Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

at her death grip on the armrest. “Mari, I can hear your heart’s going wild—you’ve got to relax. The noise is normal.” This was a typical Carib aircraft—a puddle jumper, and likely, in some runway instances, a goat dodger. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
    As they gained speed down the runway, the rattling and the whine of the engines increased. “They put wings on a lawn mower,” she muttered.
    “The trip will only be two or so hours, a mere jaunt.” He made his tone confident, but the fact that a demon was in the cockpit vexed him. Perhaps he was prejudiced.
    During takeoff she squeezed her eyes tight. He took her hand, and she let him.
    Once they’d reached altitude and leveled off, Bowe reluctantly peeled her hand from his and rose. “I’ll be right back.”
    He could tell she wanted him to stay, which heartened him. Maybe he hadn’t blown his chances with her. He crossed to the cockpit, opening the cabin door. “Everything all right up here?” he asked the pilot.
    “Yessir.” His manner was casual, even bored.
    “What breed of demon are you? Aye, doona look surprised. I can tell.”
    “I’m a Ferine.”
    They weren’t the least peaceable demons.
    Bowe returned to Mariketa. “Do you have that sat-phone we got on the mainland?”
    She took it from the purse at her feet and handed it to him with a questioning glance.
    He dialed his cousin. When Lachlain answered, Bowe spoke in Gaelic, expressing his unease about their current situation. “Can you have some men meet us at the executive airport?” he asked. “We could be flying into trouble. Better yet, can you get Emma to help you track this phone? The pilot might not be planning to land in New Orleans at all.”
    “Why no’ take the controls?” Lachlain asked.
    “I canna fly a plane—but believe me I’ll be able to within a week.”
    “We’ll be there, ready for anything.”
    Bowe said, “It might be nothing.” But if something was happening, he could think of no one he’d rather have in his corner than Lachlain.
    “If so, then the worst that happens is that I’ll get to meet your witch. I canna wait to regale her with embarrassing stories about you.”
    Bowe frowned. Lachlain had never offered the same with Mariah.
    When he hung up, he saw Mariketa had closed her eyes. She seemed to be doing her damnedest to block out the situation, so he put the phone back and let her be...
    Other than a minor squall cropping up, the next hour was uneventful and passed with the same heading. They were closing in on the mainland, yet still he couldn’t stem this sense of apprehension.
    “Mariketa, I need you to help me with something.” When she opened her eyes, he continued, “I dinna want to scare you for no cause, but I canna get past the feeling that the pilot means one or both of us harm.”
    “Are you trying to push me over the edge?” At that moment, lightning struck just off the port wing, and she jerked with fright.
    “No, no, it’s probably nothing.”
    “Then wh-what do you want me to do?”
    “I canna believe I’m saying this, but ask that witch of yours, the one in your mirror, if the pilot intends us harm.”
    “Oh, now you want me to use magick?” she asked, nervously glancing out the cabin window as the storm intensified.
    “Just do it.”
    With shaking hands, she drew a compact from her purse. Once she began whispering to the glass—“ Must not pass ... red mouth to whisper low ... ”—the reflection turned dark. Bowe just stifled a shudder.
    “Does the pilot mean us harm?” she finally asked it.
    A moment later, the blood drained from her face; the compact cracked in her grip.
    “Mariketa, tell me! What’s the answer?”
    Eyes blank, she whispered, “The pilot’s... gone .”

    Bowe stormed to the cabin, tearing down the now locked door. Empty inside. The bastard had traced, leaving the yoke mangled and the instrument panel shredded—everything except the fuel gauge.
    He’d dumped the gas. Fucking demons!
    “Wh-why would he leave us?” Mariketa cried from her seat. “Can you drive a plane?”
    Bowe ran his fingers through his hair. Think! He searched through every compartment but found no parachutes, which meant there were no alternatives. They were going down unless she could do something.
    Bowe could do nothing.
    Making his demeanor calm, he returned to her, and in as even a tone as he could manage, he said, “He’s bailed on us, lass. And, no, I canna pilot this plane.”
    Her