He nodded, finally opening his eyes as the plane leveled off. "I have ridden the beasts of the air many times."
"So why do planes bother you?"
He looked at me as if I should have known the answer. "It is the metal, Princess Meredith. I am not comfortable surrounded by so much man-made metal. It acts as a barrier between me and the earth, and I am a creature of the earth."
"As you said, Doyle, there are benefits to not being pure sidhe. I don't have a problem with metal."
He looked at me, turning just his head. "You can do major arcana within such a metal tomb?"
I nodded. "I've never found any magic that I can't perform just as well inside a metal tomb, as I can outside of one."
"That could be very useful, Princess."
The flight attendant, a tall leggy blonde wearing nearly perfect makeup, paused by Doyle's seat, bending over enough to make sure he got a look at her cle**age, if he wanted it. She'd made sure he had a chance at a view every time she came by his seat. She'd come by three times in the last twenty minutes to ask if he wanted anything, anything at all. He declined. I asked for a red wine.
She'd brought my wine this time. Because it was first class it was actually served in a long-stemmed glass. The better to spill it all over yourself when the plane hit turbulence, which it did.
The plane bucked and swerved so badly that I gave the wine back to the flight attendant, and she gave me a handful of napkins for my hand.
Doyle closed his eyes again and kept repeating to all her questions, "No, thank you, I'm fine." She didn't actually offer to throw off her clothes and have sex on the floor of the plane, but the invitation was clear. If Doyle heard the invitation he managed to ignore it beautifully. I don't know if he actually didn't realize she was hitting on him, or if he was just accustomed to human women acting like fools. She finally got the hint and wandered off. She had to grip the backs of the seats as she moved down the plane, or she'd have fallen.
It was bad turbulence. Doyle looked greyish. I think it was his version of turning green. "Are you all right?"
He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. "I will be fine once we are safely on the ground."
"Is there anything I can do to help the time pass quicker?"
He opened his eyes just a slit. "I think the stewardess made that offer already."
"Stewardess is a sexist term," I said. "It's flight attendant. So you did pick up on her hints."
"I don't think squeezing my thigh and brushing my shoulder with her br**sts count as hints-more invitations."
"You ignored her beautifully."
"I have had much practice." The plane rocked violently enough that even I wasn't happy. Doyle squeezed his eyes shut again. "Do you really want to help this flight pass more quickly?"
"I owe you at least that much after you flashed your official Guard badge and we both got on the plane with our weapons. I know legally we're both allowed to carry in the U. S., but it doesn't usually go that smooth or that quick."
"It helped that the police escorted us to the gates, Princess." He'd been very carefully calling me Princess, or Princess Meredith, since I woke up this morning. We were no longer on a first-name basis.
"The cops seemed eager to get me on the plane."
"They feared you might get assassinated on their... turf. They did not want the responsibility for your safety."
"So that's how you got me on the plane armed."
He nodded, eyes still closed. "I told them that with only one bodyguard, it would be safer if you, yourself, were armed. Everyone agreed."
Sholto had dropped off the LadySmith 9 mm. I actually had an inner pants holster for it that fit nicely for a front cross-draw. I usually wore it at my back covered by a jacket, but the police had given me carte blanche to carry weapons, so I didn't have to worry about hiding it.
I had a ten-inch knife in a side sheath, the tip of which was tied around my leg with a leather thong for a fast draw, like an Old West gun-fighter. The leather thong also made the sheath fit the movement of my leg better. Without a sheath tied off, you ended up having to move it every time you shifted position, or it tended to poke into your body or get caught on things.
I had a Spyderco folding knife clipped over the underwire of my bra. I always carried at least two blades at court, just a rule. The guns would only be allowed in certain parts of the sithen, the faerie mounds. But I'd be allowed to keep the knives. Before the banquet tonight, in my honor so Doyle informed me, I'd add more blades. A girl could never have too much jewelry or too much weaponry.
Doyle had Mortal Dread in the back sheath, the hilt sticking out from under his shoulder for a cross-draw like a gun shoulder holster. He had his own gym bag full of weapons. When I'd asked him why he hadn't used them against the sluagh, he'd said, "Nothing else I had with me would bring them true death. I wanted them to know that I was serious." Frankly, I've always found that blowing a hole bigger than a fist out someone's back lets them know you're serious. But many of the Guard feel that guns are inferior weapons. They carry them out among the humans, but guns are almost never used among ourselves, except in times of war. That Doyle had even packed a gun meant that things were bad, or maybe there'd been a policy change while I was away. If the other guards were carrying guns, then I'd know.
The plane dipped so suddenly that even I gasped. Doyle moaned. "Talk to me, Meredith."
"About what?"
"Anything," he said, voice tight.
"We could talk about last night," I said.
He opened his eyes just enough to glare at me, the plane took another dive, his eyes snapped shut, and he almost whispered, "Tell me a story."