SIXTEEN
GOD, I HATED THIS part of flying so much. No one would ever be able to convince my mind that this was a real thing that humans could actually do with relative safety. There were dozens of us crammed into a metal tube with wings that had been painted to look like a giant Tylenol. Stick a few internal combustion engines on the wings—ones that would catch on fire if a sparrow got sucked into them—and... why were we doing this again?
My ears hurt, and I’d left my stomach floating somewhere along the Mississippi River, far below us. I jerked in surprise when cool skin touched mine, easing my right hand free of its death grip on the seat arm. My eyes flew open as Rans tangled our fingers together. He wasn’t looking at me, and he didn’t say a word.
The unexpectedness of the gesture jarred me out of my spiraling anxiety. I wasn’t at all sure what to do with it, or even what to make of it, so I did nothing. Well... nothing except cling to that preternaturally strong grip. After a small eternity, the airplane leveled out. I let out a slow breath, hopeful that there wouldn’t be too many course changes or bouts of turbulence, and that I’d be able to pretend for a while that we weren’t hurtling through the sky at insane speeds.
“Drink?” Rans suggested dryly as I released my death grip.
I opened my eyes to find the attendant wheeling his drinks cart down the narrow aisle. “Tempting,” I said, “but probably a bad idea.”
The last thing I needed was another reason for my stomach to rebel if things got rough during the flight. I ordered spring water, while my seatmate waved off the attendant’s polite, “And for you, sir?”
“Thought you enjoyed a good vintage of red,” I muttered once the airline employee had moved on.
“I do,” he said, clearly amused. “And I had a particularly fine one just a few hours ago.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, so I changed the subject. “Tell me more about where we’re going. You said Atlantic City, but our tickets are for Philadelphia.”
“There are no direct flights out of St. Louis. With layovers, it was faster to fly into the City of Brotherly Love and have our host send a car for us. It’s only about sixty miles away.”
I nodded. “And your friend? Tell me more about him. Is he a... person who also enjoys a good vintage of red?” I’d almost said vampire, but realized before it slipped out that talking about supernatural creatures in a public setting like this was maybe not the best plan. Oddly, that strange tension I’d noticed in Rans earlier returned at my words.
“Actually,” he said mildly, “he’s more of a whiskey drinker, when he drinks at all. I’ve known him for... a long time. I expect he’ll have better insight into your situation than I do.”
His voice was low enough to be relatively private, and he spoke in his natural accent. I pondered the rather vague words, trying to fit them against his obvious discomfort with my question. Unless I wanted to get drawn into a morass of double entendres relating to drinking blood, I wasn’t likely to solve the little puzzle without more information.
Still, I filed away the fact that Rans didn’t like being asked questions about other vampires, or about the supposed war that Caspian and his people had apparently won. The plane lurched a bit, and I caught my breath, steadying the plastic cup of water.
“This is a ridiculous way to travel,” I said. “I mean... seriously. Who thought this was a good idea?”
He huffed a breath of silent amusement. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, luv. I was once involved in a biplane crash. Very nasty. But you don’t hear me whingeing about it, now do you?”
I glowered, but kept my voice low. “Unless it was a biplane stuffed full of garlic, I don’t guess you had much to worry about, Mister Shotgun-Blast-Through-the-Chest.”
“Nonsense,” he retorted. “I imagine things could’ve been quite ugly if they hadn’t put the fire out quickly enough. Whatever the case, this is still the safest form of travel. Crashes are rare, and I’ve already been in one, so I like to think I’m statistically crash-proof at this point.”
“Biplane,” I muttered. “You know, I can wake up from this dream anytime.”
Another snort, this one less amused. “Best of luck with that. I’ve been trying for centuries; no joy so far.”
I let the conversation fade into silence on that faintly bitter note. The flight was only two hours, and there was an entertainment screen built into the back of the seat in front of me. I poked through the menu until I found something mindless to watch, and pretended to focus on the screen. Rans lifted the window cover, revealing an expanse of Technicolor blue above a carpet of rolling white clouds.
My eyes kept straying sideways to his profile as he gazed absently out at the view beyond the cabin. Sharp planes, softened here and there by a serious furrow or a faint hint of crow’s feet. Male beauty bordering on the unearthly, accentuated by those eyes that now seemed to reflect the blue of the sky he was gazing at.
Was I really ready to believe this madness I’d been thrust into? I was Alice—crashing through the looking glass, wondering what was real and what wasn’t. But unless I’d truly gone as mad as a hatter, the fact remained that I’d seen this man with a hole blown through his chest. I’d seen him drink blood, and I’d seen him tear through three armed men with a sword. I’d pulled a silver knife out of his shoulder, and seen that same expanse of skin pale and unblemished
