The Witch's Quest

Valor’s lips were pale pink and plump. And they were so close to him. He wanted to touch them, but he held the water glass in one hand and his other arm was wedged beneath her sleeping body. So he’d take her in for as long as he could. And enjoy this quiet moment with a woman he wasn’t sure was safe to lose anything more to. He’d given up his wings for her.

What more did he have left, besides his heart?

* * *

Valor woke without opening her eyes. Her body took a survey of her immediate surroundings—hard plastic seat and walls, tight confines, stale air, compressed sensation going on in her sinuses—and she determined she was on a plane. Not on the ground.

Mercy.

The thing about flying was that it was unnatural. Yes, even for a witch. Witches didn’t fly on broomsticks or by their own power. Well, they could do both with the right kind of magic. Air magic. But she’d always avoided considering such study. And the cliché of the broomstick was just that. She preferred her feet to remain on the ground. And even though there had been no other option to get where they were going—a ship would have taken far too long—it was never easy to dispel her nerves.

Fortunately, the alcohol had worked for a while.

Now groggy but feeling rested, she came awake more fully and curled her fingers against the hard warmth beneath her hand. Mmm, that felt great. And her pillow was firm but smelled nice. Like a forest after the rain. Why was that? Weren’t airplanes the least inviting and uncomfortable conveyances in existence?

“You rest well?”

The voice vibrated against her cheek and into her very bones, and Valor realized what exactly was up. She was lying on Kelyn, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. And that warmth under her hand? It was his hard pec. The man had to work out. Seriously.

Such a surprising but welcome bit of reality proved beyond nice. And she didn’t want it to end. But really? This accidental sharing and caring between the two of them was not cool. On a scale of not-coolness, from one to ten, her current position probably topped out at an eight.

Maybe if she didn’t move, he’d think she’d fallen back to sleep?

The smell of roast beef suddenly wafted through the air and Valor realized she was more hungry than embarrassed. So she slowly pushed herself up and met Kelyn’s smiling violet gaze. “Morning.”

“Evening, actually. At least, according to Australian time. But don’t get too excited. We’ve still got another six hours to go.”

“Ah, Meredith Gray!”

“Is she a doctor?”

“Yes, Gray’s Anatomy. She and McDreamy—oh, never mind.” She averted her eyes to the leather cords around his neck. A long, thin white spiral dangled from one of them. Looked like a seashell. On the other was a black ring of stone. She tapped it. Six more hours? Could a witch get a break? “Maybe I should go back to sleep.”

“I take it you wish you could sleep through the whole flight? Maybe one more beer would have done the trick?”

She groaned. “Please don’t mention beer. It was the vodka that did it for me. The beer makes me want to...” Pee a very long time. She wouldn’t say that. She and he were not that tight as bros yet.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked. “They’re serving now. Might keep your thoughts from...dire things.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She leaned back and slowly took her hand from his chest. “Sorry about that. Lying on you and all.”

“It’s all right. And you didn’t drool that much.”

“I—” She wiped her mouth and hoped to catch his teasing laugh, but he merely shrugged. Perfect. Not. “Really sorry about that one.”

“Valor, your apologies are always superfluous. Now tell the nice stewardess what you’ll have to eat.”

When Valor turned to the flight attendant, she only then realized the luxurious space she sat in. It was still the inside of a tin can, but much more roomy than she’d experienced that one other time she was inside an airplane. They were in first class? Mercy, but she could never afford this ticket. And she did intend to pay the guy back.

“I’ll take the roast beef,” she said to the attendant, who sported a perfect blond coif and a red scarf tied about her neck. Valor refused the offer of alcohol. She’d drunk a whole growler of beer last night. Or this morning. Or whenever. Plus the bottle of vodka. Those two alcohols should not be mixed. Stupid nerves. “And some ginger ale.”

Kelyn asked for the vegetarian plate and more water.

Fifteen minutes later, and after a necessary trip to the bathroom, the meal had served to relax Valor and she settled back to watch Kelyn finish his dairy-free chocolate cake. It didn’t sound appetizing, but it certainly looked lush and moist. He was a vegetarian? Must have been disgusted by her shoveling in the minimal bits of roast beef she’d dug out of the gravy. He’d not said anything, though.

“Why are you so nice?” she asked.

He paused, a forkload of cake suspended before his mouth. With a shrug, he offered, “It’s a Minnesota thing.”

“Sure, but that’s surface. And I’m from Minnesota.” She pointed to her chest. “Not so nice. Mostly. People are always nice to one another, but are they kind nice? Nice is doing so because you think it’s expected of you. Or because your mommy always told you ‘be nice.’ Kind nice is an innate calling to understand others and be accepting of them. That’s you.”

“I get that. I’ll cop to kind nice eighty percent of the time. But flattery will not get you a piece of this cake. I’m eating it all myself.” He forked in an appealing bite of layered chocolate frosting and cake. “See? Not so nice now, am I?”

She pouted about that. She’d wolfed down her dry cinnamon crumble so fast she hadn’t even tasted it. So she enjoyed a good meal. And this first-class stuff? Not too shabby, if sparse on the meat.

“I’m no nicer than the next guy, Valor. I’m just trying to walk through this life and world respectful of all those who have as many trials and tribulations as myself.”

“Yeah? What’s it take to piss off a guy like you?”

“Why do you want to piss me off?”

“I don’t. I’m just wondering what it takes. You can’t be nice all the time. Seriously. Be honest about the remaining twenty percent. If you had one day in Trouble’s shoes and could punch whoever or whatever because your temper flared as easily as his, what would it take to set you off?”

Kelyn set down the fork beside the half-eaten cake and rubbed the heel of his palm across his brow. “I guess it would have to be someone who harms another for malicious reasons.”

“Like a bully?”

“Maybe.”

“A murderer?”

“For sure.”

“So you’d take the law into your own hands, then?”

“That’s not what you asked me.”

“Right.” She sighed and turned toward him, nudging her shoulder into the seat. She’d already gone too far by sprawling across him while she slept. Best to be more careful about his personal space now. “Tell me what’s up between you and your brother and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you think something about the two of us. I can sense it every time his name comes up.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does. Because every time I mention Trouble, your fingers curl into fists. See? You just did it.”

He sighed and relaxed his fingers.