by Toni Kerr
Tristan settled into his seat and did his best to stay relaxed as the engine roared to life. Everyone slipped on their earphone headsets.
“Victor can fly if I fall asleep.”
“Sure! So long as you teach me first.”
“I’m certain your mechanical intuition would be of better assistance.”
“Stop teasing me!” Tristan’s fingers dug into the seat cushion.
“What makes you think we’re teasing?” Donovan asked, twisting in his seat to face Tristan.
Tristan glared and his eyes shifted; the monster within threatening to lash out.
Donovan nodded curtly and faced forward. Victor and Landon remained silent. Tristan stared at the floor and counted backwards. The plane circled in the water, then gathered speed along the glassy surface.
Maybe it was the not-knowing that made flying so terrifying. Tristan pulled the shade away from the window to test the theory. Trees along the shoreline sped faster and he quickly put his attention back on the floor. Seeing the crash wouldn’t help him.
“Tristan,” Landon said, lacing his voice with serene peacefulness. “We’re not going to crash.”
“The lake isn’t long enough.” Tristan caught sight of the shore through the front windows as it curved inward. Just as it looked like the plane would collide, the nose lifted and they cleared the treetops.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Landon said.
Tristan’s eyes shifted back to normal as a gentle calmness filled the cabin, putting his fears to shame. “I’m sorry. I have no excuse.”
“Good job!” Victor grinned at Landon. “That was pretty good.”
Landon smiled with pride.
“What, empath in reverse?”
“So long as I can project the right emotion, it seems to work. But it’s not as easy as it sounds.”
Tristan pondered the uses of such an ability, momentarily forgetting the pull of gravity as the plane lifted higher.
“While we’re at Donovan’s we can check out the museum. What are you hoping to find?”
“It’s a good view of the island if you want to see,” said Donovan through the headset.
Victor raised the shade on his window as the plane tipped. Tristan peeked out to see Dorian’s island below, the trees and rocky shoreline, and then it vanished in a wave of distortion as they circled higher, concealed by the fang in the cave where dragons once went to take their last breaths.
The plane righted itself and headed out over the sea. Nothing but clear skies and the sun at their backs. “Why am I afraid of flying?” Tristan asked no one in particular. “I had wings, didn’t I?” He couldn’t remember actually seeing his own wings, it was more of an instinct. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“You had wings, all right,” Victor said. “And you knew how to use them.”
Landon agreed. “But you didn’t seem to have a good feel for wingspan.”
“Shut the screen, would you?”
Victor reached back and pulled the blind over the window. Tristan took another breath and picked up an apple to nibble on.
“The museum.”
“What? Right. The museum. I don’t know what I’ll find. I just wanted to see if I could learn anything.”
Landon pulled an airplane manual out of his backpack and began reading.
“I wouldn’t have put it on the list if I’d known it would be this much trouble. I figured Donovan could bring it to me, or we could just, you know, poof there.”
“It’s fine. What else would we be doing?”
“Gee, I don’t know, saving the world maybe?”
“Who says we aren’t?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Stop making such negative assumptions. We’re not here to protect the world from you, we’re here to help you do whatever you need to do.”
Tristan shut his mouth, determined not to argue. “Why didn’t you tell me Dorian was seeing Tynan?”
“We don’t tell you everything we do, and she’s not seeing him. He’s been to her shop a few times for materials and information, and it doesn’t affect you at all.”
The plane dropped for a second, putting a halt to the conversation. Tristan shut his eyes and gripped the seat.
“Come on, Tristan,” Victor said. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? You’re immortal. You’re not going to die even if we do crash.”
“Right. You would all die and I’d be stuck in a state of drowning for the rest of eternity.”
“No. You’d transport yourself and be stuck facing the council in the process.”
“Great, and how do I defend myself there?”
“No idea. But I’m sure you’ll figure something out, right? Just try to relax while you can. It’s not often we have hours of sitting around with nothing pressing to do, so take advantage!” Victor produced an acoustic guitar and started tuning it.
“You don’t seem like you need practice.” Tristan settled back in his seat and did his best to relax.
“You like it, don’t you?”
“Sure. But you don’t have to play it every time I get anxious.”
“It’s not like that at all. If it was, we could just put a recorded file on repeat and accomplish the same thing, right?”
Tristan nodded.
“Alvi and I are producing our fourth album and I need a few more songs to make it complete. So I’m experimenting with some ideas. If it bothers you, I can try working it out in my head.”
“No.” Tristan tried to smile, even if they really were trying to keep him calm. “I just don’t want to be more work for everyone. I like it. It’s a good distraction.”
“Good. Because this album is funding her degree in chemistry. She wants to be an explosives expert.”
“Really?”
“That and cosmetology.”
Tristan laughed. “So, she wants to make explosive makeup?”
Victor nodded, silencing Tristan.
“I was joking.”
“Alvi’s not.” Victor winked playfully and went back to tuning his guitar. “She makes a lot of our disguises and prefers fighting at a safe distance. People tend to be so focused on the supernatural, they forget to keep an eye out for the most basic threats.”
Tristan averted his gaze. He’d probably fall into the same category. “Have you asked her to marry you yet? What’d she say?”
Victor’s cheery demeanor faded. Landon turned a page in his book, pretending to read. “No, I haven’t asked her yet. I will, though. We just haven’t had a chance to get away lately. Don’t tell me you’re still against it.”
“I’m not against it,” Landon said. “I just think you should wait.”
Victor kept his attention locked on Tristan. “What about you?”
“It’s really not my call.” Tristan took off his shoes and tried to get comfortable.
“I suppose. But the working dynamics here are important.”
Tristan put his shoes back on and scratched at his arms. “Didn’t I already tell you how I felt about it? I don’t want her around. I mean, not to be rude or mean or anything, but what if something happens to you or her? What if she was pregnant and I—I couldn’t take it.”
“Do you think being in the Makai wasn’t risky before you came along? We both know the dangers and we’re both still involved. You think we should both just quit and walk away, so we can get safe office jobs?”
“Well, yeah. Especially if you want kids.”
“Landon was raised in the Makai and he turned out great. His parents would have been proud—”
“That’s a terrible example,” Landon said. “I think they would have been happier to live. And Tristan, why do you insist on thinking you’re going to kill us all, first chance you get?”
“How do you know I won’t?”
“Landon,” snapped Donovan. “Rein it in and change the subject.”
Tristan kicked his shoes off again. “It’s me. I’m sorry.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. But the
re was nowhere to go and he sat back down, pulling his knees to his chest. “How much longer?”
“Eight hours.”
He covered his face with his hands and rocked back and forth, determined to keep the pressure of excess energy under control.
12
HOUSE OF GLASS
LANDON AND VICTOR slept on the bench across the aisle. Victor lay sprawled with a plaid blanket draped over a shoulder and Landon had a book in his lap. Tristan’s stomach grumbled and he reached for the bag of food, a little surprised to find it gone.
His shoulders ached from the tension and his stomach growled again. The plane dipped suddenly, sending his heart galloping into his throat. Energy pulsed around him. “What was that!”
“Turbulence,” answered Donovan from the front of the plane. “Try to relax—we still have a few hours.”
Tristan shuddered at the thought and peeked out the small window. Beneath the wing that seemed to bend erratically, dark fog whisked by like smoke. At least he couldn’t see how far off the ground they were. The cabin lights flickered and the plane dropped again.
“It’s a simple shift in air currents. Nothing unusual.”
“Can’t you make it stop?”
“Turbulence is completely normal when flying; the plane is even designed for it.”
Tristan kneaded his thighs until the muscles felt more bruised than relaxed. Landon awoke with a start and stared at Tristan for an uncomfortably long moment.
“We’re not going to crash,” Landon finally said. “Here.” A plush royal-blue blanket appeared in his arms and he offered it to Tristan. “Get warm and comfortable. We’ll be there soon enough.”
Tristan reached to accept the blanket, unsure whether he’d use it, and before he could fake a thanks, a jolt of power ripped down his arms and out his fingertips, electrifying Landon, who jerked back and fell unconscious.
Victor sprang to his feet with his eyes as wide as Tristan’s.
“I didn’t mean to,” Tristan said hurriedly. “I wasn’t even thinking!”
The dim cabin lights flickered and went out.
“He’ll be fine,” Victor said. “Just a shock. Blood pressure and heart rate are fine. He just needs a minute. Relax—”
“How can I relax?”
“You can sense his pulse, right?”
Tristan stared at Landon, determined to figure out how to sense a heartbeat, and suddenly the unconscious body emanated a bright orange glow. Tristan stood from his bench and retreated to the rear of the plane, though it wouldn’t do anyone any good in such a cramped space.
“Victor, keep this thing in the air,” said Donovan, standing aside for Victor to take over in the pilot seat. He took three steps and gripped Tristan’s shoulders. “Landon will be fine.”
“How can you say that?” Tristan brought his shaking fists to his chest to keep them still, then took in a gulp of air when the green form of Donovan remained unaffected by any sort of power burst.
“Unless you want me to knock you out, pay attention and listen to his heartbeat. His is the slowest, but it is strong with a steady rhythm. He’s stunned—nothing more.”
“I can’t hear it.”
Donovan gripped Tristan’s shoulders and gave him a firm shake “You’re not listening hard enough.”
Tristan shut his eyes and wished he could be anywhere but here. How much destruction would he cause before people would understand that the power had a will of its own?
“Look at me.”
Tristan refused until his eyes shifted back to normal and the dim colors returned to the cabin, though a crazed static still buzzed in his ears.
“You are going to bring this plane down if you don’t pull yourself together.” Donovan released his grip and pulled several objects from his front pocket. “See this?”
Tristan studied an odd coin with oriental writing.
“Keep it spinning.” Donovan flipped the coin into the air and Tristan caught it with his mind, forcing it to spin in place. Three more coins followed, then balls of silver, glass, and rubber. “Victor will switch them out with other items as your mind gets bored with these.” He returned to the front of the plane and switched places with Victor. “Three hours. Keep him focused.”
Within a few minutes, Landon was awake. Within an hour, the temperature in the plane dropped and two male, middle-aged ghosts were hovering in the aisle. Victor’s random items clattered to the ground as Tristan shifted his attention. Victor side-stepped his way to the front of the plane, where Tristan vaguely heard him whisper to Donovan.
The ghosts didn’t seem to care. They each knelt on the floor and one pulled a rolled piece of paper from the inside of his loosely fitted shirt. He then motioned at Tristan to write.
“Pencil and paper,” Tristan said, hoping Landon would produce the items.
He did, and Tristan copied the symbols shown to him. After several pages of symbols, the ghost bowed deeply, then nodded to the other. They both faded and Tristan shut his eyes, suddenly too tired to stay awake.
Tristan lay flat in silent stillness, comforted by the soft golden light of a hanging lamp. No engine vibration rattled his bones. No noise pounded in his ears. He wondered for an instant where he was, then felt certain he would have awakened if the plane had actually crashed.
He rolled to his side, caught hold of the staff, and attempted to stretch his protesting muscles. For once, his first thought was to find food. Victor would be proud.
Angled planks of wood paneling lined the walls. An antique leather chair sat in a corner with an ornately carved table to match. The only other piece of furniture was a chest of drawers in a similar style. There were no windows and he briefly considered whether Donovan would keep him in a polite sort of prison cell as he made his way to the door.
Relief eased his speculations when the door opened easily.
Twenty or more glass display cases filled the adjoining room. Tristan meandered through the antique collections from various eras, expecting someone to tell him the area was off limits. Museum quality paintings covered the walls from top to bottom.
One oil painting in particular caught his eye—it had to be several centuries old and looked oddly familiar. It was a portrait of a middle-aged man dressed in layers of bulky clothing, creams and greens. The man’s nose and cheekbones were sharply angled, though his face looked wrinkle-free and healthy. Some sort of circular medallion hung from his neck on a leather cord.
Tristan continued exploring the displays, perplexed by the feeling that he’d seen the man in the painting before. Recently, even.
In the corner of the room, he spotted a knot protruding like a button from the wooden paneling. Before he could stifle his curiosity, he pushed the knot until it clicked into place.
The walls began to rumble and slight screeches and squeaks echoed throughout the room.
Tristan pushed the knot several more times and tried prying his fingernails around the button to pull it back out, to reverse whatever he’d activated. Three of the four walls began to rise off the floor, disappearing into the ceiling. He gave up and ran to the nearest masterpiece, unable to reach the base of the frame. He was about to yank it off the wall with his mind when he noticed the border of molding along the ceiling and walls had pivoted away from each wall, allowing plenty of space for frames to slip through. But where were they going? The walls had to be fifteen feet tall from top to bottom.
Daylight flooded the floor as the walls inched higher. Tristan squatted to see through thick panes of glass and marveled at what was quickly becoming a spectacular view. A forest of trees extended downhill from thick undergrowth, and a deep-blue sea glistened no more than a quarter mile away.
He circled back through the gallery. The wall partitioning the room he’d awakened in was rising, along with three more exterior walls overlooking the trees. The third wall of the gallery exposed a small kitchen area and a doorway leading out.
A balcony looked over a small, sheltered inlet, where the red
and white seaplane sat moored to a weathered dock.
“Hello?” Tristan called out. Though just because the plane was there, didn’t mean they couldn’t come and go at will. But then he noticed the plane only had one propeller, and smiled when he spotted Victor rummaging through a box of something on the dock.
Food could wait. He made his way along the descending stone path, distracted by the foliage trying to make themselves known. Little pink berries seemed to stand out everywhere and Tristan finally gave in to their calls.
He veered off the path and crawled along the soft moss, plucking tiny berries from the vine and popping them into his mouth, thanking each plant for the ability to make such an amazing flavor. A fruit the size of a softball fell from above, thudding to the ground in front of him. He reached for it, admiring the odd pattern of green and red on the skin, then froze when a warm, wet tongue slurped his outstretched hand.
Tristan shifted his eyes upward to see a large black dog with tendrils of drool hanging from his jaw. Something between a doberman and a pit-bull, or maybe part lab. Its tongue lulled to the side, over a row of sharp teeth. The dog quickly dropped to its belly and nudged the fruit closer with its nose.
“Okay. So, you’re a friendly dog?” One thing was certain—he’d seen this dog before, in a horrifying nightmare. Tristan wrapped his fingers around the fruit and pulled it closer.
The dog grunted a muffled bark and wagged his tailless rear end. Tristan grinned, sitting back on his heels. He faked a throw and the dog took off running before it realized what had happened, then raced back, barely able to stop in time. Tristan got to his feet and threw the fruit for real.
Everything around him seemed to brighten as he walked through the forest. Leaves became fuller, each shade of green richer than it had been before. Even the air seemed to have more value to him. Individual scents created their own paths and he followed them experimentally, taste-testing each thing calling to him. Even when the flavors were bitter or sour on his tongue, the substance nurtured something his body lacked.
Each time the dog came back, Tristan threw the fruit a bit farther.
By the time he reached the end of the island, his stomach was full and the dog seemed content to walk at his side. He stood at the edge of land and water and took a deep breath of sea air, saddened by all the years he’d lost.
