Chapter Nine
I used to like airports.
I used to like Sunday school, prayers, and religious popmusic, 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 theWall 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 separatelives 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 anentitlement 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.
