Kyle the Apprentice Warlock

Chapter 33

Camina exited the cockpit not in the best of spirits, but at least relieved that she might get one thing going her way today. Sure, she was about to rain fire down on civilian airport and that was going to suck in ways she couldn't allow herself to think about right now. But the young man she thought she was going to have to nursemaid through endless bureaucratic hoops to get on her team was getting the catastrophic event short cut. So...bonus.

"Mister Thafesh," She called out loud enough for her seat mate to hear her voice. He half stood with an anxious look on his face and the rest of the first-class passengers glanced back and forth between the two with confusion and concern.

"Ma'am, what are..." a flight attendant tried to interrupt but the copilot opening the cockpit door behind Camina shook his head for the flight attendant to let it be.

"Yes, Camina? Uh, Ma'am?" Jim ran a hand through his hair and glanced at all the people focusing on the two of them. It made Camina chuckle. He might as well get used to the attention now.

"Have you ever performed a HALO jump into a Prometheus Category Purple zone with active monster formation?" The young man's eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he drew a sharp intake of breath. Around the cabin, passengers gasped and murmured.

"Uh. No, Ma'am." He admitted shakily, "I can't say that I have."

"Well, you're about to." Camina gave just a second for him to process that information before she continued, nodding in his direction. "Gear up. I got called in to work on my time off again and you've been approved as a replacement for my regular embedded team."

"Seriously?" The young journalism student gaped then grinned. Then he hurried into the isle. "Thank you. Thank you." He was already pulling his carryon bag out of the overhead compartment, glancing back at Camina ever few seconds as he pulled out more camera equipment. "Thank you, for this opportunity. You won't regret it." Behind Camina, the copilot was murmuring for the flight crew to go through the plane and start another trash run and make sure that everyone put any lose belongings in the overhead compartments.

"Wait a minute!" The woman with the twangy voice stood self-righteously, arms crossed. "You're going to do a HALO jump? I know that that is. It's a high altitude jump with a low opening of a parachute. Just where are you going to do that from? Passenger planes don't carry parachutes. They travel too high and too fast for it. And the doors can't open once they are in the air because of air pressure." Camina actually laughed at that.

"Oh. You're not wrong. But you are so very wrong." The copilot gave Camina a put-upon sigh and shook his head as he fished in a storage compartment for a harness and line to secure himself with. "You might want to secure any belongings you have out."

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking." The captain did not have the confident tone he'd had at the beginning of the flight. Instead, he sounded weary and not entirely pleased. "As you are probably aware by now, there has been some kind of magical event in New York city which is why we didn't land there. Our intention was to return to D.C. when reports of class three and class four monster manifestations necessitated our intervention."

"The woman standing at the front of the cabin with my copilot is Camina Wattkins. She was returning home from Washington. We find ourselves in the predicament of having on board with us the one person who actually needs to be in New York right at this moment. So, we have been ordered to let her off to go deal with this emergency. What we will be doing is not normal, but if you follow all of our instructions, it will not be unduly dangerous."

Camina let the pilot drone on about descending below cruising altitude and using oxygen masks while she strolled back to her seat to stow her purse and carryon in the overhead bin. Her adrenaline was already starting to ramp up and it felt good, relaxing muscles that stiffened during the hours on the flight. Her face carried a slight smile, and she hummed a bit. It had been a while since she'd had a really good workout. The hum faltered and her smile faded to bleakness when thoughts of her kids intruded into her pre-fight mental preparations.

"You can't make us let you open the plane of the door for her." Twangy was back at it and this time, other passengers were on her side. It was starting to look like it might get ugly. But Camina plastered her biggest I'm-probably-on-camera smile and turned to face the rest of the cabin and the shrill woman from a place that Camina was seriously going to look into the feasibility of removing it from existence for producing that particular accent.

"Yes, I can." This was one of the parts of her job she hated. "I have orders to deal with a class four monster manifestation at Manhattan North International Airport. It poses a danger to dozens of cities, not just New York or Manhattan Island. I will be leaving this plane. I do not require a parachute. I will fulfill my orders as they are entirely ethical, and I will not be endangering any civilian on this plane if I leave." Pausing, Camina cocked her head and threw a little attitude while she gestured around the cabin. "Now, I can wait for you all to stow any personal belongings, so they don't fly away when the door opens, and wait for you to have oxygen masks. Or I can follow my orders without making considerations for the civilians onboard this plane. What do you prefer?" She stared down at the obnoxious blonde, taller than the woman by several inches.

"But...but..." It seemed as if the twanger didn't have anything to argue against that with until a nursing baby started snuffling and crying. Then she sniffed triumphantly and spat out as if it was the greatest argument of all. "But there's children on board." Yet Camina was prepared for it.

"There're children in Manhattan, and Newark, and Brooklyn, the Bronx, Staten Island, and Hoboken. Do I put the comfort, not safety, just comfort, of the less than three hundred people on this plane before the immediate safety of millions? And remember, every second I remain on this plane, is another second that people are dying in New York." As she'd feared, she was being recorded by more than one person's cell phone, but also by her new journalist and she tried not to give him an annoyed twitch of her lips at that. He was just doing the job she gave him.

"It's still not right." The woman grumbled and Camina was going to leave it at that.

She scanned her eyes across the passenger compartment. They were scared. Scared and angry. Worried for themselves and for anyone they might know in New York. Then her gaze passed a man in, maybe, his fifties or so with a U.S.M.C. ballcap on. He looked like he was sleeping with his eyes closed and his head lowered, and it took a second for her brain to catch up with the fact that no one would be sleeping right now. Camina's eyes jerked back to the man and looked him over more carefully. Oh, no! Sonofabitch. Quickly taking a few steps, Camina drew level with his row. She wanted to confirm her suspicions before... He had one.

A protective prayer charm for the patron saint of warriors.

It was on a chain around his wrist, and he was rubbing the worn surface compulsively as he murmured something under his breath. The image was barely recognizable as an angel with wings spread holding a large naked blade.

The archangel Michael.