The Brotherhood #53
By Mark W. Meier
Amy tried to look everywhere as the private jet’s engine whine increased. The craft moved toward the small taxiway pointing to the brightening horizon. Wisps of cloud, only orange a few minutes earlier, already turned white.
Garbled voices, both on and off the radio, spoke gibberish to each other. Amy looked from the sky to the visible controls in front of the pilot, back to the passenger cabin, and finally over her shoulder at Therese, the only flight attendant aboard.
“First time flying?” The stewardess gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s no big deal, really. I’ve been on hundreds of flights.”
Amy felt anxiety tightening her chest. “Would you pray with me, Therese?”
The stewardess paused before saying, “Sure.” She unbuckled and slid forward in her seat so she could reach Amy, who turned in her seat.
The two clasped hands.
Baraqijal flew backwards from the Phenom 300 and swore. He’d been about to punch a small hole in one of the fuel tanks in the wings. He knew a prayer when it hit him.
“Plan one, foiled,” he muttered.
“Amen.” Amy smiled at Therese, convinced that the older woman didn’t really believe. That was okay, though. Few really did. Probably not even Andy. That thought stopped her smile, but she thanked the flight attendant anyway.
The radio squawked, and the pilot gave a cryptic reply before the plane’s engines roared and the craft rolled forward. A half-minute later the jet pitched up and leaped into the sky.
A voice came across the tiny jet’s PA. “Amy, this is your pilot, Jim Robbins. We’re going to be in the air for about two hours, and when we reach our cruising altitude I’ll let you know. Until that time please remain belted in. If there’s something you’d like, let Therese know. She knows how to move around a passenger cabin while in the air.”
Therese placed a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “We’ll be climbing for a few more minutes.”
The plane rolled to Amy’s right, and her chest tightened again. “I’ll stay here.” She could feel the blood drain from her face. Amy had never been fond of roller coasters and hadn’t felt the world move around that way since her last ride at the fair with the youth group. “Maybe I’ll nap.”
She closed her eyes. Then the small jet rolled level again and sunlight blasted in through the windows in the pilot’s cabin. Amy sighed. Maybe she wouldn’t nap.
Therese stood and moved forward to the refreshment center right behind the control cabin. She withdrew a sleep mask and a package of ear plugs from the cabinet and offered them to Amy. “This should help.”
In a few minutes Amy was fast asleep.
Baraqijal hunted for another option. He couldn’t touch Amy’s plane with any of his abilities, but perhaps another solution would present itself.
Before he left, though, he caused a static burst which made the pilot’s earphones POP!
Gavin had been dreaming of the girl he’d checked into the hotel when he awoke with the sense of someone in his bedroom. When he noticed a ghostly figure hovering a few inches above his apartment’s floor, he screamed.
Mastema dampened the sound.
He’d visited too many people as a ghost to be surprised by a sudden scream.
Bathin called the governor’s switchboard.
“Governor Rawlin’s office.”
“Hi, my name is Sally Shoen from Political Advisors, LLC.”
Ruax grimaced at the thought of helping Chamos. Still, the Brotherhood had assigned the case, so he watched Jessica Austin go through her morning routine.
He needed to get her out of Savannah as soon as possible, but the lawyer was sharp – certainly more attentive than the nearly oblivious Michael Grambic had been. Getting Miss Sharpe out of town might take a whole week.
Perhaps the old stereotype would be the best option.
Maybe even appearing physically.
Ruax smiled. He didn’t have a week, so being blunt might make things easier.
An hour later, as Sharpe entered her firm’s building, he purposely stepped in front of her before physically appearing out of nowhere as a tall man with black hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
Austin slammed into Ruax’s human form, and both fell to the granite floor. The folders he held went flying while her briefcase slammed to the granite and slid a few feet to the side.
“Watch it, prat whid!” Austin snapped.
Ruax extricated himself from the woman, laughing at Austin’s British term for breaking wind. “Oh, I haven’t heard that one in a long time. Sorry for bashing into you.” He gave his best disarming smile. The Brotherhood had perfected that sort of thing over the millennia. “Can I make it up to you by taking you to dinner tonight?”
Austin stood dazed and dumbfounded while Ruax collected his papers and retrieved her briefcase. “I, uh, don’t even know your name.” Her ire had already faded.
“Roy.” He held out his hand. “Ruth’s Chris?” His smile broadened as he felt Sharpe’s resistance crumble.
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