Page 12 of Dallas

“For the record,” I continued, “I’ve flown this way twice before. Only one of those times was I happy to be doing so, in fact, I was barely conscious the first time. We were all pretty much in a state of catatonia, or else how would our captors have been able to transport us?”

“You don’t have to—” Leslie whispered.

But I was good and worked up by this point. Memories of that terrible time mixed with a dislike of the situation, which then combined with irritation over Hecate’s attitude.

“Nay, now that we’re on the subject.” I stared straight at her as I continued. “Would you like to hear how many times I vomited during that first flight? Or what it smelled like after we all began losing the contents of our stomachs thanks to the drugs forced on us before the iron was used to bind our wrists and ankles?”

“That’s enough, please.” Callie shot me a pleading look. “No one meant any harm.”

I looked back to her sister, raising my brows in a silent question. Callie spoke for her, but was she telling the truth? Was this truly a case of meaning no harm?

Hecate turned her face to the window opposite mine, but not quickly enough to hide the way her cheeks colored. Embarrassment? Perhaps, and she deserved it. Her mother wasn’t with us anymore, and nor was Alan. I didn’t have to play nice.

She’d learn that there were only so many times one could poke a dragon.

I leaned back in my seat once again, relaxed and comfortable. “Which of you is the best at translating runes, then?”

Callie nodded to Electra, who shrugged. “I suppose I am, though we’re all well-trained.”

“There have always been legends surrounding certain artifacts which our ancestors entrusted to the members of the clan who moved across the ocean,” Iris explained. For once, even she sounded friendly, or, at least, not unfriendly. Wonders never ceased.

“I asked myself the moment Mary spoke of it whether this was one of those artifacts,” Callie agreed. “It makes sense, though I have to wonder how it went unnoticed or forgotten for so long.”

“It’s been a thousand years,” I reminded them. “It’s not easy to remember anything for an entire millennium.”

“What if they were sent out there with the expressed purpose of protecting these artifacts?” Hecate challenged, swinging around in her seat once again. The color had faded from her cheeks. “What then? Is it acceptable that they would forget they were in possession of something so valuable?”

“That’s not for us to say,” Leslie chimed in with a nervous glance my way. Perhaps she took note of the way my hands clenched the armrests. If I’d torn them free, it wouldn’t have come as a surprise. “We haven’t been aware of their activities, there was no internet, certainly. There was not even a method of sending letters in a timely fashion. Months could pass before word reached its intended recipient, and we lived in a cave on a mountain. There weren’t exactly visitors to spread information and deliver messages.”

“I understand,” Hecate murmured. Somehow, Leslie’s sharp tone was enough to make her stand down, and quickly. Likely because Leslie was normally so sweet and even on the bubbly, perky side. This shift in tone was a real departure.

The conversation ended there for the time being, while I glared openly across the aisle. She had no right to speak of things she knew nothing about. She hadn’t even been alive then. She’d never met those of us who’d made the sacrifice and traveled halfway around the world.

To her credit, she didn’t say another word for the rest of the flight, choosing to stare out the window instead. I couldn’t help but notice her hair, especially when the sun hit it and turned it to spun gold. After spending a thousand years in the presence of redheads, this was quite a change.

A shame something so beautiful had to belong to her.

As we approached the Atlantic coastline, our steward stepped out of the cockpit. “The pilot asks that you fasten your seatbelts and remain belted in for the rest of the flight.”

Yes, the sky had darkened considerably the closer we’d drawn to the coast. “Is anything wrong?” I asked.

The energetic woman shook her head with a too-wide smile. “Not at all. But there are stormy skies ahead, and it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

Stormy skies, indeed. Twenty minutes later, three out of four witches had their heads halfway down an airsick bag while Hecate comforted them as the jet bounced over the turbulent air.

While we weren’t ill on our side of the aisle, we were all rather tense as the pilot guided us through the storm. Rain lashed against the windows and lightning split the sky in the distance.

I looked over at the witches with sympathy and met Hecate’s eyes for the briefest moment. The caring I found there was a surprise, based upon what I knew of her, disgust or irritation might have been more fitting. She was rubbing one hand in a circle over Callie’s back as she heaved into the bag and whimpered.

“It’ll be all right,” Hecate crooned, smoothing back Electra’s hair with one hand as her head bobbed while she heaved. “We’ll be all right. It will all be over soon.”

“When we crash?” Iris groaned, slumping back in her seat with her eyes squeezed shut and a look of total misery on her face.

“We won’t crash,” I offered. “It’s extremely rare. Even though this seems extreme, it’s nothing. Planes are built to stay in the air. And do you think Mary would anyone but the very best to fly one of her jets? Can you imagine the hoops a pilot would have to jump through to be hired by her? Probably flaming hoops, at that.”

Iris managed a weak smile, as did Hecate, one that looked suspiciously like gratitude as she continued comforting those around her.

Lightning struck somewhere nearby, lighting up the cabin and leaving spots in front of my eyes afterward.

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