arguably the most unhinged decisions in the history of mankind—or angel kind, for that matter.”