the picture with a digital camera just a little while ago. I tipped the messenger generously, and he saluted me before heading back down the stairs.
From the kitchen came the sounds of the witch as she worked, muttered imprecations and rattling pots. A strong medicinal smell lingered in the air; gods, I hoped we didn’t have to ingest the charm for our passports to work in the scanners. That might not end well. But to my vast relief, when the woman emerged, she was carrying three sachets, which we were to wear around our necks.
“As long as the bags remain in contact with your skin,” she explained, “you should have no trouble. The machines will malfunction just long enough to process your immigration.”
“You make these often?” Booke inquired.
“Often enough. I’ll have my cash now if you please. Then you need to quit cluttering up my front room. I’m for bed, and if Stenton sends anybody else my way in the next eight hours, I may turn him into a toad.”
“The client or Geoff Stenton?” I wondered.
“Both?” The witch laughed as I paid her, counting out the cash. “Mind you, use those within forty-eight hours. The spell won’t hold its charge forever.”
“We’re on our way to the airport,” I assured her.
Shannon roused on the first try; it took longer to wake Kel, who was in his trancelike sleep. “Come on, you two. We have a plane to catch.”
The earliest flight left just before five in the morning, and we were only three away from that now. In short order, I hurried them out to the taxi and gave our final destination. I wished I could’ve spent longer in the U.K., but there were pressing issues elsewhere. In the taxi, I borrowed Shan’s phone again to email Chuch.
She stared at me in bemusement. “You seem . . . wired. Manic, almost.”
“I feel a little frantic,” I confessed softly.
There was no way I could confess aloud what I truly feared—that Booke would pass away in transit. But I think she knew. She put her hand on mine and squeezed. “You’re doing your best.”
“Hope it’s good enough,” I muttered.
The rest of the journey passed in a blur of lines and waiting. For the sake of efficiency, we got Booke a chair, which he hated. But it meant slipping the main security line for one more handicap friendly. We flashed our passports multiple times, but the real test of the charm around my neck would come when we entered the U.S. He didn’t need a visa, as British citizens could visit for up to ninety days on a tourist form. Given Booke would be lucky to have a month, let alone three, I didn’t figure immigration would pose a problem.
By the time the pretty, polite stewardess settled us on the plane, I was running on fumes. Shan sat with Booke in the first row, still grilling him more about the war. Since he didn’t appear to mind, I let it go. Maybe it was a relief for him to be able to tell his stories. I mean, if he had tried that with anyone on the Internet, they’d have been like,
Kel took the window seat, leaving me on the aisle. I didn’t mind. I was surprised, however, that he hadn’t poofed on me. But then, if he went back to report his failure to recruit me, Barachiel would order my death. That was another complication I didn’t need, amid everything else. My whole life was a wreck; gods only knew whether the workmen were still building my shop. Tia was old and frail. I had Chance’s apartment to deal with too. Fortunately, he’d paid the rent several months in advance, but who knew when those payments ran out? I hoped to hell the landlord hadn’t put all his things in the street. At the very least, I owed it to Min to collect them.
The thing about adventures that they never put in fairy tales? They screwed up your life in a royal fashion. Real-world business went unattended; bills didn’t get paid. My freaking El Camino had been abandoned on a remote mountainside in Oaxaca. True, I didn’t pay much for it, but I’d put money into repair work, and there was no way in hell I’d ever see that car again. In the first week of my sojourn in Sheol, I’d bet that my ride was jacked and possibly stripped. Or maybe, given that it was a solid car, somebody was just driving it around without the title. In a small village, nobody checked into that sort of thing.
To my left, Kel’s hands were clenched on the armrests as the attendants went about their business. They handed out masks, pillows, and blankets, offered cool or hot beverages. In the back of the plane, which I dubbed steerage, they were probably deploying the cattle prods. A ten-hour flight, like the one from London to Houston, would be absolutely miserable in coach. My inner skinflint had caviled a little at the cost of four first-class tickets, but I had the money. I was just reluctant to touch it, especially for such a fleeting experience.
Seeing Kel’s tension reminded me of the last time we flew together. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“It would help if you distracted me at least until we’re in the air.”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Talking works.”
“The only thing we have to discuss is how I’m not signing on for your boss’s cause. Did you tell him yet?”
“I did,” he said quietly. “And he’s ordered me to try to change your mind. I have clearance now to discuss your role, if you wish.”
If Barachiel truly thought I’d sign on with no information, like a dazzled Joan of Arc, he’d lost touch with humanity.
But I wanted to give Kel a fair shot, so I said, “It’s not at the top of my to-do list, but ignoring a problem never made it go away. So go for it.”
It was unlikely in the extreme he’d change my mind, for obvious reasons—for the first time, I had a clear picture of what I wanted for my future—but if it would take his mind off his fear of flying, then I’d listen. Unlike most of my breakups, if you could even call it that after one night, this parting had been bittersweet but amicable, and I considered him a friend. Even if he might try to kill me the next time I saw him. Gods, if there wasn’t even a small possibility I’d be reunited with Chance, wherever the hell he was? Then I’d let Kel do his job. But ultimately, that would be selfish, and he’d have to carry my death as he did Asherah’s.
“Barachiel wants you to rally soldiers to his banner. Your lineage makes you uniquely suited to persuading the people to rise up against demonkind.”
“You mean start a cult or something? The New Church of Solomon?”
Kel reflected visible surprise. “The archangel doesn’t call it a cult, of course, but how did you know the name?”
I puffed out a breath. The plane rumbled beneath my feet, as the attendants called out completion of cross-check. They passed multiple times, begging people to turn off their damned phones. Those things I noticed with half an eye, as I wrestled with the idea of predetermination. Kel set his hand on my forearm, and for a few terrifying seconds I glimpsed a wavering future, where I was polished and coiffed, addressing an enormous gathering of like-minded fanatics. They gazed at me with utter adoration, ready to fight or die, or donate all their worldly goods at my command. A hard shiver rolled through me. I starred in television specials, using my gift to prove that I was, indeed, touched by angels, and that I could carry their words to the masses.
Shaken, I jerked my arm away from him, cutting the live brain feed. I had no doubt that was exactly what Barachiel had shown Kel. If I signed on, I would have wealth, fame, and power beyond my wildest dreams. Now Ninlil had been evil, no question, but this offer reeked of infernal style, even if it came from an allegedly beatific source, so it made me wonder if maybe the demon queen had a point when she claimed the beings Kel knew as angels had started their lives in Sheol.
And I wasn’t even remotely tempted. I’d ruled a city. Power wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
