Where the Wild Things Bite(6)

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he said, tossing the knife between his hands with the sort of ease that made me think he had some experience with blades. “I just wanted to take the bag without hurting you. But if you’re going to be a bitch about it . . .”

Cue more threatening knife gestures. Ernie advanced on me. I glanced down at the tray table and wondered if I could rip it loose and use it as a weapon. Stupid TSA regulations against sharp objects that could be used as weapons. I would kill for a pair of tweezers right now.

“Well, since I’m going down anyway, I guess I’m going to be a bitch about it,” I shot back.

Even as Ernie advanced, the stranger stared at us, motionless, that same strange cloudy quality leaching into his eyes.

“Are you going to help me at all here?” I yelled.

When the man didn’t move, even as Ernie jabbed the knife forward, I took it as a no. With the blade coming toward my face at an alarming rate, I threw the bag behind me and yanked off the cushion from a nearby seat, shoving it toward him with both hands. The cushion cover split, and the blade sliced through the upholstery between my hands, the tip stopping a scant few inches from my eye.

It worked as a flotation device and a shield.

Ernie pulled back, trying to rip the blade from the cushion, but the hilt was stuck in the fabric. I tugged it toward me, careful not to stab myself in the face, and swung the cushion up, striking Ernie’s temple with the butt of the knife handle. Clutching at his face, he stumbled back with a yelp, giving me time to wrench the knife free of the cushion.

And still, the stranger didn’t move.

“Really?” I barked at him. “You are a useless human being!”

Ernie growled like an angry junkyard dog, hunching over as if he planned to rush me. I held the knife in both hands, the tip shaking as I pointed it at him. Because nothing said “badass prepared to defend herself” like a wobbling knife sandwiched between two sweaty palms.

The plane dove and pitched, making my stomach lurch. Ernie’s gaze switched back and forth between the trembling blade and my eyes. And given the smug expression on his face, I didn’t think he saw me as a threat. He stepped forward, and I clenched my fingers around the handle.

I gritted my teeth, my voice barely audible as I whimpered. “Please, don’t make me do this.”

The stranger finally stood, growling, and I shrieked in shock at the flash of vicious-looking fangs, throwing my arms in front of my face, a stupid thing to do when holding a great big blade. I dropped the knife, throwing myself back into the row of seats. The knife skidded down the carpeted aisle, toward Ernie, who scooped it up and pointed it at us.

Damn it.

Also, point of fact, my chatty, cowardly travel companion was a vampire.

With the vampire blocking the aisle, I slid behind him and reached for my bag. Ernie backed away and, as the safety card instructed, moved swiftly toward the emergency exit.

“Get back to the controls!” I cried, as Ernie’s hand closed around the red door handle and pulled up. The door burst open, and the pressure in the cabin changed dramatically. It tugged at my ears, making them pop.

“What are you doing?” Ernie yelled, though it sounded less like a challenge and more like . . . whining? I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or the vampire. He glared at us, as if we’d disappointed him somehow. Frankly, I was disappointed that the pilot was not in his seat, flying the fricking plane, so I guessed we were even.

The vampire turned, gave me a long head-to-toe once-over, and angled his body so he was wedged between Ernie and me. He bared his fangs and gave a loud roar that, had he been facing me, probably would have resulted in me crying in the fetal position on the floor. Ernie just rolled his eyes, flipped the vampire the middle finger, and leaped backward out of the plane.

I pushed past the vampire and looked out the side window, watching as a small white parachute opened up beneath us.

“The pilot jumped out of the plane,” I said, staring out the window.

“Yes, he did,” the vampire observed. Though he sounded more annoyed than paralyzed with fear.

“Why did the pilot jump out of the plane?”

“Because the windows don’t open?” he suggested.

I whipped my head toward him and gave him a withering glare. He shrugged. The plane continued to descend, and I stepped around the vampire, looking for more parachutes. I found none.

“Damn it!” I grumbled. I scurried to the front of the plane, where lots of loud noises and flashing colored lights could distract me from the quickly approaching ground. I reached for something that looked like a radio, but I couldn’t seem to get a signal or sound from it. I lifted the receiver and saw that the cord leading from the handheld device to the controls had been neatly clipped. And the lever that Ernie had snapped off? It seemed to have been attached to the control marked “Flaps,” so I couldn’t slow the plane’s descent. In fact, there seemed to be a lot of buttons and levers missing. Exactly how many pieces had Ernie broken?