"What about Jack? Can't he go?"
"I can't find him. He disappeared a few hours ago and he's not answering his phone. Besides, you're closer. I have a feeling this thing with Eddie is time sensitive." Understatement of the year.
There was a beat of silence. "I'm on my way."
"I don't know what cruise line he's on."
"I'll figure it out."
I knew I could count on her. Outside the hotel I hailed a cab and spent the entire cab ride on the phone with the airline. An insane amount of money later, I was in possession of an e-ticket for a flight to Edinburgh. An hour later I was through security and found myself strapped into the world's tiniest seat on the world's smallest airplane.
I closed my eyes as another air pocket sent the tiny plane-let plummeting toward the earth before it bounced back into place. The arm rests dug into my hips and my lower back already hurt from the odd curvature of the seat backs. I muttered a few choice words under my breath. If I ever got my hands on Jackson Keel again, I was going to kill him. Granted, he'd just come back to life—the immortal bastard—but it would still hurt like hell. He deserved it, the big jerk. Making me fly commercial. When I got my hands on him….
I shifted uneasily in the narrow seat. There was so little padding, it was only marginally better than sitting on a cheap metal folding chair. My butt was going numb. Scratch that. My butt had gone numb thirty minutes ago, and it was starting to ache where I'd busted my coccyx during a Hunt over a year ago. Damn vampire had jumped out of nowhere and sent me flying flat on my ass.
If Jack hadn't vanished from our Paris hotel, I'd be on a private plane right now. One with cushy seats and no need to explain my suitcase full of weapons. As it was, I'd had to leave everything behind at the hotel, along with a hefty tip so they wouldn't do something like call the police or try to sell my knives on eBay. Thanks to Jack I was not only freaked out, but weaponless, devoid of cash, and airsick.
I fidgeted with my cell phone, anxious to email Kabita. I wanted to check if she'd landed in Miami yet even though I knew she was still in midair. There was no point in calling. And besides, the plane-let didn't have that nifty mid-air Wi-Fi the big planes had these days. Stupid cheap-ass airline.
I tried to entertain myself with all the ways I was going to throttle Jack when I found him, but all I could focus on was the Skype call from Eddie, followed by the phone call from Drago. Had I made the right choice?
The tiny aircraft hit another air pocket, sending my stomach soaring into my throat. I swallowed back the bile and started calculating the various ways to kill a vampire. Anything to distract myself from the thought of heaving up my last meal. Hey, whatever works, right?
The minute the plane touched down in Edinburgh, I was out of my seat and collecting my bags. Fortunately I hadn't brought anything that needed to be checked. Customs was slow, but pretty much a breeze, and soon I was headed through the terminal toward the taxi stand.
"Morgan? Morgan Bailey?"
I turned toward the voice, surprised to hear someone call my name. He was tall. Probably six foot four or so, and built like those big-ass guys who throw trees around at the Highland Games. His hair was red, and his skin was that warm golden brown studded with freckles that some redheads are lucky enough to have. His eyes, like mine, were green, but where mine were kind of a cool ocean green with a bit of gray, his were the warmer mossy green of the forest.
He held out one very large hand. "Finn Campbell," he said, giving my hand a good, hearty shake. I caught a whiff of campfires and vanilla. "Drago sent me."
Of course. He was dragon kin, but not related to Drago and Inigo. Men of their line had a hint of chocolate to their natural scent. "Hi. Nice to meet you."
He took my bag and ushered me toward a black Mercedes with an almost courtly air. It was very old school, but it was likely Finn himself was old school. After all, dragons lived for centuries. He may not look a day over thirty, but he could have been around when the first European settlers set foot in the Americas.
"What's going on with Inigo?" I asked once we were inside his car. "Is he all right?"
Finn gave me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. There is nothing I can say."
That was a weird way to phrase it. "Nothing you can say? Or nothing you will say?"
"I've got my orders."
I quite possibly said something rude. He ignored me.
"You might as well get comfortable," Finn said, unperturbed. "We've got a four-hour drive ahead of us."
"Can't you just fly?" I asked. "It would be a hell of a lot faster." I'd flown with Inigo before when he was in dragon form. It was a little on the chilly side, but crazy fast.