Breaking Magic

Chapter 24: Adam

Finally, nine o'clock rolls around, without black-clad MRF agents bursting through the window. I'm anxious to get going, and I drive Felix up the wall with my impatient fidgeting while we wait for the taxi. All I want to do is go back to El's house, and let everyone know they can stop worrying about me. I know I'm in for a reaming when I get back, but I hate knowing what I'm probably putting her parents and Ms. Cross through. After everything they've done for me, they deserve better. But as I hold the heavy weight of Merlin's staff in my hands while we wait on the curb, I'm as sure as Felix is, just for a moment, that this will all have been worth it.

It's 9:38 when we step into the airport. At this time of night, the line at the check-in counter for our flight is only a couple people long, and it's less than ten minutes before it's our turn.

"Will you be checking any luggage?" asks the woman behind the counter, giving a pointed look to the staff in my hands.

"Uh... no?" I reply, glancing uncertainly at Felix. "I'll carry it on with me, thanks."

"The walking stick doesn't count as an acceptable carry on item," she says, looking bored and vaguely contemptful at my lack of knowledge of the inner workings of checked versus carry-on baggage.

"Damn," Felix hisses under his breath, quietly enough that only I can hear him. Then, to the receptionist, he says, "Can't you make an exception? He twisted his ankle while on a hike the other day, and needs it to help him walk."

The receptionist looks me up and down doubtfully. "If he has limited mobility, we can provide him with a wheelchair. We only permit actual canes on the flight, no walking or hiking sticks."

Felix looks like he wants to argue for a moment, maybe to raise enough of a stink about it that she'll give in just to get rid of him, but then he glances around at the quiet but still populated airport and seems to think better of it.

"Okay, fine," he says, his expression sour. "Just check it, Adam."

"There will be an extra fee for that," says the receptionist.

"How much?"

She pulls out a yard stick from behind the counter and measures all six feet of the staff, then spends the next five minutes typing at lightning speed on the computer, while Felix and I grow increasingly frustrated.

"...Ninety-eight dollars," she finally says, her impassive eyes sliding from her computer screen back over to us.

"Ninety-eight? For a stick?" Felix repeats, incredulous.

"Yes," is her short reply. She doesn't break eye contact with him.

"Fine," snaps Felix, and he passes his credit card to her.

I realize then that he must have dropped over a couple grand so far on this trip, between last minute plane tickets and hotels, food and taxis and fees. I feel even more guilt start to settle on me. I can't even offer to cover the cost of checking the staff. I couldn't even buy myself a water from the vending machine if I wanted to. I don't have a penny to my name.

The fee paid, the receptionist takes the staff, and Felix and I have no choice but to walk away, leaving the thousand-year-old artifact behind, one of the most powerful magical objects in the world, left in the not-so-tender hands of apathetic airport staff.

"Do you really think it'll be safe?" I ask Felix quietly as we head towards the security checkpoint.

"It'll probably be fine, but I'm not happy about it. We've come this far, I'll be pissed if they lose it and it winds up on a plane to Atlanta or something. We'll have a hell of a time convincing anyone—like the Council—that we really found Merlin's staff if it's not physically in our hands."