Hellforged

Electricity sizzled over her skin.

“Open your shade!” I yelled. “It can’t take sunlight!”

Shades flew up along both sides of the plane. The Glitch jumped toward the center row, clawing at people’s ankles as it scrabbled under a seat.

“Over here!” a man called. “What the hell is that thing?”

“The Glitch that was making the plane fall—don’t let it spit at you! And watch out for its claws.” I ran to him, kicking debris out of my way. I had to make sure it didn’t re-infest the controls.

I dived to the floor by the row of seats where the Glitch was hiding—and flinched away as a wad of spit sailed out. But not fast enough. The spit landed in my hair and stung my scalp. Damn. I hate getting Glitch spit in my hair. The Glitch snapped and swiped its claws at me, but its movements were restricted by the limited space under the seats. Passengers had barricaded it in with bags and coats and laptops and anything else within reach. Its only way out was the narrow opening I was watching. The demon convulsed, hawking up another wad of spit.

This Glitch wasn’t trying to escape; it was guarding its hiding place. I squirted more hairspray at it and considered. If the Glitch stayed trapped, it couldn’t jump back into the stabilization system. The hairspray seemed to work better than that damn expensive Glitch Gone; I’d never seen a Glitch stay in physical form for so long. The extreme stickiness that did its thing for Ms. Iron Hair’s helmet head kept the Glitch from shifting into its energy form.

Another wad of spit flew out. It missed, and I nailed the Glitch with more squirts. The trouble was, I didn’t know how long the hairspray’s effect would last. And even under the seats, there were plenty of places where the Glitch could go if it switched to its energy form—laptops, cell phones, all the electronic gadgets people carry with them on long flights. Even the aircraft’s entertainment system. It was too risky. We were still over the ocean. We had to fly far enough to land somewhere, and there was no way to stay in the air safely with a Glitch on the plane.

I’d have given anything for a simple bronze knife. A fast stick and it’d be over. I squirted the Glitch, then shook the bottle. The hairspray was getting low. As I rose to my knees, another wad of smelly spit shot past me, splatting against the arm of a seat a couple of rows back.

“Does anyone have anything that’s bronze?” I called. “A pin? Bracelet? Cuff links?”

People stared at me. I probably looked crazy—although I was getting used to that, especially with a sticky purple lump of Glitch spit in my hair.

“Bronze kills demons. It’ll get rid of this Glitch so it can’t crash the plane.”

A buzz went up and down the rows of seats as people asked their neighbors for bronze. I dropped to the floor again to keep an eye on the Glitch and gave it another spritz.

“Here,” said the man who’d pointed out the Glitch. “Will any of this work?”

I kneeled up and he poured a pile of costume jewelry into my hands. Bronze obviously wasn’t on this season’s list of must-have fashion accessories. People had donated gold, gold-plated stuff, even silver, but not a single piece was bronze.

I dropped back down and recoiled as a claw struck, missing my face by a quarter inch. I pressed the pump on the spray bottle. Nothing came out. I unscrewed the top and flung what little was left onto the Glitch. I was out of time. Evening sunlight slanted through the windows, but it wouldn’t for much longer.

I pulled off my leather jacket and wrapped it around my hand to get some insulation against the Glitch’s electrical field. I put my face within striking range. A claw swiped at me. Moving fast, I grabbed the demon’s hand and pulled.

The Glitch howled with rage and lobbed wads of spit at me. The man in the seat next to me reached down to help and got a nasty shock before I could warn him away. Electricity sizzled through the jacket and buzzed up my arm. The leather smoked. The Glitch grabbed at the seat legs with its free hand, but I was stronger. I kept pulling. The Glitch let go and launched itself at me, attacking with claws and teeth. Slashes of electrifying pain tore through my face and arms, but I hung on. The man saw what I was doing and called for a leather jacket. Someone tossed him one. He wrapped it around both hands and hugged the Glitch. A third person joined us.

“Help me get it in the sunlight,” I said, and we made our way down the aisle with the struggling, screeching Glitch to a patch of sun a little longer than the demon’s body. We lowered it to the floor, smack in the middle of the light patch, and held it there. It fought and squirmed and howled and spit, but we kept it pinned.

Sparks erupted from the Glitch, and its body wavered under my hands. No, not now! It couldn’t change to energy. I started to ask for hairspray, but the sparks came faster—bigger, brighter—little flickers of flame burning whatever they landed on. I turned my face away.

The Glitch exploded. Energy pulsed, and shreds of slimy purple gunk flew everywhere. A sizzle of blue energy flared up where the demon had lain, then burned itself out.

The plane cruised smoothly through the sky.

I rose to my feet, shaking, as passengers clapped, cheered, and stomped their feet. I thanked the guy who had helped me. His face was dotted with exploded Glitch, like a bad case of purple acne. “Better wash that off.” I explained about Glitch venom.

I turned to thank my other helper and saw who it was: Kane. Somehow, he’d avoided getting Glitch goop all over him. I was glad. I’d hate to see clumps of purple gumming up that beautiful silver mane. I touched my own Glitch-gunked hair.

Kane caught my wrist and gently pulled my hand away, then kissed it. He raised his gray eyes to meet mine.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said.

Yeah, right. I was scratched and burned and streaked with purple. Ready for my photo shoot as cover girl of Demon Slayer Monthly.

“So this is what you do for a living?” he asked.

“Yup.”

He grinned and shook his head. “I think I’ll stick with lawyering.”

He lifted me off my feet and held me close. His mouth found mine, I wrapped myself around him, and we kissed. Again, the plane erupted in applause.

34

THE PLANE MADE AN EMERGENCY LANDING IN REYKJAVIK. The moment we touched down, a lot of things happened fast: Passengers rocketed from their seats, emergency doors flew open, and everyone stampeded to the nearest exit.

A flight attendant guarded the rear exit, directing people down the inflatable slide. She tried to tell me to leave my duffel bag on the plane and take off my boots, but I elbowed past her and jumped, clutching my bag in both arms, keeping my feet up so my heels wouldn’t puncture the slide. I didn’t give a damn about proper exit procedure. I needed my bag. And those were my favorite boots.

Airport workers herded us toward the terminal, and suddenly I realized that I hadn’t felt a twitch from Hellforged since the Glitch infested the plane. Panic shot through me; I stopped and bent over to check its sheath. Someone bumped me from behind, and I nearly sprawled onto the tarmac, but I staggered forward a couple of steps and kept my balance. I felt through the leg of my jeans. Hellforged was there, calm and still like an ordinary dagger. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I followed everyone into the terminal.

Kane and I got separated. I was escorted, solo, to a room where I answered endless questions—from airport officials, airline representatives, an Icelandic paranormal investigation team. I even did a conference call with some U.S. military brass who wanted to hire me to get rid of a Glitch in their prototype combat helicopter. I don’t know whether they wrote down the brand of hairspray I recommended, but the call ended pretty fast after that.

I’d always wanted to visit Iceland, but the trip I imagined didn’t include being stuck in a windowless room deep in the bowels of the airport. By the time they gave me a boarding pass and said I was free to go, I was more than ready to get home.