The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

Prep For Landing

    As we pull over the clouds and scream across the sky in our slick white public jet, I take the liberty of inserting my earbuds back into my ears and raising the volume just seconds before we hit cruising altitude.

     I know this is a truly egregious act, on par with missing the trash can when you make a three-point shot and not going back to get dispose of the garbage, but let us first assert that I am a law-abiding citizen and would never endanger my fellow passengers. I am the man who would take the ratty parachute and plummet to my demise while my fellow citizens safely landed in the middle of the ocean. Well, perhaps not entirely safely, but more safely than one would land if they hit the ocean quickly. This isn't even a personal thing (though my eyes water at the idea of noble sacrifice) but instead part of my duty as a protector of all people, even if my 'specialty' might lie elsewhere.

    Said specialty is vested partially in these magical earbuds, which are currently blasting sweet, sweet tunes into my eardrums. I have a trap mix of My Country 'Tis of Thee going, one of the rarest records I've acquired in all my preemptive weeks of planning for this trip. I doubt I'll find many kindred souls in Britain interested in the collection I've lovingly dubbed 'The Freedom Playlist (warning: may contain eagles)', but hopefully they at least have a good sense of irony over there.

    Nah.

    The clouds continue to pass beneath us, occasionally giving way to the magnificent blue of the ocean. You'd think I'd feel larger up here, passing over huge swathes of the earth like a giant striding through a city of dwarves (I've seen one of these things, giants are on the decline), I can't think of a moment in my life in which I've felt smaller.

    This is not to say I'm not absolutely digging this, though. I turn to Sheryl, who is typing on her sleek black Government Laptop. Her face is home to a red-lipstick scowl, as well as two glasses that take out about half of her face, and she looks just as sophisticated and terrifying in her uniform as I've seen her in the field. Sheryl once took out a troll with her briefcase when we were in a bind and she didn't have access to her integral.

    It was awesome.
"What's on BBC?" I ask in a truly offensive accent. "I have to get up to date on the culture before I land in the good Ole Blighty."

    "They don't have BBC. We're on an airplane. If they could make you pay for the oxygen, they probably would." Sheryl responds, shutting her laptock with a sharp click.
I laugh. Sheryl's really dishing out the witticisms today. Our host family is going to have an absolute blast with her. "We're in first class, you'd think they'd be a little less stingy with the entertainment."

    "If we wanted to cough up fifty more dollars, I'm sure we could get them to give us our own television set, but all first class gives us on this flight is food that isn't packing peanuts and four extra inches of leg room." she says, folding her arms over each other.

    Speaking of ways Sheryl could murder a man, her nails are sharp to a point and her polish often includes traces of iron, in case of fae-related emergencies. Regardless of Sheryl's harsh rebuke of our lovely plane, I mess around with the screen on the back of the seat of the person in front of me and gasp.

    "Sheryl! They have the Goonies."

    "We are not watching the Goonies." she gripes.

    Golly, I love Sheryl. "Come on, Sheryl. The Goonies is a classic."

    "You are too old for the Goonies." Sheryl insists. I can't see her eyes behind those glasses, but I can tell from the incline of her head that she's sizing me up again. "Are all of your clothes in your bag?"

    "No, Sheryl, they're on my body."

    She seethes silently beneath her breath, which is the Sheryl equivalent of a laugh. "Gus Washington." See, Sheryl would reprimand me with my middle name if that wasn't expressly forbidden, so she always makes sure to draw out every syllable she has. "This is a potentially long-term project of grave importance. We are working with a very troubled outpost-- there have been rumors about misconduct, deals with fae, and all the ilk of more old-fashioned posts forever, but we're here to investigate a missing persons incident for two gatekeepers. What have I told you about the dogs?"

    "If you want your opponent to roll over first, bare your teeth. Come on, Sheryl, cut the poor blokes a break." I cast a thrilled glance in her direction, and her face twists like she's eaten a lemon. "Did you catch that, Sheryl? That was me. Fitting in with the native culture already. I said bloke."

    "I'm revoking your movies privilege. You'll have to listen to your revolting music instead of watching your equally revolting kid's movie." Sheryl informs me, curtly.

    "Jokes on you. You were never going to let me watch that movie. It's ten bucks."
Sheryl leans back into her seat, drumming her fingers against the chair, and calls a flight attendant over with a click of a button. "You caught me. I wasn't."

    Sheryl proceeds to spend those ten dollars on Sheryl entertainment, that is to say, alcohol, while I slip my integrals back on and let the music wash back over me, every thrumming beat pulling things back together. I feel it like a mission, like slamming things with the nunchucks, bright and violent and so in the moment that I belong to it entirely.

    I let this feeling draw my eyes out the window, towards the infinite ocean still turning underneath us, and the world is so small, like a blue marble we're skimming across, that I remind myself we're only going to be a ten-hour flight away from home.

______________

    Hey if you don't already know ChronaLilly wrote this chapter and bois, there's more where that came from check her out.